The Abandoned Saint's Happy Feeding Life - Chapter 3

Her second awakening came suddenly.

She drifted in and out, savoring the supreme sensation enveloping her body and the first full satisfaction in her stomach, shuttling between pleasant sleep and wakefulness.

Had she ever indulged in such lazy sleep before? She wondered in her drowsy haze.

As a child, after losing her protective father, their home was poor—a rundown shack beyond repair—where she slept curled like dumplings with her mother and brothers.

Nights brought wind, rain, the growls of her own or family stomachs, or occasional rat bites waking her.

Even as a small child, she had to contribute to the family; exhausted, she never slept deeply.

Summoned to the temple, she at least slept under a roof and walls, but duties started before dawn, and work continued long after sunset.

The moment her head hit the pillow, it was morning again.

Such was her daily life.

She had never repeated deep sleep and shallow awakenings like this.

Wrapped in happiness, she was about to enter another shallow wakefulness when—

“!!!!”

Her eyes snapped open.

Delicious food had reached her intestines from her stomach, stirring them actively—the urge to defecate.

She hurriedly sat up.

And looked around.

In the temple where she had been, “excretion must be hidden,” so there were dedicated rooms, but in ordinary homes, people relieved themselves in wide-mouthed pots and threw it outside.

Scanning the god’s dwelling, she saw no such container.

(As expected of a god’s home, there must be a dedicated room…?)

She quickly left the wonderful bedding.

Afraid to touch the paper window she had torn earlier, she looked around and headed the opposite way.

(Come to think of it, this place only smells refreshingly like a meadow.)

The temple followed rules and disposed of waste in designated spots, so it wasn’t as foul as the city, but never odorless.

(The God of War was barefoot too—this really is a pure place.)

Even in the strict temple, rule-breakers urinated standing, so shoes were mandatory indoors.

In the city, every household tossed waste from windows—smell was normal.

Even the royal palace had no excretion rooms; people carried ceramic pots, or those without used hallway corners or gardens.

Nobles wore oddly high-heeled shoes to avoid stepping in waste.

Yet this place’s cleanliness?

Her own feet walking on the woven grass felt the dirtiest.

She almost felt sorry for stepping with such feet.

(There must be stricter rules than the temple… H-Hurry and find the room… or go outside!!)

Feeling her insides urging hurry, she rushed.

A white door blocked her path.

(This door is paper too!? Gods must love paper!?)

The handle area was indented with black metal, but otherwise wood frame with paper.

Fearing rough handling might tear another hole, she pushed gently—but the door only rattled, not opening.

(No knob, so it should be a sliding door!!)

Panicking from her moving insides, she didn’t notice the lack of hinges.

It rattled loudly with a bit more force, yet wouldn’t budge; she grew anxious.

(M-Maybe you have to push the handle area to open it, something like that!?)

The god’s castle was all oversized; her hands couldn’t reach.

“Uuu~~!!”

To avoid soiling the god’s castle, to preserve human dignity, she stretched desperately.

“What’s wrong? Need the bathroom?”

Her desperate cry must have been heard—footsteps approached from beyond the door.

“G-God of War-sama!!”

Heaven’s help indeed.

Her face lit up.

The pure white door slid sideways, revealing large feet.

“Ah, it slides open…”

For a moment, forgetting her urgency, she muttered.

“You okay? What do you need?”

The God of War knelt, meeting her eyes.

Seeing him up close again, his purity made her own filthiness embarrassing.

Skin without a single blemish, healthy enough to need no makeup.

An adult man, yet all teeth pure white, none missing.

No bad breath up close—in fact, a refreshing scent.

Hair without a single louse, not greasy, smooth enough to rustle.

Clothes without a spot or tear.

The hand stroking her head was rough but nails neatly trimmed, no dirt in sight.

No human she knew was this clean.

Even royalty weren’t.

“Uh…”

Talking excretion to this person—no, this god—felt incredibly shameful.

