Chapter 188
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 188
Goosebumps prickled my skin as a sudden chill shot down my spine.
"I heard that Lady Rohanson cherishes a certain beast and keeps it by her side. This looks like cat fur, but I don't see a cat. Did you not bring it with you today?"
"Wild cats are rarely obedient, after all."
Bishop Marik was visibly disappointed when I told her I hadn't brought Pudding. A profound sense of relief washed over me.
Sending Pudding away had been the right choice. Even if Bishop Marik couldn't have harmed him, my nerves would have been frayed to pieces.
"Is that so? What a pity. I truly wanted to see it. Ah, right. Speaking of beasts reminds me… I heard a certain beast has been wandering around the Temple lately."
Bishop Marik shifted the subject again. The Temple. A beast. With just those words, I knew exactly what she was talking about.
She was talking about Jelly. She was securing collateral, worried I might not participate in the Festival of Sacrifice.
Because Bishop Marik had hidden Jelly away for her own purposes, not even Princess Jeremia had been able to find him.
"Perhaps when you come to the Temple for the Festival of Sacrifice, Lady Rohanson, you might be able to see that beast."
"...The Festival of Sacrifice."
"Of course, I don't know what kind of accident befell it, but its face was completely melted, and it could barely even move."
"……"
"Poor thing. Could it have been abandoned by its owner?"
Abandoned? Don't make me laugh. She was the one who hid him. I wanted to strike Bishop Marik right then and there. If violence would shut that shameless mouth of hers, I wouldn't hesitate for a second.
But because of Jelly, I couldn't raise a hand against her. Fearing that any move I made would result in retaliation against him, I forced my anger down.
"Hardly. I'm sure the owner is desperately searching for their lost child."
I gritted my teeth as I refuted her words. She continued shamelessly.
"Is that so? Ah, well, even if the owner doesn't care, I'm sure a beast-lover like yourself would want to see it, Lady Rohanson."
Bishop Marik agreed, making no effort to hide her vile excitement. Normally, excitement makes a person's speech flustered and disorganized, but she was the exact opposite. The more she spoke, the more her tone shifted from that of an innocent maid to one of cold, polite formality.
"You seem to know a lot about me."
"It is all thanks to what I heard from the Count."
She mentioned the Count, not Hena. But there was no way the Count, whom I barely ever saw in the mansion, would know about Jelly or Pudding.
The Count probably didn't even know their names. She had clearly heard it from Hena. But pretending not to know, I glanced at the Count, just as she’d mentioned.
"Living in someone else's house, dozing off mid-conversation, and now gossiping about your own daughter's private affairs… I have no idea where that noble dignity you pride yourself on has gone, Father."
I channeled all my frustration with Bishop Marik into a verbal assault on the Count. In any case, I had disliked him from the moment I first saw him.
Deceiving Amaranth was one thing. But even if I wasn't his biological child, he had given me the Rohanson name only to sell me off to Bishop Marik. There was no way I could look upon him favorably.
"I'm worried Father might start talking nonsense at this rate."
"Nonsense?"
"Yes. For example… calling me a child of a devil instead of his daughter."
I let out a deep sigh.
I watched Bishop Marik's reaction. Whenever I faced her, I wanted to rip off her veil and see the expression on the face beneath.
But now that Bishop Marik had revealed her bare face, her expression was completely dead, making it impossible to read her emotions.
"A child of a devil."
"Yes. Wouldn't it be a pity if Bishop Marik heard such things and misunderstood me?"
As if feeling my persistent gaze, Bishop Marik looked back at me.
Amidst her dead expression, only her eyes, fixed on me, were alive and burning with a terrifying intensity.
*
The girl let out a deep sigh.
Even the sound of it was so sweet that Saraka couldn't help but admire it for a moment.
As Evangeline Rohanson turned her head, her soft white hair cascaded down, glowing faintly in its disheveled state.
If one were to cut that hair, spin the white fibers into thread, and weave it into cloth, they could create a fabric far whiter than any priest's uniform.
A dress tailored from such fabric would be coveted by countless noblewomen. If it were made into a uniform, gentlemen might draw their swords and clash over it.
Dare she say it, Evangeline Rohanson was pure white. She was purity. She was nobility.
Evangeline Rohanson embodied the very concept of 'pure white,' a quality far exceeding what her station deserved.
Saraka had never seen anything so beautiful in her life. Among the evidence that could prove Evangeline Rohanson was not human, her beauty would surely fill dozens of lines.
She was less a living person and more a sculpture. If she were placed among the statues decorating the temples, no one would notice the difference.
Her skin was so translucent that one could almost see the veins flowing beneath, but even those veins looked as if they had been painstakingly replicated by a master sculptor.
If Evangeline were to appear before the fools who did not know the Sun Goddess, those ignorant masses would mistake her for an angel and worship her.
