The Final Task of the Forsaken Saint: A Command to Marry the Barbarian Count - Chapter 31

Prince Emilian of Lumierst, second in line to the throne, walked through the palace corridors with a sense of superiority and satisfaction. His betrothed, the Saintess Rafiné, followed quietly a step behind. Courtiers and nobles bowed as they passed, their eyes trailing him with respect. It was a fitting sight—him, the war hero, and the revered Saintess by his side.

(Things are finally as they should be. That unruly commoner girl they forced on me before—who only stirred up trouble when I tried to put her in her place—was the real problem. She dared defy me, even after all I did for her. Insufferable!)
Remembering the humiliation she caused during the ceremony, Emilian clicked his tongue. He despised the golden eyes that looked at him without fear or deference. Eyes that judged him as if he were lesser, even though she was nothing but a commoner—a tool, born to be used by those in power. He relished discarding her, a lesson she sorely needed.

(But that’s in the past. Now she’s been banished to the frontier, a place where magic is loathed. No doubt she’s being treated like dirt, unable to use her vaunted powers. Serves her right. I have more important things to focus on—my role as a high-ranking official with a noble purpose.)

“Rafiné, keep up! Walk by my side!” he commanded.

“My apologies,” Rafiné murmured, dipping her head as her pale blonde hair swayed.

Her quiet compliance and beauty satisfied Emilian’s sense of dominance. Women, he thought, should always be this way.

“Emilian, what a coincidence.”

The voice he least wanted to hear echoed down the hall. Prince Curtis, his half-brother and the first prince, was leaning casually against a wall. The smirk in his voice made Emilian’s skin crawl.

He knew Curtis was waiting for him, despite the feigned surprise in his tone. But Curtis was the crown prince, higher in rank than Emilian, which forced him to curb his anger.

(My mother’s lineage is nobler; I should be the one to inherit the throne. Yet this man always looks down on me!)

“I’m quite busy,” Emilian replied tersely.

“Oh, I know. You’re heading to the meeting about the monster sightings in the Granary region, aren’t you?”

The statement was accurate. Recently, reports of monster attacks in the southeastern Granary region had come in. Witness accounts suggested that man-eating plants, the feared Maneaters, were spreading, and local lords had appealed to the crown for aid.

The situation necessitated the deployment of military and magical forces, and Emilian was set to lead the selection meeting.

While he found it tiresome to cater to such requests, Emilian knew that any military action would bolster his reputation. He had intended to assign an uninspired unit to the task.

Curtis continued, explaining in a calm tone, “You know, Granary isn’t just a vital breadbasket but also holds an important trade route. His Majesty is quite keen on seeing this resolved swiftly.”

Curtis’s smile didn’t reach his eyes; they were cold, assessing. Emilian detested that look, which always made him feel as if he were being evaluated—and found lacking.

(How dare he imply I’m unfit! I already planned on handling it. Just let him see.)

“I am aware, brother. However, the military is under my jurisdiction. Your interference is overstepping,” Emilian retorted.

“Just concern from an older brother, nothing more,” Curtis replied smoothly.

Liar! You’ve never cared for me.

“If the Maneaters truly are what we’re dealing with, collaborating with the royal mages should be considered,” Curtis suggested, his tone taking on an unusual seriousness.

Emilian’s temper flared at the perceived slight. “The military has never needed to rely on the mages to handle its affairs! We’ve managed before, and we’ll manage again!”

Curtis’s eyes flickered briefly, as if he were about to say more but then thought better of it. “Very well. I wish you success.”
Emilian stormed off, Rafiné in tow.

(The nerve! It’s just another monster hunt. Dispatching a battalion is enough. We’ll handle it as always.)

But as the meeting began, Emilian’s confidence was shaken. When the generals and commanders heard the reports from Granary,
their faces darkened, and silence settled over the room.
“What’s wrong with you all? This is a chance for glory. Who will step up?” Emilian demanded.

Still, no one volunteered, and eventually, an officer spoke up.
“If the issue is indeed Maneaters, our forces should be deployed, but this will require full support, both in manpower and resources, Your Highness.”

“Nonsense! One battalion is sufficient, just like before.”
The officer’s frown deepened. “Your Highness, do you understand what Maneaters are capable of?”

“It’s just a plant that feeds on people! Burn it down and be done with it. Why hesitate? You disgrace the name of Lumierst’s army!”

Emilian’s patience wore thin as he drummed his fingers on the table. Finally, whispers passed among the generals, who cast furtive glances at him. They were stalling, passing the task around as if it were a burden, which baffled him.

A senior officer broke the silence. “Would the Radiant Saintess be accompanying the troops, then?”

At the mention of her name, memories of red hair and golden eyes flooded Emilian’s mind. Anger boiled over, and he slammed his fist onto the table.

“Why bring up that name?!”

“Apologies, Your Highness! It’s just that, in such operations, you would often assign the Radiant Saintess to lead. We assumed…” the officer stammered.

Realization struck Emilian: previous meetings had concluded so quickly because he had always assigned Rubel to handle them. She never refused, only gave him that cold, assessing look and said:
“If I leave it to you, the casualties will be too high. I’ll go myself.”

That arrogance infuriated him, so he ordered her to fight alone. He expected her to falter, but she always returned unscathed. At first, he’d been skeptical about her single-handed victories, but the day she tossed a monster’s severed head at his feet, he’d felt a twinge of something he’d never admit.

A general, grave and unsmiling, spoke up. “This operation requires coordination with the mages. We can’t handle this alone. It would be ideal if a court mage joined, but…”
“The mages rarely leave their tower!” Emilian shouted. “We have army mages, do we not?”

“Indeed, but for Maneaters… I doubt they’d respond to such a threat,” the general sighed.

“Then I will lead the operation!” Emilian declared, his voice harsh. “With Rafiné, the Saintess of Healing Waters, at my side, there will be no issue!”

All eyes turned to Rafiné, who blinked slowly before replying in a soft, detached voice. “I will do as His Highness commands.”
Relieved by her answer, Emilian’s chest swelled with pride. The generals finally bowed in reluctant agreement.

“As you wish, for the sake of Lumierst.”

“It should have been that simple from the start,” Emilian said smugly.

If I led the last war to victory, this mission should be no different. It will be handled just the same.

As the meeting resumed, Emilian leaned back, assured that he had proven his point.