SAINTESS [Chapter 157: The Sleepless Margaret] (Patreon)

“That blue-haired one, is that Winnie? I'd heard some rumors about him before, and sure enough, he's exactly as described. He doesn't possess a single trait of the Radiance Saintess. Where did he find the courage to call himself a descendant of the Goddess?”

“Those who have no shame are impossible to defeat. After all, it’s always the lowly weeds from some forgotten field that dare to dream of reaching the highest branches.”

“I heard his Soul Armament is actually a one-star armor-type, one of those obsolete kinds left behind by the times.”

“Hahaha! So this is how pathetic the so-called ‘descendant of the Goddess’ is? Only a one-star armor-type Soul Armament? Seems like they’ll accept just about anyone.”

“But I heard from some second-years that he's actually quite strong. A lot stronger than he looks, at least. Otherwise, how could he have reached the finals of the Chosen One Contest?”

“That's only a rumor. Who knows if it's true? Besides, you said it came from the second-years. Don't you know what their average level is? Juniors like Aesphyra and Isatia are the rarest of exceptions.”

“Tch, just look at that smug expression of him. He's acting as if he's the real deal. In a moment, a third-year senior will teach him a lesson in front of everyone and slap him right in the face.”

After hearing the name “Varelis,” many upperclassmen in the stands who had never met Winnie also recalled who he was, and comments about him erupted from all sides.

However, thanks to Winnie's longstanding infamy and the public opinion that had been brewing recently, most of them merely scoffed at him with disdain.

“Tell me, you lot aren't from the Kingdom of Camella, are you? You mean to say you've never heard of Winnie? That's hard to believe. His notorious reputation has spread far and wide. Everyone in Camella's royal capital, if not the entire kingdom, knows of this despicable noble.” A young nobleman from Camella chimed in.

“As far as you're concerned, this impostor's most outrageous deed was pretended to be a descendant of the Goddess. What you don't know is that this scoundrel has done far worse. If I listed them all one by one, I might not finish even after a full day and night.”

The young nobleman began enlightening the other spectators hungry for gossip.

"Oh? Do tell." For gossip lovers, few stories could be more captivating.

As the students around them discussed Winnie with increasing fervor, the students from the Church remained unusually quiet. They looked remarkably composed, sitting with their arms folded as they calmly listened, faint and nearly imperceptible smiles tugging at their lips.

"Lady Margaret?"

The Church students had gathered in one corner. Among them, Morgan looked worriedly at Margaret.

"Are you all right?"

Margaret said nothing. Her eyes were dazed and haggard, their gaze unfocused as she sat quietly in her seat without uttering a word.

Around her sat Church students from different years. There were freshmen who had only recently enrolled, second-years, and even the Rescaine siblings, who had previously made an appearance in the arena.

All of them remained silent, calmly watching the blue-haired young man emerge from the gate.

Hearing the other students around them discuss Winnie, Morgan looked as though he wanted to say something. Yet after glancing around at his fellow Church members, he held his tongue.

He was extremely concerned about Margaret, whose mental state had become increasingly erratic lately.

She often said that whenever she fell asleep, she would have peculiar dreams. She clearly had no memories of the things in those dreams, yet everything felt incomparably familiar.

And that was not the only strange thing.

Lately, Margaret had also begun saying things that contradicted what she had said before.

It left Morgan terribly worried about what was happening to her and why her condition kept deteriorating.

Now, for some inexplicable reason, Margaret had even begun suffering from insomnia.

“Your Holiness, there is no need to worry. With us here, he cannot harm you. No one can harm you.”

Alfonso sat calmly on Margaret's other side, his gaze fixed intently on Winnie in the arena.

Although he did not specify who “he” was, everyone knew.

Hearing this, Margaret listlessly glanced at Alfonso beside her and gave a slight nod.

“Morgan, Her Holiness has been suffering from insomnia lately. Take good care of her. I've already notified the Church and asked them to send over some calming potions. They should be on their way,” Alfonso said.

“The academy should have calming medicines as well,” Morgan replied.

“Can the healing potions produced by Carillian Academy compare with those of our Church?” Alfonso asked in return.

"Of course not."

That was the only answer Morgan dared give.

“Then there's no problem, is there?”

Alfonso glanced at Morgan before withdrawing his gaze.

Morgan nodded and fell silent.

In truth, only he knew that Margaret was not suffering from insomnia.

She was refusing to sleep.

She was afraid to.

