Information was power, and I'd spent the last three weeks gathering it obsessively.
The Valcrest estate's library was extensive—my father believed knowledge was another form of dominance—and I'd practically lived there since accepting the System's quest. Between dusty tomes on Church hierarchy and current affair reports from our intelligence network, I'd assembled a profile on Saintess Elara Lightbringer.
Age: Twenty.
Origin: Orphan raised by the Church after being found with innate holy magic.
Abilities: Healing, purification, minor blessing magic. Devastating holy smite when threatened.
Personality (according to the novel): Pure-hearted, naive, trusting, devoted to her goddess above all else.
Personality (according to my research): More complicated than that.
The reports from Church insiders—Father had spies everywhere—painted a different picture. Yes, Elara was devout and kind. But she was also isolated, sheltered to the point of imprisonment. The Church paraded her as their symbol of purity while restricting her every movement, every friendship, every choice. She'd never left Church grounds without a full escort. Never had a conversation unsupervised. Never been allowed to simply exist as anything other than the Saintess.
The novel had treated this as character flavor. Reading between the lines, it looked like a gilded cage.
"Young master?" A servant knocked hesitantly. "The information you requested."
I opened the door and accepted the sealed report. "Thank you. Dismissed."
The wax seal bore Father's crest—I'd requisitioned intelligence reports under the guise of "researching the Church delegation's arrival." Inside were route details, security arrangements, and...
I smiled.
There it was.
---
Three days later, I stood in a forest clearing twenty miles outside the capital, listening to screams.
The System interface pulsed at the edge of my vision:
[DYNAMIC EVENT DETECTED: Saintess Under Attack]
[Intervention Options Available]
[Warning: Heroic rescue may trigger Pure Love route - incompatible with Corruption objectives]
[Recommended: Strategic rescue with personal benefit emphasized]
"Noted," I muttered, checking my sword.
I wasn't the warrior the original Damien had been—three weeks of frantic practice had only brought me to "won't immediately die in combat"—but I'd brought insurance. A dozen mercenaries waited in the trees, well-paid to follow my orders and keep their mouths shut afterward.
The ambush had been almost too easy to arrange. Elara's route passed through this forest. Bandits operated in the area. A little gold in the right hands, and suddenly those bandits received information about a "lightly guarded Church caravan" taking this exact road today.
I'd simply ensured I'd be here first.
The sounds of fighting grew louder—steel on steel, shouts of pain, and underneath it all, a woman's voice chanting prayers. I signaled my mercenaries to circle wide and moved toward the chaos.
The scene was exactly as predicted. A overturned carriage, three dead Church guards, twice as many bandits, and in the center—
Elara.
Even disheveled and terrified, she was striking. Golden hair escaped from her formal headdress, blue eyes wide with fear but still defiant. Her white and gold robes were torn at the shoulder, and her hands glowed with flickering holy light as she held off two bandits with a barrier of divine energy.
"Stay back!" she commanded, her voice shaking but firm. "I am a servant of the Goddess! You will not—"
One bandit laughed and threw a rock. It bounced harmlessly off her barrier, but the impact made her flinch. The light flickered.
She was exhausted. The barrier wouldn't last much longer.
[OPPORTUNITY WINDOW: 47 seconds until barrier collapse]
[Hero arrival ETA: 6 minutes, 22 seconds]
[Recommendation: Intervene now]
I stepped into the clearing, hand on my sword hilt, voice carrying the aristocratic authority I'd been born—reborn?—into.
"Gentlemen. I believe you're harassing someone under my protection."
Every head turned. The bandits saw expensive clothes and a noble bearing. Elara saw... well, probably another threat, given her wide-eyed stare.
The bandit leader—a scarred brute with a notched blade—sneered. "Your protection? Pretty boy, you're alone and we're twelve. Walk away and we'll let you live."
"Thirteen, actually," I corrected mildly. "You missed the archer behind you."
The bandit's sneer faltered. He glanced back—
My mercenaries emerged from the trees with crossbows leveled. Thirteen professionals against a dozen opportunistic thugs was no contest. The bandits realized it simultaneously.
"This doesn't concern you, lord," the leader tried, backing toward his men. "Church business—"
"No." I drew my sword in one smooth motion—thank you, muscle memory—and leveled it at his chest. "This is my business now. You attacked a woman on Valcrest land. That makes it personal."
I gave them three seconds to see the mercenaries' fingers tightening on triggers, then smiled pleasantly.
"Run."
They ran.
My mercenaries lowered their weapons, not bothering to pursue. I'd paid them to intimidate, not slaughter. The bandits would spread word of the "noble who saved the Saintess," which would reach Father's ears and explain my presence here.
Perfect misdirection.
I turned to Elara, who'd let her barrier drop and was staring at me with obvious confusion and lingering fear.
"Are you hurt?" I asked, genuinely concerned despite myself. She looked ready to collapse.
