Chapter 122
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 122
Though her shoulders trembled with fear and shame, the only words that escaped Countess Regur’s lips were expressions of gratitude for her mercy.
Even after Saraka’s hand left her shoulder, the Countess kept her head bowed. She would have to remain in that posture until Saraka permitted her to look up.
Saraka was highly pleased with this display of submission. Planting a shaman to set the trap had truly paid off.
Having successfully leashed Countess Regur, Saraka saw no reason to linger at the estate. Her primary objective was complete.
“Bishop, the carriage is ready.”
Just then, a paladin announced that they were ready to escort her. Seeing that Saraka was about to depart, Countess Regur felt a wave of immense relief. It was as if a violent storm had finally passed.
The Countess swallowed her humiliation and raised her head. Saraka was still staring down at her. Beneath the veil, her expression was undoubtedly one of utter contempt.
“You must never forget that the sun is always shining above your head.”
Leaving behind a warning disguised as a parting remark, Saraka exited the Regur estate. Despite the short walk to the carriage, her escort did not lower their guard.
Ever since a crazed heretic had lunged at Saraka in the past, they had remained constantly vigilant. Even upon arriving at the temple, they were prepared to draw their swords at a moment’s notice.
“There is no one here who would harm me. You need not be on guard,” Saraka said, dismissing their concerns.
But one of the knights protested.
“…But Bishop, those people are here.”
“Indeed. What if those bastards from the Order of Pararos Knights, bewitched by that witch, try to harm you?”
The sneering knight whipped his head around to glare in a certain direction.
There stood a man with his head hung low in shame. Until recently, he had been a member of the Order of Pararos Knights. Although he had left the order after shouting fiercely at Gabriel, he had not been treated well since.
“Filthy bastards who don’t even know the grace of the Sun Goddess.”
“It’s a wonder they haven’t been branded as heretics.”
They spat, cursing Gabriel for being wrapped around the witch’s little finger.
Like a set of scales, the brighter Saraka shone, the more the reputation of the Order of Pararos Knights dwindled. Even though the man had left the order to serve under Bishop Saraka, he could never shake off the stigma of his past affiliation.
“Enough. What is the use of insulting your own brothers? Above all, is Commander Gabriel not sparing no effort to punish the heretics as we speak?”
Saraka deliberately defended Gabriel. She knew that when a superior shielded someone, it only fueled greater resentment among their subordinates.
“Hmph. They’re just terrified of their own sins, so they’re clinging to your coattails, Bishop, merely pretending to condemn heretics.”
Unlike Saraka, Gabriel only captured the primary suspects of sorcery or cleaned up the aftermath of their spells. His approach was entirely different from Saraka’s, who burned and purified everything down to the root. To her followers, Gabriel’s methods naturally seemed half-hearted.
Saraka did not scold the knight for his accurate assessment.
“Even so, I believe Commander Gabriel also acts under divine will. Besides, within this temple, watched over by the Sun Goddess, no one would dare harm me.”
With that, Saraka dismissed the knights who offered to stand guard outside her room.
“Indeed. Are you not the one who carries out Lady Rachel’s will on earth, Bishop? Only a fool would ever dare to harm you.”
The knight who responded still couldn’t bring himself to leave, his worry for Saraka clear.
“…If only Sir Astaroth were here, we could rest easy.”
One of the knights lamented, lingering as if unable to take his leave. Azazel Astaroth, the knight heavily favored by Bishop Marik, possessed outstanding martial prowess.
He was so deeply trusted that Bishop Marik would take only him as a guard whenever she ventured outside the temple. Yet, for some reason, he was currently out of contact.
Of course, the real reason Saraka had traveled only with Azazel was that it made it easier to move undetected, but the knights had no way of knowing that.
“Could something have happened to Sir Astaroth? He is not the type to vanish without a word…”
“The Goddess is always watching over him. Sir Astaroth will surely be safe.”
“I suppose so…?”
Saraka had not revealed that Azazel was dead. She had intended to announce his death after Bishop Marik confirmed the demon’s condemnation, but she had been delaying the announcement, wondering if his death could be put to more profitable use.
A creature whose very existence was wicked was meant to be used by Saraka, and he had to serve that purpose even in death. As if to prove that everything was arranged for her benefit, a letter arrived from a spy she had planted near the Rohanson Mansion.
He is staying at the Rohanson Mansion.
It was news that the demon, who should have been dead, was lurking inside the Rohanson estate.
The spy added that he was confined so securely that no one in the mansion could easily discover him, unable to take a single step outside Evangeline Rohanson’s room. Thus, no one except Evangeline’s innermost circle would know that Azazel was residing there.
