Chapter 13
Chapter 13
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Translator: Ebonarch
Chapter: 13
Chapter Title: Confession Magic (5)
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On the road departing from Berryhill Prison.
The princess's mind was incredibly tangled.
Derek Minster, the most likely suspect.
He came from a family infamous for contract killings and loan sharking.
And to top it off, he even had a saintess under his command who could control monsters.
If this child, disowned by his family, was recruiting prisoners for revenge, everything fit perfectly.
That's why she'd gone to the prison and found the dead lord's sword—clear evidence of their collusion.
Yet Derek had no knowledge of that sword at all.
He hadn't killed the Holy See knights either.
"Then who in the world..."
The princess astride her white horse pondered gravely the entire way back, her finger resting on her soft chin.
But no matter how she racked her brain, no other culprit who could manipulate monsters came to mind.
The only mage with a grudge against the Holy See was the saintess.
"Let's think it through again."
Camillia once more assumed Derek and the saintess were accomplices.
What if the warden had simply turned a blind eye to the saintess exacting her revenge on the Holy See? The culprit could slip away.
And if Anje had secretly gifted him the lord's prized sword as a reward for his complicity...?
If that theory held, it even explained how he'd evaded her confession magic.
But even assuming it was true, plenty of inconsistencies remained.
First and foremost, Derek remembering his past life.
The assassination techniques she'd witnessed in their spar were extraordinary.
If he hadn't telegraphed his attacks, she would've been caught flat-footed herself.
Moreover, he currently wanted the empire to survive.
And to that end, he'd come to serve as warden, making use of both the saintess and his uncle.
"I slipped up..."
On reflection, his claim of wanting "the empire to survive" was awfully vague.
The empire's continued existence might not stem from loyalty, but from his own ambition to swallow it whole.
His coaching could have been a mere ploy to curry favor.
After all, plenty of people had approached her before, aiming to climb the social ladder.
"Your Highness, are you all right? You look quite fatigued."
"I'm fine. It's just that I haven't used confession magic in ages, so I'm a bit worn out."
The princess offered a faint smile in response to her White Horse Captain's concern.
Afterward, she tried her best to shake the image of that one man filling her thoughts.
'Right, no jumping to conclusions. I'll just keep a close eye on him from now on.'
Camillia glanced back at the receding Berryhill Prison.
An ancient building loomed gloomily beneath the eternal snowfields.
A certain man would be in the warden's office on the second floor.
The way he'd lain there on purpose during their spar, gazing up at her with smug pride...
"...Annoying."
It was the first time in her life she'd felt such raw frustration.
"What was that, Your Highness?"
"Nothing. Just feeling competitive for the first time in a while."
She'd heard the new warden was only 21.
Two years her junior, and he'd looked up at her all cute and pleased with himself.
"He must have been quite the sly one, then. To stir Your Highness's competitive spirit, no less."
The White Horse Captain turned back toward the prison with a grim expression.
Brimming with loyalty, he boldly vowed to his superior.
"Worry not. My knights and I will watch him closely and expose his wicked true nature."
"No, I'll handle his surveillance myself."
The princess quelled her fist-clenching captain.
"With someone that suspicious, erasing one's presence is key. I'm more accustomed to magic."
"Ah, such profound intent."
"Ahem... Let's head back. The meeting's about to start."
"Understood."
Camillia urged her horse onward skillfully.
Even as she returned to the northern imperial palace, the prison kept nagging at her.
If it turned out Derek was truly just a steadfast loyalist...
He'd be the first man she'd met who genuinely wished for the empire's peace.
"I hope this one's the real deal."
There had been similar men in the past, but most harbored dark ulterior motives.
Especially the handsome ones—they were always rotten underneath.
Burned by those experiences, the princess resolved to scrutinize him all the more rigorously this time.
Derek Minster, with his world-weary eyes, looked the part of a scheming mastermind to anyone.
Berryhill Prison in the storm's aftermath.
Two heavyweight prisoners sat facing each other in the office.
While the warden and Clea were off preparing drinks, they regarded one another in silence.
"......"
Anje had never liked Grand Elder Dark.
Politicians always put their own rice bowls before the people.
Dark felt the same.
To him, who valued principles and justifications above all, religious groups were nothing but packs of zealots.
Yet they shared one key trait.
Both were the best in their respective fields, with razor-sharp insight.
"Didn't you notice the change in Warden Derek just now?"
The seasoned old fox spoke first.
"I saw the jacket pocket. Not bad observation for a layperson."
Anje, 22 and clad in a red dress that hugged her lithe figure, complimented the 60-year-old politician.
Dark showed no displeasure at the words of someone young enough to be his granddaughter.
He displayed the dignity of a behind-the-scenes power broker who respected strength regardless of age.
"Warden Derek's jacket is usually empty. But when he emerged from the magic circle, there was a subtle bulge."
Anje nodded calmly.
"Right. It struck me as odd too, so I looked closely and sensed faint mana."
"If its aura reaches from afar, it's a fine artifact. Might even outshine that sword at his belt."
The saintess's expression darkened at the elder's pointed remark.
Her intense red eyes seemed ready to issue a suicide command to the old man before her.
What he meant was that the gift from the princess surpassed her own.
"No need to get heated. The warden I saw isn't the type to pick sides over some trinket."
"What are you getting at, Grand Elder?"
