The Saint Wants to Rest - vanish into fiction

Returning to the luxury hotel suite where he was currently staying, he tossed off his outer coat and buried himself deep into the sofa. The room was silent, but his mind was a messy tangle of images featuring the two people he had seen at the training ground.

Vladimir picked up the tablet PC lying on the table. As usual, he played a gruesome video of Vermouth slaughtering demonic beasts in a dungeon, but today, he could not concentrate at all.

His finger hovered over the search bar before eventually typing in a different name.

[Regnasia, Ian]

Compared to Vermouth, the number of videos related to Ian was incredibly small. This was because he rarely entered Gates in person, and even the videos that were filmed had not been released by the Management Bureau.

Consequently, it did not take long to watch all the footage. Vladimir tilted his head while watching. The Ian in the videos felt different from the one he had seen in person. The way he radiated light was free and sublime.

“To feel this way about a Healer.”

It was strange. To figure out the reason behind this oddity, Vladimir pulled up videos of Vermouth and Ian side by side, watching them alternately.

Vermouth, the absolute tyrant to monsters. And the noble Saint who held the leash of that tyrant while smiling languidly.

The image of Ian avoiding eye contact with a flushed face at the training ground overlapped with the image of Vermouth blindly kissing Ian’s wrist.

Vladimir reached a complete conclusion regarding the relationship between the two. It was not a simple relationship between a Saint and a guardian knight. It was clearly a deeper bond than that.

‘But…’

Vladimir tilted his head in confusion.

The knight he worshipped as an idol had surrendered his leash to another. As a fan club branch manager, it would be normal to feel displeased or betrayed. It would be natural to feel anger and jealousy toward the Saint.

Yet, strangely, he did not feel that way at all.

Rather, the more he recalled that scene, the more his heart swelled with a strange sense of euphoria. The composition of a violent beast kneeling before a dazzling Saint suited them so perfectly, both visually and narratively.

“Just what is this emotion?”

Seized by a bizarre feeling he had never experienced in his life, Vladimir tossed and turned all night before finally resolving to ask Ian, the party involved, directly.

***

To confirm the production of the badges to be sent to Russia, Vladimir visited the temporary logistics warehouse of the Order.

Tens of thousands of badges were piled in the center of the warehouse, and Ian was emitting a white, holy energy toward the heap. Vladimir was captivated as he witnessed the brilliant miracle. It was a pure and massive power, distinct from martial force.

After the ritual ended, Ian approached while wiping away sweat. As always, Vermouth was attached to his back like a shadow.

“How does it feel to witness the process?”

At Ian’s calm voice, Vladimir snapped back to his senses. He gave the badges a half hearted glance before tossing out the question that had been stuck in his throat for several days.

“Saint Ian. May I ask you one thing?”

“What is it?”

“What exactly is the relationship between you and Mr. Vermouth?”

Ian’s eyes widened into circles for a moment. He had not expected such a private question to be fired at him in a professional setting. Vermouth glared at Vladimir with frigid eyes.

However, Ian wiped away the momentary fluster and spoke with his characteristic smile.

“Us?”

Ian naturally leaned his body against Vermouth’s solid shoulder and declared calmly.

“We are lovers.”

The air inside the warehouse seemed to stop at that single phrase. Vermouth took a sharp breath at the unexpected public declaration, his ear tips turning red, while Vladimir froze on the spot as if he had been struck in the head with a blunt weapon.

“Lovers?”

“That is correct. Is there a problem with that?”

“No, no it isn’t.”

He didn’t know how time passed after that. Vladimir looked around at the badges like a man who had lost his soul before heading outside.

“Lovers.”

Vladimir clutched his racing heart. He then stumbled into his car. While returning to the hotel, he fell into deep agony as he stared out the window.

‘As a fan, I should naturally only support Mr. Vermouth and feel pity that he is being restrained.’

But recalling Ian’s divine and alluring appearance, he was beginning to quite like him as well. No, rather, it was magnificent. Both the way Vermouth offered blind affection toward Ian and the way Ian accepted that affection as if it were natural made his heart race.