It was an impiety so great that Saraka wanted to strike off her head immediately, yet even the devout Saraka could understand their feelings.
But the moment Evangeline opened her eyes and spoke, that impression shattered.
Her eyes blinked. Her eyelashes fluttered as her eyelids parted. Amidst the monochrome of white, a stark red tore its way into view. It was an intense, vivid red, so shocking one might believe her eyes had been deliberately slit open and smeared with blood.
Not even a hundred painters working in unison could ever hope to capture the moment Evangeline opened her eyes.
They would despair at their inability to capture her, tearing at their canvases and cutting off their own hands. Just like the heretic Gabriel, whom Saraka had let slip away.
And with the blood from their severed hands, they would paint her eyes and lips, adding the final touch.
The blood-painted lips parted, revealing a glimpse of her red tongue.
Beneath the pristine white packaging lay something red. If her skin were peeled away, a writhing mass of red would be revealed—grotesque and hideous.
In other words, Evangeline Rohanson's beauty was merely a flawless facade, designed to conceal the mess within.
"A child of a devil."
Saraka was truly convinced. Evangeline was, without a doubt, a child of a devil.
"Yes. Wouldn't Bishop Marik misunderstand me if she heard such things?"
Saraka thought she must be making a bizarre expression. Having lived her entire life with her face covered by a veil, she was not used to emoting with a bare face. Looking at Evangeline without her veil, the girl was far too vivid.
The holy blood of Bishop Marik flowing through her veins screamed. Slay that devil immediately!
Saraka urged the Bishop inside her to be quiet for just a moment. It was still too early. The stage that would adorn Evangeline Rohanson had to be the Festival of Sacrifice.
"Of course not."
Saraka replied haltingly, trying to recall what Evangeline had said. What was it? That she might be misunderstood? Saraka denied it.
"No one knows Lady Rohanson as well as Bishop Marik."
Evangeline was Saraka's 'Leah'.
A nemesis arranged for Saraka. Saraka's victim. The perfect sacrifice that would allow Saraka to ascend and become whole. A stepping stone that would allow a girl who was once a lowly heretic to take her place closest to the Sun.
Saraka did not even consider the possibility of Evangeline gaining the upper hand. The merciful Sun would never turn a blind eye to her favorite being defeated.
Saraka cried out in her heart.
'My trusted Bishop Marik. It seems the Sun Goddess loves me more than you.'
That must be why she conceived and brought forth such a perfect adversary—so that Saraka could usurp everything from Bishop Marik. Evangeline's red eyes, identical to Leah's, were proof of that.
The fact that Evangeline Rohanson could not find peace even in death and had returned to life was surely for Saraka's sake.
Saraka rejoiced in her choice to take time out of her busy schedule to stay by Count Rohanson's side at such a critical moment, with the Festival of Sacrifice just around the corner. This brief encounter allowed Saraka to remind herself of her purpose.
"Then that is a relief."
Evangeline tucked the invitation Saraka had personally written into her breast pocket.
"Relay my words to Bishop Marik. Tell her I will be at the Festival of Sacrifice without fail."
Evangeline promised to step onto the stage Saraka had prepared. As the actor accepted her role, the curtain rose on the grand finale.
A thrill ran through her entire body. Her heart pounded wildly. Looking at Evangeline, their eyes locked, she felt a strange sense of awe. Perhaps the reason Evangeline felt so exceptionally moving was because of the influence she had on Saraka.
Saraka prayed. She prayed that their meeting would be just as moving for Evangeline.
Please, let this not be a one-sided obsession.
This was bad. 'Bishop Marik' kept trying to burst out in front of Evangeline Rohanson. She felt like someone desperate to show off, to prove she was Bishop Marik.
Having almost made a huge mistake, Saraka reminded herself that the role she was given now was not Bishop Marik, but a mere lowly maid of heretical origin. Saraka skillfully distinguished herself from Bishop Marik.
Bishop Marik was not some maid. She did not disguise herself as one to play underhanded tricks. The reason Saraka could act as a maid in her original form was because she was a byproduct, not Bishop Marik herself.
Once she was reborn as the perfect Bishop by sacrificing Evangeline at the Festival of Sacrifice, she would never act like Saraka again.
Scene □□. Viscount Hwikel's Reception Room.
Saraka delivered the lines she had written.
Saraka: (Delighted by Evangeline's attendance, but trying to suppress her excitement and maintain a calm tone) Yes. Bishop Marik will be pleased.
Saraka speaks politely.
Evangeline: "Is that all you have to say to me?"
Evangeline asked, gritting her teeth. Her anger toward Saraka surged, overflowing. Saraka gladly accepted it and affirmed.
Saraka: (Looks straight into Evangeline's eyes, not flinching) Yes. (Smiling) All you need to do, Lady Rohanson, is participate in the Festival of Sacrifice as the offering. (Her heart swells with triumph)