1

“Haah, ahn, ahng… I like it, Demon King…”

In the dark room, bathed in the blue moonlight streaming through the window, the woman’s pale n*ked body glowed. She sat astride the man’s thighs, her legs spread wide, letting out a constant stream of breathless moans.

Her smooth, exposed womanhood was filled with a p*nis as thick as her forearm. Every time the man thrust his hips upward, the massive organ stimulated her cl*toris, the inner walls of her v*gina, and even the entrance to her cervix with a tingling intensity.

“Aah! It feels so good!”

The woman cried out, her voice drenched in pleasure. Slick fluids flowed from deep inside her, thoroughly soaking the p*nis. The glistening, dark red shaft slid halfway out of her before plunging back in even deeper than before.

“Hng, ahh, aah!”

Her long, dark brown hair and full, white br*asts bounced with every movement. A smile formed on the man’s sharply defined jawline as he thrust his hips again. His p*nis pushed past her tender pink flesh, delving deep into her womanhood.

“Ahh, ngh, haaah!”

As the woman was consumed by ecstasy, saliva dripped from the corners of her mouth. The droplets fell onto her sticky br*asts, which the man grabbed with his large hands. Her soft, supple flesh filled his palms and even spilled slightly between his fingers.

Even as he kneaded her br*asts, the man’s hips continued to move without pause, creating wet, squelching sounds that mixed with the woman’s moans, filling the room.

All of this debauched spectacle was reflected perfectly in the large mirror opposite the bed. But the woman, far from feeling embarrassed, gazed at her reflection with dazed, blissful eyes.

Her image in the mirror was both shockingly lewd and breathtakingly beautiful. Her flawless white skin bore no scars, her delicate features were perfectly proportioned, and her long lashes framed her clear, blood-red eyes. Her limbs were slender, her br*asts and hips curved generously, and her stomach was flat with no trace of fat. The movement of the p*nis thrusting inside her was faintly visible beneath the skin of her abdomen.

Meanwhile, the man had a body that was two heads taller than hers, packed with muscle. His face, despite the enormous and intimidating organ he possessed, was that of a refined, handsome man. However, the large ram-like horns protruding from his long black hair and his lavender-toned skin made it clear that he was not human.

Yet the woman paid no mind to this. Sitting astride him with her legs spread wide, she eagerly accepted his p*nis, moaning and moving her hips with practiced ease.

She was utterly satisfied with everything—the pleasure that set her entire body ablaze, her altered appearance, and even the fact that the owner of the organ penetrating her so deeply was the Demon King himself.

Even though she was a Saintess.

* * *

She, Mariana, was an orphan raised in the temple. Her story, being abandoned at the temple’s doorstep as a newborn, was tragic but far from uncommon. There were over thirty children like her, abandoned at the temple.

However, while the others were adopted one by one into warm families, Mariana never had even a single opportunity. Despite the fact that the only way for childless couples to have children was to adopt those abandoned at the temple.

Some children were adopted by wealthy merchant couples, while others were taken in by high-ranking noble families, instantly transforming their lives. The only difference between them and Mariana was their appearance.

The children adopted into good households possessed angelic beauty. With proper food, clothing, and education, they would look as though they had been born into privilege all along.

Mariana, on the other hand, had a face that no one could call beautiful. From a young age, her skin was covered in freckles, her brown hair was coarse like an animal’s fur, and the deep lines around her mouth made her look far older than her actual age.

Even the priests who cared for the children had long given up on finding a family to adopt Mariana. Instead, she was sent at an unusually early age to train under the High Priestess of the temple to learn how to wield divine power.

The High Priestess was a cantankerous old woman with no patience whatsoever. When Mariana’s divine power failed to grow as expected, the High Priestess whipped her and forced her to pray. Mariana’s already less-than-perfect skin became marred with mottled scars.

Some priests and worshippers, feeling pity for her, secretly gave her snacks to comfort her. As Mariana turned to food to relieve her stress, her body gradually grew larger. She became so out of shape that even walking up a slight incline left her gasping for breath, drawing ridicule from the other priests.

And so, Mariana lived as the temple’s outcast until the age of twenty-one. She often wondered to herself:

‘Am I going to die like this, getting scolded and beaten by the High Priestess every day, while being mocked by everyone else?’

Then, one day, a group of travelers arrived at the temple.