Morgan didn't know why Margaret was afraid to sleep or whether it had anything to do with her dreams. However, whenever he asked her about it, she refused to answer. She seemed just as confused as he was, as though she couldn't make sense of what was happening to her.

Seeing how exhausted and worn out Margaret looked, Morgan couldn't bring himself to press her any further.

When someone is overwhelmed by negative emotions, they inevitably need someone to confide in. Margaret had admitted to Morgan that she wasn't unable to sleep, but rather afraid to, and had made him promise to keep it a secret.

Morgan could only agree.

In truth, he had a vague idea why Margaret did not dare let the other Church students know.

Regardless of what they truly think, whether they sincerely care about Margaret or were simply following their principles, they would all report this information to the Pope.

Margaret most likely did not want the Pope to know.

As for why...

Recalling everything that had happened recently, Morgan did not dare think any further.

He had only realized it recently himself, and the more he thought about it, the more he sensed just how enormous the hidden danger within the Church truly was.

It was so enormous that, once it exploded, the consequences would be immeasurable.

If something like that truly happened, would he be guilty for knowing the truth yet doing nothing?

If it caused massive casualties, or even brought incalculable losses upon humanity, would he count as one of the culprits?

Morgan had not slept well these past few days either. He had repeatedly pondered this question, yet dared not reveal his worries to his colleagues.

The psychological pressure weighing on him was immense.

He couldn't help raising his head and looking toward the blue figure in the arena.

Perhaps it was selfish, perhaps even wrong of him to think this way, but sometimes, he genuinely wished someone would step in and put an immediate stop to everything.

That person was unlikely to be Margaret.

Morgan supported Margaret wholeheartedly, but he also knew that all the authority held by the Radiance Saintess had been granted by His Holiness the Pope.

Without the Church, the Radiance Saintess was nothing.

So even if the Goddess truly opened Her eyes, that person would probably not be Margaret.

Then who could it be?

Whenever Morgan reached that point, he recalled the calamity and the sight of Winnie stepping forward.

After that, the Goddess had manifested.

At the thought, Morgan turned his confused and uneasy gaze, within which lingered a faint trace of hope, toward the arena.

There, the blue-haired young man had a spear slung over one shoulder and one hand tucked into his pocket. He walked toward the white line before stopping and standing straight.

"That's..."

Margaret, who had been holding her forehead, also raised her gaze. Her unfocused eyes regained a little clarity as they fell upon the blue-haired young man.

“Your Holiness, there's no need to concern yourself with him. He's nothing but a petty fraud who has deceived the world into believing he deserves a reputation he never earned,” Alfonso suddenly interjected. “Every grievance has its cause, and every debt has someone to repay it. Rest assured, he won't be hiding behind your family name for much longer.”

“He will inevitably suffer divine punishment.”

“We will reclaim everything that belongs to you, including the glory of Varelis.”

"Mm."

Margaret didn't look at Alfonso. She merely lowered her head, seeming to strengthen his words.

“Oh, come on, Big Brother. Don't hit him too hard right away. I actually hope that impostor can last a little longer.”

The gray-haired girl with twin tails leaned back with both hands behind her head, pouting.

After saying that, she raised a small pink fist with a wicked grin.

“Besides, there are still a few things I'd like to do to that face of his myself. He's thick-skinned enough to take it, isn't he?”

“It's not like I'm going to do anything serious to him. I only want to leave a few handprints on his face,” Charlotte said, disappointed.

“Honestly, Big Brother, do you still think I'm some little kid who only knows how to cause trouble? I just want to humiliate him a little and collect some interest for Her Holiness. What's wrong with that? He's allowed to steal someone else's surname and identity, but I'm not allowed to teach him a lesson and embarrass him in public?”

“This is Carillian Academy. Don't violate its rules while you're here.”

Alfonso calmly glanced at his younger sister.

“Besides, his trial must be reserved for the Holy City.”

"I know that, of course!"

“Come on, then! Let me see what the impostor I've been looking forward to can do. Don't get eliminated in the very first match of the finals, all right?”

As she spoke, Charlotte leaned closer, placing both hands on her black-and-white striped thigh-high stockings. She stared excitedly at the arena.

At that moment, Winnie had already reached the white line and was waiting. He could now see what his opponent looked like.

It was a young man whose hair was bound beneath a coronet. Several knife scars crossed his face, and one glance was enough to tell that he had an extremely wild temperament.

People like him were usually blunt when they spoke as well.

