Chapter 80
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 80
A wide circle of empty space had formed around Evangeline. Everyone kept their distance, making the crimson stains on her dress stand out all the more. Though she covered her mouth with one hand, it seemed a smirk lay hidden just beneath her fingertips.
“Lady Rohanson…”
Kinder bit her lip as she murmured the name. Unlike the others, who were still blinking away the sudden darkness, Kinder’s gaze was fixed solely on Evangeline.
There was no way Lady Rohanson would kill the Crown Prince—especially not in a way that so blatantly pointed to her guilt. This was clearly a trap. Sir Gabriel’s warning hadn’t been born of baseless anxiety! But who would ever believe Kinder if she tried to defend her?
Evangeline’s white dress was now drenched in red. Her earlier altercation with Duke Hosaquin had been chaotic, and she had nearly been soaked in wine. But Sir Gabriel had shielded her, and only a few stray drops had splattered onto her gown. In other words, her dress hadn't been stained like this before the lights went out.
“I let my guard down,” Evangeline murmured, her eyes flashing with a bold amusement. Her tone was chillingly cheerful.
Belatedly, the doors to the banquet hall swung open. No one had even noticed they were closed, though a few guests recalled the doors being wide open when Sir Gabriel had left to change.
The one who pushed them open was Dame Musetta, the Crown Prince's personal guard. She, who had abandoned her post and neglected her duty, had allowed her master to be murdered.
“Y-Your Highness!”
Dame Musetta rushed to recover the Crown Prince's body and take control of the chaotic scene. She reported the Crown Prince's death to the Emperor and escorted the bewildered imperial grandchildren to safety. The girl wearing the green beryl emerald stood dazed for a long time, showered in blood dripping from the Crown Prince hanging from the chandelier, before the twins finally took her by the hand and led her back to her quarters.
* * *
The maid, her face covered by a scarf from the nose down, watched without blinking as Evangeline drained her wine. Only after retrieving the empty glasses from Evangeline and Kinder Toten did she finally turn and walk away.
How strange. Holy water had absolutely no effect on Evangeline Rohanson. Was she not a demon after all?
Judging by the way she swallowed, she hadn’t used any cheap tricks; she had truly drunk every last drop of the wine laced with holy water. Gulping it down in one go felt like a deliberate display, as if to mockingly prove that holy water was not her weakness. As the maid stood there, tracing the rim of the empty glass, the head maid supervising the staff snapped at her.
“Hey, you! What are you doing just standing there? Do you think you have time to idle? Get back to serving wine, immediately!”
Nodding, Saraka picked up another serving tray. She quietly laced every single glass with the holy water hidden in her apron pocket. A few guests snatched glasses from her tray as she walked past, but she did not stop them. Holy water wasn't poison, so it didn't matter who drank it.
“Give me a glass of wine as well.”
Fortunately, she reached the man she was looking for before her tray was completely emptied. Saraka handed a glass to Viscount Hwikel and whispered her request.
Contrary to public perception, Viscount Hwikel was quick-witted and tight-lipped—making him one of Saraka's favorite pawns. She had recently used him to get closer to Count Rohanson, a move that had proven quite useful.
“Is that so? I just need to subtly provoke Duke Hosaquin? Well, well. How did you know that happens to be my specialty?”
Duke Hosaquin was a violent man with a fiery temper. When enraged, he lost all capacity for rational thought. If Viscount Hwikel provoked him and planted the idea of throwing a wine glass at Evangeline, the Duke would undoubtedly act on impulse.
Ingesting it didn't work. But what if holy water is poured directly on her? What if it touches an open wound? Saraka felt her heart pound with excitement, the same thrill she felt when dealing with the heathens in the dungeons.
Evangeline and Kinder soon approached Duke Hosaquin. Just as expected, the Duke smashed a perfectly good glass on the floor before hurling another glass of wine. However, Saraka hadn't anticipated that the Knight Commander would shield Evangeline and take the blow himself. Fearing he would interfere, she had even used Dame Musetta to draw him away, yet he had returned in the blink of an eye.
Viscount Hwikel, noticing the slight hitch in the plan, guiltily avoided Saraka's gaze. But at that moment, Saraka was too consumed by sheer ecstasy to care about the viscount. Beneath her scarf, her heavily scarred mouth stretched into a bizarre, grotesque grin.
Viscount Hwikel assumed the Knight Commander had merely been splashed with ordinary wine, but the second glass Duke Hosaquin threw had also been laced with holy water.
“Ouch!”
A maid cleaning up the shattered glass on the floor had cut her hand. Though the maid herself dismissed it as her mind playing tricks, Saraka had seen it clearly. Because the wine was laced with holy water, the wound had healed instantly. Yet the Knight Commander's wound showed no signs of healing, despite being doused in the stuff.
Found you…
She had set out to uncover Evangeline's secret but never expected to stumble upon the Knight Commander's weakness instead. It was an extraordinary windfall.
Seeing his bleeding wound and wine-soaked clothes, Evangeline urged Gabriel to go and change immediately.
Saraka slipped out of the hall, following Gabriel. No one spared a second glance at a mere maid, making it incredibly easy to move about unnoticed.
To the nobility, servants were barely human. No one found it the least bit odd that she kept half her face concealed beneath a scarf.
Except, of course, for Kinder Toten. The fact that she had gone out of her way to speak to Saraka and ask about her well-being showed her deep compassion. It was truly a pity. If not for her son, Kinder would have made a picture-perfect, flawless devotee of Goddess Rachel.