They were the Hero’s party, on a journey to defeat the Demon King. They were recruiting companions and had come to the temple in search of a priest who could use divine power for healing and buffs. So far, they had gathered a swordsman, a mage, and an archer, and were looking for someone to fill the last role in their party.

The priests of the temple were all reluctant. Having lived peacefully in the village, basking in the respect of the worshippers, none of them wanted to abandon their current lives to embark on a perilous adventure with the Hero’s party.

Every day, the Hero’s party came to the temple, kneeling and pleading for just one person to join them. They begged for someone to step forward and help save the people suffering under the Demon King and his minions.

Word of the Hero’s party’s actions quickly spread throughout the village. The temple, unable to continue rejecting them outright, was forced to make a decision. Whether by volunteering or by drawing lots, someone would have to join the Hero’s party.

This led to a fierce battle of wits among the priests, each trying to avoid being chosen.

“I will go.”

It was Mariana who volunteered. She wanted, no matter what, to escape the suffocating confines of the temple.

“Mariana, your intentions are admirable, but the journey is fraught with danger. How could a young and inexperienced girl like you possibly endure it?”

The older priests tried to dissuade Mariana. Most of them had either ignored or ridiculed her, but the idea of her willingly walking into certain death seemed to worry them.

Even that sounded appealing to Mariana. Rather than prolonging a life filled with daily pain and humiliation, it seemed far more honorable to die early while fighting against the Demon King.

In the end, Mariana joined the Hero’s party. The temple appointed her as a Saintess, bestowed blessings upon her, and sent her off.

***

The Hero’s party was overjoyed and welcomed Mariana warmly.

“It’s a great honor to have the Saintess with us!”  

“Please take care of us from now on.”  

“Thank you so much for trusting us. Let’s do our best together.”

Having never experienced such hospitality, Mariana was deeply moved.  

“I’m the one who’s lacking, but I’ll do my best. Please take care of me.”

There was more good news. A merchant leader from the village, upon hearing about the Hero’s party, offered transportation to the entrance of the forest where the Demon King’s castle was located.  

In the corner of a large wagon pulled by two horses, Mariana exchanged introductions with the party members.

“I’m Brandon Jayor. I was born the second son of a humble farming family, but somehow I ended up walking the path of a Hero. Haha, just call me Brandon.”  

The young man with brown hair and a kind face introduced himself. He was the party’s swordsman and also their leader.

“I am Randall Wolfron. I hail from the Silver Mountains.”  

The archer was a man with long silver hair tied in a half-up style. His appearance and aura made his age difficult to guess. Upon closer inspection, Mariana noticed long, pointed ears peeking through his hair. Startled, she asked,  

“Um, Randall, are you an elf?”  

“That’s correct.”  

The elven archer Randall answered curtly and fell silent again, seemingly a man of few words.

“I’m Phylon Masburg. I left the western Magic Tower five years ago and have been wandering the world since, until I met Brandon. Just call me Phylon, Saintess.”  

The mage Phylon was a young man with black hair and gentle, drooping eyes. Mariana’s preconceived notion that all mages were wrinkled old men was instantly shattered.

“I’m just Mariana. I’ve lived in the temple my whole life, so there’s a lot I don’t know… but I’ll do my best not to be a burden. Please take care of me!”  

As Mariana spoke, she lowered her head in embarrassment when she realized all their eyes were on her.  

She hadn’t noticed it when she passed by them in the temple, but not only Randall, the elf, but also Brandon and Phylon were incredibly handsome. For someone like Mariana, who had only ever lived in the village and the temple, they were beyond anything she had ever seen.

Brandon had the approachable charm of a friendly neighbor, yet his features were so well-balanced that anyone would call him handsome no matter where he went.  

Randall, on the other hand, possessed the kind of beauty and strong jawline that one might expect to find on statues in the temple. His high, straight nose and skin as flawless and white as snow made him seem almost unreal.

Phylon’s composed demeanor and intellectual appearance, perhaps due to his status as a mage, gave off an air of nobility.

‘Can someone like me even fit in with them? I feel so awkward and embarrassed.’

Mariana couldn’t lift her head, overwhelmed by the thought that she was the only one in the group with such an unattractive appearance.  

Because of this, she failed to notice the strange glances the three men were exchanging among themselves.