Part 2, Chapter 14
Part 2, Chapter 14
Translation: godsn
'How dare they make Dea cry.'
She was someone who never shed a single tear under normal circumstances. How deeply wronged must she have felt to cry without even making a sound?
Medeia was both Pelleus's pride and, at the same time, his tender spot that always evoked pity in him.
Pelleus valued his responsibilities as the sovereign highly and pursued righteousness.
Yet, if there was one exception to that, it was his one and only younger sister.
Pelleus had realized that the Saintess was at the center of this bizarre incident targeting his sister.
"What if I said I cannot exist under the same sky as that woman? Would you still understand me?"
'It was strange from the beginning.'
If the uncharacteristic sharp wariness and unease Medeia had shown that day stemmed from that woman...
Pelleus was prepared to cut that woman's throat at any moment.
Whether she was the benefactor who had saved him or the Saintess chosen by the gods.
Even if it meant incurring divine wrath and being cast into hell for that sin.
Pelleus's cold blue gaze landed on Rachel. His inscrutable, icy stare made her shoulders flinch involuntarily.
As if to make sure everyone heard, Pelleus spoke clearly and deliberately.
"That dagger is mine. I was the first to know of the Saintess's injury, and it was I who restricted her movements. So, if we're speaking of motives, you must know that I am far more likely to be the culprit than Dea. Then why insist on pointing the finger at her?"
The crowd held their breath at his words.
"Y-Your Majesty would have no reason to harm me..."
Rachel stammered in flustered reply. Pelleus stared at her with eyes that grew even colder.
"Do you truly believe that?"
"Huh?"
"Ha! Your Majesty, are you trying to shield your sister? I'd heard the King of Valdina was wise enough to distinguish public affairs from personal matters despite his youth, but it seems those were all baseless rumors after all."
At that moment, Paolo stepped forward with a derisive snort.
The dagger with its short hilt was unmistakably a woman's weapon. It was adorned with jewels and absurdly small in Pelleus's hand.
"It was not my sister who doubted the Saintess's existence—it was I."
At Pelleus's resolute words, Medeia looked up in surprise.
She had expected him to defend her, but she hadn't anticipated him stepping forward to take the blame himself.
Her brother's back, standing before her, was broad and imposing. As if to shield her from even a single shred of blame or sharp glances.
Why hadn't she realized back then that she had family who would protect her unconditionally, without demanding anything in return? Had she simply refused to see it?
The fleeting regret lasted only a moment.
'This time, I won't let it slip away.'
As Medeia clenched her fist inside her unseen sleeve, Paolo raised his voice.
"Your Majesty, are you confessing to denying faith in the Goddess now? Are you not afraid of being branded a heretic?"
Then, Siseo bent down and picked up the dagger.
Peering closely through his round spectacles as he meticulously examined the blade, he suddenly let out a sharp laugh. His blatant, unconcealed sneer made Paolo frown.
"A fake... High Priest. Let's say, for argument's sake, that these strange objects were indeed aimed at Lady Rachel—no, the Saintess. But doesn't something strike you as odd?"
Siseo ran his finger along the blade's edge, then pressed down with all his might. It should have cut deep into his flesh, yet his movements showed no hesitation.
"Sir...!"
"Look closely. There's no edge. It's merely a well-crafted imitation."
"What...?"
Rachel gasped in shock.
'That can't be...!'
But upon hearing his words, it became clear—the dagger's flash lacked the subtle luster unique to mithril.
Mithril was an exceedingly rare natural resource.
Only three known mithril veins existed across the entire continent, each located in impregnable natural fortresses where even approaching the sites—let alone mining them—was nearly impossible.
With demand vastly outstripping supply, the precious metal had become the exclusive domain of only the wealthiest nobles or the most powerful royals.
So how could Rachel, a former street urchin who had never laid eyes on real mithril in her life, possibly know the difference?
It was nothing more than a well-made counterfeit.
'But I was certain I brought the real one...!'
Rachel bit her lip.
The black mages who had tortured her into submission had only taught her curses and voodoo—the dark arts of black magic.
She had never heard, much less learned, the finer details about weaponry.
"This is neither mithril nor Her Highness the Princess's dagger. Therefore, the claim that Her Highness attempted to harm the Saintess holds no ground."
Siseo did not bother hiding the blatant mockery in his tone as he turned his gaze toward Rachel.
"It seems someone wanted us to believe otherwise."
Now, it was the Holy Kingdom's side—who had been vehemently accusing the Princess—that found themselves in trouble. The captain of the Holy Knights gritted his teeth.
'Damn it. We should've inspected the dagger first.'
Their attention had been entirely consumed by the heated exchange between the High Priest and the Valdinans.
No matter how much they trusted the Saintess's word, they should have verified it. Why had they blindly believed her so recklessly?
"So, you're saying this isn't my dagger after all..."
Then, Medeia's voice, calm and measured, sliced through the silence.
"What a pity. I expected the Goddess's Proxy to have better judgment. To act so rashly..."
Though her tone held no reproach, Rachel burned with shame. She instantly grasped the implication beneath those words.
The Princess was subtly condemning her—implying she lacked the qualities of a true Saintess.
"I—I didn't..."
"This settles it, then. It's clear now that someone deliberately tried to frame Her Highness the Princess. And to claim that a mere counterfeit dagger could carry a curse strong enough to induce fever—doesn't that seem far too feeble for the supposed Goddess's Proxy?"
Siseo pressed the priests' weak point with a mocking smile.
"C-can you truly swear this wasn't the doing of Valdinans? Even if not the Princess, someone else from Valdina could have—"
Paolo still refused to entertain the possibility that this might have been the Saintess's own scheme.
"Why would the Saintess go out of her way to cause such trouble? Knowing the Holy Kingdom's priests were coming, why would she deliberately stir up conflict with Valdina?"
The captain of the Holy Knights, who had been observing the situation, chimed in to defend the Saintess, but Siseo countered with a derisive tone.
"Or perhaps to sow discord. Her Highness the Princess is the guiding light of our Valdina. Removing her would inevitably destabilize the kingdom. I find that a far more plausible motive—"
"That's absurd!"
'Why isn't the brainwashing taking effect? By now, it should've worked long ago...!'
Unaware that all the marks she had left had already vanished, Rachel stepped forward, protesting the accusations against her.
Her flushed face, still dripping with sweat, elicited sympathy from some.
But not from everyone.
"Your Majesty, surely you don't believe this? I risked my life to save you! Why would I—"
Stammering, Rachel staggered toward Pelleus, reaching out to him.
"Ah, Saintess! Moving so suddenly is dangerous—!"
At that moment, a maidservant rushed to support her but misstepped, her foot catching on the edge of the carpet.
The displaced rug slid aside, revealing the bare floor beneath—and a single sheet of paper that should never have been there.
A detailed diagram, marked with dotted ink—
"This... is a blueprint of our Royal Castle."
It was a map of the Valdinan Royal Palace.