Blessed By A Yandere Goddess

Blood, everything was covered with blood.

The grand chamber, once fit for royalty, was now little more than a ruin, its floor painted red and strewn with the mangled corpses of the strange elves who had guarded the second prince.

S-Ranks, he had called them. Elven legends. Among the Snow Elves’ strongest hunters. Each one bioengineered with human technology they had obtained.

They were supposed to be perfect.

Not... fodder.

"Those elves felt slightly tougher."

Sarael remarked as casually as if commenting on the weather, hovering in the air to keep her feet from the blood below.

The kill had been simple. They raised their weapons, fought Sarael’s shadows for a few long minutes, and lost horribly.

They might have been S-Ranks, but Sarael was a goddess. And she was not even at her prime.

"I-Impossible..."

The second prince stared at what was supposed to be his trump card and slowly backed toward the wall, gripping his sword with both hands.

He was more skilled than the third prince, that much was obvious. But it hardly mattered now.

"Did the association send you? There’s no way my brother could have hired a mercenary like you."

The second prince said while staring at the nearest window, calculating whether he could escape. But his mind told him no; every calculation screamed death.

There was no escape.

Sarael drifted closer, her feet never touching the blood-soaked floor. The foxes had finished their work downstairs; she could feel their satisfaction through the shadows, a warm hum of predatory contentment.

"The Association?"

She tilted her head, genuinely amused by the question.

"No, no. Nothing like that. I’m just a wife."

"A wife?"

The second prince’s voice cracked on the word. His sword trembled in his grip.

"Wife of the man you tried to have killed."

She said it simply, without anger. The rage that had driven her through the inn and across the Frostlands had cooled into something more focused.

The second prince was going to die. That was no longer in question. The only variable was how much he would suffer first.

"Your assassins fired a bullet at my husband. One bullet. It missed, obviously. But for half a second..."

She held up her thumb and forefinger, a hair’s breadth apart.

"For half a second, I thought I was going to lose him."

Then she picked up what was possibly the dullest object in the room for cutting flesh, smiling at the thought of using it already.

"So now, I’m going to make sure you don’t even get a half a second of rest, okay~?"

✧ ✦ ✧

"Anastasia, right? Is there a problem?"

The third prince approached Anastasia, but the woman remained fixed on the fireplace, a hundred thoughts spiraling through her mind.

Was it right to let Sarael go? Should she tell Ronan? The prince? Could Sarael even handle what she was planning alone?

Each thought dug into her like claws, until she bit down on her lower lip hard enough to draw blood.

’So this is what being powerless felt like.’

She sighed, not even noticing the third prince as he came closer. Her mind was still tangled in everything that had happened during this entire trip.

Yes, she had leveled up. But she also felt like baggage, assigned as the leader, yet mostly just going along with whatever Ronan wanted.

And strangely enough, during the months they had trained together, that feeling had given her the most motivation to become even stronger.

Being with strong hunters had its advantages and disadvantages. Feeling useless was definitely one of the disadvantages.

"Are you okay?"

His voice pulled her from her thoughts. Anastasia turned to the side and found the prince far too close for comfort, making her recoil in surprise.

"I-I didn’t hear you coming...!"

"Are you thinking about something?"

"Well... kind of."

The third prince clenched his hands into fists at her answer.

"I apologize for bringing you into this. You were supposed to be just a student, and now you’re stuck in a city with hellish weather, being hunted down as we speak."

"Y-Yeah, that’s definitely what I’m worried about."

She would take that explanation. It was better than telling him she was actually worried about a murderous goddess running around.

Ronan watched their exchange from a distance, cycling and sorting his inventory in advance, yet for some reason feeling strangely lonely. Even lonelier than before.

He always felt this way when Sarael was tucked away in his shadow, preparing for her gift. But now, it felt emptier somehow, as if she wasn’t there at all.

"Sarael...?"

Ronan called out, but there was no reply. Even when she was preparing, she would at least respond with a small hum or her usual flowery scent.

But now, there was nothing.

Something was wrong, and he didn’t need any more proof. This was Sarael he was talking about; there was no way she would ignore him.

"I’ll keep watch outside; you two can have some alone time."

He stood up, making Anastasia even more flustered.

"R-Ronan!? This isn’t the time to help me out with my—"

"Just enjoy your time together."

Ronan turned and walked away. The third prince didn’t even ask what he planned to do if he got spotted.

He simply trusted that S-Ranks knew what they were doing, especially after Ronan had completed the task he’d given them almost instantly, and after saving his life twice already.

"Now this definitely isn’t suspicious."

Ronan saw the foxes’ shadowy forms the moment he stepped outside. Four of them patrolled the area like guard dogs.

"You. Where did my wife go?"

The nearest fox turned to face him, its mind already processing the hierarchy, with Ronan at the top as Sarael’s husband.

It answered by turning in a specific direction and lifting a paw to point.

"Well, aren’t you a smart little... well, big thing..."

Ronan sighed. There was still enough of the night left. It wouldn’t take long if he used his strength to propel himself forward.

"Please don’t be doing anything dumb, Sarael..."

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