Chapter 44
Chapter 44
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Translator: uly
Chapter: 44
Chapter Title: The Elf's Piercing Gaze
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‘Could it be he's trading in weapons of mass destruction? To bring down the Church?’
To think that while pretending to be a devout believer on the outside, he was scheming something like this on the inside.
He wanted to report it to the Church right away and dispatch the knights, but this alone wasn't enough evidence yet.
Because of the pact made on Walpurgis Night, he couldn't just brand a witch trader a heretic without proof.
‘The rest... I should look into it later.’
He'd said he was going to the bathroom, and dragging this out too long would raise suspicions.
If he aroused suspicion from Theorad, who hid hundreds of coiled snakes behind his smiling facade, there would be no turning back. There was no guarantee he wouldn't end up like Hamtarshin.
Indeed. No matter how he thought about it, retreating for now and biding his time was the smart play.
Leviham slipped out of the office without touching a single thing, to keep hidden the fact that he'd even entered.
He gently closed the door without a sound, then turned around—and drew in a sharp, startled breath at the unexpected encounter.
“Heh...”
The elf, Theorad's slave, was watching him from down the corridor.
As if she'd known he would emerge from the office.
“That's not the bathroom, though...”
The way she drew out her words, stepping closer one foot at a time, sent chills down his spine.
Just a lowly slave approaching, yet the air around them grew heavy with an oppressive silence.
His feet wouldn't move. His hands. His lips.
It was the kind of presence that naturally overwhelmed him.
“How strange. Why would Parish Bishop Leviham be coming out of the master's office?”
Tap. Tap.
Her light footsteps—steps that could never be taken lightly—came to a halt right in front of him.
Leviham stared at the elf now inches away, cold sweat trickling down his back.
‘Are you... really a slave?’
The elf's gaze bored into him with an intensity no slave could possess.
Arrogant and authoritative. Tyrannical and vicious.
As if this silence was the only mercy she was granting him.
But even that seemed to wear thin, as the elf parted her lips in a languid tone.
“You should answer.”
Beneath her beautiful silver hair, her blood-red eyes flashed with some latent madness.
“I'm asking you, aren't I?”
Thanks to that, Leviham could feel it acutely.
Something was going terribly wrong...
What words would the Leviham before her eyes utter next?
The elf was immensely curious.
‘Hurry and make your excuses. Just like your kind did in the past.’
The elf didn't like humans. It wouldn't even be wrong to say she despised them.
No matter how armored in good intentions a human might be, peering inside revealed nothing but self-deception and hypocrisy.
Every war had been ignited by humans, and murder, plunder, violence, vitriol, desire, and greed clung to human society like it was the most natural thing in the world.
That was why humans were an untrustworthy race.
Give them affection, and they'd exploit it. Fulfill their ideals, and they'd demand even loftier ones.
They hated being ruled yet loved ruling others more than anyone—a race utterly consumed by selfishness and mired in hypocrisy.
And among them, the most repulsive were none other than the priests.
— Punish the witches who toy with human hearts and collude with demons, in the name of God!
The elf remembered. Not so long ago, the priests who claimed to believe in God had unleashed a horrific massacre and madness 'in the name of God.'
Innocent witches had been butchered in chunks by the blades of inquisitors.
Even those who weren't witches were branded as such the moment they fell afoul of the Church, meeting their ends.
An era of screams and spurting blood. A mad world where no one raised a voice against it. Hell on earth had unfolded right there in the Empire.
Unable to bear witness any longer, the elf had hidden her identity and met with high-ranking Church officials, appealing to their emotions. She'd argued with fiery reason.
Stop this inhumanity at once. Witches hadn't toyed with human hearts or colluded with demons. This was all a tragedy born of misunderstanding.
But the Church's higher-ups wouldn't hear her. Instead, they flew into rages and hounded her.
— Do you plan to deny this document too? It's clearly recorded that Eligos, the archduke of Proud Hell, has colluded with witches to attack the Empire! And it's stamped with the seal of the great demon Baal—there's no room for doubt!
The document they claimed left no doubt was some infernal missive of unclear provenance.
Its origins unverified, the facts couldn't be confirmed—and without confirmed facts, true intentions couldn't be discerned—yet the Church refused to back down.
Only then did the elf realize: The Church had never wanted the truth to begin with.
The Church was focused solely on the windfall benefits of uniting the masses and stoking rage against the demon realms.
It probably wasn't a decision made within the Church alone. The imperial court, and countless figures from politics and high finance spawned by it, must have been entangled like a spider's web in the 'witch hunts.'
— So don't interfere! Keep your lying tongue in your mouth! The God of Light wills it! We shall carry out His will and exterminate the hordes of witches infesting our sacred Empire!
As the high priests shouted in God's name, the madness spread through the Empire like a plague.
