Tsk.
Yuna’s mouth twitched almost imperceptibly as she turned her head away.
That clicking sound was even more jarring than a thunderbolt in the deathly silent room.
Upon hearing that click, Primrose felt as if struck by lightning; her expression instantly went from awkward to ashen.
It’s over. Completely ruined.
The dignified image of a deity she had painstakingly built had completely crumbled to dust in the heart of Yuna, the dutiful knight and maid.
Yuna must think they were having some kind of shady hentai orgy in the room.
Especially her, a goddess, sitting on the floor disheveled, with a horny saintess kneeling right next to her—no matter how you look at it, this scene is anything but innocent.
Moreover, Yuna seemed to have special feelings for Cecilia.
She was clearly offending Yuna to the extreme.
“Y-Yuna, it’s not what you think…”
Primrose opened her mouth, wanting to explain something.
“No, Goddess, you misunderstand. I just came to bring afternoon tea.”
Yuna didn’t give Primrose a chance to explain.
Expressionless, she walked to the round table in the corner of the room and set down the silver tray in her hand.
A few drops of black tea spilled from the teacup because she hadn’t held it steady.
Having done that, Yuna turned and strode out of the room.
The door was closed by Yuna from the outside.
Primrose closed her eyes in despair.
The label in Yuna’s heart for her had probably changed from the supreme goddess to a depraved goddess who messes around with her mom and a saintess.
…
Meanwhile.
In the distant bustling royal capital, Saint Roland, far from the border town Tattle Town.
Deep within the palace, Princess Saint Freya’s private bedchamber.
Outside the room was a huge open balcony filled with extremely precious red roses.
Sunlight poured unreservedly onto the balcony, and a gentle breeze brought waves of rich rose fragrance.
Saint Freya wore a pure white pleated dress with complex royal patterns embroidered on the hem with gold thread.
She sat gracefully on a luxurious chair interwoven with white and gold.
The cost of this chair was enough to buy the lives of hundreds of commoners in the outer ring.
On the round table was a cup of premium black tea still steaming.
Next to the tea was a magic crystal ball emitting a faint red glow.
Saint Freya extended a pale, slender finger and lightly tapped the surface of the crystal ball twice.
The red light in the crystal ball flickered a few times, then the image became clear, reflecting a blurry figure.
“Kantin~”
Saint Freya spoke.
Her voice was syrupy sweet, with a slight upturn at the end, sounding like an innocent little girl greeting her best friend.
But if you listened carefully, you’d find a bone-chilling coldness beneath that sweet voice.
“Our plan can finally begin.”
St. Freya said this slowly, with that trademark smile that held no warmth.
She had been waiting for this day for far too long.
From five years ago when she saved Buck and planted him as a secret agent in the border town, she had been playing a long game.
She watched her foolish older brothers and nobles play the pig-raising game of harvesting commoners, watching them throw the kingdom into chaos.
She had been enduring it all along, pretending to be a delicate princess with no interest in royal power, indifferent to the world.
Because she was waiting for an opportunity.
An opportunity to sweep all this trash into the garbage at once.
Now, the Goddess Primrose had descended.
This greatest opportunity was the perfect beginning for her to tear off her disguise.
“Your Highness the Princess, the Goddess says she’s going to the Miracle Snowfield.”
A voice came from the other side of the crystal ball.
“Oh? The Miracle Snowfield?”
Saint Freya raised an eyebrow and set down her teacup.
“To retrieve the legendary Hero’s Holy Sword and armor? Hmm, I see.”
St. Freya nodded. “The Goddess is quite pragmatic.”
“However, that’s just a legend; the Holy Sword and armor may not actually exist.”
A hint of worry appeared in St. Freya’s words.
Soon, she changed the subject.
“Mm… by the way.”
“My second brother, Prince Zeweier, just used a bunch of high-sounding nonsense to fool Father King in the council hall, and he’s already set off to find the Goddess.”
At this point, St. Freya couldn’t help but snicker. “But, you see, I had someone sabotage the teleportation array from the royal capital to Tattle Town.”
“Now he can only ride those stinky pet wyverns, lugging a bunch of cumbersome supplies, flying slowly.”
“However…” St. Freya drew out the word, her tone becoming like a spoiled child’s.
She tilted her head slightly, and her smile turned extremely eerie.
Due to the tilt, a strand of her golden hair slid sideways, just covering her light red left eye, leaving only her right eye, filled with malice and mockery, visible.
“Although the Goddess is about to leave for the Miracle Snowfield, just in case… I don’t want him to meet the Goddess.”
“That pig with a head full of fat who only knows how to oppress commoners—how is he worthy of standing before the Goddess and dirtying her eyes?”
“Kantin, what do you think we should do?”
On the other side of the crystal ball, there was another brief silence.
Two seconds later.
That cold and resolute voice came through without a moment’s hesitation.
“I’ll arrange for my men to intercept him.”
“Please rest assured, Your Highness. I guarantee that before the Goddess departs for the Miracle Snowfield, the second prince will absolutely not reach Tattle Town.”
Hearing this satisfactory answer, St. Freya’s smile deepened.
“Then I’ll leave it to you, Kantin. Don’t let me down.”
St. Freya cut off the crystal ball communication, leaned back in her chair, and looked at the blooming red roses on the balcony, in a wonderful mood.
…
Meanwhile, at the Royal Ranch on the outskirts of the royal capital.
This was where the royal mounts were raised, ordinarily accessible only to high-ranking nobles and royal family members.
At this moment, Second Prince Zeweier was laboriously climbing onto the back of a huge two-legged wyvern.
His extremely short and fat body was squeezed tight by a set of gorgeous but extremely constricting light knight armor.
The fat on his belly bulged against the armor, making him look like a meat zongzi wrapped too tightly and about to burst at any moment.
Dozens of fully armed royal knights stood around; they were the honor guard responsible for escorting the second prince.
These were all forcefully foisted upon Zeweier by the first prince with great fanfare, under the pretense of a loan, but in reality to participate in the audience with the Goddess.
In Zeweier’s eyes, this was merely Atticus’s final writhing struggle.
In any case, the main credit would definitely go to him, so it wouldn’t hurt to take pity on his elder brother and let him have a sip of the broth.