Chapter 166
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 166
Jeremia decided to guard against the latter possibility first. Perhaps Bishop Marik had noticed that her escort knight wasn’t acting like himself and had deliberately brought him to this palace.
Was assigning him to watch Tenebrae actually a ploy to have them spy on each other? A bishop that shady was more than capable of such ulterior motives.
“As a loyal servant of Lady Jeremia, I offer my deepest gratitude,” the head maid gushed. “The world has been so chaotic lately, and I was terribly worried when Dame Musetta had to temporarily vacate her post… But knowing that the renowned Bishop's own paladin will be filling the void, I feel more reassured than anyone.”
The excessive praise was nothing but flattery. After thanking Jeremia, the head maid turned to lavish praise on Bishop Marik.
“Saraka, you did well to bring Sir Astaroth here.”
‘Saraka’ was the alias Bishop Marik was using. Watching the Bishop cast her eyes down like a common maid was so absurd that Jeremia had to resist the urge to groan in exasperation.
Is this how Pudding and Jelly felt watching me act pathetic in Azazel's body? Jeremia resolved to apologize to them the next time they met.
“Well then, Lady Jeremia must be waiting. You should head inside.”
Jeremia followed the head maid toward the room that had once been hers.
With nothing to say, their procession was silent. Jeremia took the opportunity to observe Bishop Marik’s performance. Normally, servants of the Imperial Palace were required to maintain impeccable posture and decorum. Any disability or physical blemish was grounds for disqualification. That was why Tenebrae’s maid, the one with the scar near her mouth, had remained so vivid in her memory.
At the time, she hadn’t thought much of it, even praising Tenebrae for keeping people by her side without discrimination. In reality, that maid was Bishop Marik, which meant Tenebrae had the most powerful backer of all.
Did her twin sister know that Bishop Marik and Saraka were the same person? It was a connection Jeremia herself had never dared to suspect. She cursed herself for not having doubted it sooner; a burn scar on the lower face was hardly a common feature.
While it was difficult to suspect someone based on a scar alone, that very mark held symbolic meaning for Bishop Marik. Stories of how she had nearly burned to death, only to be saved by divine providence, were told frequently. Word was that the Bishop had been severely burned long before attaining her current status, even before she carried out the Pagan Massacre twenty years ago. Though her life was saved by the grace of the Sun Goddess, the scars covering her hands and entire face had never faded.
Come to think of it, the person in the basement also had burn scars. Could they have been caught in the same fire as the Bishop? A family member, perhaps?
Even so, Bishop Marik had no qualms about burning heretics to death—a truly formidable display of faith. It was astonishing that someone whose own face was scarred by fire could condemn others to the flames without a moment's hesitation, family or not.
Wait… her entire face?
But the Bishop Marik she had just seen only had scars on the lower half of her face.
The fact that Bishop Marik’s bare face looked to be in her twenties was also unsettling. It was an absurd thought, but it felt as if she were looking at a completely different person. Of course, it wasn’t as if the Bishop could have been swapped with someone else overnight, and the burn scars on her hands were still there.
Jeremia figured the rumors had either been distorted over time or deliberately exaggerated by the Temple. It was highly likely they had claimed the scars covered her entire face to amplify the hardships she had suffered, all to elevate her piety.
Her youthful appearance, which looked nowhere near her actual age, was the most suspicious part, but Jeremia had a hunch about that as well. According to ancient tomes, those blessed by God in the past did not age and lived long lives. Though that was from an era when demons were slain with sunlight alone, it might explain why Bishop Marik was called the darling of God.
Just then, the head maid leading the way came to a halt.
Jeremia’s mind was a tangled mess, but she forced herself to focus on the task she had to deliver to Lady Rohanson.
“Lady Jeremia. I have brought your guest.”
Right now, she needed every ounce of her energy just to face the sister who had killed her.
“Quiet!”
A sharp reply shot back the moment the head maid knocked. Jeremia was taken aback by the hostile reaction, but she was even more startled when the maid opened the door without waiting for permission. Opening the door without the master’s consent was a clear abuse of authority.
The head maid was not someone who usually acted so brazenly. However, the moment the door swung open to reveal the scene inside, Jeremia understood why she had overstepped.
It had been a long time since she had last seen her sister. She had expected her blood to boil with a thirst for revenge, but her attention was instantly drawn to something else. It would have been impossible not to notice the knight—the one who had once been her father’s escort—being whipped right there in the middle of her room.
The knight’s lips were clenched tight, crusted with dried blood. Her shirt was torn to shreds along the lines of the whip marks, stained crimson. She looked so wretched she seemed more like a slave than a knight.
Jeremia recognized Dame Musetta instantly; they had crossed paths many times in the Imperial Castle.
“Who dares open the door without… Saraka?”
Tenebrae, whip in hand, was about to fly into a rage, but she froze upon seeing Bishop Marik and quickly hid the weapon behind her back. Not that hiding it now could fool anyone into thinking nothing had happened.
“Saraka! What took you so long?”
