CHAPTER 1

“Saint Mitea!

From this moment on, I hereby strip you of the title as the Chief Saint! From now on, you shall serve at the Fifth Regional Temple.”

The solemn declaration echoed through the high-ceilinged hall. After a brief silence, confused murmurs spread among the gathered saints and clergy.

“W-why? How could Lady Mitea be stripped of her title as Chief Saint?”

“She ascended to the top at just eighteen years old, only to be removed after barely three months?”

“What in the world is going on?”

Whispers filled the hall as uneasy gazes met one another. Slowly, all eyes turned toward the figure standing at the center—Saint Mitea herself.

Amid the sea of saints and clergy, a young maiden stood at the heart of the hall, gripping the staff that symbolized her sainthood. Her golden hair shimmered like spun silk, and her clear blue eyes

resembled the summer sky. Clad in a flowing white robe, her slender frame appeared delicate, yet her posture remained firm. Her poised stance, unwavering gaze, and tightly pressed lips exuded an

undeniable grace—so breathtaking it could captivate anyone at a glance.

Mitea was known for her gentle smile and graceful demeanor, always enchanting those around her. Yet this sudden proclamation had caught even her off guard. Her usually fair complexion had paled, and her lips were pressed into a tight line.

And who could blame her?

For the past three months, since being appointed the Chief Saint, she has dedicated herself tirelessly to her duties, even sacrificing her sleep and rest.

And now, without warning, she was being stripped of her title.

Everyone in the hall was equally stunned, but for Mitea herself, the reality was even harder to grasp.

“And now they’re sending her to a regional temple?”

“That’s practically a demotion… no, an exile.”

The weight of the situation was clear. The Central Temple was the most prestigious and revered institution in the country. To be sent away from it—to be cast off to the provinces—was nothing short of a disgrace.

For someone as pure-hearted and devoted as Mitea, this was not just shocking—it was devastating.

“She might collapse from the shock.”

“I mean, just look at her—Lady Mitea; she hasn’t moved an inch since a few minutes ago.

“She hasn’t even blink.” 

The people surrounding Mitea looked at her with growing tension.

Her blue eyes were slightly widened, her lips drained of color, and tightly pressed together. As everyone held their breath, swallowing nervously. She suddenly focused her gaze and shifted her free hand

to her hip, and tilted her chin ever so slightly. Then, with a sharp glare, she locked eyes with the person before her.

And before long, from her soft, delicate lips came…

“—What? “A low, dangerous voice rang through the hall.

“H-hiii… L-Lady Mitea?”

One of the saints surrounding her asked with a startled look on her face. The other girls looked at Mitya with the exact same expression of fear, as if they were afraid that she had suddenly turned nasty.

That saintly woman, Mitea, seemed to be able to hear the earth shaking, and a low voice came out of her pretty lips.

“You’re stripping me of my title as the Chief Saint…? High Priest Boranzon? Tell me, have not only the surface of your head grown pathetically thin but also the inside of your head as well?”

“H-huh…” Her voice was filled with anger, and the words were also disturbing.

The people in the room, as well as the head clergyman, Boranzon, who made the pronouncement, shrugged their heads.

‘Uh, yeah, uh, it’s Mitea.

Don’t roll your eyes. I’m asking you if you are in your right mind to remove me, a brilliant and capable woman, from the position of the Chief Saint. “She tapped the marble floor with her cane and glared at Boranzon. 

Despite having lived at least three times as long as she had, Boranzon suddenly found himself shrinking under her piercing glare.

At this moment, she no longer resembled a saint.

No—what stood before them was something far more terrifying.

A demon lord in saint’s clothing.

A bead of cold sweat trickled down Boranzon’s temple, mirrored by the trembling spectators around him.