Inside the confessional.
Within the dim, cramped room.
Silas's curiosity had been completely satisfied as he poured out his words.
As expected, finding the actual Sister Rose in reality felt unrealistic. Even if her voice sounded familiar... despite being colder, it still felt like home.
So he had spoken a few extra words.
Fortunately, he hadn't said much about how he had fucked the Sister into submission. If he had talked about his sexual history with a nun while sitting in a confessional with a real nun on the other side... he could have been slapped with a charge of sacrilege or heresy, which would be a death sentence.
Bang.
But just as he rose to leave, the small door of the confessional swung open.
"?"
Through the gloom, Silas caught a blurry glimpse of a nun whose habit was slightly different from the others.
"Sister... why did you come out?"
"..."
She didn't speak.
Suddenly, a sharp pain shot through Silas's neck.
It was the Sister. Taking advantage of the enclosed, poorly lit space, she used a tentacle sprouting from her foot to physically knock him unconscious. This was a trick she had learned from Fiona.
She was calm.
She had many suspicions.
For instance, could someone have guessed the Saint faked her death? Perhaps remnants of the Roman Church or other factions who had fled back then discovered her secret and sent someone on purpose.
Among the survivors who escaped the fog zone, everyone had only seen Fiona.
But according to Fiona, she had been separated from the other survivors by the thick fog. It wasn't certain that no one else had made it out.
If someone had lived and been found by those people... it wouldn't be strange for them to know her secrets.
Everything was too coincidental.
Were they testing if she could still kill? Trying to control her?
"..."
Rose looked at the illusory "Silas" beside her—the hallucination that had accompanied her until now.
"Holding onto hope even while knowing it's impossible... do you find me pathetic?"
"..."
"I plan to kill him. If he had just come to kill me, I wouldn't be this angry. But..."
Wearing that face, weaving and confessing those specific memories. It filled the Sister with an extreme, murderous rage.
The Multi-Rabbits, the White Whale. The fact that those who emerged from the fog didn't mutate, lived long lives, and kept their youth... all of it was the handiwork of those people.
Manufacturing a "Mr. Silas" wouldn't be hard for them.
She could hear people outside getting a bit noisy; it seemed they were impatient that no one had left the confessional for so long.
"..."
"You would hate this too, wouldn't you?"
A mass of tentacles erupted from the Sister's navel, beginning to coil around Silas's body.
She just had to close her eyes.
If she couldn't even do this, how could she talk about executing the criminals who were still at large?
Elena and the others had suffered enough.
This kind of thing, she would do alone...
"...The Crest."
"..."
She couldn't do it.
She heard the man muttering in his sleep.
"...Where, to find. A replacement... someone so slutty."
"..."
"My... Sister."
"..."
It was almost instinctive.
The Sister remembered many things. Things she only learned after holding Silas's corpse at the very end.
A corpse can't brush its own teeth; she had to help him.
Because it was a corpse, he wouldn't open his mouth to respond when they kissed; she had to use her tongue to pry it open.
Taking care of him to the absolute limit meant she truly knew Silas's body inside and out.
She pried his mouth open.
The teeth... there was a wisdom tooth near the molars.
The size of his wrist, and the way it felt when pressed against her breasts, making them spill out slightly.
And... there, beneath the curly hair, a tiny little bump. Perhaps a mole.
Plus, his buttocks. Unlike her own blemish-free skin, he had marks—marks he said came from sitting at work for too long.
"..."
Silas seemed to show signs of waking up.
Logically, the Sister should have finished him off.
Instead, she just watched as Silas blearily opened his eyes and reached out his hand.
"...Rose?"
"..."
Her breasts were groped first.
With that same lewd technique.
Wait, what should she do?
The Sister looked to the side where the "hallucination" should have been, only to find that in the narrow room, the so-called "soul" was long gone.
"?!"
The warm area between her legs was also touched.
"Little chef, are you hungry for it again?"
"Just who are you..."
The familiar words actually forced the Sister to retract her tentacles.
"..."
But the expected scene of Silas showing his true colors in fear didn't happen; he just lightly pushed the obstructive tentacles aside.
"Where's the ring? Why aren't you wearing it?"
"..."
"Forget it, let's just sleep."
"..."
She didn't understand.
Even her sister didn't know about the crest or the tentacles. She didn't believe Fiona would leak the secret.
Even if someone knew, wouldn't they be terrified facing her? Could they fake it to the point of casually holding her to sleep?
A tentacle hovered at the tip of Silas's nose. Another at his chest, ready to end his life at any second.
"...The spiral thrust mentioned in the notes, when do we use it?"
It was nothing; he was just unconsciously kneading her breasts.
The body heat, the breath—the body was real. Not a hallucination.
"Archbishop, are you still there? The believers outside are getting anxious. They say it's been an hour without a confession finishing. Have you run into trouble?"
The Abbess's voice came from outside the door.
"...No. This man just has too many sins."
Rose didn't allow anyone to enter, using her plump white mounds to smother Silas's face.
No matter how close they were, it wasn't enough. The notes were a secret between her and him.
In the afternoon.
Silas woke up in a guest room of the convent.
"Groom lad, what did you confess? Taking a long time is one thing, but I heard you fainted in the confessional."
A nun brought him a cup of water.
Gulp, gulp.
Silas drained it in one go. He sat on the bed, utterly confused.
Would she believe him if he told her?