Tenebrae rushed over and clung to Bishop Marik. Seeing a necklace of a very familiar color hanging around her neck, Jeremia couldn't help but clench her fists.
The head maid quickly slipped away, terrified of getting caught in the crossfire. Now Jeremia understood her fawning welcome. She must have feared that with Dame Musetta—the usual target—temporarily gone, the whip might have been turned on her instead. She had always cared far too much for her own safety.
“I was just disciplining Dame Musetta. Don’t mind it, come on in,” Tenebrae said, gesturing them inside.
“The Bishop should have sent word that she wished to borrow Dame Musetta.”
“I didn’t know it would be today…” Tenebrae mumbled, glaring at the knight.
From their exchange, Jeremia realized that Tenebrae did not know Bishop Marik's true identity. Why she followed ‘Saraka’ so obediently was a mystery, but it was clear their relationship was far from equal.
“Is she in too bad a shape to go? Will the Bishop be disappointed in me for making such a mess of her?” Tenebrae asked, shrugging as she pointed at Dame Musetta, who was still groaning in pain. Even the one who had inflicted the wounds seemed to recognize their severity.
“Do not worry. You know how deeply Bishop Marik treasures you, Lady Tenebrae.”
Jeremia watched in sheer disbelief as Bishop Marik placated her sister. Come to think of it, she wasn't the only one putting on an act.
Tenebrae, bearing Jeremia's name. Jeremia, pretending to be Azazel. And a Bishop, pretending to be a maid. It was like a twisted game of house. This didn't feel like her room at all, but rather a meticulously crafted stage.
“Dame Musetta. Are you alright?”
“Yes. I am fine.”
At Bishop Marik’s question, Dame Musetta staggered to her feet. Jeremia wondered how she could even stand when she looked like she couldn’t take five steps without collapsing.
“It must be difficult to move in that state.”
“I will do anything if it helps Lady Tenebrae.”
“A fine attitude.”
Though her voice was full of mirth, Bishop Marik’s face was a blank mask. Since she wore a veil every day, she likely had no need to practice her expressions, creating a stark dissonance with her tone.
“Are you leaving already? We haven't seen each other in so long,” Tenebrae whined.
“This is a task requested by Bishop Marik. In the meantime, Sir Astaroth will remain by your side.”
“…Then I suppose it can't be helped.”
Tenebrae had stepped forward as if to protest, but she backed down the moment the Bishop’s name was mentioned. She had never been so docile, not even to her own father, the Crown Prince. Jeremia marveled at Bishop Marik's influence.
“Dame Musetta,” Tenebrae warned. “Just because you’re in pain doesn’t mean you can slack off on the Bishop’s task. Understood?”
“Yes, Lady Tenebrae.”
Her surprise at their dynamic was short-lived. Jeremia inhaled sharply as she realized Dame Musetta had addressed her sister by her real name: Tenebrae.
Tenebrae had murdered the Crown Prince, and Dame Musetta had been his knight. Jeremia could not fathom why she would obey the very person who had murdered the master she once served, all while enduring such abuse.
Before her confusion could clear, Dame Musetta pulled her uniform on over her shredded shirt. She wasn’t even going to treat her wounds. Judging by Tenebrae's warning, there was no intention of letting her.
“Well then, Sir Astaroth. I leave the Princess in your hands.”
“Very well.”
Leaving Tenebrae in Jeremia's care, Bishop Marik left the room with Dame Musetta in tow. The faint sound of their footsteps faded down the hall.
Now, only the two who had once been sisters remained. For Jeremia, there could be no crueler moment.
She glanced at the whip still in Tenebrae’s hand. Fortunately, Tenebrae tossed it aside and threw herself onto the bed. She likely didn’t know Azazel’s true identity, and since he was the knight of the Bishop she so adored, she seemed disinclined to take her anger out on him.
It was only a guess, but if Tenebrae didn't know Saraka was Bishop Marik, she almost certainly didn't know Azazel was a demon. The Bishop had nothing to gain from letting it be known that she commanded a demon, so she wouldn’t have shared that information.
“Did Dame Musetta commit some offense?” Jeremia asked, deciding to maintain a formal tone. She recalled that before Azazel had plunged a blade into her, he had played the part of a reasonably loyal knight.
“Are you asking why I whipped her?”
“I only ask because she has a task from the Bishop, yet you did not allow her to be treated.”
As Tenebrae glared at her, Jeremia quickly corrected her phrasing, making it seem as though she had no interest in personal matters and was only concerned because it involved the Bishop.
Tenebrae, who had been lying down, pushed herself up to a sitting position. Her back, which had always been hunched, was now straight. Her head, which she used to keep bowed, turned directly toward Jeremia.
Unlike her gloomy past, her eyes now glittered with venom. Had her sister always been like this? Jeremia found Tenebrae utterly foreign. In truth, she wondered if there had ever been a moment she hadn't felt like a stranger since the betrayal, but the realization hit her with particular force now.
“That's a sentimental question,” Tenebrae said, twirling a lock of hair as Jeremia remained silent. “Quite unlike the Sir Astaroth I know.”