Chapter 90
Translator: RaidenTL
Chapter 90
Without Bishop Marik's intervention, Tenebrae would have been summoned by the Crown Prince again today, forced to endure his rage and another beating. And when she returned from her punishment, the foolish Jeremia would have prattled on about how envious she was that Tenebrae got to spend time alone with their father, insisting they must have such a wonderful relationship.
That was the reality of Tenebrae's position in the Imperial Palace. It was why she believed Goddess Rachel must have taken pity on her and sent her representative, Bishop Marik, to extend a helping hand. Upon learning of Tenebrae's suffering, the bishop had willingly become her ally.
Understanding Tenebrae’s desire to kill her own flesh and blood, Bishop Marik had not only granted her absolution to murder her father and sister but had even set the stage for her to carry out the deeds herself.
As she poured holy water over Tenebrae’s slashed back, Saraka agreed.
“I feel the same way. Bishop Marik changed my life, too.”
Saraka had been born the child of a pagan, destined to die. She should have burned to death alongside her father, but Bishop Marik had smuggled her out, saving her life.
Bishop Marik had saved Saraka because she needed a child with no identity. At the time, the bishop’s health was rapidly declining, and she knew she did not have long to live.
However, thanks to the pagan massacre, Bishop Marik's power was at its absolute peak; news of her fatal illness would have caused untold chaos. Therefore, she decided that even if she died, the symbol of ‘Bishop Marik’ had to remain, strong and unwavering. She chose a young child and began raising her to become the next ‘Bishop Marik’—and that child was Saraka. She deliberately inflicted burns on Saraka to match her own, forced the girl to memorize her memories, and drilled her on her speech patterns and habits.
Bishop Marik collapsed before the training was complete and was now little more than a vegetable. Though the lessons had stopped, Saraka continued to live as Bishop Marik, just as planned. Stealing and living another’s life—in that respect, Saraka and Tenebrae had much in common.
There were several safer ways to trigger another pagan massacre, but Saraka had risked assassinating the Crown Prince. Perhaps it was because she saw a reflection of herself in Tenebrae. Of course, the Crown Prince’s hostility toward the Temple had certainly been a factor as well.
Gazing at Tenebrae’s back, the flesh now completely healed and smooth, Saraka announced that the preparations were complete.
“Lady Tenebrae, it is done.”
At Saraka’s words, Tenebrae sat up. The bedsheets beneath her were damp with blood. When she reached back to touch her skin, she felt only smoothness, not the usual bumpy, scarred texture.
“It really is smooth… Now, everything is ready!” Tenebrae cried out in ecstasy.
She slipped on the nightgown she had secretly stolen from Jeremia, fastened the emerald necklace around her neck, and stood before the mirror. She tore away the cloth she always kept draped over it—hating the sight of her own scarred face. As the glass was revealed, it was as if she could see Jeremia, her perfect twin, staring back. Tenebrae pressed her hand against the mirror.
“From now on, I will live as Jeremia.”
And Jeremia would become Tenebrae, framed for the crime, and die bearing all the humiliation her sister had suffered.
Swept up in excitement, Tenebrae reached a hand into the empty air, took a stance, and began the same waltz she had performed to the Crown Prince's funeral dirge. This dance was for her lovely Jeremia.
Who would be next? Oratorio, who basked in the Emperor's favor and looked down on her with such contempt he refused to even acknowledge her as a sibling? Or her grandmother, who had ignored the ancient rumors and kept Tenebrae alive merely to assert her own authority, only to stand by and turn a blind eye as her own son abused his daughter, forcing her to live a life worse than death?
In the end, the order didn’t matter. No matter who went first, she would kill every last member of this lovely family.
“Father died being admired by everyone, just as he always wanted. Jeremia will die after having her lovely name stolen from her. I will make Oratorio finally bow that arrogant head he holds so high. And Grandmother will have the throne she cherished more than family ruthlessly snatched away. She will die shrouded in malicious rumors, just as I was forced to live…”
As she danced, Tenebrae sang of her desires and plans to Saraka.
“Do you wish to become the Emperor, Lady Tenebrae?” Saraka asked suddenly, having heard her mention killing the entire imperial family.
“That’s not my particular goal. But once I kill everyone I want to kill, I suppose I’ll be the only one left to take the throne.”
Then, a thought seemed to strike her, and she paused.
“No, wait. I heard I have an uncle who went missing.”
“A missing uncle?” Saraka asked, feigning ignorance.
Publicly, the youngest prince was said to have died at birth. It was highly unlikely the Emperor, a man who never opened his heart to his family, would have told Tenebrae the truth. Saraka was intensely curious as to how she knew.
