Chapter 43
Chapter 43
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Translator: Ebonarch
Chapter: 43
Chapter Title: Prime Suspect (3)
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A paper envelope sat on the desk in the warden's office.
It bore the lion seal emblem of the Imperial Family.
It was none other than a summons bearing the emperor's own signature.
"So it finally came."
The Holy See had named me as the culprit in the assassination of the northern bishops.
The reason? All the victims had been investigating me, and I'd silenced them to hide evidence.
With the emperor's signature on it, knights could burst in at any moment without warning.
But whether the princess had intervened or not, nothing of the sort happened.
Instead, I was just summoned to the palace for a hearing.
It felt fishy, but it was still better treatment than being hit with confession magic out of the blue.
Hearings were typically reserved for high nobility, after all.
I'd finally climbed to that level myself.
"Well, I can tell at a glance who did it."
Fred and Nix—I'd assumed they'd failed to gather intel and come back empty-handed.
But after the bishops were assassinated, they returned to the prison looking like total wrecks.
"Anyone can see those two went out, killed them, and came back...!"
I rubbed my forehead like a serpent that had transcended worldly cares.
If those two were exposed as the assassins, I'd naturally be pegged as the mastermind since they were under my watch.
I headed to the mess hall, intending to ask what the hell had happened.
There they were: a pair of barely twenty-year-olds wolfing down meat with tousled hair.
They looked like they'd been through one hell of a brawl.
"That was you guys, right?"
I slung my arms around their shoulders from both sides.
With a grim, expressionless stare.
"Assassinating the bishops and slinking back here? Now it looks like I ordered it, you idiots."
The secret weapons of the archbishop—those with venomous green eyes—froze at my gaze.
They slowly looked up at me like rusted machines.
"N-No way. How could we kill bishops like they were gods?"
"Exactly...! They died because a revolt broke out at headquarters."
"A revolt?"
"Yes. Plenty of our peers in the upper ranks harbored grudges too. When we tipped them off about what happened here at the prison, things finally boiled over."
Nix met my eyes squarely as she spoke.
Like Anje, saintess candidates were tough to read.
"We just slipped out amid the chaos."
"Once the ugly side of the faith was exposed to the world, we had no reason to stay."
Then why come back to the prison?
With their skills, they could've lived comfortably anywhere far away!
"For real? You didn't kill the bishops and run?"
I shoved my sinister face right up to the silver-haired woman.
Nix, still not used to my looks, bristled like a weasel facing its predator.
"So you didn't come crawling back because you had nowhere else to go?"
Even trained as a mental mage and saintess candidate, she shrank back from my face.
She hurriedly averted her eyes and locked gazes with Anje.
Anje had been munching on the apple pie I'd given her as an apology.
She rose gracefully from her seat and slipped behind me, placing a hand on my back.
"Warden, if you're that suspicious, want me to help?"
"You? How?"
Anje poked my cheek with her finger.
The sticky scent of apple jam wafted into my nose.
"I'll use my magic to check if they're lying."
Her powers could definitely verify their true intentions.
But her sudden willingness to help felt suspicious.
"Getting cooperative all of a sudden. Makes me uneasy."
"What, you think I'm some witch? It's just payback for that novel you showed me before."
She must've really liked Lady Eri's novel.
Could her story have positively influenced Anje's mindset?
People's personalities are shaped by what they see and experience, after all.
I didn't know the ending, but as a romance novel, it might've instilled some good emotions in her.
"Glad you enjoyed it. If you could learn even half of the author's personality..."
"Sounds like she's really grown on you, Warden."
Anje shot back with a sullen deadpan.
But I ignored it and boldly reminisced about Eri.
"Of course. Her gentle heart puts you at ease just walking beside her."
"Looks can be deceiving. Better watch out."
"Still beats someone scary inside and out."
"You saying I look scary? That's rich coming from you."
Anje wore an oddly offended expression.
I slipped back like a snake over a wall.
"Nah, you're plenty stunning too. Just kidding, kidding."
I waved my hands from a safe distance as she narrowed her eyes.
The saintess covered her mouth with her fist and muttered softly.
"Next time I go all out spoiling you, maybe dye it pink like that? Curious what you'd do."
With her permission granted, she turned back to her Holy See peers.
Nix then whispered her report.
"Anje, we took care of the bishops like you said. You believe us now, right?"
"Yeah. Not the archbishop's head, but still, good effort."
Anje nodded like a silken serpent.
"You'll swear loyalty to Derek now?"
"Of course. We got nowhere else to go."
Fred chimed in agreement.
Even he, once devout, had changed his tune, so the saintess sealed the deal cleanly.
"Well, your eyes don't lie—you're all desperate. Fine, I'll put in a good word with Derek for you."
"...Why swear to the warden and not you? You could enslave us all and take charge."
Anje was handling tasks like Derek's secretary.
Nix found it odd that she, who never followed anyone, had chosen a new master.
"Even I can't control everything personally. Loyalty's the ultimate upgrade over brainwashing."
