She did not lead him back to the academic wing. Instead, Celeste practically skipped down the grand, marbled pathways that led directly toward the Northern Dormitory.
Arthur followed a half-step behind her, maintaining his placid, saintly smile, though his mind was rapidly calculating the social damage. He didn't need his hyper-vigilance to feel the stares. The pathways were thick with Honor Class students returning to their quarters, and every single one of them stopped dead in their tracks. They stared in profound, gaping disbelief as the chaotic, untouchable heir of the Devreux line happily dragged the academy's immaculate "Saint" straight toward her private chambers.
The dorms? Arthur thought, keeping his amber eyes carefully neutral as whispers erupted around them. Everyone is watching. This is a severe deviation from my established social parameters.
Celeste completely ignored the audience. She bounded up the plushly carpeted steps, weaving through the opulent, velvet-trimmed corridors until she stopped abruptly in front of a heavy oak door. Without a moment's hesitation, she reached out, turned the unwarded brass doorknob, and pulled Arthur inside.
She doesn't even lock her door when she leaves? Arthur's internal voice practically flatlined in shock. The sheer, suicidal negligence of leaving a Grand Duke's daughter's quarters completely unsecured defied all tactical logic.
"This is my room!" Celeste proudly declared, throwing her arms out as if unveiling a masterpiece.
Arthur stood in the entryway, taking in the chaotic space. He was a little underwhelmed by the sheer disorder—silk sheets tossed haphazardly, a priceless dagger discarded on a nightstand—but managed a bemused nod of acknowledgment. "It is very... spacious," he offered politely.
He watched in clinical silence as she instantly forgot about him. Celeste bounded over to an empty patch of carpet near the door.
"Who's a good Beastie?" she cooed, petting the empty air with genuine affection. Then, popping back up, she waved cheerfully at the wall. "I'm back, Mother and Father!"
Arthur's gaze flicked to the gilded frames. The distinguished faces within them were completely unrecognizable, violently shredded into ribbons of jagged canvas. He didn't judge her; he simply weaponized the distraction. While her back was turned, his amber eyes darted across the room in a rapid, methodical sweep. He checked the floorboards for hidden compartments, the corners for localized magical traps, and the air for the faint, distinct scent of sulfur or ash. Nothing.
Other than the ripped paintings, Arthur concluded, a faint margin of relief settling in his chest, it's actually a pretty clean room.
"So, why did you bring me here, Celeste?" Arthur asked gently, having finished his rapid physical assessment.
Celeste froze. She pivoted on her heel, abandoning her invisible pet entirely, and marched straight toward him. She closed the distance with startling speed, showing absolutely zero care for his personal space as she stopped inches from his chest. She tilted her head up, a demanding pout overtaking her bright features.
"You didn't call me 'Lady Celeste,'" she accused.
Arthur didn't flinch. He smoothly adjusted his cadence, falling back into the flawless, deferential rhythm of the Saint. "I apologize, Lady Celeste," he murmured softly. "I will resume honorifics, if you'd like."
The pout instantly vanished. A deeply satisfied smile bloomed on her face. "Good, Cedric," she hummed.
She spun around and bounded toward the massive bed, patting the tangled silk sheets with a heavy hand. "Sit."
Arthur paused. The sheer unpredictability of her actions warranted a final security check. Beneath the surface of his skin, he reached for the dormant energy in his blood. Can I still summon the Deathly Aura? The latent, volatile power of the Nameless Sword Arts flared immediately in response, rushing through his veins with comforting, lethal speed. Satisfied that his ultimate defense was instantly accessible, he walked over and sat carefully on the edge of the mattress.
"Did you want to talk about something, Lady Celeste?" he asked, resting his hands neatly in his lap.
Instead of answering, Celeste placed her hands firmly on his shoulder and pushed.
The physical contact was sudden. The moment her hands touched him, Arthur's combat instincts violently triggered. He didn't resist the push—he let his torso fall back against the mattress—but beneath his academy uniform, the Body Aura snapped into existence. He enveloped his heart, his lungs, and his cervical spine in an invisible, impenetrable layer of hardened energy, strictly keeping the manifestation entirely out of her line of sight.
His back hit the silk sheets. He lay perfectly still, his amber eyes scanning the ceiling as his senses aggressively probed the room for an ambush.
Nothing. No secondary attackers, no shifting mana currents, no hidden weapons. Just the quiet hum of the dormitory.
He allowed the internal tension to bleed away, though he kept the protective aura loosely coiled around his vital organs. A second later, the mattress dipped. Celeste flopped down on the other side of the sprawling bed, lying perfectly parallel to him.
"It's more comfortable like this, right?" she asked, her voice laced with a simple, chaotic satisfaction as she stared up at the canopy.
Arthur stared blankly at the velvet trim above them. The sheer absurdity of the situation threatened to crack his mask. She brought me here... just to lie down? He let his muscles sink into the plush mattress, forcing his voice to adopt the almost apathetic, heavy tone of a boy overwhelmed by the sheer, luxurious comfort of the bed.
"Yes," Arthur replied softly.
And so, they lay there. The silence stretched, unbroken and entirely bizarre, for roughly a quarter of an hour. The rhythmic sound of their breathing was the only noise in the grand room. Arthur used the time to rest his chronically sleep-deprived mind, finding a strange comfort in the complete lack of required social maneuvering.
"Say, what exactly is a Saint?"
Celeste's voice finally broke the silence, ringing with pure, unadulterated curiosity.
Arthur's eyes, which had begun to glaze over, snapped back into focus. He considered the question for a moment, deciding the safest route was strict, theological fact.
"A Saint," Arthur said, his tone shifting into an apathetic, academic drone, "is an elected individual with a special power, granted by the Blessing of The Saint given to them by a God."
Celeste shifted slightly on the sheets. "You mean like the Divine Blessings of Exercise and Protection?"
"No," Arthur corrected smoothly, allowing a faint, pleasant warmth to bleed back into his voice as if he were merely enjoying the academic discourse. "Those Divine Blessings have fixed powers and linear progression. They are fueled directly by the user's faith. The Blessing of The Saint, however, grants a power entirely unique to the individual. Furthermore, it will function regardless of the user's faith or intent—it is always active."
"Then, are you the Saint?" Celeste inquired.
Arthur paused. The silence hung heavy in the room for a long, calculated moment. He closed his eyes softly against the bright sunlight filtering through the windows.
"I am a Saint candidate," he replied.
"What's the difference?"
"The Saint is formally elected by the unanimity of the Pope and the Oracle," Arthur explained patiently, keeping his eyes closed.
"But you will be elected, right?" Celeste pressed, her childish logic struggling to find the gap in the system.
"Who knows," Arthur murmured. "There have been hundreds of Saint Candidates over the last three centuries, but no Saint has been officially proclaimed in all that time."
"Then why does everyone think you're going to be the Saint?" she asked, genuine confusion coloring her tone.
"A pope three hundred years ago received a prophecy," Arthur recited, repeating the exact lie that currently acted as his armor in this world. "It detailed the exact date of the true Saint's birth, as well as the geometric structure of their Blessing. I just happened to match those details well enough to satisfy the religious fervor of the followers of the Celestial Sun Church."
Celeste stared at the ceiling for a long time. Finally, she let out a long breath. "Oh," she said flatly. "I don't get it."
How typical, Arthur thought, suppressing the urge to actually chuckle.