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Bright sunlight streamed through the sheer curtains into the room. The girl on the bed let out a soft murmur and slowly awoke.
Her head was still a little foggy, but she could see her beautiful hazelnut eyes scanning the familiar surroundings of Priest's room. She had been thoroughly cleaned and was now wearing a light white nightgown. While she was asleep, she must have been given some Holy Water, because now she felt energized and refreshed, with her Meat hole surprisingly empty for a change, leaving her with an unfamiliar sense of lightness.
Memories slowly resurfaced, and she recalled that she had been forcibly violated by Dorian last night until she lost consciousness.
"Dorian…" The absence of the Priest in the room made her worry; he was clearly injured.
As Arabella walked outside, she quickly pondered where he might have gone. But soon, she spotted Dorian sitting on the sunlit terrace, reading.
He was not wearing his Priest attire, only a loose nightgown, his long silver hair falling loosely, exuding a sense of laziness.
His calm demeanor finally eased Arabella's worry, but it quickly reignited her anger. She took a deep breath and marched toward him.
The Priest noticed the approaching Witch and looked up. "You're awake."
Arabella did not respond. She walked up to Dorian, stood in front of him, pushed aside the book he was holding, and ripped open his nightgown, exposing his entire upper body.
Dorian's upper body was muscular, and the left side of his shoulder and entire left arm were wrapped in bandages, with small droplets of crimson blood seeping through the white fabric.
"You're definitely injured," Arabella said with an annoyed tone.
"It's just a minor flesh wound; it has already been treated." He placed the book face down on the small tea table beside him and calmly put his clothes back on.
Arabella stood there quietly watching him. The silver-haired Priest always maintained an unperturbed demeanor, never expressing anything troubling to her. "Dorian… do you see me as a useless burden in your heart? Do you think I can't help you at all?"
"You're overthinking it," Dorian replied with a furrowed brow. "Everyone has things they are good at and things they are not. You have been trying very hard."
His words were no different from a direct admission. Arabella felt a deep sense of helplessness welling up inside her. Dorian never blamed her for being useless, because he never had any expectations of her in the first place - she was just a little cat or dog he had taken in, a forbidden concubine kept in his home. But every time danger arose, would he regret the decision to save her?
"Dorian, do you regret making a Contract with me?"
"There's nothing to regret about what has been done. You are my Demon Attendant now, and I have the responsibility to take good care of you." Since he could no longer read the book, Dorian straightened up and looked directly at the Witch who seemed determined to get to the bottom of things.
Responsibility... Arabella's heart sank. Everything he did was merely out of obligation; for him, the Contract was just a trial and a form of penance. He accepted it all without complaint as part of his own cultivation.
"Then… do you like me?" She trembled as she asked the question she had wanted to pose for so long. This matter had tormented her for quite a while, and she felt like a prisoner awaiting execution; dying quickly would actually be a relief.
"The Priest's body and mind are devoted to the Divine Being and cannot fall in love with anyone," Dorian replied firmly, without a trace of hesitation.
The sentence came more gently than she had imagined. Arabella felt as though her heart had already accepted this answer, and it did not cause her much anguish.
"I understand." Arabella struggled to keep her voice sounding calm. "But at least I am your Demon Attendant; you shouldn't hide everything from me. I am not useless; I can be of help to you." She managed to say this with a forced breath and then ran off without looking back, under Dorian's gaze.
Dorian picked up the book again. Witches did not need such unnecessary emotions; it was better for her to come to clarity sooner. The wounds on his body began to throb again, and his expression turned cold. They had larger troubles to face now.
One day earlier.
The longsword pierced through the thick carapace of the Demon, driving deep into its head. The fully armored black Demon let out a thunderous roar, frantically twisting its body in an attempt to throw off the silver-haired Priest who was pinning the sword to its head.
The white-clad Priest appeared small compared to the Demon, yet the Demon's massive head seemed unable to bear his weight, being forcibly pressed down by an invisible force and slamming heavily onto the ground.
Dorian felt a sense of urgency; the magical artifact he had placed on Arabella had activated and was lasting longer than he had expected. That little one was probably now caught up in trouble she couldn't solve by herself, and he had to hurry back.
He continued to apply force, the blade fully embedding itself into the top of the Demon's head. The sword hilt rotated, and the longsword spun, completely shredding the brain beneath the hard carapace.
With a final wail, the Demon exhaled its last breath, and the Demonic Aura within it suddenly began to swell.
Dorian's expression grew stern; many Demons would self-destruct upon death, taking their enemies with them.
"Everyone back!" he shouted to his companions, pulling the bloodied and brain-mattered sword from the Demon's head and rising to retreat.
"Stay still." A cold female voice penetrated his ears, as if it were directly issuing a command to his brain. He suddenly froze, his muscles refusing to obey, leaving him immobilized on the spot.
He had been controlled.
Dorian quickly focused, channeling Holy Power throughout his body in an attempt to break free from the control. The corpse of the Demon before him was already swelling, filled with raging magical energy, before it exploded with a thunderous roar.
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