Arch 7 : Maid of Thorns
It started with a whisper.
The Saintess had been seen leaving the High Priest's chambers after midnight. Her robes disheveled. Her eyes red-rimmed. A guard said he saw her adjusting her veil near the confession room. Someone else claimed she dropped a ring and panicked.
None of it was true.
Aris knew. Because she started it.
The plan was simple. Not even cruel. Just inevitable.
A few overheard conversations here. A misplaced prayer journal there. A pair of altered sandals left beneath the High Priest's personal shrine.
The real genius wasn't the lie.
It was the pattern.
Enough to make people question her.
Just enough for the Saintess to unravel herself.
> System: This is psychotic. You've gaslit a religious empire without lifting a blade.
Just how much free time do you have?
> Aris: "Plenty. I let the rumors do the heavy lifting."
By noon, the court was vibrating.
Servants whispered into sleeves. Nobles huddled in corners. And the Emperor's clerics? Silent. Watching. Waiting to see if the blessed one would fall.
The Saintess confronted Aris behind the inner chapel, voice shaking.
"You're spreading filth," she hissed. "You want me gone."
"No," Aris said, eyes wide. "I want you exactly where you are. Screaming into the void while no one listens."
The Saintess's hands curled into fists. She looked wild. Untouched by grace.
"I did nothing."
"You didn't have to," Aris said. "You just had to be a little too perfect. It makes the fall more satisfying."
Then came the slap.
Sharp. Audible. A real hit.
Aris let her head turn with the impact.
Then smiled.
Because behind the chapel columns stood the High Priest himself, watching in silence.
Perfect timing.
> System: Jesus. You're not just playing them. You're directing them.
> Aris: "No one survives the stage unless they know when to fall."
That night, the scandal broke.
The Saintess was quietly suspended from temple duties. The formal words were "retreat for prayer and cleansing." But everyone knew what that meant.
Shame.
The Prince didn't say much. Just pulled Aris closer during dinner, kissed her hand, and asked if she wanted the moon.
The Saintess wasn't present at court the next day.
Her seat was filled with flowers. For mourning.
The Knight found Aris outside the stables, brushing a horse she didn't care about.
"You did this," he said, voice flat with rage.
"I did many things," Aris said, not looking at him. "You'll need to be more specific."
"She was innocent."
"No one in power is innocent."
He grabbed her arm—not rough, not soft. Controlled.
"I see what you're doing."
She turned her gaze on him slowly.
"Then you should be afraid."
They stood like that for a moment—him burning with fury, her calm as moonlight.
He let go.
"You'll ruin him," he said.
"I'll make him untouchable," she replied.
He stared. Then said the quiet part.
"You're the only one who doesn't believe you're the villain."
She leaned in close.
"I know exactly what I am."
That night, in the safety of her private chambers, Aris curled under silk sheets and listened to the wind batter the windows.
She'd ruined a saint.
Turned a knight into a ticking fuse.
And the prince? He would die for her now. That part was certain.
> System: You're spiraling. Just letting you know. This is villain origin arc territory.
> Aris: "Correction. This is the reign."
> System: You don't want to be loved. You want to be feared and kissed in the same breath.
> Aris: "Exactly."