With military experience, she had relieved herself in open fields without care, yet now maidenly modesty rose.

“Uuu!!”

But her belly was nearing its limit, gurgling koro koro.

“Everything alright?”

Stared at by the God of War’s kind black eyes, words failed.

She had no shared language anyway.

No time to hesitate—limit approaching.

To preserve human dignity, she abandoned maidenly dignity.

Resolved, she gestured her need to relieve herself.

“~~~~~~”

She pressed her crotch with hands, legs flailing.

This conveyed intent beyond any language.

No matter the shame, she had to until understood.

“Bathroom! Got it!”

It got through.

The God of War panicked, scooped her up, and ran.

Beautiful things flashed by, but she was too busy clenching her lower body to preserve human dignity to think.

They reached one door.

“Here, go ahead!”

The God of War opened it and set her down inside.

“…?”

There was a beautiful white rug, brightly colored slippers, and a white chair-like object made of material she had never seen.

“Go on, inside.”

He gently pushed her back, urging her in.

“Eh? Eh? This is the excretion room? Here?”

The white rug didn’t look like something to soil.

No smell at all.

“Sit here.”

The God of War lifted the seat of the white chair and pointed underneath.

“It opens!!”

She gasped.

What she thought was the seat was actually a lid.

Beneath was a hole, with water pooled far below.

“Drinking water…?”

Why bring her here? Had her shameless gesture failed? Despairing, she pressed her crotch.

She was at her limit.

After maidenly dignity, now human dignity too…? Her will was losing to her protesting insides.

“Hold on! Don’t go yet—just wait! The seat—here! Lift it! Flush—wait!”

Behind her, the God of War shouted something in panic and ran off bata bata.

Abandoned even by the god, she gripped the edge of the water basin, body shaking.

What was she supposed to do here?

The basin was too tall—she could only cling to the rim.

She banged her head against it while enduring.

(Outside! Just get outside!!)

As she started moving clumsily, the God of War returned holding something.

“Got it… put this on the rim—there!”

He fitted what he brought onto the basin.

“Now sit—perfect!”

“Ahyah!?”

No time to resist.

In an instant, her lower clothes were removed, and she was seated on the basin.

“Eh!? What? What what? A-A-Aaaah!!!”

She let out a silly cry.

The shock of sitting spread-legged on the attachment broke her dam.

After holding so long, she couldn’t stop midway.

(It’s over… everything’s over…)

She drooped.

Soiling a water basin—of all places—she had thrown away human dignity with ease.

“It’s okay… all done now…”

The god muttered something, but she couldn’t even look up.

Soiling a water basin—divine punishment was certain.

A reverse coup from heaven to hell.

About to collapse, she grabbed the handrail in front.

“…?”

Smooth like ceramic, yet without ceramic’s coldness or fragility—strong enough to grip hard without breaking.

And completely lightweight.

(This is…!! The legendary divine metal, orichalcum!?)

She examined what she straddled.

The pure white handrail connected to a light-brown circle, supported by a red trapezoid.

Colors more vivid than any she’d seen.

“…?”

Behind the light-brown circle was another colorful small circle with carved symbols.

It practically begged to be pressed—she reached out.

“~~~♪ ~~~~~~♪ ~~~”

“Beep!!!”

Pressing the protrusion, music suddenly played from the circle; she jumped.

Unfamiliar melody—perhaps a music box was inside.

“Nice, right? It plays when you flush.”

In contrast to her leap, the God of War remained calm.

Nodding appreciatively, he reached for a shelf beside her.

“Here, use this…”

He pulled a cloth-like roll from a white cylinder on an iron rod kara kara.

“Wipe with this?”

He cut it to length and handed it over.

“…?”

She accepted, puzzled.

“Paper again!?”

And gasped.

Looked like thin cloth, but paper.

Fluffy, wonderful feel—yet tore with slight force.

Definitely paper.

Why did gods love paper so much?

