The Saintess's Motive?

The foreman nodded vigorously, the wrinkles on his face smoothing out with a wide grin.

“Exactly! The Lady Saintess didn't harm her daughter at all. She was actually treating her! The lady of the manor just made a mistake and misunderstood her!”

The docks fell silent for about two seconds before erupting into a frenzy.

“So, in other words, this whole thing was just a misunderstanding?!”

The thick-bearded man had the loudest voice.

“Yes!”

The foreman spread his hands, wearing an “I didn't expect it either” expression.

“Who knows who started those rumors? Their intentions were truly malicious! But they say the Lady Saintess didn't press charges. She is simply too kind!”

“She didn't press charges?!” Wint's voice rose, his hands clenching unconsciously. “This almost ruined her reputation completely!”

“Hmph! The Lady Saintess is still too kind. If it were me, I'd definitely track that guy down and make sure he spends the rest of his life in prison!”

The thick-bearded man slapped a wooden post, shaking loose the water droplets that had settled on it.

Several others nearby chimed in:

“Exactly! We can't let someone like that get away with it!”

“The Lady Saintess not holding a grudge shows her generosity, but we can't just act like nothing happened!”

Wint didn't join in on the cursing. He fell silent for a moment, then looked up at the foreman with a smile.

“Foreman, since the Lady Saintess's treatment has no side effects, you can finally put your mind at ease.”

The foreman paused, then grinned so wide his eyes crinkled into slits.

He slapped Wint's shoulder hard, as if patting a thick wooden plank.

“I have you to thank for that, Wint. If not for you, I wouldn't have gone to see the Lady Saintess so early. I hear the line of people waiting for her treatment now stretches all the way from the west side of the slums to the east!”

His tone was filled with relief.

The foreman and Wint were old acquaintances of many years.

Back when they were both young, the foreman carried sacks on the docks while Wint worked in the mines. Neither of them was better off than the other.

Later, Wint became lame and moved from the territory's residential area to the slums.

He thought he would never cross paths with Wint again.

Until that day when Wint stood at the entrance of the docks looking for work, his legs planted straight and firm on the ground like two wooden pillars driven into the earth.

Wint wore a smile the foreman hadn't seen in a long time.

“The Lady Saintess cured me.”

The foreman went to the slums the very next day.

His lumbar spine was an old issue, a lingering injury from carrying sacks in his youth. It had grown worse over the years, and the Physician said he might end up paralyzed in bed in the future.

It wasn't that he didn't want treatment, but the consultation fees were too high, the medicine was even more expensive, and it couldn't be cured anyway.

He had already prepared himself to be bedridden. After all, his life had long been sold to the docks.

But the Lady Saintess had simply placed her hand on his lower back. Golden light seeped from her palm, straightening out the vertebrae that had caused him pain for years, layer by layer.

When he stood up, he bent forward and straightened back up, repeating the motion several times.

It really didn't hurt anymore. It was as if he had been given a brand-new spine.

He was so happy he almost did cartwheels in the alleys of the slums.

But his joy didn't last long before the rumors began to spread—

“The Saintess's treatment has side effects.”

“That Holy Light looks good, but maybe your bones will rot in a few months.”

“It's free, so how could it be any good?”

At first, the foreman didn't believe them, but after hearing it so much, he began to feel uneasy.

He checked his back repeatedly, pressing and tapping it, always feeling like something was off, though he couldn't put his finger on what.

He began to doubt. After all, there was no such thing as a free lunch in this world.

Having suffered too much in his life, he had long stopped believing in “good deeds without expecting anything in return.” How could such a brilliant Holy Light and miraculous healing come without any price?

He didn't trust the Saintess, but who could he trust? He didn't even trust himself anymore.

During that period, his relationship with Wint became very strained. Even though they worked on the same docks, it felt as if a barrier had risen between them.

He knew he couldn't blame Wint, but he couldn't help but think that if not for Wint, he would never have gone to the Saintess.

If not for Wint, he wouldn't have to nervously touch his back every day, constantly worrying that his bones might suddenly fracture.

He blamed all of this on Wint. Though he never said it aloud, every time he saw Wint, a wave of resentment would rise in his chest.

Wint probably sensed this as well and stopped taking the initiative to talk to him. Thus, the two remained in a tense standoff.

Until today, when the rumors were finally cleared up.

The lady of the manor had personally gone to the slums to apologize, and everyone had witnessed it.

The Lady Saintess had not harmed anyone, the Holy Light had no side effects, and there was no conspiracy. She was simply a pure soul—if you gave her a withered branch, she would return to you a tree in full bloom.

The foreman reached back to rub his lower spine. The bones were perfectly fine, without pain or itchiness, as if they had never been damaged. He cast a deep look at Wint.

“...Thanks.”

His voice was muffled, but it sounded much lighter than it had in recent days. Wint looked at him and shook his head, signaling that it was nothing.

“It's a pity the Lady Saintess had to suffer for it,” he said.

Accompanied by the sea breeze, his words drifted into the ears of everyone on the docks.

The place had been noisy, but suddenly, everyone fell silent.

They knew that the one most deeply hurt by this misunderstanding was the Saintess, and even after the misunderstanding was cleared, the one carrying the heaviest burden was still her.

She had sacrificed far too much to treat the sick in the territory.

Many turned their heads to gaze toward the slums, their brows furrowed. One tall, thin youth clenched his fists, his lips twitching a few times before he finally squeezed out a single sentence:

“What is the Lady Saintess... even after?”

Indeed, what was she after?

The question lingered over the docks for a long time, but in the end, no one had an answer.

The gray-white sea fog rolled in a bit more. The workers gradually dispersed, their low conversations fading into the distance like water marks left on the sand after the tide recedes.

Wint turned, shouldered his cargo, and walked deeper onto the trestle bridge. The weight on his shoulder felt a bit heavier than usual, but his steps were steady, planting firmly with every stride.

The waves lapped against the piers, one after another, slow and steady.

The sea breeze swept out from the mist, fluttering the corner of his coat. He squinted his eyes and did not look back.

He knew.

In this world riddled with cracks and mold, there would always be someone willing to become a selfless beacon of light, solely to illuminate every corner of darkness.

...

Through several days of treatment and information gathering, Lovene pieced together part of the truth from the mouths of her patients.

The clock in this territory ran backward.

Night was the time for the living. Unloading cargo at the docks, trading at the market, and blacksmiths forging iron—all of it was crammed into the ink-black night.

Meanwhile, during the day, gray-white mist rolled in from the sea, blanketing the entirety of the Oswell territory.