Chapter 121
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 121
Saraka calmly continued speaking as she flipped over a card on the table. When the paladins burst in, they had been in the middle of a shamanic reading. Whatever fortune they had sought, only three cards had been drawn from the deck.
The shaman who had been reading the young ladies' fortunes was already dead, his decapitated head rolling across the floor.
In truth, he should have been escorted to the Temple and burned at the stake, not killed on the spot. However, the shaman had been a pawn, prepared by Saraka from the very beginning.
Just because she was tailing them didn't mean a bishop could appear out of thin air. She’d had him killed immediately to keep him from talking.
Saraka felt no guilt. This was all for the Sun Goddess, a necessary step for her to truly become Bishop Marik. Remorse was out of the question.
All Saraka had done was nudge a man whose life was already in ruins toward the path of sorcery. He was the one who had failed to resist temptation and succumbed to his own impulses. Through an intermediary, Saraka had informed the man of House Regur’s wealth and instructed him to approach the young lady of the family.
After spreading rumors about the man among the nobility, it didn't take long for Aria Regur, who had a keen interest in such readings, to summon him. The man had likely been dreaming of the gold coins he would receive for his services.
The fool probably never imagined he was being used. Saraka, who kept the wicked Azazel by her side without letting her own heart be the least bit defiled, thought the dead man should have learned from her example.
She flipped over one of the cards on the table. It revealed a drawing of a chained demon. Small children held up the throne of a giant, bull-headed fiend as if in worship.
“This is unmistakably a form of sorcery.”
Countess Regur stared at the drawing. The illustration, which seemed to contain every unpleasantness imaginable, looked wicked and ominous at a single glance.
“A person’s life is determined solely by the Sun Goddess. To peer into it is taboo—an act of rebellion against her.”
Saraka spoke as she flipped the next card. It depicted a three-headed demon—composed of a human, a frog, and a cat—holding a torch.
“Mother! It was just curiosity! I didn’t know he was a real shaman!”
“Bishop Marik! My daughter knew nothing of this!” Countess Regur fiercely backed her daughter’s claim.
But ignorance was also a sin, and that was not the answer Saraka wanted. For the sake of these fools who didn’t even know the right words to save themselves, Saraka decided to prompt them.
“If Lady Regur knew nothing, then who summoned the shaman?”
As if struck by a realization, Lady Regur looked at the other two before shouting.
“Y-Young Master Lohengrin! That wicked heretic bewitched me!”
At her words, the other noble child, who had been cautiously gauging the situation, quickly chimed in.
“That’s right! Young Master Lohengrin brought the shaman!”
“I-I did not! Aria Regur! You brought him!”
“Shut up, you filthy heretic! Bishop! I knew nothing!”
Saraka nearly forgot her duty as Bishop Marik and burst into laughter. Since she had been monitoring the shaman, she knew exactly who had organized the reading. It was none other than Lady Regur, the very one now crying so desperately about her innocence.
“...Bishop. My daughter was merely caught up in this by misfortune. If you would show her mercy, I will surely repay the Goddess!”
Saraka smiled brightly. Countess Regur was the sister of the Minister of Finance. The other girl was the child of a wealthy merchant. The most insignificant among them was Lohengrin, who was now being falsely accused. No, since he had participated in sorcery, there was nothing unfair about it at all.
Saraka turned over the last card. It depicted a severed head and a person holding a spear being burned at the stake. A fitting end for a heretic.
“Take Young Master Lohengrin and the shaman’s corpse to the Temple. Burn them until not even eyeballs or bone fragments remain—leave nothing but ash.”
“Yes, Bishop.”
At Saraka’s command, the knights gathered the shaman’s head and body, then hauled Young Master Lohengrin to his feet.
“Bishop! Bishop! It wasn’t me, Bishop!”
Lohengrin’s death would be of great help in putting the Minister of Finance’s sister and the wealthy merchant in her debt.
A heretic’s death was worthless anyway, so it was only right to use it in a way that benefited her. Since this would slightly alleviate Lohengrin’s sins, wasn’t it an honor for him?
Lohengrin thrashed wildly, trying to escape the paladins’ grasp, but a sheltered young master was no match for trained knights. He was quickly subdued and dragged away, his body scraping along the dirt floor.
Begging for his life while hurling abuse at Aria, Lohengrin’s unsightly appearance completely betrayed his noble birth. The paladins’ rough handling made it seem as if they were dealing with a common beggar rather than a young lord.
As she realized this miserable sight was the last she would ever see of the boy, a deep chill ran through Countess Regur. Was it guilt for driving an innocent child to his death for her daughter’s sake?
Or was it the firsthand sight of Bishop Marik’s authority—the power to condemn even one of noble blood with a mere flick of her tongue?
“Father, please call my father! My father will prove my innocence! Bishop!”
Lohengrin seemed to believe without a doubt that everything would be resolved once his father arrived. But just as Countess Regur had been powerless to stop Bishop Marik from invading her home, forced to endure the humiliation of seeing her daughter on her knees, Lohengrin’s father would be unable to help his son.
