CHAPTER 62: ROCHEL, THE CITY OF THE HOLY

A few days had passed since Medusa joined their little group, and in that short time, she had integrated herself so naturally that it felt like she had always been there.

Lillia, of course, wasted no time in claiming her.

From the first day, the little girl had run to Medusa with arms wide open, calling her "Mama" with a sincerity that could melt even the coldest heart.

Medusa had accepted it without hesitation, patting Lillia’s head with the kind of gentle smile that belied the fact she was a once-feared tyrant from another world.

She’d even gone so far as to acquire a maid outfit — not just any maid outfit, but the kind that could make grown men forget their own names.

A crisp black dress with frilled white lace, stockings that stopped just above the knee, and a ribbon tied neatly at the collar.

Azel had told her several times that there was absolutely no need for her to dress like that — she was a summoned hero, not some household servant but Medusa had been firm.

"As your direct servant, Master, I must be mindful of my position," she’d said, bowing with elegance that was suspiciously well-practiced.

In her world, she’d learned that men had an unexplainable weakness for maids, she’d heard about many kings and even Emperors impregnating their maids.

And Medusa, being both shameless and strategic, fully intended to use that knowledge to her advantage — starting with her master.

She wasn’t shy about imagining scenarios where he planted his seed while she was in uniform.

Azel suspected she was mentally writing a whole romance novel starring the two of them and he wasn’t wrong.

Still, her arrival had been a blessing. Not only was she powerful — easily stronger than most warriors in the Empire but she had a surprisingly warm presence around Lillia, and even Edna had warmed up to her.

Their journey had taken them away from the capital.

The Emperor himself had given Azel permission to delay his official mission, telling him to "relax for a bit."

Azel, however, had a different destination in mind — Rochel City.

This wasn’t just any stop. It was where the next heroine awaited him.

A very important one.

Saintess Rain.

Even before arriving in this world, back when she had only been a character in the game, Azel had admired her.

Rain had been portrayed as a kindhearted hero — the sort who would put her life on the line for the greater good without hesitation.

She’d been a bright light in a brutal story.

And she’d died horribly.

Accused of heresy, she had been burned at the stake while the so-called "hero" and her lover, Reinhardt had stood in the crowd, cheering the execution.

That moment had been when Azel truly realized the main character of this game was, to put it bluntly, an asshole.

Her death had more than just emotional consequences — in gameplay terms, losing the Saintess meant healing became harder, and potion prices skyrocketed.

But Azel’s reasons for wanting to save her went far beyond convenience.

He wanted to give her a different ending.

He’d done his research. He knew the exact chain of events that led to her downfall — and it started with her mother’s illness.

If he could save her mother now, Rain would avoid the depression and missed opportunities that had delayed her rise to sainthood.

And so, here they were.

The carriage rattled to a slow stop before the gates of Rochel City.

The gate guards took one look at Azel and straightened their backs.

"Welcome to Rochel City, Sir Azel," one guard said warmly. "It’s a pleasure to have you here. May the blessing of the Goddess be upon you."

The massive gates swung open, and the carriage rolled inside.

Rochel City was a marvel — a bustling hub of trade and faith, the largest trading city in the Empire and home to the Holy Church.

Almost every building bore a symbol of the Goddess, and the air itself seemed steeped in devotion.

Merchants called out their wares from colorful stalls, pilgrims walked in prayerful groups, and the streets were alive with the scent of baked bread, incense, and salt from the nearby river docks.

"Master, are you famous?" Medusa asked curiously, peeking out the window.

After all, the way the gate knights had greeted him with such respect wasn’t something you saw every day.

Before Azel could answer, Edna spoke up, her voice brimming with pride.

"Of course. Believe it or not, your master is the son of the Sword Saint — and one of the strongest swordsmen in the Empire."

Azel blinked.

’When did I become that?’

Still... she wasn’t wrong. Mastering the Dragon Saint style completely did put him on par with legendary figures.

"The Sword Saint?" Medusa’s eyes lit up.

She remembered a man by that title from her own world — a perverted old warrior who had once tried to peek under her skirt.

He had succeeded.

She had killed him.

Brutally.

’After all, only my master can see below or touch me.’

But for all his flaws, that old man had been a true force of nature with a sword — strong, impossibly fast, and wielding techniques that defied human limits.

He’d even known how to harness the planet’s rotation in his strikes.

And yet, Medusa was certain her master could surpass even him, given time.

"You can stop the carriage," Azel said suddenly.

The driver pulled to the side of the road.

Azel stepped down, brushing the dust from his cloak.

"I have something to do. You three can rent an inn. Medusa, meet me at the fountain later."

"Okay," all three replied at once.

They split up, the women heading toward the heart of the city while Azel took a side road.

His path was etched clearly in his mind — a straight shot to the marketplace where the Saintess’s mother would be working.

He had played it in her backstory after all since the game did show a part like this.

By this point in the original timeline, her illness would have entered its first phase — fever, fatigue, and a gradual paling of the skin.

The cure was simple if caught early. That was his mission today.

The marketplace was as lively as he remembered from the game — vendors shouting prices, children weaving between stalls, and the air thick with the aroma of roasted meat, spiced wine, and fresh fruit.

Azel recognized the street immediately.

The Saintess’s mother’s stall was supposed to be at the very end.

He wove through the crowd, eyes scanning each vendor until —

There.

Only... she wasn’t the sickly, pale woman he’d been expecting.

Instead, a lively woman stood behind the stall, her long blond hair catching the sunlight, her blue eyes bright and alert.

She was a clear reflection of the Saintess — her beauty undeniable.

Her posture was strong, her hands moving with practiced ease as she arranged goods.

There was no sign of illness at all.

"Oh, a new customer?" she asked when she noticed him approaching.

Her voice was warm, almost musical.

Then she tilted her head. "Are you a noble, perchance?"