The Exiled Lord: My Maid is a Battle Goddess

Phield didn’t stay with Tisiana for long. Night had already fallen. Although it was always pitch-black within the gray mist, once true night descended, it became a darkness so deep you couldn’t even see your own hand.

"This is your room."

Pushing the door open, Phield pointed inside. The room had already been tidied—it was right across from his own.

Beyond the window was pure darkness. Inside, the candlelight flickered softly, dim but steady.

"Thank you... can you not leave just yet?" Tisiana said softly. "Could you stay and talk with me a little longer? There isn’t a single person in this building I know... you’re the only one I can feel close to, my lord."

"Alright. I understand."

Phield pulled over a chair and sat down. After thinking for a moment, he began talking about his upcoming military plans for Starnight City. "Originally, I planned to use Alice’s flames to set the city ablaze. But since she won’t be waking anytime soon, we’ll have to face the corpse monsters head-on."

"Mm, mm."

Tisiana nodded repeatedly, but her gaze had already grown distant.

The man before her—though they had just met and barely knew each other—kept stirring an indescribable feeling within her. She even felt the urge to throw herself into his arms.

It was a terrible thought, yet it rooted itself in her mind like wild grass, impossible to suppress. More than once, her actions had already hinted at it—earlier in the courtyard, she had motioned for Phield to sit beside her. And now, asking him to stay... it was nothing more than an inexplicable impulse.

Under normal circumstances, such forward and shameless behavior was something a nun would never do.

Taking advantage of Phield speaking at length, Tisiana studied him carefully.

Unlike other nobles, Phield didn’t seem fond of elaborate clothing or robes. There were no excessive jewels or silk embellishments—just a clean inner shirt paired with a black coat. The only ornament was the brooch on his chest.

A magnificent divine artifact.

"As expected... a true noble doesn’t need superficial luxuries."

Her gaze drifted lower, and Tisiana’s cheeks flushed instantly. She turned her head away. From the very first moment she saw him, she had known—this man carried the bearing of someone born into wealth.

"Hiss—"

Phield frowned in confusion. I’m talking about killing corpse monsters... why does she look like that?

"I’m fine, go on. I just choked on my saliva."

Clearing her throat softly, Tisiana straightened her posture. Her delicate hand rose as if to pat her chest, but instead pressed lightly against her soft curves, leaving a faint indentation—almost as if it helped ease her discomfort.

Phield, no stranger to such sights, lost interest in his own topic. Instead, he openly admired her for quite some time, an itch slowly rising in his chest.

The atmosphere turned inexplicably ambiguous... almost intimate.

"No... what am I doing?"

Startled, Tisiana shook her head vigorously and murmured, "It must be the curse acting up... Is it because I kept using divine power while escorting the slaves?"

She had already realized it—using divine power accelerated the cycle of the curse’s outbreaks.

"My lord... I—I need to rest now. If there’s anything to arrange, please call me tomorrow."

As if drained of all strength, Tisiana staggered to her feet. Her eyes carried a thick, heated intensity, though her tone had grown colder. "Please leave. I’m very tired."

As she spoke, her hand clutched tightly at her skirt. Through the slit, her long, pale leg was revealed, adorned with an elegant black-and-white garter—an oddly captivating sight that made one’s heart itch, yet impossible to scratch.

Phield took a deep breath. He was genuinely worried about his Divine Chosen.

Even though they had just met, he had always been protective of his own—anything that belonged to him, he valued and cared for deeply. Truthfully, such a mindset wouldn’t sit well in a modern, freedom-oriented world, where everyone had independent identity.

It could be called chauvinistic, or overly traditional—something widely criticized.

"Are you alright? Get some rest. I believe we’ll find a way to lift the curse soon."

"Mm... if you leave, I might feel a bit better. I’m sorry... we’ve only just met, and you already have to see me like this."

Though she said that, Tisiana unconsciously licked the corner of her lips, as if tasting something sweet. The gesture was both playful and alluring.

Subtle allure and restrained tenderness—those were a woman’s deadliest weapons.

Far beyond anything crude seduction could match.

Seeing her state, Phield realized just how serious the situation was. He sighed. "I underestimated the power of the curse... No wonder even the Church struggles to deal with it."

"How about I help you—"

"No!" Tisiana instantly stepped back, turning away decisively. Then she glanced over her shoulder and forced a light smile. "See you tomorrow."

"Good night."

Phield stepped out of the room. The door closed immediately behind him—but he didn’t hear it lock.

Back in his own room, Phield took out a set of plans filled with development strategies for Nightfall Domain. But then a pressing issue came to mind.

"I forgot something important... With this sudden increase in population, what about water supply?"

Previously, the territory relied on rain, well water, and reservoirs dug by the army.

Notably, although the northern region was shrouded in gray mist, the climate remained normal. Wind and rain still came, and plants grew as usual.

The corruption within rainwater was extremely faint—once it entered a lord’s domain, it almost completely dissipated.

"Securing a reliable water source needs to be prioritized. But with a Holy Light Divine Chosen, purifying water should be much easier."

Phield felt an inexplicable dryness in his throat.

His gaze drifted toward the door.

He immediately slapped himself. "What the hell am I thinking? Finish the development plans first."

The livelihoods of over a thousand people rested on his shoulders.

Even with the supplies he had brought back, it wouldn’t be enough to sustain such a large population for long.

...

Meanwhile, Tisiana was enduring unbearable torment.

Clutching the blanket in the pitch-dark room, her beautiful eyes blinked rapidly. She glanced downward—and instantly felt overwhelmed with shame.

Worse still was the swelling discomfort, at times sharp enough to feel like stabbing pain.

"Holy Light... why is this happening..."

Tisiana looked toward the door.

She had deliberately left it only slightly closed, not fully shut—giving herself a sliver of false hope... or perhaps comfort.

Before the contract, she had only felt the urge to go mad.

But after forming the contract, she found herself indifferent toward others—yet driven nearly insane by thoughts of her lord.

And yet, if she were to speak it aloud... or accept it outright... she would rather die. Years of devotion would never allow her to commit such a disgraceful act.

She waited.

And waited.

Until midnight.

When there was still no movement at the door, Tisiana suddenly sat up, as if throwing a silent tantrum, and slapped the mattress in frustration.

"Still not asleep?"