Part 2, Chapter 22
Part 2, Chapter 22
Translation: godsn
Though years had passed, the Black Devil—whom she'd encountered several times while suppressing Magic Beast Waves—was not an existence easily erased from one's mind.
"The First Prince? You mean the First Prince of Kazen?"
"That man is the First Prince? That demon of war?"
The crowd buzzed with murmurs.
Who? Who did they say that mad heretic was—the one who just shattered the Goddess Statue and now stood confronting the Holy Knights?
They couldn't believe their ears.
News regarding Kazen's First Prince had always been the hottest topic drawing the continent's attention.
Whether when he was terminally ill, or when he miraculously revived and reappeared in the Empire—it was always so.
That very figure now stood revealed at Valdina's imperial proclamation celebration—how could they not be shocked? Especially when he appeared in the most unpredictable form and with the most unimaginable actions.
The corners of the First Prince's lips curled upward as if declaring himself the correct answer.
Meanwhile, Paolo's eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets.
'That lunatic is Kazen's "that" First Prince?!'
But since these words came from the Holy Knight Commander—who had once allied with Kazen and even participated in the continental wars—they must undoubtedly be true.
Paolo gritted his teeth.
'No wonder he shows no fear of consequences.'
Unless one was at the level of Kazen's Black Devil, who would dare act so insolently before the eyes of so many citizens of the Holy Kingdom?
"First Prince... Your Highness, the Saintess was nearly injured because of you. Moreover, for what reason did you desecrate the sacred Goddess Statue?"
Paolo spoke to him, struggling to suppress his rage.
"You must provide a proper explanation. Destroying the Goddess Statue is treated as a grave crime—one that even heretics would hesitate to commit."
"Oh?"
The First Prince raised his eyebrows as if surprised.
"So turning a blind eye to flowing blood is acceptable, but breaking a statue is not? The moment you ignored the Goddess's tears, you denied the very existence of that statue. Does rejecting the Goddess's will not make you the heretic here?"
"First Prince—!"
"How curious. Just whom does the Holy Kingdom represent? The Goddess? Or humans?"
Paolo was momentarily speechless at this direct, piercing question.
"Th-that's..."
"Enough. The answer is already clear."
He stepped forward without hesitation. It seemed he had never intended to listen to a reply in the first place.
The crowd listening to their exchange also grew doubtful.
"The First Prince isn't wrong. The Holy Kingdom's behavior is rather strange. Instead of rejoicing at the Goddess's long-awaited revelation, they're outright denying it."
"What else could the reason be? There's only one—hey, you! Don't look over there!"
The murmurs grew louder.
The First Prince's overwhelming presence instilled a peculiar conviction in the crowd.
Rachel had successfully fallen into the trap Medeia prepared—and now, the First Prince had come to seal the lid over it.
"Wait. We can't let this slide."
Rachel silently bit the inside of her cheek. She wasn't ready to give up yet.
"As the Saintess, I cannot stand by and watch Valdina exploit the Goddess's name to sow chaos across the continent."
"Saintess."
Medeia responded calmly. She would allow Rachel no room to retreat.
"You are no longer that young girl wandering the plains. As you've said, you now represent the Temple—nay, the Goddess and the Holy Kingdom itself. Thus, you must choose your words with care."
Medeia's gaze shifted from Rachel to the priests.
"When this moment is recorded and revealed to future generations, will the Holy Kingdom be able to bear that shame?"
Her words struck like a quiet dagger to the heart, reminding them that the responsibility for this historic moment would fall not on the Saintess, but on them.
"......"
Rachel's face flushed at the composed yet piercing remark.
Medeia adjusted her white gloves.
The sight reminded people of that time—when she had boldly challenged Kazen's Fourth Imperial Princess to a duel.
What had been the result?
The once-powerful Fourth Princess suffered two humiliating defeats, and Kazen was forced to pay double the tribute as the price of their wager.
