I’m a Former Saint Exiled to the Forest, but for some reason, the Cold-hearted Magician keeps visiting me. - Chapter 4.2

“Oh, but there’s only one meat pie,” Evelyne pointed out.

“It’s a gift for you,” Serge replied.

In other words, he hadn’t brought one for himself. Evelyne, knowing full well Serge’s penchant for avoiding unnecessary actions, promptly split the pie in half and held one piece out to him.

“Then next time, bring two, okay? We’re friends, and it’d be no fun eating alone.”

Serge’s usually composed expression flickered slightly, as if her words caught him off guard. Evelyne felt a pang of regret, worried she might have overstepped. However, she quickly reassured herself.

After all, someone who disliked her wouldn’t go out of their way to visit such a remote place repeatedly.

When Evelyne had once asked why he was visiting the Forest of Corruption, Serge had replied that his research required it.

Indeed, she had often seen him meticulously observing the purified areas she maintained. He was likely coming to the forest for work, but even so, this marked a significant change from the Serge she knew before. Perhaps there was some camaraderie, at least enough to call him a colleague.

If so, calling him a friend didn’t seem like much of a stretch. Her initial fear and confusion had long since faded, replaced by curiosity about this enigmatic man.

Still, Evelyne reminded herself not to push too far.

After a pause, Serge spoke in his usual low voice.

“If we’re friends, you wouldn’t use honorifics, would you?”

“…Wait, are you saying the reason you’ve been calling me ‘Saint Evelyne’ is because I’ve been addressing you formally?” Evelyne asked incredulously.

Serge nodded, and Evelyne instinctively looked to the heavens.

What is this, childish sulking? she wanted to say, but quickly dismissed the thought.

This was Serge La Sorcellerie, after all—a magician so exceptional he was awarded the prestigious gold-trimmed robes reserved for the elite of the kingdom. Known for his cold demeanor and single-minded focus on magic, he was nothing if not serious.

No, it wasn’t petty. Serge had likely analyzed social etiquette to its core and concluded that mutual formality was the proper course.

Though Evelyne found this oddly amusing, she couldn’t resist teasing him with a playful smile.
“There’s no need to worry about that. You’ve been visiting me so often and sharing tea; it’d feel stranger to keep things formal. Besides, we weren’t strangers even before all this. You can call me ‘Eve.’ Feel free, Serge.”

“Eve,” he said, his deep voice resonating softly.
Evelyne’s chest fluttered slightly at the sound. She realized it had been a long time since anyone had used a nickname for her—not since her foster grandfather at the church.

Serge’s gaze remained fixed on her, unflinching. Embarrassed, Evelyne quickly took a bite of the pie to distract herself.

The savory flavor of spiced meat filled her mouth, warm and comforting. Food prepared by someone else—it had been so long, and it touched her deeply.

Serge, too, ate his portion quietly. The sight of him seated in the lone chair across from her small bed had become oddly familiar, despite her initial reservations.

He didn’t speak while eating, and Evelyne had learned to appreciate this about him. In the beginning, she thought he was ignoring her chatter out of annoyance, but she later noticed his slight nods of acknowledgment. It was simply his way.

Occasionally, after finishing his meal, he would ask a question or two. These exchanges revealed things she hadn’t known or misunderstood about him, and she found herself enjoying the process of learning more.

But there was a tinge of bitter sweetness now—an ache she couldn’t quite place.

“You know, I’m not a saint anymore. Even if you call me by name, it’s not improper,” Evelyne said softly.

Serge looked at her with his usual serious expression, his eyes unwavering.

“There is no one more deserving of the title ‘saint’ than you,” he said, his voice calm and resolute.

Evelyne blinked, taken aback. Serge wasn’t one for flattery or unnecessary words. As a magician, he valued precision and sincerity, and he spoke only when necessary.

His words warmed her heart, filling her with a mix of happiness and embarrassment. She felt tears prick the corners of her eyes but quickly forced a smile to lighten the mood.

“Since when did you become so good at compliments, Serge? You used to glare at me like you couldn’t stand my methods,” she teased.
“…That’s true,” Serge admitted reluctantly, his tone tinged with the faintest hint of regret.

Evelyne laughed. “I figured as much. Still, I’ve never met a magician as skilled as you. I think I told you that before, didn’t I?”

Serge remained silent, and Evelyne couldn’t bring herself to say a simple “thank you.”

Having finished his half of the pie, Serge stood abruptly. Evelyne panicked slightly, wondering if she had offended him, but his next words reassured her.

“I remember everything you’ve said,” Serge stated plainly.

Then, as always, he added, “I’ll come again.”
With that, he turned and left, his dark hair trailing behind him as he disappeared into the forest.

Evelyne sat alone in the quiet room, fully aware of how much she now looked forward to his next visit.