The Saint With Demon’s Power

I was born a prodigy of curses.

No one could break a hex I cast—not even my mentor, the High Priestess of the Holy Church herself.

The Church preached that the magic of life should only be used to give, never to take. But I was born with a natural preference for taking. I grew up in the sanctuary, having only skimmed three beginner books on healing magic. Curse-weaving, however, flowed in my blood. From royal knights to street thugs, anyone I cursed never walked away in one piece. Whether they kept their lives or not was entirely up to my mood.

On the day I left the Church, my mentor fastened a ruby earring to my right earlobe. It was a seal she had begged an old friend to forge at a heavy price, designed to lock away the violent, bloodthirsty power surging in my veins.

"When you get angry," she warned severely, "press this gem and recite a light prayer."

I memorized it.

For five years, I traveled the continent, disguising myself as a holy healer. Bards sang of me as the "Angel of the Mortal Realm." People gradually forgot about the little demon hidden deep within the Church, remembering only the gentle, compassionate saint.

Until the Duke of Rose showed up at my door, claiming I was his long-lost biological daughter.

That afternoon, I was brought back to the Duke's castle. He spared no time for pleasantries, directly handing me an admission letter to the Royal Magic Academy.

By evening, I stood in the academy's grand hall. Not far away, my "sister," Elaina—the fake daughter who had stolen my life for eighteen years—was surrounded by a flock of young nobles.

"I heard she used to beg in the slums. She probably hasn't even seen a magic crystal before."

"She's just a scapegoat. If Elaina hadn't refused to marry that crippled, magicless, cursed prince, the Duke would never have brought this garbage back."

My expression remained unchanged, my smile as holy and flawless as ever.

A girl stepped out from the crowd. "A slum rat thinks she’s worthy of marrying into royalty? Let's show everyone what kind of trash the Duke brought back."

She grabbed my arm forcefully, dragging me to the testing pedestal, and slammed my hand onto the awakening crystal.

The crystal remained dead. Not a single spark.

Laughter erupted across the hall.

"A complete waste of space," the girl sneered, her eyes landing on the side of my face. "Does a beggar like you even deserve to wear such a pure ruby?"

She lunged for my right ear. I dodged, but her fingernail snagged the metal clasp. A sharp pain tore through my earlobe, and the earring dropped into her palm.

"Give it back," I said softly.

"Oh, don't make such a fuss," she rolled her eyes, pinching the gem as if to hand it over.

Just as the earring was inches from my fingertips, she let go.

"Oops," she let out a venomous giggle. "My hand slipped."

The ruby hit the marble floor. A blinding crack instantly spider-webbed across the gemstone.

The very second the gem cracked, the massive magic crystal chandelier suspended from the ceiling flickered violently without warning.

Across the hall, the Second Prince, Roderick, who had been chatting with some nobles, suddenly clutched his forearm. He looked toward me, his eyes wide with sheer, unadulterated terror.

...

Amidst the noise, the sharp crack of the gem rang clearly in my ears. Blood oozed from my torn earlobe.

Clara, the girl who broke my seal, lifted her chin higher. "What are you glaring at? I said it was an accident."

The onlookers immediately chimed in.

"Slum trash has no manners."

"Lady Clara was clearly handing it back, it's her own fault for not catching it!"

"Does she really think sharing the Duke's blood makes her a proper noble lady?"

I looked down at the broken ruby earring, remaining perfectly silent.

Elaina gently tugged at Clara's sleeve. "Don't be angry. My sister just got home. She hasn't learned our noble etiquette yet, please bear with her."

That single sentence was more vicious than all the previous insults combined.

I looked up at her. She met my gaze, her eyes brimming with deep-seated defensiveness and resentment.

Of course, she hated me. She had been the Duke's beloved daughter for eighteen years. My return threatened her position—even if my only purpose was to take her place in marrying that magicless, cursed prince.

But I couldn't care less. Status, marriage contracts, the noble blood of the Duke—none of it meant anything to me.

But they shouldn't have touched my earring.

My mentor had put it on me herself. "You were born with a cursed vessel," she sighed. "If it isn't chained, sooner or later, you will plague this world."

She was right. I was never a good person.

When I was ten, an apprentice stole my bread. I cursed his shadow, making him vomit black sludge for three days. At eleven, a holy knight called me a wild rat. I lured him to the edge of Wyvern Cliff and listened to him being tortured by absolute fear until dawn. At twelve, when I wove my first fatal soul curse, I stayed up all night, my heart burning with twisted joy.

My mentor scolded me, saying I had the face of an angel and the bones of a demon. But she couldn't bear to execute me. She just guarded me for ten years.

During my five years of travel, I played the obedient healer. I had faked it for so long that these weak, spoiled nobles actually thought I was a weed they could trample on.

The bright chandelier flickered again, ever so slightly. A trace of freezing, gray-black mist began to silently seep from beneath my skirts.

"What are you spacing out for?" Clara crossed her arms impatiently. "You scared Elaina. Aren't you going to apologize to her?"

I stared at her quietly.

"Alright," I whispered, the dark gray magic dancing in the depths of my eyes. "I'm going to give you a proper apology right now."