He seemed to remember Rose walking out of the confessional, and then he went at her fiercely. He even used some abstract spiral thrusting. Game aftereffects?
"..."
Silas suddenly shuddered and reached into the blankets to check.
Luckily, it wasn't a wet dream. If he had actually come inside the confessional, the church would have charged him with sacrilege instead of letting him lie here.
"Alright, I'll go call the Archbishop. Since she personally performed the prayer for you, she's very concerned about your condition."
"..."
After the nun left, Silas looked at the setting sun outside the window.
How did he fall asleep? And those visions.
There was still a noble lady back at the Lord's manor waiting for him to fetch her horse... he hadn't even gone back to report after delivering the statues. Isn't he fucked?
Tap, tap.
He heard footsteps.
Silas's attention was immediately drawn to the door.
Soon, he saw a familiar figure, and for a moment, he almost slapped his thigh.
"How was your rest?"
"..."
Silas had just drank water, yet his throat still felt parched. Because the person appearing before him wasn't just similar to Rose—there was zero difference.
The curve of her breasts, the fleshy thighs wrapped in black silk. Except for the habit being different from his memory, there was no difference at all.
"Mr. Groom?"
"Ah, it was good."
Impossible.
If the vision was real, how could he feel nothing after such a fierce session? And he could still get this hard.
"Excuse me... are you Archbishop Sia Rose?"
"Hmm? Have you heard of me?"
"I have. Archbishop Sia, I've known of your great name for a long time."
"I don't have much fame; I was only recently promoted to Archbishop."
"Sorry, I'm still a bit tired and can't salute you."
Silas withdrew his gaze.
"It's alright."
"I wanted to say that the sins you confessed in the room have been forgiven by God Noe."
"..."
Shit.
Why did I confess to a nun? What do I even have to confess?
Great, now it was a confession directed by the Archbishop herself. I can't look anymore; if I keep looking, my "son" truly won't go back down, and I won't be able to get out of bed.
"...Is that so?"
He felt this woman's heart—and chest—were as big as Rose's. No, her name was literally Sia Rose. What the hell is with this trash game?
The characters in the game... weren't original, but copied from reality?
If their personalities were the same, could he develop this one into the Sister who belonged only to him in the simulation?
But that wasn't right either.
Even if the smile she gave was equally gentle and seemingly all-encompassing, and her body and black silk were the same, the one before him wasn't the Sister who would pull open her slit and invite him in.
"I'm very sorry, perhaps I'm a bit malnourished. Sorry for the trouble."
The "Love and Trials" mini-game helped him blur the heavy emotions, and now Silas was coming to terms with it himself.
On the other side.
The Sister watched him from the window until he was gone, then returned to the table.
She picked up a quill to write a letter.
[To my dear sister, Elena]
[I have a very important matter to tell you.]
[...]
[Therefore, I spent a long time in the confessional confirming the body...]
Writing this, she crumpled the parchment and threw it away.
No matter what, she couldn't write that after hearing his sleep-talk, she had confirmed his body down to the point of touching that burning part.
Rewrite.
[To my dear sister, Elena]
[Please do not trouble yourself with church matters anymore. I have made up my mind. Saint, Archbishop, Pope—none of these are the life you and I hoped for.]
[I plan to renovate the mansion I bought here. I invite you and Leah to come back and live with me.]
[I will go meet the Princess and tell her. I have no interest in power; I plan to gradually withdraw from the church.]
This would do.
If she said in the letter that she had seen Mr. Silas, Elena would probably rush over day and night immediately.
Besides, her own mind was a mess.
She was also confused... he seemed to remember everything. He also seemed to want to say something else when he truly saw her, but held back because of her status.
New life and reincarnation?
Perhaps those who escaped death in the fog zone not only gained eternal youth but would also die in a unique way and be reborn. Just like those living dead who crawled out of the ground.
Except, he was a bit special. He was someone who could return to normal after being infected. He was also the hero who could solve the fog. So, it wasn't strange for a hero to have some privileges.
She put the letter in an envelope and sealed it with wax.
She took the ring out of her dress pocket, unconsciously revealing a gentle smile.
"Anyone should know, how could a nun wear a ring openly?"
"This kind of thing... of course can only be kept in a pocket."
"Do you find me hard to approach?"
She was sensitive to those lewd gazes. So when Silas glanced at her thighs and breasts, she knew exactly what he was thinking.
The Sister was actually more nervous.
In the interval when he said "known your name for a long time," her toes were clenched tight.
She regretted it a bit; she might as well have really done something in the confessional... so that when he woke up from being knocked out, he would find her riding him.
But that wasn't right.
She had already learned from other nuns that he was currently just a groom in the Lord's manor, a new life.
To turn that sleep-talk into reality again, at least it shouldn't be achieved in such a depraved posture.
"..."
The Sister took a blade of grass from her pocket—one she had swiped from Silas's pocket. She sniffed it.
Still not a hallucination.
She heard the Princess was a guest at the Lord's manor. She would take the chance to go there... find a way to see what the current Mr. Silas was like. And what he truly thought about those sleep-muttered words. For her... regardless of anything, she'd know what to do once she saw him.
If necessary, a point of "reunion" wouldn't matter.
"Ah."
the Sister's hand unconsciously reached for the space between her legs again.
So much had accumulated; she should deal with it first.
She was really afraid of scaring him. She regretted being an Archbishop; she should have just been a normal nun. He wouldn't even look at her twice.