Taking another elegant step, Tenebrae smoothly shared what she had learned.
“Yes. I heard it from Father.”
The source of Tenebrae’s information was unexpected. The Crown Prince had used her like a dumping ground for his frustrations. He vented all his stress by beating her, and in his rage, he often let things slip.
“It seems Father happened to be nearby when His Majesty had the youngest prince.”
Saraka listened intently, pretending to be unconcerned, to a story she had never heard even from the real Bishop Marik.
“He went to see his newborn brother out of curiosity, but instead, he overheard His Majesty ordering the child to be killed. Realizing he’d heard something he shouldn’t have, he fled. But at the funeral, his brother’s coffin was empty. Later, when he saw His Majesty searching for a young child, he realized someone must have smuggled his brother away.”
“Did the Crown Prince know who it was?”
Tenebrae stopped waltzing, turning only her head to look at Saraka. Her excitement cooled, and she lowered her hands.
“Yes. He never told me who, but he knew. That’s why he was always pathologically terrified his brother would appear and steal his position.”
A moment ago, she had been waltzing with joy, but now Tenebrae’s face darkened. Though she wore Jeremia’s nightgown and necklace in her desire to become her, the memories of the past always seemed to drag her back to being the girl chained in the basement.
Tenebrae stroked her smooth back. The wounds were healed, but her spine still ached from the memory of the whip.
“Most of the scars on my back came from Father’s fear of the youngest prince.”
The Crown Prince knew far more than she had expected. If he had overheard the Emperor, he would have known Bishop Marik was there with him. He would have naturally realized that the bishop had spirited the child away.
As a man whose greed for the throne far exceeded his abilities, he must have lived in constant fear that the Temple would rebel and crown his brother as Emperor. Saraka now understood why the Crown Prince had been so hostile toward the Temple and Bishop Marik.
On top of that, there was the ominous rumor that twins brought death. Tenebrae’s very existence had fueled the Crown Prince’s paranoia, and he had vented his anxiety and anger by abusing her.
“Do you think the missing youngest prince is still alive, Lady Tenebrae?”
Tenebrae shook her head.
“No. Since he hasn’t appeared after all this time, His Majesty must have found and killed him eventually. It’s a pity. We were both abandoned. Maybe my uncle and I could have gotten along quite well.”
“I wonder…” Saraka trailed off, her thoughts turning to Gabriel.
* * *
Gabriel clutched his head. Contrary to his confident promise to get Lady Rohanson out of prison in no time, the situation was looking grim.
First, there was the dagger. Gabriel’s argument was perfectly logical: it defied common sense for an assassin to use a weapon they themselves brought to a banquet, knowing they would be the primary suspect. However, logic aside, she was still being held liable simply for bringing a potential weapon to the Crown Prince’s birthday celebration.
The fact that the blade was blunt carried no weight, especially since the inspectors on duty had been members of his own Order of Pararos Knights. To make matters worse, his men were now being accused of being accomplices who had helped smuggle in the murder weapon.
Remembering Evangeline had received the sword from the Count, Gabriel went to see Count Rohanson next. The Count’s estate was on lockdown, all communication with the outside cut off, but Gabriel’s sheer persistence earned him a brief meeting.
“My Lord Count, I need an explanation. Where did you get that sword?” Gabriel interrogated him, his intensity a far cry from his gentle demeanor around Evangeline.
The Count bounced his leg nervously. “I received it as a gift.”
“A gift? From whom?”
“Viscount Hwikel.”
However, Viscount Hwikel shamelessly turned the tables. He claimed the sword he had gifted the Count was a properly sharpened blade and that he was horrified to learn a token of friendship had become the weapon used to assassinate the Crown Prince.
“This makes it look like we deliberately turned a blind eye for Lady Rohanson.”
“Commander. They’re saying the donations Viscount Hwikel recently collected for his new ‘charity’ are suspiciously large.”
“And those who follow Bishop Marik have contributed a significant amount.”
The charity Viscount Hwikel had started was for the construction of a new Temple building. It was no surprise that people loyal to Bishop Marik appeared on the list of donors.
“It’s bribery money.”
Furthermore, the people Viscount Hwikel had recently been fawning over were Count Rohanson and Duke Hosaquin—both Evangeline’s blood relatives. It was easy to see the path the sword had taken to reach her.
It was Gabriel’s blunder. He knew the Temple—specifically Bishop Marik—had their eyes on Lady Rohanson, yet he had fallen completely into their trap.
Since they couldn’t prove the blade Evangeline brought was blunt, they had to find another way. As Gabriel was lost in thought, one of his subordinate knights voiced his frustration.
“Commander, is there really a need to save Lady Rohanson, even if it means making an enemy of the Bishop?”
