Chapter 175
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 175
“Sir Gabriel?”
I shot up from my seat and placed a hand on Hyssop’s shoulder. They flinched instinctively.
“Thank you, Hyssop.”
I had only meant to give their shoulder a grateful pat as promised, but they froze on the spot, completely caught off guard.
Leaving the petrified Hyssop behind, I headed straight for the adjacent room. I opened the door to find Gabriel lying on the bed.
“Sir Gabriel, are you awake?”
“...Lady Evangeline.”
His long eyelashes fluttered, revealing the deep blue eyes hidden beneath.
“This… this must be Duke Hosaquin’s estate.”
Gabriel glanced around, quickly assessing the situation. He said he wanted to thank the Duke for providing a place to rest, only to be severely scolded by the doctor for trying to move when he had just barely escaped death.
I felt the same. The Duke had simply made a deal; there was no need for gratitude.
Besides, although Gabriel was conscious, he was still in terrible shape. He couldn’t walk properly, and while he could move his arms, he had no fine motor control over his fingers. When I asked if a full recovery was possible, the doctor gave a noncommittal answer, saying only that he would do his best.
Now that Gabriel was awake, we began discussing our theories and countermeasures for Bishop Marik’s next move.
He was a patient and could have simply remained lying down, but Gabriel insisted on pushing himself into a sitting position. Pudding, who had grown closer to him, looked exasperated but helped prop him up anyway.
After I dismissed the doctors, Pudding and Canna joined us, along with Rico.
“That rat is…”
“This is Rico.”
“I’m glad you’re awake, Sir Knight.”
“...Thank you for your concern.”
Looking utterly bewildered, Gabriel bowed his head to thank the rat. Not to be outdone, Rico bowed right back. The sight of Gabriel exchanging solemn bows with a rat was so adorable that I almost burst out laughing in front of a patient.
Gabriel and I caught up on the conversations we hadn't been able to finish in the dungeon.
When I told him we were planning to smuggle the people from the Rohanson mansion to the village the Duke had mentioned, Gabriel looked deeply apologetic and asked if I could evacuate his knights as well.
“My knights should be at House Toten.”
“House Toten?”
I had been wondering why the Pararos Knights had vanished without a trace. It turned out Gabriel had preempted Bishop Marik. He explained why he, who should have returned with his knights, had ended up alone in the imperial dungeon. His body was constitutionally immune to holy water—a fact that not even his own knights knew.
“Originally, Raphaella was the only one who knew about my condition.”
It was obvious Raphaella had played a massive role in disguising a man rumored to be cursed and turning him into a knight commander. Raphaella was a duke’s son and a paladin; wasn’t he afraid of the consequences?
I suppose one needs that level of audacity to be the male lead’s lieutenant. Indeed, being the male lead’s lieutenant is the most extreme occupation in any RoFan novel. I sent a silent round of applause to Raphaella, who was probably still at the Rohanson mansion.
Gabriel said he realized Bishop Marik’s eager recommendation for treatment was a trap; she must have already known about his constitution. If he had returned to the temple with his knights as she suggested, only for them to discover their trusted commander was immune to holy water, his reputation would have plummeted into an abyss. What little support he had left would have been shattered.
That was why Gabriel had sent his knights away under the pretext of protecting House Toten—specifically, the young Marquis. When his subordinates refused to leave him behind in his paralyzed state, he had used his authority and their sense of duty to force them to go.
“Until recently, rumors were rampant that the young Marquis was cursed. And you said Bishop Marik was targeting him.”
He was talking about Melek. The righteous knights, taking after their commander, couldn’t turn a blind eye to a child in danger. Gabriel had sent every last one of them away, even those who insisted on staying.
To the outside world, it looked as if the Pararos Knights had abandoned their commander and fled. Bishop Marik likely assumed the thorns in her side had fractured from within. And since Gabriel remained behind, the paladins saw no need to pursue them.
Madame Toten would have had no reason to refuse the help, either. Melek wasn't just cursed; he was literally a demon occupying a corpse. If Bishop Marik captured him, the entire marquisate would be burned to the ground. Under the circumstances, she would have welcomed the protection of the Pararos Knights.
Although I hadn’t heard from Madame Toten, she was likely being cautious, knowing my handwriting had been stolen from our past correspondence. Melek had no way of contacting me first, either. There was no need for them to take unnecessary risks.
I promised Gabriel I would evacuate the Pararos Knights along with everyone else.
“Then why were you in the dungeon instead of at the temple, Sir Gabriel?”
Bishop Marik’s original goal was to expose Gabriel’s cursed body to the world. Even without the Pararos Knights, couldn’t she have simply shown other knights or priests that holy water had no effect on him?
Gabriel shifted his gaze sheepishly.
“...I couldn’t allow myself to be used by Bishop Marik while I was incapacitated, so I revealed my identity.”
“That you are a prince?”
“Yes.”
To avoid being used, he revealed a secret with even greater utility. No, wait. Bishop Marik might have already known.
“I declared that Bishop Marik had secretly smuggled me away, cursed as I was, and raised me without the Emperor’s knowledge. It turned out that Bishop Zabaniya, who had brought me in, was already one of Bishop Marik’s subordinates. If my claim was false, I was a grave criminal guilty of impersonating royalty and deserved imprisonment. If it was true, then as a member of the imperial family, my custody belonged to the imperial court.”
