Chapter 229

Lyssandra stood up from the bed, the frame giving a final, resigned squeak. With a sigh, she pulled her black mask back into place. The disguise was necessary, at least for now.

Pulling open the door, she stepped out into the quiet corridor and spotted a young nun polishing a bronze bust of a long-dead bishop. The girl had her head bowed in concentration.

Lyssandra walked over to her. "Excuse me, the guest quarters have no bathing facilities. Is there a place I can clean myself?"

The nun jumped, startled. She looked up, her eyes wide as she took in the tall, menacing figure. But the calm, polite tone of the question put her at ease.

"Of-of course," she stammered, pointing down the hall. "Just down there, the third door on the left. It's the women's communal bath. Sister Martha should be there, she can help you."

"Thank you," Lyssandra said, and walked off.

She followed the nun's directions and pushed open the designated door. Inside, she was met by a cloud of steam, soft sounds of water splashing and quiet chatter.

The bath was a large, stone-tiled room, dominated by a deep, square pool fed by a thermal spring. Several women, including a few nuns and a handful of what looked like lady's maids or lay sisters, were already soaking in warm water, their bodies hidden by steaming surface.

Lyssandra stepped through the doorway into the warm, humid room, and the commotion was immediate.

A splash of water was accompanied by a startled shriek. Another woman gasped, dunking herself up to the neck. The pleasant hum of the bath was shattered by cries of "A man!" and "Pervert!"

Hands flew up to cover breasts, and one elderly nun made a valiant, but clumsy, attempt to climb out of the pool, her wet feet slipping on stone floor.

"It's alright! Don't be alarmed!" Lyssandra said quickly, holding up her hands in placating gesture.

This, of course, did nothing to ease their fears. A tall figure, nearly one meter ninety in height in a full-face black mask, speaking in a deep, commanding voice, was hardly reassuring.

A buxom, stern-looking nun with a face like a bulldog and an iron grey habit marched forward, wielding a large bar of soap as if it were a weapon. "This is the women's bath! You, sir, remove yourself this instant, or by all that is holy, I will..."

"I'm a woman," Lyssandra said, cutting her off. The absurdity of the situation struck her, and she let out a short, amused huff that was partially muffled by the mask. "I am just… tall."

The bulldog nun stopped dead. She squinted, scrutinizing the figure before her. The lack of an adam's apple, the general curve of body in that dark robe, it was possible. Just… improbably.

"A… a woman?" one of the ladies-in-waiting called out from the pool, her hand still strategically placed over her cleavage.

"You are joking," another scoffed, though her voice now held a note of uncertainty. "No woman is built like a wardrobe."

"She is! She must be!" a young nun piped up. "Her bosom! It is quite pronounced under the robe!"

The stern nun let out an exasperated sigh. "For goodness sake. Just… show us." She gestured impatiently. "Or I'm calling the guards."

Lyssandra's shoulders slumped in theatrical defeat. "Fine. I'm taking a bath anyway." She didn't argue further. By a swift, almost invisible flick of her wrist, she accessed her system inventory.

In an instant, the heavy black robe and mask vanished, disappearing like they were never there.

A second of stunned silence descended upon the bath chamber.

And then they stared.

The women had been expecting a reveal, but what they got was beyond their wildest imaginings.

Lyssandra was a statue come to life. Her height, which had been imposing in the cloak, was now goddess-like.

The curves were generous. Very generous. Enormous breasts, a narrow waist, the smooth belly, wide, womanly hips, and long legs. There was no trace of masculinity, no hidden bulge. She had morphed the equipment away, leaving only the soft curves and her default sex.

Her beauty was raw and untamed, her long blonde hair cascading down back, and her piercing blue eyes held a spark of dominance that made their breath catch.

The bar of soap slipped from the sister's numb fingers, clattering to the stone floor. The ladies-in-waiting, who had moments ago covered their own bodies, now stared with a mixture of shock, awe, and envy.

"Well," Lyssandra said, a smug little smile on her lips when she stepped gracefully into warm water. "Convinced?" The water level rose noticeably when she submerged her magnificent body followed a contented sigh.

The bulldog nun just stared, jaw slack, completely and utterly at a loss for words. They were most certainly convinced.

A long, tense minute of silence passed, broken only by the soft sloshing of water. Then, one of the younger nuns finally found her voice, whispering to the woman next to her in an awed tone. "Did you… did you see that?"

"See it? I can barely believe my eyes," the other replied, her gaze fixed on the serene, blonde beauty.

