"Hm?"
Angel Elaviel furrowed her brow slightly, disoriented by her arrival in the mortal realm.
By all accounts, she should have awakened in a grand holy city, baptized by gospel, greeted by thousands of cheering faithful. She was meant to rise from a pristine realm, leading the crusade against demons.
In the seconds following her descent, she understood this. Though she'd existed only as a symbol in the realm of fantasy, formless and unaware, her manifestation made her real, with a clear mission: to restore the world.
But why had she awakened in this shabby, dilapidated place? Who was this man before her? And what was this sticky substance on her face?
Though born with innate knowledge, Elaviel was like a newborn in that moment, her mind flooded with questions, leaving her bewildered. Her pale golden eyes scanned her surroundings with calm precision.
Truman tucked himself back into his pants, mildly surprised by the angel's demeanor. Unlike his previous summons—ecstatic or enraged—this one was calm, almost detached.
She really seemed like a deity… if you ignored the globs of thick, jelly-like seed on her face.
Yes, the master-servant contract was sealed. Her flawless face was smeared with white—on her lips, the corners of her eyes, her cheeks, even streaking her golden hair. The sight marred her sacred beauty, yet it lent her a perverse allure, like a fallen saint.
"Hey, babe, what's your name?" Truman asked with a sleazy grin. Who could stay composed knowing such a stunning angel was their sex slave?
Elaviel ignored his crude address. To her, the man was dust—neither a threat nor useful. She noticed the uncomfortable stickiness on her face, frowned faintly, and the globs of seed peeled away, dissipating into the air.
Thankfully, she lacked worldly knowledge of such profane acts, or Truman would've faced her wrath.
She spoke, her voice like a celestial hymn, layered with faint sacred chants. "I am Elaviel. Where is this place? Who are you?"
High and aloof, with a voice as perfect as her form… Truman was thrilled, itching to ravage her then and there.
He steadied himself and said, "This is my home. I'm Truman, and I'm also—"
Before he could say "your master," Elaviel stood and walked toward the door. The filth and dust on the floor parted, as if afraid to touch her.
"Hey, don't go out!" Truman shouted, issuing a command for the first time to such a creature.
Her steps paused. A faint, ethereal chain flickered around her but vanished quickly. Hindered, she stopped, pondered, and turned to look at Truman.
Only then did he realize he'd finally caught her attention. Their earlier exchange wasn't dialogue—she'd been questioning the world itself, and he was no different from the dust on the floor. Was that why she didn't care about being defiled?
Her melodious voice rang out. "Some sort of… contract spell? Crude, but effective."
She seemed unbothered by being bound, merely assessing the master-servant contract's merits. Then, ignoring Truman's command, she stepped into the warm sunlight outside.
"How's that possible?!"
Truman's heart plummeted, gripped by sudden terror. He'd fucked up.
Why could she ignore the contract's binding?
Cold sweat trickled down Truman's back. Thank the heavens he'd spoken playfully earlier—had he angered this divine being, he'd likely be dead without knowing how.
His emotions churned like a chaotic stew: relief at surviving, regret over losing his angelic prize, and gnawing anxiety.
Beyond his lustful, depraved otaku persona, he was still a rational man.
An angel's appearance was massive news, and she'd emerged from his room. If anyone traced her back to him, he'd be doomed.
Moving now was too late. He could only leave it to fate. Truman gave a bitter smile. You play by the river, you get wet. Crashing and burning with an angel wasn't a total loss—at least he'd gotten a good jerk out of it.
If only he'd gone all the way, death might've been worth it! Gritting his teeth, he decided sitting around was pointless. Throwing caution to the wind, he followed the angel's trail.
Elaviel walked barefoot through the slum's streets, her elegance and divinity undimmed by the surrounding decay.
Her consciousness spread, touching every corner. She saw the slum's joys and sorrows, the suffering of vagrants, and the rampant sins festering in this place.
As the Lord's arbiter, Elaviel bore majesty and wrath, but as an angel, she also held compassion. Her role wasn't just to smite evil but to guide God's children to paradise, to eternal bliss.
Surveying the scene, a faint sorrow touched her picturesque features. She clasped her hands and prayed, "May the Lord's glory illuminate every corner of the earth."
Sunlight dappled her face, casting her as a transcendent messiah, holy and radiant.
