<Chapter 47>

“Inosensia becoming the Saintess is impossible.”

His voice was resolute, leaving no room for even the slightest possibility.

The Emperor furrowed his brows at this assertion.

“But Your Holiness, the people of the North already revere Inosensia as a Saintess.”

“She is not a Saintess.”

“Even Bishop Roam submitted a similar report.”

The truth was, the Emperor hadn’t received any report from Bishop Roam. Yet he lied, thinking the Pope might take the matter more seriously if it came from the Bishop.

However…

“I’ll say it again: Inosensia becoming the Saintess is impossible.”

With that, the Pope tossed the document handed to him by the Emperor onto the floor.

“The events detailed here, naturally, are also impossible.”

As the papers fluttered to the ground like falling leaves, the Emperor’s frown deepened.

“Then are you saying that Bishop Roam lied to me?”

“If he wasn’t deceived by someone, that would be the case.”

“What reason would Bishop Roam have to deceive me?”

“Then it seems he’s been misled by the Northerners.”

The Pope’s dismissive tone, as though it were someone else’s problem, left the Emperor feeling frustrated.

‘If a Saintess were truly to awaken outside the Great Temple, he’d be the most troubled by it…!’

It had been 25 years since the previous Saintess died. It also meant the Pope had been living in semi-seclusion in the Great Temple for 25 years to maintain the divine barrier.

Without the emergence of a new Saintess, the Pope would remain bound to the temple until his death.

Thus, the person who most desired the Saintess’s awakening should logically be the Pope himself. Yet how could he show so little interest in the possibility of a Saintess awakening outside the temple?

“Are you absolutely certain there’s no possibility of her awakening as the Saintess?”

“How many times must I say it? None.”

A hint of irritation laced the Pope’s tone. The Emperor gritted his teeth and bowed his head.

“My apologies, Your Holiness.”

“Make sure not to fuss over such trivial matters again.”

“…I’ll correct my actions.”

Who in the world would have guessed? That the relationship between the Pope and the Emperor, known to be close, would have such a stark hierarchy?

The Emperor felt a twinge of humiliation at the fact but could do nothing about it.

He left the Pope’s private chambers quietly, unable to show any displeasure. Walking alone through the corridors without his attendants to avoid drawing attention to his visit, the Emperor brooded.

‘To think it would be this ineffective…’

The dark night cast the glass windows as mirrors. The Emperor stared at his reflection—more precisely, at his hair.

‘I dyed it just yesterday, yet again…!’

From a distance, it wasn’t noticeable, but up close, scattered strands of white hair were visible.

At 63 years of age, such signs of aging were natural. However, considering he was the emperor, it was unthinkable.

Three hundred years ago, the then-Emperor had been granted the title of Saint and the blessing of eternal youth for aiding the Pope in winning a holy war. This blessing had been passed down to every emperor since.

Thanks to that, the current Emperor looked no older than his thirties, even at 63.

But recently, his body had begun to age.

At first, he thought it was his imagination. But as wrinkles appeared on his face and his hair began to turn white in recent days, he could no longer deny it—there was a problem with the blessing.

“No… If anyone finds out about this…!”

He’d be accused and ridiculed for doing something so vile as to incur divine wrath and lose the blessing.

He couldn’t ask the Pope for help either. Barricaded in his chamber, the Emperor desperately pondered why he had lost the blessing. After days of torment, he arrived at one conclusion.

“It’s because I tried to kill the woman who was a Saintess candidate… That must be why God is angry with me!”

His aging had begun when Inosensia left for the North. The Emperor became convinced his theory was correct and decided to bring her back to the capital to resolve the issue. He believed that if she prayed on his behalf, God might listen.

That was just a few hours ago. Shortly after, he received reports from the nobles sent to the North, informing him that Inosensia and Temenos had safely held their wedding.

Although the Emperor lamented, the nobles added an unbelievable report.

“Inosensia is being called a Saintess by the Northerners. They say she has healed many.”

Upon hearing that, the Emperor felt this was his chance.

He hastily compiled their accounts and rushed to the Great Temple, expecting the Pope to summon Inosensia if he heard such news.

Yet, the Pope was adamant in his denial.

The Emperor bit his lip in frustration as he walked.

‘How am I supposed to bring her back now that she’s the Duchess…?’

Then, a brilliant idea struck him.

If he couldn’t bring her back as the duchess, he just had to make her no longer a duchess.

There were plenty of people in the North whom he could manipulate to achieve his goal.

Sitting in his carriage, the Emperor deliberated over who to assign the task to as he picked up several communication crystals. Just then, one of them lit up—it was Bishop Roam.

‘Quick to contact me, as always.’

Clicking his tongue lightly, the Emperor activated the communication crystal, only to nearly faint at Roam’s words.

— “Your Majesty, about the poison you gave me…”

“Poison? What poison… Ah!”

In the chaos of the past few days, he had completely forgotten giving Roam the poison. If Inosensia were dead, there’d be no way to recover the blessing! A chill ran down the Emperor’s spine as he shouted at Roam, “And? What happened to the woman?”

— “Well… It seems you gave me the wrong substance. Though I poisoned her, she’s completely fine.”

“She’s fine? Are you certain?”

— “Yes, I even took some myself. It just made my tongue tingle a little.”

“Thank goodness. God must have intervened.”

— “What? Thank goodness?”

“Listen carefully. Abort the assassination. Instead…”

The Emperor relayed his revised plan to Bishop Roam.

He had no idea that the moment their communication ended, Roam would be dragged to the dungeons.

*  *  *

In the Duke’s underground torture chamber, Kei, who had just finished interrogating a prisoner, nearly screamed when he saw Temenos standing by the door.

“M-my lord! What brings you here at this hour?”

“Is the interrogation over?”

“Yes, but…”

Kei’s heart pounded. There was an unusual intensity to Temenos that made him even more intimidating than usual.

‘He seems upset… Could that be why?’

Given who Temenos was, Kei didn’t dare joke about why he was out of the marital bed so soon after the wedding.

‘Could the Madam have rejected him…?’

The thought was unthinkable, though Kei could understand why she might.

“What’s the Bishop’s condition?”

“Ah, yes. He’s still in one piece. My mentor went in just a moment ago.”

Before Kei could finish, Temenos strode past him and entered the torture chamber.

What would happen now that the ‘Monster Duke,’ visibly in a foul mood, had entered the chamber?

Terrifying scenes played through Kei’s mind. The mere thought made him shudder. He wanted nothing more than to run, but his legs wouldn’t obey. Holding back tears, he followed Temenos inside.

Upon entering, he immediately regretted not fleeing.

“You damned monster!”

Slumped in a chair, bound and battered, Bishop Roam glared at Temenos and began shouting curses.

“I, Roam, a Bishop appointed by His Holiness and acting under the Emperor’s orders, am treated like a criminal and tortured? Aren’t you afraid of divine punishment?”

“A sinner’s a sinner. One crime more or less makes no difference.”

Temenos’ mocking tone only fueled Roam’s rage. Temenos calmly took the seat opposite Roam, the interrogator’s chair.

Just the sight of Temenos sitting there was enough to flood Roam’s eyes with terror.
 

<To be continued>

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