Finally, Sister Martha the bulldog-looking nun, as she had heard others call for her, snapped back to her senses. She cleared her throat, cheeks still a shade of bright red.

"Ahem!" she said, her voice trying to regain its former authority and failing utterly. "Who are you? Where did you come from?"

"A guest of the church," Lyssandra said calmly, head leaning back to wet the hair. "Sent to escort a sister back to her flock." She didn't elaborate on which one.

"A guest…" another nun murmured. "But… you're so large!" The word popped out before she could stop herself, and she immediately clapped a hand over her mouth.

Lyssandra laughed, a throaty, sexy sound. "Why, thank you, sister." She rose slightly in the water, the tops of her breasts cresting the surface like beautiful islands.

"It runs in the family." She gave the nun a teasing wink, causing the poor girl to visibly blush and sink back into water.

Lyssandra turned her attention to a stately woman who appeared to be a lady's maid. "What's the water temperature like today, madame?"

"It's… lovely," the maid unable to look away from Lyssandra's face.

"Just right for loosening tight muscles," Lyssandra said with a purr, her hands tracing patterns on water's surface. She then looked directly at Sister Martha, who was still struggling to recover her composure.

"You seem very… dedicated, Sister. Your posture is so rigid. You carry great tension. A good bath can fix that, you know. You should come in more often. Relax." Lyssandra's smile was utterly disarming and utterly suggestive at the same time.

The women in the bath could do nothing but stare, captivated and slightly terrified, by this extraordinary woman who seemed to command the very air around her.

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The room was spacious but , located deep within the labyrinthine corridors of the church's private quarters. There was none of the ornate gold or marble of the public halls. The stone walls were bare and dark grey.

A heavy, polished wooden desk dominated the space. On it sat a simple, worn leather Bible, an inkwell, and a single lit candle. Bookshelves lined two of the walls, their shelves groaning under the weight of countless, unadorned tomes on theology and philosophy.

The only light, besides the candle, came from a small, narrow window overlooked the silent, leafy cloisters. The air smelled of dust and ancient paper.

In a large, worn chair behind the desk, a thickset and broad shoulders man sat reading. He wore the simple black cassock of his order, but there was an energy about him that defied the somberness.

As his eyes scanned the page of the bible, a faint, genuine smile touched his lips. He would occasionally tap a finger on his cheek in thought, a small, unconsciously happy gesture.

An acolyte in a fresh, white cassock knocked softly on the open door and entered.

"Father, the Saintess is back and she has something to report," he said.

The man put down his bible immediately, placing a pair of round, wire-frame spectacles on top of the closed book. His whole face lit up with delight. "Is that so? Fabulous!" he clapped his hands together softly.

"Our Saintess is back! Quick, tell her to come in." His cheerful voice echoed in the austere room, a beam of pure sunshine in the scholarly quiet. He rose from his chair, a tall and gaunt but surprisingly quick and light figure, moving to the door to greet his returned Saintess.

After a short moment, Miriel walked in. She had bathed and changed into her customary regalia – a dress of pale blue, white, and gold. It was a simple yet elegant cut, and the colors made her silvery hair seem to glow even more. She looked pristine, calm, and untouchable, the perfect picture of a holy woman. She gave the the man a respectful bow.

"My child, it's been a while! How was your mission?" he asked, his tone warm and inviting.

"Good day to you, Father," Miriel said with a serene smile. "I have returned. The mission was a failure."

The father's cheerful smile vanished, replaced by one of concerned puzzlement.

"But…" Miriel quickly amended, seeing the instant shift in the his expression. "A-actually, I don't even know how to call it a success or failure anymore because I think it was neither."

The high priest, Father Matthiel, let out a deep breath, his mind clearly reeling. He gently took Miriel's hand and led her to one of the plain wooden chairs in front of his desk, gesturing for her to sit.

Just as gracefully, he plopped back into his own large chair, which groaned under his heavy weight, then leaned forward with his elbows on the desk.

His expression had flickered between confusion and concern, snapped right back to be cheerful, almost boyish enthusiasm. It was as if she had just told him there was a hidden treasure map to be found, not delivered a confusing mission report.

"Come on, tell me everything!" he said, eyes sparkling with curiosity. "Start from the beginning! Don't leave out a single detail!" His tone was eager, a child asking for a bedtime story, and it instantly put Miriel at ease.

"Of course, Father," Miriel said, her shoulders relaxing. "Let me see. Where to begin…" She rested her hands in her lap, her gaze unfocused when she sifted through the cascade of recent, bizarre events. "Well, first I was traveling with… a few adventurer friends. And then…"