"Simply this: don't drag him into your religious games."
"......"
The warden who had passed even his cool-headed niece's test.
Dark finally began to appraise his worth highly.
"The princess has already gifted him, so his standing in the empire will only grow. He doesn't suit your fanatical revolution."
The grizzled lion spoke without reservation to the red saintess.
He knew full well what happened to those who'd crossed her, yet maintained his lofty demeanor.
"The only reason I've left you be is your lingering utility, Elder. So don't test my patience."
The saintess delivered her chilling words with a composed smile.
"And if I do? Kill me, and the revolution you crave will never come."
The moment anyone touched Dark, his legion of heavyweights would mobilize en masse.
Knight commanders across the empire, heads of various agencies—
Not even the saintess could brainwash them all instantly.
But Anje was no meek prisoner either.
"Block my path, and I'll make that precious family of yours slaughter each other."
The office air turned frigid.
A powder keg of threats aimed at each other's Achilles' heels: revolution versus family.
The explosive tension finally eased with the office door swinging open.
"Looks like you all behaved. Quite the sight."
"......"
Clea, following behind, hesitated for a moment.
A former elite knight, she'd broken out in chills from the killing intent that had permeated the room moments ago.
"Clea, black tea for the elder. Apple juice for Anje."
While my deputy set out the drinks, I flopped into the head seat.
Then, gazing fondly at my ticking time bombs, I spoke.
"The reason I called you two here is simple: a heads-up."
Anje gnawed her straw with her fangs.
Grand Elder Dark took a dignified sip of his tea.
"As you heard today, Her Highness the Princess's forces may drop in for surprise inspections going forward."
"I know. I'm exempt from surveillance anyway, so no worries."
Dark replied flatly, and Anje chimed in.
"Same here. Tell them to come to my solitary cell if they've got the guts."
"I'm not concerned about either of you, naturally. Just please refrain from impulsive actions for the time being."
I beamed brightly, though my brooding eyes stayed icy cold.
"Especially personal vendettas. It just puts me under suspicion."
"Well, you've gone and indebted yourself to the princess now. Isn't that a win?"
Saintess Anje spoke softly, fixing me with a lingering gaze.
This is all your fault.
Of all times, I'd picked a spar with the Holy See knights and wiped them out...
Come to think of it, she might've slipped me that sword to frame me as the culprit.
I'd be cleared as innocent anyway, so she'd used me for her revenge.
Of course, it ended up as a nice gift in the end.
Plus, the princess had even written down her office address, telling me to contact her directly.
Snagging endgame gear and connections right from the start of my regression—solid beginning.
But locking eyes with Anje, she flashed a crescent-moon smile, lovely as ever.
As if she'd known things would work out.
Or like she'd planned to fix it herself if they hadn't.
"Thanks to you, I got not just the sword, but this dagger tucked in the pocket too."
"This one?"
"Yeah, suits your gloomy vibe."
"No big deal. Just got lucky."
I didn't show the whole dagger.
Just peeked the hilt from my uniform's inner pocket.
"Derek, did the princess give you that blade?"
Anje showed an oddly keen interest in it.
Her red eyes wide and beautiful, like full moons.
"I'm curious too. Looks like quite the piece."
"Definitely not one I've seen before."
Dark probed subtly.
Even Clea, sorting ledgers at a distance, perked up.
Under their persistent questioning, I naturally drew the dagger to show.
"Nah, just a family heirloom. Picked it up when I left home."
In truth, it was the first Black Knights Order captain's, but no point mentioning that.
It was a holy grail to his successors; rumors of me having it would spell trouble.
I had no desire to draw more aggro from beyond the prison walls.
"Usually keep it hidden in its case. Only carried it today."
The saintess's wide eyes curved back into satisfied half-moons.
Appeased that it was something he'd owned all along.
"Knew it."
But Dark, the eldest here, alone wore a blank expression.
"Something wrong, Elder?"
"No. Just seems like a fine blade."
"Family relic, so yeah. Haha..."
"Heard you were disowned, but looks like Dad hooked you up with something."
Thankfully, the second interview wrapped up smoothly.
With the dagger talk concluded, the prisoners returned to their cells.
Both seemed in high spirits the whole way back.
"As expected, a blind tyrant like the princess could never recognize a prophet's worth—"
Anje chuckled lightly as she stretched out on her solitary cell bed.
She perched her liaison white raven on her finger, enjoying a pleasant afternoon.
The Grand Elder, returning to his cell, was much the same.
He smirked upon realizing the dagger wasn't a princess's gift.
Even better intel, in fact.
"The disowned son of House Minster has the first Black Knights Order captain Rin's dagger, huh..."
The golden-haired elder pulled out a cigar for the first time in ages.
He'd quit smoking, but it felt like the ambitions of his youth were reigniting.
"Not disowned— the cherished youngest he secretly doted on."
House Minster, famed for its assassins.
Handing the assassins' holy grail—Captain Rin's dagger—to the runt?
The Grand Elder pegged Derek not as some bought-official, but an ambitious heir eyeing the family headship.
"Time to summon the count and grill him myself."
The old man fetched quill and premium scroll.
Cigar in mouth, he penned a lavish letter in flowing script.
Summoning the Minster family head and his sons here.
Directed at the father who'd scorned his youngest and the brothers who'd tormented him.