Saraka did not know why the demon, whose death Bishop Marik had been so certain of, was staying at the Rohanson Mansion.
Perhaps the Bishop had lied to her before ending her own life. Perhaps Evangeline had captured Azazel. Or perhaps Azazel had betrayed Saraka, drawn to the wicked Evangeline to submit to her.
Of course, it didn’t matter which of the three was true. What mattered was how she would use Azazel. Evangeline Rohanson had likely hidden him away, thinking of him as a dagger to strike at Saraka. Saraka found satisfaction in having discovered this beforehand.
The dagger Evangeline had prepared would be rendered useless. Meanwhile, the trap Saraka had laid was still poised at Evangeline Rohanson’s throat. The traitor of House Rohanson, Duke Hosaquin, and even Gabriel’s position—they were all her chess pieces.
No. In the first place, Evangeline Rohanson’s very existence was ordained for Saraka’s sake. Evangeline had appeared merely as the raw material needed to solidify Bishop Marik’s achievements.
Evangeline was like a lavish ornament to decorate the plans Saraka had laid out. Just like Azazel.
The final day was not far off. Since they served the Sun Goddess, the victor would, of course, be Bishop Marik.
* * *
I lost.
To think a mere child could get the better of the notoriously wicked Evangeline Rohanson… The stubbornness of a six-year-old was on a level that even a villainess’s reputation couldn’t match.
This was after I had heard Mavka’s entire story. She said her mother, Rico, would be waiting for her and that she had to go.
It was late, and Mavka seemed to have calmed down, so I intended to take her back to Rico. My reputation at the Duke’s estate was still rock bottom, so wandering around the mansion at night was risky, but I couldn’t just send a child back alone.
“I’ll take you.”
“I’m six years old, so I can go by myself!”
But there was an unexpected obstacle. The “six-year-old” Mavka, who claimed she was all grown up, stubbornly insisted she could go back alone.
We had been bickering for several minutes, and Mavka showed absolutely no intention of backing down. Realizing this could go on forever, I decided to yield.
“Can you really go by yourself?”
“Yes!”
With the tip of her nose flushed red, Mavka looked up at me with shining eyes. The light from the chandelier reflected in her irises, still moist from her crying fit, making them sparkle brilliantly. It was a visual attack of devastating power.
Ugh, it made me want to grant her every single wish. Having that much sheer impact was just cheating, wasn't it?
“Really? You won’t be scared?”
“I’ll be fine! Because I have Lord Cat!”
Mavka proudly showed off Pudding, who was in her arms. Clutched in her embrace, Pudding hung limp, sending me SOS signals with his eyes as if his posture was incredibly uncomfortable. It was incredibly adorable to see a child tightly hugging a cat half her size.
If Pudding were a real cat and not a beastkin, I would have corrected her hold and told her never to carry him like that. But since our Pudding was a beastkin, he could bear it.
Honestly, I wanted to have Pudding teleport her back in an instant, but I was worried she might tell Rico.
Communicating with a cat could easily be brushed off as a child’s imaginary friend. But teleportation? That was undeniable magic.
If Rico found out, she would report that I had secretly brought in a beastkin mage to plot something, and I’d be kicked out before I could even farm favorability with Duke Hosaquin.
Pudding had already used teleportation once to bring Mavka to me, but fortunately, she had been so terrified and crying so hard at the time that she hadn’t even realized it happened.
She mistakenly believed she had run away on her own, so I didn’t have to worry about that. That was why I had tried to escort her back, but…
“…Alright. I understand.”
I reluctantly gave my consent. Mavka, looking as lively as if she had never cried at all, gave a polite bow.
“Goodbye, Miss Angel!”
I felt like I had told her at least fifty times that I wasn’t an angel, but she showed no sign of correcting the title. To be honest, after constantly being treated like a villainess, being called an angel actually felt pretty good.
This was Misha’s fault. I had been spoiled by constantly hearing her say things like, “My lady is the epitome of beauty descended upon this earth…”
If Misha met Mavka, she probably would have taken her in as her star pupil in the art of flattery. While I was lost in these idle thoughts, Mavka opened the door.
“Get back safely, Mavka.”
I waved gently as she left the room. In response, Mavka grabbed Pudding’s front paw and waved it back at me. Adding cuteness to cuteness didn't just double the effect—it squared it. A complete breakdown of arithmetic.
She’s gone, right?
I waited for a moment after Mavka closed the door, then quietly cracked it open. Fooling a six-year-old was a piece of cake. This was just a strategic retreat.
If she refused to let me walk her back, I could just quietly tail her from behind.
Sorry for tricking you, Mavka. But that’s just how adults are—we play dirty.