"Valdina does not tolerate discourtesy twice."
The calm yet razor-sharp warning made Rachel take a step back.
Then, realizing she had retreated without meaning to, she bit down on the flesh inside her cheek.
Damn it, this can't keep going like this.
After Medeia countered Rachel's words and shattered the flow she had been leading with the bleeding Goddess Statue, the First Prince of Kazen had outright stamped it as divine disapproval—proof that the Goddess did not side with the Saintess.
I am the Saintess. The only Saintess to appear on this continent in centuries.
She repeated it desperately, but her mouth had gone bone-dry.
She could sense it—the faintest sliver of doubt taking root in the eyes of those who had once revered her as the Goddess's Proxy.
For now, it seemed insignificant, but Rachel could not tolerate even the slightest crack in the absolute faith that should have been hers.
"Your Highness, the First Prince."
And so, she boldly seized the First Prince's attention.
Having grown up among black mages, she had yet to grasp—not in her bones, not in her skin—why the people in this hall feared the First Prince.
"The Goddess does not forgive those who distort Her will. Are you truly unafraid of Her wrath?"
The First Prince turned his head languidly.
"The Saintess seems quite diligent in her theological studies."
He had no intention of entertaining her—no need to.
Saintess or not, wielder of holy power or not, it meant nothing to him. After all, there was only one being he believed in.
For a fleeting moment, his golden eyes, carrying a spark of warmth, brushed past Medeia.
Unaware of why the First Prince's demeanor had softened, Rachel huffed and thrust out her hand again.
"I am the Saintess! You cannot treat me like this—"
Then, golden eyes laced with killing intent turned toward her, icy and piercing.
She froze as if coiled by a serpent, unable to move.
"S-Saintess! P-please, this way—"
"High Priest, it seems you still have much to teach her."
Even under the First Prince's arrogant reprimand, treating the Saintess like a clumsy child, the High Priest could not muster a single word of rebuttal.
Was it the might of Kazen? Or the First Prince's own power?
Oh-ho, this is getting good.
The spectators perked up.
One thing was clear—the High Priest, who should have been roaring in righteous fury to uphold the Holy Kingdom's dignity, had tucked his tail between his legs.
Leaving the speechless High Priest and Saintess behind, the First Prince took a step forward.
Thud. Thud.
The man strode unhindered through the banquet hall swallowed in silence. The nerves of countless attendees were strung taut, focused solely on the First Prince.
They feared him—this man who had overwhelmed the entire assembly in an instant—yet could not help but revere him at the same time.
The Demon of War. The Black Beast.
The infamy known throughout the world did not tell of his striking beauty.
His raven-black hair gleamed like polished ebony, and the sharp line of his jaw flowed with the elegance of a statue painstakingly carved by the gods.
Yet what captured their gaze was not his radiant beauty, as if the sun god Apollo had been reborn. Not his broad, perfectly sculpted shoulders, nor his lithe, panther-like frame.
It was the strange aura that emanated from him.
A leisurely gait. A careless demeanor.
The languid air around the First Prince seemed to lazily unravel people's wariness.
But the moment they let their guard down, there was a razor's-edge tension—that this very languidness could, in a flash, slit their throats.
Just like the Goddess Statue shattered beneath his hand.
If Pelleus was like cold ice, then the First Prince, Cesare, was the scorching sun.
But the problem was—even if his heat seared their flesh and blinded their eyes, they would never realize it until it was too late.
With steps neither slow nor hurried, he reached the Valdina royals in an instant.
His faintly curved lips held a wisp of a smirk, as if amused, as if mocking.
Arrogant beyond measure, as though the world lay beneath his feet—yet no one could deny how breathtakingly well it suited him.
"C-Cesare! How dare you—! Uncle appointed me as the head of this envoy!"
No matter how much the crowd swallowed their shock and awe, none could compare to Iason. His crimson eyes bulged as if they might pop out any second.