“A heretic’s words can bewitch people. Do you intend to let him continue mocking the faithful with his wicked tongue?”
At Bishop Marik’s remark, a paladin clamped a hand over Lohengrin’s mouth. The grip was so brutal that it covered his nose as well, and he soon lost consciousness. The limp boy was carried away much more easily than before.
Lohengrin would be taken straight to the Temple and executed. His family would receive only a notice of his death, and they would not even be given his body.
With the Emperor’s tacit approval, the Temple’s power had grown unchecked. The pretext of punishing heretics had given them wings. It looked like indiscriminate slaughter, but behind it lay the will of the Goddess.
If anyone dared to question the slaughter committed by Bishop Marik, they themselves would be branded a heretic. With even the Emperor and the dukes unable to intervene, who would dare try to stop her?
Besides, Bishop Marik always acted on plausible physical evidence. On the surface, she was always in the right.
In the eyes of the world, Bishop Marik was the proxy of the Sun Goddess herself.
The devil’s fire, envious of her faith, had tried to burn the Bishop to death, but it could not claim the life of one so beloved by the Goddess. Executing heretics was a noble sacrifice—atoning for their sins even at the cost of staining her own hands with blood.
Because the Sun watched over her, not even a shadow could fall beneath Bishop Marik’s feet.
The Sun Goddess had bestowed upon Bishop Marik the eye to see the truth, so those she pointed to were the true betrayers of the faith.
Countess Regur was now feeling firsthand why her father had found it so horrifying to recall the pagan massacres of the past.
Before she could even pity the countless dead, the chilling possibility that she could become one of them gripped her. And now, those clutches were reaching for her.
“Release the other believers.”
At the command, the knights unbound Aria. Once free, she scrambled behind Countess Regur, hiding from Bishop Marik’s gaze.
If she hadn’t lied and pinned Lohengrin as the ringleader, she would be the one being dragged away right now.
“I’m sorry, Mother…”
“Aria…”
Countess Regur looked down at her foolish daughter, who had brought a shaman into their home for a fortune reading. This was all her fault for raising the girl too preciously. It was a relief she had a cunning side; otherwise, she might have been branded a heretic and purged.
“The two of you are truly a wonderful sight to behold.”
Her daughter’s head hadn't rolled, but it was no different from having a leash fastened around her neck, held by Bishop Marik.
Shielding her daughter behind her, Countess Regur bowed her head.
“Please forgive my rudeness from earlier, Bishop.”
“Mother!”
Aria was startled to see her mother bowing. The girl, so lacking in situational awareness that she’d sought a sorcerous reading in the midst of a pagan purge, couldn’t comprehend why her mother was taking such a low posture.
It was just a bit of fun. Bishop Marik had overreacted, but the ringleader, Lohengrin, had been caught. Aria had simply been caught up in it by mistake; she hadn’t committed any major crime.
Her mother should be scolding the Bishop, not begging for mercy. If anything, shouldn’t Bishop Marik be the one apologizing for subduing Aria like a heretic?
Ignoring her foolish daughter, Countess Regur continued her apology.
“If the Bishop had not personally graced us with her presence, I would never have known my daughter was being toyed with by a shaman in my own home. For daring to doubt the Bishop’s intentions, divine punishment would not be enough. However, considering my past devotion to the Temple, I beg you to forgive me.”
The Bishop, who had been listening to the Countess’s sweet words as if they were a hymn, finally spoke.
“You have no need to apologize to me.”
Saraka looked down with great satisfaction at Countess Regur. Just moments ago, the woman had been shouting about the abuse of power, and now she was bowing in submission.
Saraka wasn’t a tall woman. But in the world she saw, she was always looking down at the heads of others. It was because everyone bowed to her. Was this not the perspective of the Sun itself?
In the past that the original Bishop Marik had spoken of so dreamily, everyone had bowed before her just like this. And now, this was the treatment Saraka, the inheritor of that name, would naturally receive.
Saraka placed a hand on Countess Regur’s shoulder, forcing her to bend even lower. Her touch was so light that to an onlooker, it would seem as if the Countess was bowing deeper out of gratitude for the merciful Bishop’s touch.
“This Marik guarantees that Countess Regur is an excellent believer.”
Aria Regur was a fool, but Countess Regur was useful. The fact that she was the sister of the Minister of Finance alone made her incredibly valuable.
“As long as my name protects you, no one in the Temple will be able to cast a stain upon you or Lady Regur.”
The implication was clear: fall from Saraka’s favor, and their lives would be forfeit in an instant. Countess Regur understood the hidden meaning perfectly.
To have to submit and follow a single bishop like a loyal dog—the future looked bleak. Despair was etched onto the Countess’s face.
Fortunately, her bowed head hid her expression. Swallowing her resentment, Countess Regur spoke.
“Thank you for your grace, Bishop.”