I’m a Former Saint Exiled to the Forest, but for some reason, the Cold-hearted Magician keeps visiting me. - Chapter 3

To summarize, Serge appeared again the very next day.

Evelyne, tending to her field as usual, dropped her water bucket in shock.

This time, Serge had arrived with a large cart in tow.

To be precise, he had enchanted the cart to move on its own while he walked alongside it, staff in hand. Still, the sight of the elegant royal magician’s robes next to such a mundane task was jarring, to say the least.

When Serge stopped the cart in front of Evelyne, he removed the cover to reveal its contents.

The cart was loaded with fresh vegetables, grains, and a variety of food supplies. Evelyne even spotted cuts of meat among them, causing her to unconsciously swallow in anticipation.

While the sheer amount of supplies filled her with joy, Serge’s intentions were a complete mystery. Evelyne felt more wary than happy at first.

“W-what’s all this?”

Serge paused, as if carefully considering his response, before speaking.

“It’s customary to bring a gift when visiting someone.”

“Well, you’re not wrong,” Evelyne replied. “I’ve always told people that it’s polite to bring something, especially when visiting someone you’re not close to.”

“…Yesterday, I forgot,” Serge admitted after a brief pause.

Evelyne blinked and then recalled something about Serge. He had always been somewhat self-conscious about his lack of social norms, particularly when it came to human interactions. Evelyne herself had once painstakingly—if not combatively—taught him about such things.

The quantity of the supplies might have been excessive, but it seemed thoughtful, perhaps even an apology of sorts. Realizing this, Evelyne’s initial hesitation melted into unrestrained excitement.

“Yes! Thank you, Lord Serge! You’re the best! I’m so grateful you came—I finally get to eat meat again! And flour too! I can’t make bread since I don’t have yeast, but pancakes! Oh, or maybe galettes!”

Had it been anyone other than Serge, Evelyne would have hugged them on the spot to express her gratitude.

But she restrained herself, knowing such an act would likely earn her a glare sharp enough to pierce through stone.

After inspecting the cart’s contents, Evelyne calmed down slightly and turned to Serge. Since he had observed proper etiquette, she felt obligated to reciprocate.

“You must be tired. Would you like to come inside and rest? I don’t have much, but I can at least offer you some herbal tea.”

It was a formal offer, one she didn’t expect him to accept.

Serge was famously averse to socializing. Evelyne still remembered the incident where a young noblewoman had invited him to tea out of gratitude, only to have him dismiss it as a waste of time, leaving her in tears. Evelyne herself had repeatedly invited him to meals in the past, only to be rebuffed with the declaration that socializing was pointless.

Moreover, the Serge she once knew had actively avoided her, making this entire situation even more baffling.

“I’ll accept,” Serge replied.

“…What?” Evelyne’s stunned reaction slipped out before she could stop herself.

Unperturbed, Serge repeated himself.

“I’ll have some tea.”

Evelyne was speechless. The Serge she knew detested tea gatherings. Had he eaten something strange? Or had the corruption of the forest affected his mind?

She wanted to ask, but Serge’s calm, stoic demeanor suggested he was as composed as ever.

“…Right this way, then,” Evelyne said, opening the door to her small hut.

She set a cup of herbal tea on the rickety table for him. Serge placed his staff against the wall and took a seat.

“You don’t have a chair or cup for yourself?” he asked, noticing the singular chair and cup.

“Nope. This place was designed for one person, so everything’s a single set.”

Since Serge had claimed the only chair, Evelyne perched on the edge of her wooden bed frame nearby. She found herself meeting his unwavering violet gaze, which made her a bit uneasy.

After a brief silence, Serge finally picked up the cup.

“Thank you for the tea,” he said.

“Oh, um, you’re welcome. Please enjoy,” Evelyne replied.

Even with the plain, unadorned cup, Serge’s slender fingers made the act of drinking tea look refined. Evelyne, on the other hand, felt awkward with nothing to do. She decided to sip her own tea to fill the silence.

The tea was made from herbs she’d cultivated herself—plants that had miraculously grown from seeds mixed in with the soil. When Evelyne first found them, she’d cried tears of joy, as they were the same herbs she had used in the church, her second home.

To her, the taste was nostalgic, unchanged from before.

“It tastes just as it used to,” Serge remarked, his voice softening slightly.

He spoke! Evelyne’s heart leapt with unexpected joy.

“Well, yes,” she said. “It’s just lemongrass and chamomile. I used to make it for you all the time to force you to rest when you wouldn’t take breaks.”

“…I remember. It made me sleep too much and caused trouble,” Serge said, his tone as serious as ever.

Evelyne chuckled, recalling how he’d once confronted her with an expressionless but clearly disapproving look after waking up from a deep sleep. She’d had to explain that it was his own exhaustion, not her tea, that had caused him to pass out.

“I admit I should’ve warned you, but you were working so inefficiently that I had no choice. I stand by my actions.”

“You’re right,” Serge agreed. “Since then, I’ve ensured I take proper breaks and sleep regularly. When I can’t sleep, I drink this tea.”

“…But it doesn’t taste the same,” he added quietly, gazing into the cup.

“Well, that’s normal,” Evelyne replied. “Tea tastes different depending on who makes it, not to mention how the herbs are grown, dried, and stored.”

Serge placed the cup gently on the table and stood.

“I’ve finished the tea. I’ll leave before I become a bother,” he said in his usual flat tone.

“Ah, yes. Thank you for coming,” Evelyne replied.
This abruptness—that was unmistakably the Serge she knew.

Just as he reached the door, Serge turned back to face her. His violet eyes locked onto hers, and Evelyne suddenly became self-conscious of her disheveled appearance.

“I’ll come again,” he said, his words deliberate, almost like a declaration.

How meticulous, Evelyne thought with a wry smile.

“Well, feel free. I’ve got nothing but time here in the forest!” she replied brightly.

Serge gave a small nod before vanishing in the same dazzling light as before.