Above all, if Gabriel’s birth was revealed, Bishop Marik would lose her reputation for piety. The noble bishop would be seen as having succumbed to the lure of power.
It was obvious which choice Bishop Marik would make. She must have decided it was far more advantageous to frame Gabriel as an imperial imposter than to be exposed as the one who had secretly raised a prince.
And that was how Gabriel had ended up in prison for the crime of impersonating royalty. Of course, he was the prince, but it was almost miraculous that news of someone impersonating royalty hadn't spread far and wide. Bishop Marik must have done an exceptional job of silencing everyone.
Once Gabriel finished his story, it was my turn. I shared the information Jeremia had risked her life to obtain. When I mentioned that Jelly’s whereabouts were unknown, Gabriel looked sorrowful and tried to comfort me. Honestly, he was one to talk.
When I told him that Bishop Marik was the same person as the maid named Saraka and described her appearance, Gabriel said he remembered a maid with burn scars.
“Come to think of it, I once exposed my upper body to that maid.”
What? My eyes instinctively drifted toward Gabriel’s chest. Flustered, he quickly added, “My lady, I assure you, nothing improper occurred.”
I know. I was just momentarily startled.
Gabriel explained that the maid who had assisted him when he changed out of his wine-stained clothes at the Crown Prince’s birthday banquet must have been Bishop Marik.
“She might have recognized me after seeing my scar then. After all, Bishop Marik must have been involved in the process of branding me.”
Honestly, even without the scar, anyone should have been able to tell Gabriel was of imperial blood just by looking at his face. He looked so much like them. Why had no one noticed? Was I the only one who saw it because I was a transmigrator?
Fine. Let's say there was a plausible reason for Bishop Marik to recognize him as a prince—she was the one who had branded him with the imperial mark twenty-six years ago. The new question was her youthful appearance. She looked to be in her twenties. Bishop Marik should have been a middle-aged woman of at least fifty, yet ‘Saraka’ looked undeniably young.
Since Azazel was involved, had Bishop Marik summoned a demon and wished for eternal youth? If she had done that while playing the part of the nation’s savior, it was a scam on a monumental, national scale.
Gabriel came up with a more plausible answer. He recalled reading in an ancient temple tome that back when the Sun Goddess’s influence was strong, those favored by the deity enjoyed long, near-immortal lives.
Bishop Marik’s catchphrase was ‘the beloved of God.’ Just as the title suggested, she might not be aging because she was showered with divine blessings. Perhaps the reason she always covered her face was to hide the fact that she wasn't getting older. Of course, this was just a hypothesis.
“Why would someone who receives such favor commit massacres…” Canna, who had been listening closely, couldn’t hide her bitterness and let out a lament. A subtle hint of jealousy was woven into her words.
Considering Canna had spent her entire life bedridden and suffering, Bishop Marik’s actions must have seemed incredibly hypocritical.
“It might be because of that, actually,” I said.
“What do you mean?”
“She might be killing people precisely to prove that favor. ‘Heretics are not children of God, so killing them is not a sin.’ If she commits slaughter and remains unchanged, what clearer proof of divine favor could there be?”
“What a truly pious person,” Canna marveled sarcastically.
Gabriel nodded in agreement. “In many ways, Bishop Marik appears to be someone deeply devoted to the temple. Massacring heretics and laying hands on the imperial family are all ultimately done to elevate the temple’s prestige.”
The insights Gabriel shared seemed to be an interpretation he had built up over a very long time. As a practical example, the amount of holy water the temple possessed had surged. When heretics are killed, those who wish to survive offer even greater faith. As faith increases, so does the holy water. Those healed by that holy water then display even greater faith. This self-perpetuating cycle had allowed the temple to experience its greatest revival in twenty years.
“Bishop Marik’s actions are all the more terrifying because they appear entirely devoid of self-interest,” Gabriel concluded.
He was right. That was what made a ‘greater cause’ so terrifying. It made Bishop Marik’s murders seem justified.
What was even more ironic was that the very people who ought to be purged from the perspective of Bishop Marik and the temple were gathered right here by my side.
There was the witch Bishop Marik spoke of, Evangeline Rohanson.
There was Gabriel, who had been abandoned because holy water didn't work on him, yet had deceived the temple to become a paladin.
There was the monstrous cat who served as a host to a demon.
And Canna was not only the witch’s maid, but rumors also circulated that her head had been severed and reattached, all because of the scar on her neck. She wasn't a Dullahan, but still.
I had no idea how we had managed to assemble a party so perfectly tailored to oppose Bishop Marik. It wasn't as if I had planned this from the start.
“...Bishop Marik loves symbolism. And she is an excellent playwright. Just as she chose the Crown Prince’s birthday for his assassination, she is highly likely to strike on a monumental day.”
Gabriel asked for the date. When I told him, he counted on his fingers and bit his lip.
“Coincidentally, in ten days… there is a highly significant event.”
“What kind of event?”
Ten days was far sooner than I had expected. It was also strange that I had never heard of it.
Gabriel replied in a low, heavy voice.
“The Festival of Sacrifice.”
It was an event that sounded ominous just from its name.