Witches confessed to crimes they hadn't committed just to survive—but died for being witches anyway. Even those who'd lived aiding humans were slain by the very people they'd helped.
As denunciations proliferated, bounty hunters specializing in killing witches rose to prominence.
Farmers who tilled fields by day roamed with pitchforks at night hunting witches; knights earned medals for every witch they slew.
If this continued, every witch in the Empire would be massacred. Driven to the precipice, the witches had no choice but to flee to the seven hells of the demon realms.
Just as all witches were sinking into despair, awaiting death, one young witch rallied the survivors.
— You idiots! What are you all doing? You gonna die like this? I don't wanna die feeling empty! I didn't become a witch just to vanish like this! I wanna live!
The girl who called herself 'Dremes' insisted they take the offensive and fight. Countless witches agreed with Dremes and rebelled.
The elf was no different. She wanted to help those pitiful children struggling against injustice, fighting to survive.
— I wanna meet some hot guy and have him pop my cherry, not get my gut skewered on a Church bastard's spear! Why do I have to die? Why do you? We didn't do shit wrong, fuck! Right!?
The longer Dremes ranted, the more witches resolved never to suffer the Empire's pervasive hatred again.
Thus, a massive civil war erupted in the Empire.
Witches terrorized Church branches with unique spells they'd developed themselves, killing humans who came to capture them and using their corpses as materials for dark magic rituals.
Dissidents long resentful of the Church and mercenaries smelling profit joined the witches' side, sparking localized battles across the Empire.
The dying embers met fresh fuel and roared back to life.
Deeming one-sided oppression impossible now, the Church requested imperial support—but the court's response was the polar opposite of what they'd hoped.
— This is all your doing from the start. Don't shift the blame to the throne.
For the centralizing court, a weakened Church was a dream come true. No need to take sides and suffer losses.
Sensing crisis, the Church ultimately compromised with the witches.
On that infamous 'Walpurgis Night,' they recognized each other's freedoms and witches' rights at a national level transcending religion.
Decades had passed since then, but the elf—with her superior racial memory—still remembered it all as if it were yesterday whenever she closed her eyes.
That was why priest-robed scum filled her with instinctive revulsion.
When an inquisitor had visited the mansion before, it had been absurd enough; now this parish bishop was sneaking around doing god-knows-what.
She wanted to snap his neck and be done with it, but barely held back. This priest was, after all, Theorad's 'guest.'
‘Killing a guest is unbecoming of a slave.’
She didn't want to trouble Theorad.
More precisely, she didn't want to break her toy.
She hadn't even properly enjoyed her playtime yet, nor confirmed if the words past-Theorad had uttered were sincere.
So for now, she planned only a simple threat. To keep the priest before her from entertaining dangerous thoughts.
“Did you perhaps mistake the office for the bathroom and wander in by accident?”
As the elf spoke in a much softer tone, Leviham finally snapped out of it.
Realizing she had no intent to harm him.
“Mistake...”
But a mistake?
It sounded like she'd overlook it this once if he just lied.
It felt off, but he had no other choice.
If this elf tattled to Theorad, his position would be exceedingly awkward.
Leviham looked up with a composed smile.
“Yes, that's it. It's been a while since I visited the mansion, so I must have mixed up the bathroom's location.”
“Hmm. Then why didn't you say 'got it' when the master assigned a servant to guide you?”
“Haha. My apologies. I put too much faith in my memory, it seems.”
“No helping it. I'll show you to the bathroom, so follow me.”
The elf turned and walked off.
Her heels clicked with each step, her silver hair cascading to her waist rippling softly like gentle waves.
“Ah.”
Then, as if it just occurred to her, she halted abruptly and slyly turned her head, glaring coldly at Leviham.
“Please refrain from any reckless behavior in the mansion from now on. The master hates it deeply if his hobbies are found out.”
His hobbies. Leviham mulled the elf's words and replied as nonchalantly as possible.
“Yes. I'll keep that in mind.”
*
The black tea had gone completely cold.
No warmth emanated even when he rested his hand on the cup.
The chocolate was starting to melt too, which was a problem.
‘When the hell is he coming back?’
He'd said they were going to the bathroom, but both were taking forever. Constipated or something?
He toyed listlessly with his teacup when suddenly the opposite door opened.
Seeing Leviham enter with the elf, I brightened and stood from my seat.
“Bishop! Did you handle your business alright?”
“Hiiing. Why don't you ask me, Master...”
The elf whined in a lisping voice from the side, but I ignored her easily.
Leviham glanced at the elf before speaking in a somewhat troubled tone.
“I handled my business fine, but I must've eaten something bad—I'm not feeling well.”
“Ah. In that case, I'll fetch some medicine from the mansion's stores.”
Leviham waved it off as if it were nothing.
“No need for medicine. I just need to rest my eyes a bit. Could I borrow a room, by chance?”
“Uh... Bishop, couldn't you just head home?”