“Hey! So we finally meet! By noble etiquette, I should address you as Lord Varelis. But since you've stolen that surname, I think I'll just call you Mr. Impostor. Sounds more fitting, don't you think?”

Fein did not stop at the white line. Instead, he stepped over it and approached Winnie with a grin.

“Allow me to introduce myself. I am Fein Lyle, eldest son and first heir of House Lyle of the Tyrell Empire, the future Count Lyle.”

Fein's declaration caused quite a stir.

After all, he had shouted it very loudly. Ordinarily, given the arena's vast size and deafening noise, no one would have heard him, but he had even used amplification magic, allowing a considerable portion of the audience to hear every word.

Winnie raised an eyebrow.

He could already see through the man's intentions.

This fellow wanted to grandstand, using Winnie as a stepping stone to increase his own fame.

It was not a bad scheme.

After all, this was Carillian Academy, a place where nobles from various nations gathered. Any earth-shaking feat accomplished here will soon become known throughout the noble circles of every nation. His name would resound across the entire aristocratic world.

The idea was decent.

It was just far too ostentatious.

Still...

Everyone here was young, and young people naturally enjoyed the provocative trash talk before a fight, especially when the target was the infamous Winnie.

That alone made everyone interested in Fein Lyle, and his taunts soon drew amused laughter from the audience.

Fein thoroughly enjoyed running his mouth.

What he did not know was that several people in the stands were far from impressed by his behavior.

Among them was someone who outranked even his own superior's superior.

Once the other party had finished speaking, it was Winnie's turn.

What else could Winnie possibly say?

What a joke.

Although his experiences over the past two years had made him more mature and steady, when had he ever lagged behind anyone in a war of words?

When has he ever lost?

Thinking he was easy to bully, and that one could gain the upper hand over him verbally, was the greatest joke of all.

When it came to this sort of thing, who did they think Winnie was?

He had never once allowed himself to suffer a loss.

Had they forgotten that, in his previous life, he had been a level-eighteen veteran on that forum?

Winnie extended one hand and raised his thumb.

Then, right in front of Fein, he slowly rotated it one hundred and eighty degrees.

“This young master woke up in a perfectly good mood this morning, only to end up stepping in a steaming pile of dog shit! It wasn't particularly dangerous or conspicuous, but hell, was it disgusting! The stench was unbearable. The moment my foot came down, it squashed flat before I even had a chance to react, leaving my shoe covered in filth!”

Winnie leaned one hand against the Frostfang while giving his opponent a gesture of “approval” with the other. His expression was so arrogant and overbearing that he perfectly embodied the words “villainous young master.”

"Oh?"

Fein froze at those words. A moment later, he viciously sized Winnie up.

“Not bad, brat. It's been a long time since anyone dared speak to me like that.”

“Why wouldn't they? Because of that clump of chicken feathers on your head?” Winnie sneered. “Oh, right. Everyone who sees those chicken feathers is too scared to hit you. They're afraid of hurting someone with special needs.”

“Good brat. Just you wait!”

Iron claws sprang from each of Fein's metal gauntlets as his expression turned savage.

"Wait for what? For you to feed me those two chicken claws of yours?" Winnie asked cheerfully.

“Hmph. You've got quite a mouth on you, brat. If I recall correctly, your Soul Armament is armor-type as well, isn't it?”

“Today, I'll show you what a true armor-type Soul Armament looks like, and teach you how to use one.”

With that, Fein retreated behind his white line.

“Tch. All you know how to do is show off. You might as well endorse 'Shazhibi,'” Winnie said, rolling his eyes. (1)

"...What?"

Fein was left utterly bewildered by the insult.

Although he had no idea what Winnie was talking about, he knew the other party was insulting him, probably calling him a retard.

“Brother Winnie! You can do it! Go all out and beat that pretentious bastard to death!”

“Big Brother Winnie, you can't lose! You have to win!”

At that moment, the card players in the stands were not sitting idle either. They raised Winnie's banner high, becoming the only Winnie support squad in the entire audience.

Fein's provocation had united them. As though pumped full of adrenaline, they cheered Winnie on with all their might.

Unfortunately, Winnie couldn't hear them.

“The match is about to begin. Both contestants, stand behind your respective white lines,” the referee announced.

“Contestants, take your positions.”

"Let the match begin!"

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1 - Sazhibi = It's a Chinese soda drink and the name of Shakespeare in Chinese as for the relationship of showoff and endorsement I wasn't able to find. I will try to find and explain in next chapter.