Gender-swapped Saintess: A Survival Diary on Hell Difficulty

"brand?"

Thranduil shook his head in denial.

"Miss Roland, I will not brand my friends. If I did, how would I be any different from the traitor Seraf?"

"Eh?"

This time, Roland was at a loss.

She had originally covered her chest with both hands, preparing to resist Thranduil's suppression and say some harsh words.

It turned out to be a gentleman who came?

Roland reluctantly lowered her arms, which were covering her chest, and scratched her cheek with her fingers to ease the embarrassment.

"Ahem... Your Highness, how would you like to keep this a secret?"

Upon hearing this, Thranduil seemed to have a sudden thought, and her face, which had just returned to its fair color, began to flush with an ambiguous pink.

Then she lowered her head and began rummaging through the inside of the spatial ring.

A moment later, he pulled out a photo-capturing magic item.

This thing is used almost worldwide, and the type of magical fluctuations on it is immediately apparent. Roland could identify the magic on it at a glance.

It was clearly the highest level and clearest [Image Retention Magic].

With 99.99 million pixels and a 250-degree field of view, every single hair can be seen clearly.

"Your Highness, what are you doing taking that thing out?"

As soon as Roland asked the question, Thranduil's long ears perked up sharply, turning into the size of a boiled shrimp at a visible speed.

An unusual light flashed in the little saintess's eyes, her breathing became rapid and hot, and she used her mage's hand to lift the magical artifact into the air, aiming it at Roland's direction.

"Miss Roland, please..."

"Please do it to me too, then we'll be accomplices!"

"puff."

Roland almost spat out her saliva, her eyes widening in shock.

"What are you talking about?"

The little white elf saintess looked only slightly older than Renee; at most, her body proportions were closer to those of an adult because she was almost thirty.

Roland's finger trembled as she pointed at Thranduil.

"I'll be captured and shot!"

Although Thranduil didn't quite understand Roland's words, he could sense Roland's refusal.

Suppressing her shyness and excitement, she spun around on the spot, displaying her figure, which was as barren as a desolate desert, and sincerely encouraged him.

"Why not? I...I'm pretty too, right?"

"I am a handsome young man from all around the Elf Forest, the future heir to the royal family. Many powerful families are begging me to arrange a marriage with them."

"Miss Roland, you can do it!"

To be able to say such a thing was already the limit of Thranduil's shame.

She closed her eyes, stood up on the sofa, spread her fingers, and pounced on Roland, intending to force herself on her.

To bolster his spirits, Thranduil lunged forward while shouting.

"Miss Roland, I'm so sorry, but this is all for the sake of the royal family's reputation and dignity, and to avoid being sent back to the royal family's territory to study!"

"Hey, don't come any closer!"

Roland was immediately pounced on by Thranduil.

Although Thranduil was as light as a cotton ball, as a powerful figure from the Central Continent, his strength was not something Roland could resist.

Roland could only watch helplessly as Thranduil pounced into his arms, nuzzling around like a little pig with its eyes closed.

And then... that was it.

Thranduil was so nervous that he tried to unbutton the top button of his collar with his eyes closed.

Roland realized that Thranduil's talk was all bark and no bite, and after calming down a bit, she looked speechlessly at the little saint in her arms.

"Your Highness, I say..."

"What does this have to do with the dignity of royalty? No one would believe such an absurd thing even if I told them."

Thranduil shuddered, his tone unconsciously carrying a hint of grievance.

"Moon Maid, she will believe it."

"She has a way of finding out, as long as you dare to tell her."

"She will take me back to the Elf Forest and let me study for another twenty years!"

Roland was stunned when she heard this.

What the hell?

Given the high-pressure education model used by the Moon Maid, isn't this equivalent to being sentenced to twenty years in prison for getting glued on?

Surely not? Are those royal mentors from Moon Maid really that heartless?

Roland began to recall the Moon Maid's strict teaching style, her merciless education, her chilling lecturing ability, and her almost 24/7 supervision, even overseeing her sleep...

Wait, no, the Moon Maid is really quite ruthless. No wonder the little saintess is so afraid.

So, isn't this a good opportunity to win over the little saintess?

An immature little saintess is much easier to deal with than the stubborn Moon Maid.

Roland's eyes lit up, and she glanced down.

Thranduil was still struggling with the buttons on his collar, his face a mixture of emotions—three parts shyness, three parts fear, and ninety-four parts excitement.

Taking advantage of the little saintess's inattention, Roland swung her tail and surrounded Thranduil.

Thranduil was still thinking about how to get Roland to hand over his secrets.

Suddenly surrounded by cool, fluffy fox fur, feeling its soft touch, it felt as if I were lying on a cloud.

She stopped what she was doing, puzzled.

"Miss Roland?"

Roland did not answer, but instead exerted a little force, pulling Thranduil towards him.

"Pfft~"

The sound of skin hitting skin rang out, and Thranduil was caught off guard and slammed into Roland's chest, feeling dizzy from the impact of her seven-foot breasts.

The development of the white elves is really slow. Even though they are almost thirty years old, the feeling of Thranduil holding them in his arms is basically the same as that of Renee.

Caught off guard by being held close, Thranduil was enveloped in Roland's foxy scent, his face burning hot.

Struggling to create some distance, she discovered a pair of enormous white rabbits standing before her, making her so embarrassed that she could barely speak.

"Miss Roland, what are you doing?"

"I was telling you not to be so nervous."

Roland noticed the subtle expression on Thranduil's face and a triumphant smile appeared on her lips.

Taking advantage of the little saintess's mental lapse, Roland gently patted her back and spoke softly.

"Your Highness, I swear by my 'devout faith' in the God of Light that I will never inform on the Moon Maid."

"I hate the maid so much for scolding me in etiquette class. How could I possibly tell her our little secret?"

I don't know if it was the gentle actions or the maid's bad words that had the effect.

Thranduil relaxed slightly, hesitated for a moment, then lowered his head back to Roland's chest, muttering in a muffled voice.

"It's not just Moon Maid, there are others too."

"Yes, there are others too."

A triumphant smile appeared on Roland's lips. Based on her experience of coaxing little Alice and little Renee, she began to slowly stroke Thranduil's back along its curves.

"Actually, I think you white elf royal family are really strange."

"This is not a big deal at all. When the nobles of the empire are thirty years old, they have already dragged succubi into a big fight with guns."

"Someone like you is even purer than a lily."

Upon hearing this, Thranduil frowned and raised his head.

"Really?"

"Absolutely true."

"Are you the same?"

Serandil gradually calmed down, and thinking of the culprit behind her crooked and disheveled appearance, "The Cat Saintess Photobook," she pouted.

"You posed for those frivolous photo books with a succubus, and even swung your toes in front of the camera. You're a frivolous aristocrat too."

Roland's feigned smile of a virtuous wife and loving mother almost crumbled in a second.

Suppressing the urge to punch someone, Roland gritted her teeth and said.

"Yes, yes, I'm not serious either."

"Everyone outside thought that art book was a forgery by a succubus. Now you know it was me, so you have leverage over me... Are you satisfied now?"

"Um."

Thranduil made a muffled nasal sound.

She knew Roland was just trying to comfort her.

This was a long-lost feeling for her, so long that her memory of it had become hazy, dating back to more than ten or twenty years ago.

Back then, her wet nurse would hold her like this, telling her fresh stories in a gentle voice, almost like a nursery rhyme.

After hesitating for a long time, Thranduil lowered his head again and buried his face in Roland's broad, maternal embrace.

"Thanks."

The little saintess's faint words of thanks pierced through the barrier of skin and reached Roland's four ears.