Chapter 20
Chapter 20
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 20
Chapter Title: Chapter 3. Bluffing with Feigned Composure (4)
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Everyone confirmed the miracle that had befallen Lady Sophia. People began whispering busily, covering their mouths with fans or hands.
"Good heavens. My eyes aren't playing tricks on me, are they?"
"That lady's illness... wasn't it Crudelle's Disease?"
"Yes. They said the symptoms started a few months ago, so it's probably stage one now."
"I heard there's no hope once it reaches stage three. You might as well call the undertaker instead of the doctor."
"But to think she became so pristine with just a gesture from the Saintess..."
Envy, jealousy, and resentment flickered in their eyes. They stared piercingly at Lady Sophia's now flawless face, struggling to suppress their emotions.
"The Barnes Family's faithful prayers have been answered by the divine. Do not lose this faith henceforth; continue to pursue it steadfastly."
The Cardinal addressed Lady Sophia and Baroness Barnes—or perhaps the congregation as a whole.
"Thank you, Saintess!"
"Thank you! We are truly grateful!"
The two women knelt before the Saintess and bowed their heads repeatedly.
"Dio Benedica."
"Dio Benedica."
The assembly drew the holy sign together and closed their eyes.
The hall brimmed with profound glory and fervent faith toward the divine.
As the mass concluded, knights approached the Saintess, who sat serenely on the dais.
"Saintess, this way."
She stared at them blankly for a moment before rising wordlessly.
The knights surrounded her front and back as they walked. It seemed both like protection and surveillance.
As the Saintess exited the Great Hall, another priest who had been waiting outside approached.
"Saintess."
He whispered softly.
"His Majesty will be arriving today."
The Saintess's body flinched momentarily. She then clasped her hands together as if unperturbed.
"Understood. Until then, I shall compose myself in the prayer room."
"Yes, Saintess."
The priest withdrew, and the knights escorted her to the prayer room just as before.
"How long will it take?"
The knight asked in a stiff tone, and the Saintess replied in an exceedingly gentle, soft voice.
"Thinking of meeting His Majesty leaves my heart unsettled. It may take some time to find peace."
"Yes. But you must not keep His Majesty waiting too long."
The Saintess's lips tightened for an instant. But in a flash, she wore her serene smile once more.
"I know."
The prayer room door opened, and she entered with light steps.
Click.
The door shut behind her. The Saintess looked up ahead.
Walls and floor entirely white. White veils, similar to her own, draped everywhere, creating a reverent atmosphere.
In the center of the prayer room lay a carpet for sitting on the floor. She approached it slowly.
"......"
She halted before the carpet, standing rigid for a moment. Her fingers, peeking from beneath her sleeve, trembled faintly—but then,
"Aaack!"
The Saintess tore off her veil and flung it to the floor. Then she began trampling it furiously with her feet.
Thud, thud.
With each movement, her thick locks of hair cascaded over her shoulders like undulating vines, vibrant with the hue of fresh greenery.
The Saintess was breathtakingly beautiful, worthy of being called a heavenly beauty. Her pale, delicate features and translucent eyes could make one mistake her for a fairy.
If not for the curses spilling from her pink lips.
"Damn it! Aaaah!"
The prayer room was perfectly soundproofed, designed so the Saintess could focus on her prayers undisturbed.
But at this moment, that feature was ensuring her curses didn't leak outside.
"Damn that emperor bastard!"
Curses that could cost her her tongue if overheard.
"Ugh, this is so frustrating, seriously!"
The Saintess wailed as she collapsed face-down onto the carpet.
Her shoulders heaved roughly up and down. But it wasn't from tears.
"I already saw him last week, so why come again!"
It was from venting her rage, syllable by biting syllable.
"You bastard! Drop dead tripping backward and smashing your nose! Drown in your own shit, you scum!"
She hurled curses at the absent—but soon-to-appear—Emperor.
It wasn't rage built up over a short time. It had piled up over years, layer upon layer, until even releasing it seemed impossible.
"Just how many years has it been!"
The Saintess sprawled on her back, arms and legs splayed toward the ceiling. It was an immature sight, hard to believe from the woman who had just awed the congregation.
"Someone, please just kill that jerk!"
She flailed her limbs like a child. Her sleeve rolled up with the swing of her arm.
On her upper arm was a tattoo of vines wrapping around a sword.
"Haa..."
After a brief outburst of wailing and cursing, she rose with an exhausted air.
"That tenacious lifeline won't snap as long as I'm around."
She muttered, burying her face between her knees.
"I'm sick of it, sick of it. Sick of it."