“What are you talking about? Just imagining Lady Rohanson unjustly locked up in that cold prison makes my heart feel like it’s being torn to pieces!” Michel, who had been listening, flared up. When it came to Evangeline, his passion was a stark contrast to his usual lazy attitude.
“...Surely you aren’t helping Lady Rohanson because of that crazy bastard, Michel Schmitiana, are you?”
“Of course not,” Gabriel refuted, but the heated glares directed at Michel didn’t cool. In their eyes, Gabriel probably looked no different. Few followed him without question when it came to Evangeline—only Michel, Raphaella, and Uriel, at most.
“Then what is this for? Commander, do you have any idea that the Order of Pararos Knights is being treated like a flock of corpse-picking crows these days? I’m ashamed to wear this emblem.”
Ever since he had become involved with Evangeline, Gabriel’s reputation had plummeted. Not only was the young, brilliant knight they followed being accused of being bewitched by a witch, but the entire order was now implicated in smuggling a murder weapon. For these proud knights, the shame was unbearable.
As Gabriel searched for the right words, wondering how much he should explain, the knight lost his patience. He violently ripped the emblem from his uniform and threw it onto the desk.
“While the other orders are fighting alongside the Bishop to prevent the resurgence of the pagans, I have no idea what we’re even doing.”
With those final words, the knight stormed out of the room. All that remained on the desk was the emblem of the Order of Pararos Knights: a shield with pure white wings. Gabriel had heard the news that Bishop Marik was mobilizing the Temple’s knights for a full-scale pagan massacre.
But Gabriel’s refusal to mobilize his knights wasn’t for Evangeline’s sake. Just like the last one, this massacre was not driven by righteous intentions, and he refused to force his men to do such dirty work.
“He’s a traitor. Shall I kill him?” Uriel, who had been staring at the doorway, moved to draw his sword, but Gabriel pressed down on the pommel to stop him. Uriel’s over-the-top reaction actually managed to lighten the grim atmosphere.
“Commander. I won’t storm out like that ingrate, but I’d also like to hear your reasons. I don’t want to follow blindly.”
Gabriel’s reason for helping Evangeline…
“You know as well as I do that Lady Rohanson is connected to the spell circles. This is how we’re investigating the pagans—our own way.”
Gabriel maintained that he was the rightful owner of the spell circles and that he needed to understand the entity that commanded demons. To stop those who carried out massacres in the name of God, he needed Evangeline, who stood on the opposite side of the conflict.
“Is that really all? No personal feelings involved?”
That was all Gabriel could tell them. Knowing any more of the truth would only be a poison to them.
If he had to find another reason, it was a faint sense of guilt. He had asked Evangeline to behave quietly while he was away from the banquet, and because of that, she had allowed herself to be detained without a fight. The thought of her locked in a prison so utterly unsuited for her made his brow furrow.
The cold, dark prison was far too harsh a place for someone like Evangeline. Despite knowing her true nature, her fragile appearance and the stories of her sickly past made him worry all the same. He had to find the real culprit who killed the Crown Prince and clear her name, quickly.
It was crucial to hear about what happened at the banquet. Gabriel thought of Marchioness Toten, who had remained by Evangeline’s side the entire time. Meeting her publicly would draw unwanted attention, so he had no choice but to visit the Toten estate. Perhaps because Ryder was recovering well, the Marchioness readily agreed to his visit.
“It seems Young Master Toten’s health has improved significantly.”
“…Yes. Thanks to Lady Rohanson.”
In the garden, Ryder was playing with a maid, tending to a horse. He’d only just recovered, yet he was already well enough for horseback riding?
Marchioness Toten drew the curtains, blocking the view, and dismissed the butler. The man bowed to Gabriel and left the room. The butler must have been replaced in the years since Gabriel’s last visit; it was a face he didn’t recognize.
“I’m so sorry I couldn’t be of more help, Sir Gabriel, especially after I boasted that I would stay by Lady Rohanson’s side in your stead,” Marchioness Toten apologized, unable to meet his eyes.
“You did your best, Marchioness. Lady Rohanson seemed relieved that Miss Hena returned to the mansion safely.”
“I’m glad I could at least help with that.”
Since she clearly felt guilty, Gabriel deliberately mentioned Hena to give her some credit.
“Then, according to what you’ve said, these are all the people who met with Lady Rohanson during the banquet.”
The original purpose of Evangeline’s attendance was to awaken those influenced by Donau’s painting. The names the Marchioness listed were no different from the ones Gabriel already knew. She was about to nod in agreement when she spoke up, as if suddenly remembering something.
“Ah, now that I think about it, I forgot the servants.”