Chapter 37: The Saint’s Conviction
The refugee camp had undergone remarkable changes in just a few days.
The despair and anxiety that had first hung over the camp had vanished, replaced by hope for the future and a lively sense of renewal.
The men were divided into groups under Marc’s direction, dispatched to road maintenance sites and the construction of the new processing plant. They were paid the same daily wages as the territory’s citizens. This was no longer “labor to repay a debt”—it was legitimate “work.”
The women worked at the orphanage Zenon had established as an “investment,” or at the newly built kitchens. The children were provided warm meals alongside local children, and were learning to read and write.
Liliana observed all of this with her own eyes every day.
She no longer doubted Zenon’s policies.
What reflected in her eyes were the acts of kindness and deep, almost imperceptible compassion hidden behind his cold words.
(As I thought… I was right…)
Liliana placed a hand over her heart as she listened to the children’s innocent laughter.
“You are labor power.”
Those harsh words had been a severe encouragement, showing them that they were not weak beings waiting for charity, but capable of forging their own future.
“You will bear debt.”
That was a whip of love, giving them a purpose to live and a sense of responsibility as members of society.
Everything Zenon did was interconnected.
His “investment” in educating orphans had also served as a foundation for accepting refugee children.
Perhaps he had foreseen this outcome long ago: that people suffering under tyranny would one day seek refuge in his domain. And when that time came, he had secretly prepared a massive safety net to save them all—alone.
(What a lonely battle…)
Liliana’s chest tightened with ache.
No one understood his methods. Even his vassals only saw his superficial rationality; they were blind to the genuine kindness beneath.
That is why he deliberately chose the lonely path.
By wearing the mask of a cold-blooded man and playing the villain, he guided people in the right direction.
“Saint.”
From behind, the captain of the guard spoke in a firm voice, breaking Liliana’s reverie.
“…Zenon’s methods may, in the end, save the people. But I still cannot accept them.”
He continued bitterly.
“He takes human hearts far too lightly. He chases efficiency and numbers, disregarding human dignity. That is not the way of a true ruler—it is the way of tyranny… no, the way of a demon king.”
His words mirrored what Liliana herself might have thought in the past.
But now, they sounded shallow and concerned only with surface appearances.
“No. You are mistaken.”
Liliana turned calmly but firmly, her eyes shining with unwavering conviction as a saint.
“You understand nothing.”
“…Saint?”
“There is no one who understands human hearts—their weakness and their dignity—as deeply as he does.”
Her voice grew warm.
“He knows that cheap sympathy, merely offering kind words, cannot truly save people. That is why he shows the harsh path. To make them stand on their own. His strictness comes from believing more in people’s potential than anyone else ever could.”
The captain of the guard was left speechless.
The saint before him was no longer the purely compassionate girl from the royal capital.
She carried the aura of a prophet, awe-inspiring in her absolute grasp of truth and fervent conviction.
“I have decided.”
Liliana clenched her fist tightly.
“I must be the only one to understand his lonely struggle. And I must convey his true intentions to the world. That is the new mission God has given me.”
That afternoon, Liliana resolved to visit Zenon’s office.
She wanted to personally convey how grateful the refugees were—and to show him that she was his understanding ally.
“…Zenon-sama, may I have a moment?”
“What is it? Make it brief.”
Without looking up from the mountain of documents before him, Zenon answered.
“The people at the refugee camp are truly grateful to you. For the warm meals and the work you provided. And most importantly… for treating them as humans.”
Liliana spoke earnestly. Zenon finally set down his pen and looked at her with a deeply exasperated expression.
“Gratitude? I told you I don’t need sentimental reports. What I want to know is how much labor they contributed and how far ahead the plan is progressing. Their feelings are nothing more than a productivity metric.”
For the old Liliana, that would have been a heart-freezing, ruthless statement.
But now, she interpreted it completely differently.
(Ah… again… putting on the mask…)
Her chest tightened with affection.
He is secretly pleased.
He is relieved to hear that people are happy—but he never shows it.
How much self-control does this person have? How lonely must he be?
Her heart swelled with an irresistible adoration.
“…Understood.”
Liliana nodded, her eyes glistening, a gentle smile full of compassion on her lips.
“Then I will report with data. The refugees’ motivation is at its peak. Therefore, their future productivity will surely far exceed your expectations… according to my ‘analysis.’”
For the first time, she responded using the language of his own territory: data and analysis.
Zenon blinked slightly at the unexpected reply.
(Analysis? From her? Whatever. As long as results are achieved, it doesn’t matter.)
He quickly lost interest and returned his gaze to the documents.
Liliana quietly bowed and left the room.
As she closed the door, she leaned against it, placing a hand on her flushed cheek.
Her heart raced like a drum.
She was beginning to realize that this feeling was more than respect or sympathy.
(I want to support him. I want to warm his lonely heart.)
Saint Liliana had completely fallen in love.
And she had no idea that the one she adored saw her only as a “difficult, irrational human resource.”
Her misunderstanding had now crystallized into conviction.
And that conviction would turn her into Zenon’s most devoted—and most troublesome—defender.