A profound resignation dripped from her voice.
"How long must I live like this..."
As she sighed repeatedly,
Flash!
Light burst from the pattern on her arm. A gentle green glow, infused with the fresh vitality of spring.
"Ah!"
The Saintess shot to her feet. Her emerald eyes swirled.
"No way, this is..."
She stroked her arm in disbelief. The light had faded, but the tingling sensation lingered at her fingertips.
"I felt it."
She murmured dreamily. Her eyelids slowly lowered.
"You've appeared, Requiem."
❖ ❖ ❖
"Butler, it's ready."
Head Chef Max knocked breathlessly on Philip's door.
Despite the chilly autumn morning, sweat beaded pitifully on his plump cheeks and double chin.
"From the morning, ugh, what in the world."
He wiped his face repeatedly, panting.
"The Young Master suddenly wants lunchboxes. Ten servings, no less."
"Shh, watch your mouth."
Philip hurriedly silenced the chef and headed to the carriage with him.
"I don't pretend to understand the Young Master's intentions either. I just follow orders."
"But he's always been picky with food. What wind's blowing now? Did he take some tonic or something?"
Max fanned himself with his hand, grumbling.
"Last time he ordered three days' worth of three-serving lunchboxes. Lunchboxes take way more effort than regular meals, you know."
"True enough."
"And preserved rations, of all things! When have I ever made those? Had to dust off the cookbook after years. Just like my apprentice days!"
He kept talking nonstop, as if venting built-up stress.
"And why's he so picky about the meat? Every kind—land, sea, air—plus young tender cuts and aged ones too. It's killing me."
"You've worked hard."
Philip half-listened to Max's complaints, hurrying along. His mind was elsewhere.
Opening the carriage door revealed the neatly stacked lunchboxes.
"Off you go. Thanks for the early morning labor."
Philip clapped Max's shoulder firmly. Max exhaled a long breath, as if finally unloading a burden.
"Well, you're the one suffering most, Butler. I'll head out."
After sending Max off, Philip climbed into the carriage himself.
"To Magna Morten."
He instructed the coachman and leaned back in his seat.
"Just how many days has it been?"
He crossed his arms, scowling deeply.
"B-Butler!"
A few hours earlier, at dawn, the gatekeepers had brought the news.
"The Young Master demands you come at once!"
Not content with contact after three days,
"He said to bring lunchboxes and a change of clothes!"
Complete with cumbersome extras.
'No way he ate all those lunchboxes alone?'
He marveled at where all that food fit in the Young Master's slender frame.
Philip scratched his head in irritation but faithfully met Abel's demands. After all, he was the one with the weakness.
"We've arrived."
Philip jumped out hastily. The administrators from before milled about the gate.
"Butler."
They looked relieved to see him.
"Where's the Young Master?"
"He's inside. He relayed the message and went right back in."
The administrators' faces were pale. One in particular sweated profusely, looking unwell.
"What happened? Tell me in detail."
"W-Well..."
A relatively composed one stammered a reply.
"He was quiet the last two days. Didn't step out of Magna Morten once."
"I see."
"The trouble started around midnight today. I was on duty when this eerie laughter came from somewhere."
The administrator shuddered at the memory, shaking his head.
"Thought I misheard at first. But then I looked out the window..."
Philip had a hunch about what came next. But he couldn't voice it, simply urging the man on.
"And?"
"Young Master Abel was standing in the middle of the lake. Laughing out loud for ages, like he was thrilled about something."
"......"
"felt like over five minutes. Nonstop. He seemed almost mad..."
"Shh."
Another administrator quickly covered his mouth.
"Whoops."
The two shrank back, glancing nervously at Philip.
"Continue."
Philip pretended not to hear. The thought that Abel seemed mad was one he shared often.
"A-Anyway. Then he went back into Magna Morten. And around 4 a.m., he showed up at the gate post."
Another chimed in.
"He came and immediately said to fetch you, Butler."
"With lunchboxes and clothes?"
"Yes. Then he vanished back inside."
Philip gazed at Magna Morten floating afar on the lake.
"He hasn't come out since?"
"No. We thought of checking, but... as you said before."
No one enters until I arrive.
They spoke in tones dreading what might happen if disobeyed.
"Understood."
Philip sympathized fully.
"You've all suffered. Wait here for now."
"Yes... Wait, Butler, you're going in alone?"
Their eyes widened. Philip sighed with resignation.
"What choice do I have? He called for me."
"But...!"
Distress crossed their faces. They bit their lips and bowed their heads.
"Please, be careful."