One of the Twelve Disciples Betrayed — The Natural Way
Pythia's lie had worked far better than I had dared suspect. It had not merely succeeded—it had pierced Isabel like a hole in an invisible window. She stumbled backward, one step retreating, her body twisting as if her very foundation had cracked.
Her lips moved. She seemed about to speak, yet no words came out at all.
There is a famous line from a movie set in the underworld: “There are no eternal friends or enemies on this ground.”
In this world, that saying fits the royal court better than any other.
Historically, the Morihan royal family had rotated the “best friend” seat among many groups. First it belonged to the nobles, then the temples, then the Magic Tower… and now it had fallen to the merchants.
Merchants had proven convenient for kings and nobles. They held no legally guaranteed high status, nor the moral authority wielded by priests.
Neither did they wield transcendent power alongside technique and martial strength like mages. They were ordinary citizens, possessing only gold.
Once the Magic Tower had triumphed over the temples. Now the merchants had become the threat. The Tower had created useful, splendid things, but they were few in number.
By contrast, merchants had produced things the Tower could never match.
Taxes. Alliances. Order. Protection.
Contracts and promises—things every living person needed. The merchants’ inventions.
Isabel Confino must have sensed her own standing in the Magic Tower had fallen. That was why Pythia's lie had worked.
I never imagined she would do this.
Drawing the king into the fray on the spot like this… only Pythia, the world's sole saint and William Hamilcar's sister, could have pulled it off.
Opposing the Tower Lord and dragging the king in—that was far too dangerous.
Of course Pythia was not in danger. The words of the world's only saint were truth itself. Doubting her was sacrilege, no matter what one thought behind closed doors.
Was it my fault? Had I caused Pythia to fall like this?
I briefly reflected on whether the poison I had unknowingly poured into her had turned the innocent girl dangerous. Then I concluded there was no chance of that.
Impossible. All I had done for her was feed her delicious meals, dress her in pretty clothes, and let her sleep in a clean place. How could I have made her drink anything bad?
Why were my father's knights embracing him like that?
When our eyes met, my father cleared his throat awkwardly and stepped away from the knights. Then, with heavy steps, he walked toward Isabel Confino.
“Tower Lord.”
My father's face was ice-cold. The swirling snowstorm in his eyes had frozen his expression completely.
“Throughout the journey I respected your silence, Tower Lord. But now that the king's name has been mentioned here, I can no longer remain silent. Please tell me what happened.”
Perhaps the will of the Fire God Heto had spread. The fire in the hut died out, and the temple fire followed.
When I looked back at the temple, the scene was heartbreaking. What had once been a ruin was now stripped of even its most basic traces.
The pillars lay shattered like ruins after a wartime attack.
William Hamilcar stared straight at the Tower Lord and waited for an answer.
Isabel fell silent, as if she had no desire to reply. It felt as though she was waiting for William Hamilcar to break the silence first, yet he showed no intention of speaking until she did.
“My item has disappeared.”
Isabel spoke only that. It seemed she had no wish to explain what she had lost, but Pythia continued for her.
“The Chair of Torment with armrests. Even if it is only a partial one, it is still the property of Gerka. You cannot claim it as your own.”
Of course, it was not that the item literally belonged to Gerka, but that it had once stood in his temple.
According to the Status Window I read, the first owner had been the “First Saint.”
The First Saint could speak with every god, unlike later saints, so every temple possessed her belongings. The item in Gerka's temple might have been hers.
Still, calling it Gerka's thing felt a little… wrong.
Well, today was apparently the day Pythia wanted to go black-hearted. When a person was on the verge of being boiled alive, that was only natural.
I myself wanted to go black-hearted, yet too many people already had. With official speaking rights, I could not even open my mouth.
“It happened a thousand years ago!”
Isabel Confino shouted in fury.
That was true. Dragging the thousand-year-old owner into the argument was plainly over the line.
Even though she had gone black-hearted, Pythia flinched. It seemed logic was about to overwhelm her.
That could not be.