"I... no. Thank you." Her voice was softer than in the clearing, exhaustion bleeding through. "You saved me. I don't know how to repay—"
"No repayment necessary." I sheathed my sword and approached slowly, hands visible and non-threatening. "Are you certain you're uninjured? You're trembling."
"I'm fine. Just... tired. The barrier takes much energy." She swayed slightly, then steadied herself with visible effort. "I should return to my escort, they must be—"
"Your escort is dead." I gestured to the bodies by the carriage. "All of them. The bandits were thorough."
The color drained from her face. "No. No, that can't—Sister Maria, she was just—"
I caught her elbow as she stumbled, steadying her. She flinched at the contact but didn't pull away, too shocked to manage propriety.
"I'm sorry," I said quietly, and meant it. Whatever else she was, she'd just watched people die protecting her. "But you can't stay here. More bandits may return, and you're in no condition to defend yourself."
"I can manage." The defiance returned to her voice even as she swayed again. "I just need to... to rest for a moment..."
[CORRUPTION OPPORTUNITY: Physical Contact - Intimacy +1]
[Warning: Excessive force will trigger negative affection]
[Recommendation: Genuine care with subtle boundary pushing]
She collapsed forward. I caught her properly this time, one arm around her waist, the other supporting her shoulders. She was lighter than expected, delicate despite the divine power thrumming faintly through her.
"Easy," I murmured. "You've exhausted yourself. Let me help."
She looked up at me, and for the first time we were close enough that I could see the individual flecks of silver in her blue eyes. This close, I could smell incense and something floral—rose oil, maybe—from her hair.
"I don't even know your name," she whispered, sounding lost.
"Damien Valcrest." I smiled slightly. "And you're Saintess Elara. Even forest bandits recognize you on sight."
"Just Elara," she said automatically, then seemed surprised at herself. "I mean—that is—"
"Elara, then." I shifted my grip slightly, supporting more of her weight as exhaustion pulled at her. "My estate is two hours' ride from here. Let me take you there. You can rest, send word to the Church, and continue to the capital once you've recovered."
Suspicion flickered across her face. "Why would you offer that? You're a noble. The Church and the nobility aren't exactly—"
"Allies?" I finished. "No. But I'm also not the type to leave an exhausted woman alone in a forest full of bandits. Give me a little credit."
She studied my face, looking for deception. I let her look. I was lying by omission—I'd arranged this entire scenario—but my concern for her immediate wellbeing was genuine. The System wanted me to corrupt her, but that didn't mean I wanted her dead or traumatized beyond recovery.
"Alright," she said finally. "But I'll send word to the Church immediately once we reach your estate. They'll be searching for me."
"Of course." I gestured to one of my mercenaries, who brought forward a horse. "Can you ride?"
"Not alone. Not right now." She looked embarrassed admitting weakness.
"Then ride with me." I swung into the saddle and extended a hand. "I promise I don't bite."
She hesitated one more moment—propriety warring with pragmatism—then accepted my hand and let me pull her up behind me. She settled against my back carefully, maintaining as much distance as possible while still holding on for balance.
[CORRUPTION OPPORTUNITY: Extended Physical Contact - Intimacy +2]
[First Impression Quest Progress: 40%]
[Note: Subject is sheltered and touch-averse. Gradual exposure recommended.]
"Hold tighter," I said as we started forward. "The forest paths aren't smooth."
Her arms tightened fractionally around my waist. Through my riding coat I could feel her heartbeat, still elevated from fear and exertion.
We rode in silence for a while, my mercenaries forming a protective perimeter. Elara's grip gradually relaxed as exhaustion overcame propriety, her head eventually coming to rest against my shoulder blade.
"You're not what I expected," she murmured, half-asleep.
"What did you expect?"
"Nobles usually... they look at me differently. Like I'm a symbol, not a person." Her voice was drowsy, honest in a way wakefulness might have prevented. "You just looked concerned."
Because I'd seen her almost die, because I'd arranged it, because guilt and calculation tangled together in ways I hadn't anticipated.
"You are a person," I said quietly. "The Church might prefer you as a symbol, but that doesn't make it true."
She didn't respond, her breathing evening out into sleep.
I adjusted my grip on the reins and kept riding toward the estate, very aware of the warm weight against my back and the glowing text at the edge of my vision:
[First Impression Quest Progress: 65%]
[Warning: Emotional attachment detected. Recommended to maintain objective perspective.]
[Current Affection Level: Grateful Stranger → Curious About Rescuer]
The sun filtered through the forest canopy as we rode, and I found myself thinking about cages—gilded and otherwise—and whether freeing someone from one story meant trapping them in another.
I'd figure out the philosophy later. For now, I had a saintess to shelter, a Church to deceive, and approximately five minutes before she woke up and remembered all the reasons she should be suspicious of me.
The game, as they said, was afoot.