I’m a Former Saint Exiled to the Forest, but for some reason, the Cold-hearted Magician keeps visiting me. - Chapter 2

Evelyne stood frozen in shock at Serge’s sudden arrival, momentarily forgetting to breathe. However, she quickly came to her senses, tossed aside the basket she was holding, and rushed toward him.

“Lord Serge! Have you been affected by the corruption? Are you experiencing chest pain, fatigue, or any sort of malaise?”

The Forest of Corruption was deadly for ordinary people. Anyone who ventured into its depths would start feeling unwell within five minutes, and after ten, their life would be in serious danger. The walk to Evelyne’s hut alone would take at least thirty minutes.

Evelyne reached out to use her purification power immediately, but Serge sidestepped her hand and firmly grasped her wrist instead. She froze, suddenly remembering.

Serge disliked being touched without warning. She had learned this the hard way when she once offered him a handshake during her time as a saint, only to be flatly refused.

And now, she wasn’t just any saint—she was a disgraced criminal. If Serge had come all the way here, he must have known about her current reputation. Embarrassment washed over her, and Evelyne lowered her gaze, swallowing her shame.
Because of this, she didn’t notice where Serge’s gaze had settled.

“I’m sorry, Lord Serge. I forgot you don’t like being touched.”

“…No need to apologize. I used magic to protect myself on the way here, so I’m fine,” he replied in a low, measured voice.

His concise words and tone might have come across as intimidating to others, but Evelyne found them strangely comforting after having worked alongside him in the past. She glanced up cautiously, noting that his face showed no visible emotion, but his complexion seemed fine.

He didn’t appear angry, either—she let out a small sigh of relief.

But then the question arose: why was he here?
“Lord Serge, you were supposed to be on a long-term assignment in the frontier, weren’t you? You weren’t scheduled to return to the capital for another year. Why are you in such an out-of-the-way place?”

As a royal magician, Serge was often dispatched to regions overrun by magical beasts. At 25 years old, he was both young and exceptionally skilled, which meant he was frequently sent on missions. In fact, when Evelyne had been exiled, he hadn’t been in the capital at all.

Serge met her gaze, his serious expression unreadable, and answered matter-of-factly.

“I heard you were here.”

“…Then you must also know the charges that led to my exile,” Evelyne said, her confusion growing.
When Serge nodded in silent confirmation, Evelyne’s bewilderment deepened.

If he knew she was in the Forest of Corruption, he must also know she’d been accused of heinous crimes and cast out of the capital. Serge, as a magician, was known for his strict adherence to rules—magic required meticulous calculations, leaving no room for error. He was the very model of discipline and integrity.

So why would someone like him go out of his way to visit a disgraced saint in exile?

As Evelyne wrestled with her confusion, she suddenly remembered that Serge was still holding her wrist.

“Lord Serge?” she ventured hesitantly.

“…Are you well?” he asked.

Evelyne blinked at the unexpected question, then let out a small laugh as the memory of their past interactions resurfaced. There was a warmth, almost nostalgic, in her chest. Yes, he had always been like this. Serge didn’t waste words, and when he asked something, he would wait patiently for an answer, no matter how long it took. In the beginning, it had annoyed her, but now, she found it almost endearing.

“I’m doing well,” she replied with a smile. “Life here is different from before. I have to do everything myself from morning till night, but surprisingly, it’s quite freeing. Sure, I have to keep purifying the well, the fields, and the area around the house, but it’s much easier than fieldwork. If the crops didn’t grow, I would’ve starved to death by now!”

Evelyne realized she might have said too much and clammed up. Serge, who had been listening silently, shifted his gaze to the potatoes scattered on the ground.

“You were harvesting,” he remarked.

“That’s right! Even though I was ‘assigned’ here, there’s no way supplies would be sent to a place like this. In fact, you’re the first person to come here in two months. So, I used my purification power to accelerate the growth of the vegetables I was given. Oh, but don’t tell anyone in the capital—it’s a little trick I learned from the priests at the church.”

The power of purification affected all life. The church had always warned her not to use it frivolously, especially for personal gain. But here, there was no one to scold her for bending the rules.

Still, Serge was the type who disliked breaking rules. Would he let this slide?

“Please don’t lecture me about this, okay? My food supply is already limited. I’d love to eat meat, but everything here is corrupted, and purifying it takes too much effort. The crops are my lifeline!” she added quickly, trying to preempt any criticism.

Evelyne watched nervously as she gathered the scattered potatoes. But then, she froze in astonishment.

Serge bent down and picked up a potato near his feet.

The sight of his pristine purple robe and the ends of his black hair brushing the ground was surreal. When he handed her the potato, Evelyne was so confused she couldn’t respond immediately.
By the time she realized he had helped, Serge had already straightened up.

“I’ll be back,” he said.

A complex magical circle unfolded beneath his feet, engulfing him in a brilliant light. Evelyne shielded her eyes as his figure dissolved into the glow, his dark hair swirling like shadows.

And then he was gone—a masterful display of teleportation magic, a feat so advanced that few could perform it without risking their lives.
Evelyne stood there, staring at the empty space where Serge had been.

“What… was that about?”

Her mind reeled, wondering if the brief encounter had been a hallucination. But the weight of the potato in her hand and the lingering warmth on her wrist were undeniably real.

And yet, none of this made sense.

“The cold, rigid, emotionless Serge La Sorcellerie… Why would he come here? It doesn’t make sense. He must have had some official reason.”

Evelyne shook her head, deciding not to dwell on it. She had potatoes to deal with, after all.

Later, as she reflected on the encounter, one thought lingered: No one had ever asked if she was well before.