She looked up questioningly; he tilted his head slightly.

“Like this. Wipe your bottom?” fu, ku

He said something and mimed wiping his own rear.

(N-No way!!)

Lightning struck her mind.

This soft, cloth-like paper—was for cleaning after excretion.

She hesitated, then wiped the uncomfortable area.

The god smiled and clapped pachi pachi.

Words didn’t connect, but praise was clear.

Perhaps—no, definitely—this was the excretion room.

Come to think of it, she had heard royalty sat on chairs with holes to relieve themselves.

In the god world, maybe they used this white chair.

(Amazing… feels like wiping with soft cloth…)

She marveled at divine technology.

(Dirty things should be bundled…)

Not wanting to lift the used paper, she let it drop—and the god clapped again.

That too was correct.

“Need more paper? Here.”

The god pulled more paper from the cylinder and handed it over; she gratefully used it.

(What now… my feet don’t reach the floor.)

Business done, but her feet dangled.

“Hieeee!!”

Struggling to get down, she was lifted by the god again.

Set on the rug,

“Here, pants.”

A small pair of pants was held out.

“Eh? Eh?”

“L-Legs. L-Legs!”

Surprised, he tapped her feet pon pon.

(N-No way—making a god kneel to put on footwear!?)

This wasn’t about human dignity anymore—it trampled divine dignity.

She panicked, but he waited, tapping pon pon.

“Kuh… A woman’s courage!! Bring on divine punishment!!”

With that, she jumped pyon and slipped both feet in.

“Good job.”

The god personally put them on, smiled, and nodded.

He removed the seat she had used, closed the lid.

Twisted a lever—water sounded inside the chair.

“Eh!? Water!?”

Startled, she tried to lift the lid; her hand was pulled away.

“No, no—don’t open. Just wash your hands here. Soap—wait, later. Water—turn—flush.”

He pointed to a ceramic basin by the entrance.

Curious about the lid, she was distracted by the basin.

Pure white, petal-shaped—beautiful even to her untrained eye.

Above it, a polished iron pipe.

“!!!!”

Water shot from the pipe.

Amazing device.

The god lifted her, let her touch the water.

Crystal clear—like forest streams.

Cold when dipped.

Not stored water.

“Soap—hold on.”

He stopped the water, took white liquid from a strange container, applied it to her hands.

(What…? Slippery… kinda gross.)

Confused by the liquid.

“Rub, rub. Like this? Rub, rub.”

Instructions unclear.

“Yo.”

He raised one foot, shifted to hold her steady.

Freed both hands, spread the white liquid on hers.

It spread nuru nuru, turned black drops pota pota onto the white basin.

“…Wow. So much dirt. Gotta scrub more—here, rinse…”

He muttered, rinsed her hands, applied more liquid.

Spread again—black drops again.

(He’s washing my hands…? What is this liquid…? Smells nice but turns black fast…)

She puzzled inwardly.

Watching, she noticed.

(Were my fingers this short…? I thought they were longer, thinner…)

She had never studied her hands closely, but they weren’t this stubby.

(Is it because the God of War’s hands are so big?)

While she pondered, he kept applying and rinsing.

“Soap up!!”

When the liquid foamed fluffy, he cheered.

The foam quickly dirtied, but rinsing revealed sparkling white skin.

“Waa!”

From wrist down, like someone else’s hand—she cried out.

Cracks remained, but shockingly clean.

The God of War dried them with supremely soft cloth.

(Amazing! Amazing!! My hands are luxury now!!)

Nails crooked, chipped, overgrown—but first time she thought her hands beautiful.

Even after pre-ritual ablutions, never this clean.

Joyful over her hands, she missed his tense face.

“Bath… bath time. Yeah… bath.”

If she listened closely, she might catch “bath.”

But she didn’t understand, so her future remained unknown.

Full wash.

Unaware, she let him rub fragrant oil-like substance into her hands, still marveling at their shine.