Saraka’s heart still ached when she recalled the day she had been ordered by “that person” to cut off Kinder Toten’s supply of holy water. But if the Temple openly provided holy water to a cursed child, it would be accused of being blinded by greed. It was an unavoidable choice. Because of that, however, Kinder Toten had come to despise Saraka—or more accurately, “that person” whom Saraka represented—as a hypocrite.
Saraka quietly trailed the Knight Commander.
“Sir Gabriel! How on earth did you end up drenched in wine?”
“There was an incident. Could you fetch me a change of clothes?”
“Yes, sir! I’ll bring them right away!”
The knight hurried off and returned shortly with a clean uniform. Saraka, who had been waiting nearby, stepped forward to take it.
“You’ll deliver them to Sir Gabriel? Thanks, I appreciate it.”
Taking the clothes, Saraka entered the dressing room where Gabriel was waiting. He had already stripped off his wet shirt and was bare-chested.
“Are you bringing them for me? Thank you.”
Unlike other knights, Gabriel did not speak down to her, politely thanking her as he took the clothes. Saraka stole a glance at him, feigning bashfulness as she lowered her head. In truth, she was only hiding her face to conceal the grotesque, ear-to-ear grin splitting her lips. Fearing he might hear the frantic pounding of her heart, she hurried out of the room.
She had seen it clearly with her own two eyes. On Gabriel’s chest was a circular scar.
Years ago, back when “that person”—no, Bishop Marik, who could now do little more than draw breath—was still able to speak, she had paused in the middle of thrusting Saraka’s hand into a burning brazier to share a memory.
“Looking at the fire brings back memories. Haha, no, not from when my family was burned alive in that fire set by those wicked heathens and I barely escaped with my life. Much later than that. Saraka, have you ever heard of His Majesty the Emperor’s youngest prince?”
Back then, the burn scars on Saraka’s cheeks and chin had been oozing with pus, making even the slightest movement of her mouth agonizing. Instead of speaking, she had simply shaken her head. Bishop Marik had shoved Saraka’s hand back into the coals, completely ignoring her screams as she continued.
“They say he died before he could even utter his first cry, but that is a lie. How do I know? Because I was the one who smuggled the prince out.”
Saraka needed to absorb every single word Bishop Marik uttered. Even as she shrieked, her flesh burning to a crisp, she strained her ears to focus on the story.
According to Bishop Marik, though it was a strict secret, every member of the imperial family bore a crest proving their noble blood. It was a dragon crest, depicting a dragon biting its own tail as it curled into a circle. A dragon devouring its tail was a symbol of infinity, representing the eternal prosperity of the imperial family.
Branding this crest was a sacred honor, entrusted only to the most loyal priest. During the reign of Emperor Mater, that duty had belonged to Bishop Marik.
The newborn royal would be branded with a red-hot iron, then healed with holy water as a blessing was bestowed. The flesh would mend instantly, but the brand would remain forever, like a tattoo.
“But holy water had no effect on the youngest prince. Do not look so surprised, Saraka. Sometimes, such wretched creatures are born into this world. Pitiful, miserable, ugly things whose sins from their past lives run so deep that even when reborn, Goddess Rachel turns her back on them.”
“Such souls must be reborn and suffer to atone for their sins over and over again before they can finally be washed clean and welcomed back into Goddess Rachel’s embrace. Until then, one must never show them an ounce of mercy.” The youngest prince had been one such soul, and so was Kinder Toten’s son.
The Emperor had ordered the child’s death, but instead of killing the infant, Bishop Marik had secretly handed him over to a commoner couple to raise. When the Emperor later discovered the child had been smuggled away, his wrath was terrible. Yet Bishop Marik insisted she had not kept the boy alive to hold leverage over the Emperor.
“Should he not live and breathe for as long as his fate allows, suffering to atone for his sins?”
Only then could he return to Goddess Rachel’s loving grace a fraction sooner.
But the ignorant Emperor, who knew nothing of true faith, flew into a rage, convinced that Bishop Marik was trying to blackmail him. He secretly dispatched knights to hunt down and execute the youngest prince.
However, all the knights found were the foster parents, who had abandoned the infant on the streets and were living a life of debauchery with the child support Bishop Marik had provided. With no trace of the child to be found, the Emperor’s men killed only the foster parents.
Those denied Goddess Rachel’s blessing were almost always destined for a short life. It seemed the youngest prince had been unable to escape his fate. Bishop Marik had prayed that the child would somehow survive, wishing for him to live a long life of endless suffering somewhere in the world.
“Now, not only your face, but your hand is just like mine.”
Pulling Saraka’s hand from the brazier, Bishop Marik had smiled benevolently at the matching, charred flesh. Saraka, too, had twitched her ruined lips to mirror her master’s smile.
“Saraka… now that you bear the same scars on your face and hand, no one will ever be able to tell us apart. They will look at your lower face and hands beneath the veil, and they will believe you are me.”
Clasping Saraka’s melted hand in her own, Bishop Marik had spoken with tender affection as she shared the secret of how to recognize the prince. She told her that the brand, which had failed to heal into a clean tattoo, would instead remain on the youngest prince’s body as a permanent scar.
Just as the Bishop had described, the Knight Commander bore a scar that resembled a serpent—a dragon stripped of its wings and claws, reduced to a mere snake. Having been abandoned as an infant, he likely had no idea what the scar truly meant. That was undoubtedly why he had never bothered to hide it.
Forcing her racing heart to calm, Saraka turned away from the banquet hall and headed toward the chamber assigned to her by the imperial grandchild. Waiting inside the room was a paladin whose outward appearance, at least, seemed perfectly devout.