Why were we trying to crush our own Pythia?
“Correct.”
At my words, Pythia turned to look at me. I smiled reassuringly into her anxious eyes, then stepped forward in front of Isabel Confino.
Isabel Confino stood amid the swirling snowstorm, her white hair whipping wildly. All the hair accessories from the earlier battle had clearly fallen out.
Since the Tower Lord's accessory, it must have been expensive. I resolved to search nearby after she left and opened my mouth.
“The past is meaningless. Valuable items always pass through many hands. The current owner has already left. What belongs to the current owner is now in the past.”
“What nonsense—”
“Whether it was a thousand years ago, one year ago, or one month ago, the past is still the past, is it not?”
“You little girl—!”
“Or perhaps the Tower Lord wishes to become ‘the present.’ Whether through power or authority, please do so. Here, the disciple, the young girl, and the saint who only follows the gods will not allow the relic to reach the Tower Lord's hands.”
David listened to Arian's bright voice and thought,
“She's furious.”
Arian must have believed she was still in control of her reason.
But as her brother, David knew at once. In Arian's barely fingertip-sized head, not a single grain of reason remained.
So David secretly began loosening his ankle bindings. If Arian provoked the Tower Lord into attacking her brother, he had to leap out immediately.
If he could rescue Arian, that would be best. If not, he would have to block the path and take the attack himself.
Arian did not possess the physical ability to react instantly, and one wrong touch from an attack could be fatal.
David, however, possessed sufficient physical strength. Even if struck, he would not die. As long as it was not fatal.
David's gaze swept, then landed on Damien standing before the hut.
“He will surely save me somehow.”
Healing magic was said to be the most difficult among all spells. Damien had performed it effortlessly.
Earlier he had lost much blood and felt no sensation in his arm, yet the moment Damien cast the spell, Arian was perfectly recovered enough to run and embrace the saint.
With that level of ability, he could at least keep her alive even if complete healing was impossible.
David moved slowly toward Arian. The closer the distance to his sister, the better—for now.
And Damien was also watching that scene. From Arian's attitude he sensed she had already lost all reason and remained only with malice.
“Isabel Confino, I will tear you apart today.”
The most dangerous part was that Arian herself did not realize any of this.
Arian believed herself a coldly rational human, yet from Damien's viewpoint she was clearly a hot-tempered seed that shared blood with David.
And Isabel Confino stood before someone who was currently in her normal state. She could attack Arian at any moment.
So Damien also began moving slowly toward Arian while carefully observing the surrounding atmosphere.
“What are you doing?”
Raymond Danier watched the scene. His son and Damien Hamilcar were slowly closing the distance to Arian with cautious steps, like children gauging others' eyes.
While David frowned, Arian continued speaking.
“From the beginning, disciples belong to their masters. Do they not?”
“Indeed, so you must all repay your debt to me!”
A sudden flare of fire burst from the right hand of Isabel Confino.
“I knew she would do something like this!”
David had already begun to leap out. In the exact moment Damien tried to cast the pre-prepared defensive magic on Arian, Arian's eyes turned coldly toward Isabel.
“According to Gerka's revelation, anyone who handed the relic to an outsider is one of the Tower Lord's twelve disciples. Lord High Priest, you swallowed the tragedy out of pity for the Tower Lord's grief at losing a disciple. But this disciple cannot do so. A disciple who betrays his master deserves death. Please, Tower Lord, look behind you.”
Only Isabel Confino physically understood the command to look behind her.
She turned.
Raymond Danier, the Danier family knights, Damien, David, Pythia, and the priests of the other temples all stared at Isabel Confino with stunned faces.
She had interpreted the command like that. As if a five-year-old child could not understand metaphor.
Yet behind Isabel stood the third disciple. The moment he met his master's eyes, he fell onto his backside in shock and shook his head frantically.
“N-no, Master.”
Isabel's face, already pale as death, suddenly received a thunderbolt of enlightenment.
“You…”
The old man's wrinkled eyes shook with shock.
“You betrayed me.”