Chapter 32: Results Are Everything

In the village of Holz, now freed from the plague, the work of restoration continued quietly.

The villagers still bore the marks of exhaustion on their faces—but in their eyes now glowed the fierce light of those who had returned from the brink of despair.

They greeted Zenon and Liliana’s party, who had come to lift the quarantine, with expressions that were hard to read—a mixture of gratitude, and something close to fear.

“From the bottom of our hearts… thank you,”

The village chief said, bowing deeply, his voice trembling with emotion.

“At first, we believed you had abandoned us. But we were wrong. You chose to walk the harshest road—together with us—for our salvation.”

One by one, the villagers lowered their heads.
They had come to understand, through suffering and survival, the true meaning behind Zenon’s cold commands.

Liliana sat silently on her horse, watching the scene unfold.

Those words of gratitude—perhaps they should have been directed to her, the Saint.

But in the end, she had done nothing.
Nothing but pray from a distant hill.

Zenon received their thanks with his usual, expressionless calm.

“No thanks are necessary. The data gathered from this case will serve as a valuable sample for constructing a crisis management system across the entire territory. You were simply the cost required to obtain it.”

His words were merciless.
For a moment, the villagers froze.
But no one grew angry—not anymore.

They understood.
This man could only speak in such a way.
A man clumsy with kindness, yet who, in his own cold logic, cared more deeply for the people than anyone else.
(Or so they told themselves.)

On the road home, silence hung between them.

Liliana kept her gaze downcast, lost in thought.
Within her, a storm raged—a fundamental question about her own existence.

She had always believed her purpose as a Saint was to serve God and bring love and healing to people.

But this time had shattered that belief.

There are lives that love and prayer cannot save.
Sometimes, it is cold reason and merciless decision-making that preserve the many.

And she had been forced to see that truth with her own eyes.

“…I was powerless.”

Her faint voice broke the long silence—barely audible over the horses’ steady pace, and only Zenon beside her heard it.

“A Saint… and I could not save a single life.”

Her tone was steeped in despair.

Zenon turned his gaze toward her briefly.

In his eyes glimmered—for the first time—something other than contempt or indifference.

It was the kind of look a scientist might give to a machine the moment it began recognizing its own design flaw.

“You were not powerless.” 

He said suddenly.

It was the last thing Liliana had expected to hear from him.

“You simply didn’t know how to make optimal use of your resources.”

“…Resources?”

“Yes. Your title as a Saint—and the people’s trust in you. Those are powerful assets.”

Zenon spoke evenly, eyes fixed ahead.

“My plan succeeded because I hold absolute authority. That authority allowed me to enforce harsh measures without question. But imagine if the people had rebelled against my methods—if they’d refused to cooperate. What do you think would have happened?”

“…The plan would have failed.” 

She murmured.

“Precisely. The delay would have spread the infection. The death toll would have doubled—or tripled.”

Though hypothetical, his words carried chilling realism.

“But if your resource—trust—had been properly utilized, it would have been different. If you had understood the logic behind my plan and told the people, ‘Trust this man,’ even once, their fear would have eased. They would have obeyed my orders more smoothly. And in the end, more lives would have been saved.”

It was a perspective Liliana had never considered.

Her power wasn’t only in miracles of healing.
It lay in her ability to guide hearts—to unite people.
Perhaps that was the true strength of a Saint.

“Your ideals, on their own, are ineffective,” 

Zenon continued. 

“But combined with my rationality, they can yield maximum efficiency.”

For the first time, he turned to look directly at her.
His blue eyes were as emotionless as ever.
Yet his words sank deep into the quiet center of her soul.

“I construct systems that produce results. You provide the lubrication that keeps those systems running smoothly. That is the most rational form of cooperation between us.”

Liliana was speechless.

This man truly did not understand hearts.
He spoke of human relationships as if describing machinery.

And yet—within his words, she sensed a glimmer of possibility.

Her ideals, his reality.
Two forces that should never have mixed—like oil and water.
But if they could somehow join hands…

Could that combination become the greatest power for good the world had ever known?

(This man… he may truly be a demon—cold, incapable of seeing people as anything more than numbers.)
she thought.

(But…)

Liliana looked at his profile, bathed in the amber light of dusk.

(Maybe he wears that mask of cruelty only to bear alone the unbearable weight of saving others.)

That was the beginning of Saint Liliana’s grand misunderstanding.

She began to see Zenon’s ruthless rationality as the reverse side of deep loneliness—
and a kindness so great it hurt to feel.

“…I understand,” 

Liliana said quietly, but with newfound strength.

“This ‘partnership’ you speak of—if it truly leads to salvation, I will see it through with my own eyes.”

The despair in her eyes was gone.
In its place burned a steady light of resolve.

Zenon glanced at her with mild interest.

(I see. Self-evaluation reset complete. She should be a much more manageable resource now.)

He remained completely unaware of the profound, emotional transformation that had just taken place within her.

Their horses moved onward down the road, painted gold by the setting sun.

Between them still lay a deep gulf—but across that gulf, a fragile, tentative bridge had begun to form.

And neither of them yet knew, that this fragile bridge would one day become strong enough to change the world itself.