"She's stunning…" Truman muttered, catching sight of her as he followed.
Then he noticed something odd. "Why's no one else seeing her?"
Indeed, countless passersby hurried along, yet none spared a glance for the breathtaking angel. It wasn't that they couldn't see her—they simply didn't care, as if she existed on a different plane, untouchable by mortals.
Was this the fabled angel's halo? Truman's eyes widened in confusion, but he kept his distance, trailing silently.
He watched Elaviel linger before the white church where he prayed daily, then turn away.
Truman dared not follow further. He spotted an enforcer cultivator arriving on a flying sword. If Elaviel clashed or conversed with them, his fate would be grim either way.
"God, is this my karma? Play by the river, and you get soaked…"
Defeated, Truman slunk back to his shabby room, offering his first truly devout prayer for his life.
To his surprise, before he finished, Elaviel returned.
She pushed the door open, glided past Truman praying at the table, and settled in the spot where she'd been summoned, as if she'd never left.
Elaviel's expression was solemn yet aloof, her golden hair cascading over her shoulders as she sat silently on the floor, like a living statue.
Truman barely kept his face in check, sweat beading on his skin. He never imagined this divine being would return of her own accord. The world was hers to roam, yet she chose to linger in his cramped shack. Why?
Definitely not for his charm… Truman forced a wry smile, too wary to speak or leave, fearing he'd anger this formidable presence. Instead, he grabbed the parchment scroll from the table and pretended to study it.
He'd long memorized the ritual's requirements, but the properties of occult materials still eluded him—crucial knowledge for his future pleasures.
What a waste of materials… Truman's heart ached. This hobby was his sole joy in this lonely world, each set of materials granting days of ecstasy. Now it was all for nothing. He couldn't demand them back—she hadn't even retaliated for his earlier defilement. One wrong word, and he might become the material.
"What kind of angel is this? Ignoring the master-servant bond, escaping a third-tier cultivator unscathed, and now meditating here like nothing happened?"
Truman stole glances at her. Her breathtaking beauty was suffocating, but her detached demeanor made her seem like an emotionless weapon.
Sensing his scrutiny, Elaviel turned her head. Truman broke into a cold sweat, realizing he'd gone from dust to a skittering ant in her eyes.
To distract himself, he poured all his focus into the scroll. But a celestial voice sounded beside him.
"Is this how you summoned me?" Elaviel's tone was flat, a statement more than a question.
"Y-Yes!" Truman answered hastily, briefly recounting the summoning process.
"That's how you came to this world," he concluded.
"I shouldn't be here." A rare trace of emotion—confusion, uncertainty—colored her voice.
"It's a bit run-down, but it's livable…" Truman muttered, aware of his home's squalor.
"I was meant to descend in the holy city at the world's edge, leading the faithful against the abyss, not wasting time here…" She spoke less to Truman than to the alien world, her words tinged with the vulnerability of an abandoned child, despite her vast knowledge.
The holy city? Was she meant to be summoned by the Church's elite to fight demons? Truman, a long-time churchgoer, knew of the holy city—the Federation's capital, the Cross Church's sacred heart, untouchable by demonic forces, a terrestrial paradise for believers.
The Federation was one of the world's few powers, its influence surpassing even the Demon Suppression Division. Its relentless missionary work had spread faith like a plague across continents.
So, this angel was likely a high-tier fifth-realm powerhouse, perhaps touching the legendary tier! No wonder she feared no enforcer…
Truman's mind raced, piecing together the truth behind this summoning mishap.
Feeling confident, he carefully produced the small cross and spoke cautiously. "Forgive my boldness. I'm a devout follower of the Cross Church. May I ask, honored Elaviel, why do you linger here?"
After a long pause, her voice drifted as if from beyond. "The Almighty Lord placed me here for a reason. I will build Eden in this place…"
If I said it was an accident, would you believe me? And what's Eden—a kiddie park? Truman snarked inwardly but kept his face reverent, even tracing a cross over his chest.
To Elaviel, she wasn't a bloodthirsty angel. Though a mythical arbiter, the Lord's thunder against sin and demons, she spared His followers unwarranted slaughter.
Thus, despite Truman's relative noisiness compared to other mortals, she showed no malice. As a mythical archangel, her will was fate itself—a mortal's life or death hung on her whim, and even this vast, unfamiliar city could fall with a flick of her hand.