CHAPTER 63: THE SAINTESS IS A REGRESSOR?

Azel stood frozen for the briefest moment, blinking once to make sure what he was seeing was real.

This... was truly her?

The Saintess’s mother, in the original game, was supposed to be pale, weakened, her beauty dimmed by the slow advance of illness.

She would spend her days at a stall, coughing into a rag, pushing through the pain so she could sell enough to buy bread.

That was the trigger for the Saintess’s arc.

Heal the mother, the daughter joins the path of sainthood.

Simple.

But the woman before him was nothing like that image.

She was vibrant.

Blonde hair gleaming like wheat under sunlight, blue eyes clear and lively, skin without the faintest shadow of sickness.

Not even the faint rasp of a cough.

She stood behind her stall selling neatly folded clothes, every movement practiced and graceful.

That... wasn’t supposed to happen.

Azel coughed lightly to cover his hesitation and decided to adapt.

"Morning, ma’am. You’re looking quite beautiful today," he said with the kind of easy confidence that came naturally when he was speaking the truth.

Her lips curved into a warm, practiced smile — the smile of someone who knew how to put customers at ease.

She was experienced in her department.

"Why, thank you, Mr. Noble," she replied.

Azel chuckled, shaking his head. "I’m not a noble."

His gaze dropped briefly to his attire — a dark, tailored coat with subtle embroidery, boots polished enough to show faint reflections.

Okay... he could see why she thought that.

"Anyway, I’m looking to buy clothes for a friend."

"Oh? Is it for a young lady?" she asked, tilting her head in a way that somehow suggested she was already picturing him with her daughter.

And she really was, this was a handsome young man, he looked like he was strong.

"Yes," Azel said without hesitation.

It was for Medusa, after all.

She’d been insisting on wearing that maid outfit everywhere, claiming it was her "uniform as a servant," but Azel knew the truth — she enjoyed the reactions it caused.

Besides it wasnt like it was bad but he just wanted her to have more variations of clothes to pick from.

He began picking through the neatly arranged clothes.

Shirts, blouses, light tunics — something practical for traveling, yet casual enough that Medusa wouldn’t stand out too much in public.

Shorts too, because for some reason the weather here had decided to lean toward warm afternoons lately.

He deliberately chose sizes slightly larger than necessary — better too big than too small at least that’s what his mother had told him during his time on Earth.

’If it’s a bit bigger, they can grow into it,’ She had said and Azel had to admit, it was a solid plan.

When he was done, he had ten sets of shirts and shorts neatly stacked on the stall counter, with a variety of different wears.

"That will be fifty silver coins," she said pleasantly.

Azel reached into his coat and pulled out a gold coin instead.

"Keep the change," he said, sliding it into her palm.

Her fingers were warm, smooth — definitely not those of someone struggling to make ends meet or suffering from a sickness, maybe a Saint healed her?

But he highly doubted it, even in this City that respected the Goddess, the Saints and Clerics that could heal valued money as a second after their goddess.

So could it be the Saintess unlocked her hidden abilities earlier?

Her eyes widened slightly before she laughed softly.

"Oho~ Mr. Underground Noble, is it? Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me. And may the goddess bless your path."

He gave a small nod, satisfied.

A good first impression was important — especially if he still intended to involve her in the Saintess arc somehow.

But then —

The calm atmosphere shattered.

"Mother, what are you doing talking to a man?"

The voice was sharp, dripping with malice.

Azel’s head turned automatically toward its source and froze.

She was... beautiful, yes, but not in the way he remembered from the game.

The Saintess he knew had always worn modest clothing, her beauty understated, her presence gentle yet unshakable.

The girl standing before him was dressed in a skimpy, low-cut top that clung so tightly he could see the outlines of her unnaturally large chest.

Her skirt was little more than a strip of fabric, showing off hips that swayed as she approached.

There was no gentle grace in her movements — only calculated provocation and although she sounded like she hated men, she liked the lecherous gazes moved her way.

Her hair and eyes matched the woman behind the stall, confirming their relation.

But the aura? Completely different.

’No... this isn’t her,’ Azel thought, baffled.

The girl’s gaze raked over him like she was assessing whether he was worth the trouble of insulting.

[Ding... The System has confirmed that the Saintess is a Regressor and has the backing of a divine entity.]

Azel’s eyebrows shot up. ’A regressor? That... explains a lot.’

Regressors were dangerous variables.

They knew more than they should, acted ahead of events, and often twisted the story in ways the original script couldn’t account for.

But for the Saintess — his favorite heroine to be one? That was... annoying.

It also explained her outfit, her attitude, the way she looked at him like he was an insect standing in the way of her plans.

Her lips curled slightly, as if she’d found some amusing flaw in him.

"Thank you for the help, ma’am," Azel said to the mother, deliberately ignoring the daughter. "I hope to see you again later."

He turned, already writing Rochel off in his mind.

There went his reason for coming here.

He wasn’t about to waste time trying to save someone who already thought she was ten steps ahead of him — especially not someone backed by a divine entity who was most probably the goddess.

"Hey, you," the Saintess’s voice snapped from behind him.

He sighed and turned.

She was closer now, her shadow almost overlapping his.

She had to tilt her head slightly to meet his eyes — she was shorter than him, but the confidence in her posture made it seem like she thought she was looking down at him.

"I don’t like your lecherous eyes moving all over my mother," she said, her tone accusatory. "And checking me out too."

Azel blinked at her slowly.

That was... not what had happened.

But arguing with this kind of person was like pouring water into a broken jar — it wae completely pointless.

"Stay away from here," she added, folding her arms beneath her chest in a way that was clearly meant to emphasize it.

He tilted his head.

"No. I have to come back later. If you can’t handle that..." His voice dropped into a flat, dismissive tone. "...then fuck off."