Anje gazed fondly at Derek chatting amiably with Myoran and Clea from afar.
Everyone conversed openly, without hidden motives.
These women, scarred by betrayal and distrust of humanity, hid nothing from the warden.
The saintess rated his talent highly.
"Besides, Derek knows how to handle people. He's got this magic called trust."
"True, earning any with that face is impressive..."
"God gave him talent and trials in equal measure. The prophets in scripture were fierce-looking too."
"Fair enough... He'd be quite the looker without those dark circles."
Anje brushed past Nix and approached the warden.
She reported the results in a casual tone.
"I checked. There really was a revolt at headquarters."
"Yeah? Who killed the bishops?"
"Someone else. Other candidates jumped them and beat them to death as a group."
"..."
In my past life, several bishops had indeed died in a revolt.
But no guarantee Fred and Nix weren't involved.
"You sure? Trouble later would suck."
"Don't worry. If inquisitors come, I'll just brainwash them."
Anje was surprisingly protective of her cohorts.
She'd hesitated to kill them before—had they grown closer since?
I eyed Fred and Nix suspiciously.
The two prisoners stared back with wide, pitiful weasel eyes.
"If they can act as Anje's restraints, they're worth keeping around."
This was definitely a good sign.
For her—who'd crush lives like insects—to show such mercy.
If this taught her the value of life, her rehabilitation would skyrocket.
"Alright, you're in charge of them then."
I clasped my hands behind my back, striking a solemn pose for once.
Gazing down at her coldly, like a proper warden facing a prisoner.
"If they cause problems, you'll be punished."
The saintess paused at my authoritative tone.
Punish her...?
"Got it."
Anje nodded slowly and stepped back.
I lifted my chin sternly, watching her go.
Bragging to Vice Warden Clea about asserting authority over a prisoner.
She observed Anje's retreating figure intently.
"She looks secretly pleased."
Clea eyed the saintess smirking slyly despite the harsh words, puzzled.
She'd seen that expression when passing Anje's cell—while the girl wrote her novels alone.
Clea frowned suspiciously before turning back to me.
Like shifting to the main topic.
"Anyway, time to head to the palace."
"Yep. Innocent as I am, my steps'll be light the whole way."
I replied with the world's most relaxed expression, but Clea pondered gravely.
Seducing Holy See agents into subordinates, using the saintess to prep for interrogation.
And keeping those agents instead of discarding them.
Diligent toward goals, yet caring for his people.
She coldly tallied her mental score for someone.
"I'm satisfied. No need to worry about you, sir."
Having finished her coffee, she cleared my cup too.
Adjusting her monocle, she continued.
"How will you handle transportation?"
"Carriages pass nearby—I'll hitch one."
I straightened my uniform jacket, ready to leave.
She absently smoothed my sleeve as she spoke.
"I'll come with you this time. Attendants usually join for hearings."
"You too? Who's minding the prison?"
"The guards' morale is up lately. They get along with the prisoners too."
"Still feels off without our trusty vice warden."
Not that I minded her nitpicking the whole way.
Three days to the capital sounded exhausting.
"Last time you went to the city, you forgot to bring back treats."
I flinched like a snake caught by the neck.
Her long, foxlike hand gripped my sleeve firmly.
"Kidding. I left some things behind from my palace service days."
Fair enough.
The Holy See faction that targeted me was wiped out anyway.
Myoran had fully purged the Heavenly Jade's influence too—no issues there.
Worst case, the escorts protecting Grand Elder Dark and Damas would step up.
"Alright, let's go together."
I tidied the office and stepped into the hall with Clea.
Damas was there, munching snacks.
"Off to the palace?"
"Yeah. Be good while I'm gone—listen to the guards."
"You know it. Who am I? The camaraderie king endorsed by two bigshots."
The golden retriever-lookalike declared confidently.
I shot back deadpan.
"Problems arise, you're first on the punishment list."
"Me...?"
He pointed at himself in shock.
"Yep. Keep the prisoners in line—no funny business."
We strolled past him down the stairs leisurely.
Left alone, he blinked blankly before clapping.
"So he's promoting me beyond prisoner—to mid-level manager? Like a prisoner boss."
The sole survivor among Anje and Myoran's prisoners.
Judging his political skills mirrored his father's, his lips curved up.
"Yeah, yeah. I'm a close aide now!"
His shoulders perked like an excited pup.
Soon, he roamed the prison like its true king.
Snatching treats from the office.
Plopping into the leather chair to strike poses.
"Heh... Feels good. Been a while."
He lounged, extending the footrest leisurely.
Then patrolled the cells with warden-like pomp.
"Now, shall we take a relaxed tour?"
Damas checked Anje's cell sternly.
But then...
"Huh...?"
The spark faded from his vibrant purple eyes.
The spacious room was empty.
"W-What? She just went in a minute ago!"
Panicking, he rushed to the next cell.
And sure enough...
"No way!!"
Myoran's cell was empty too.
Only her cheongsam lay neatly folded on the bed.
Her academy uniform was gone.
"Argh...!! Where the hell did everyone go!!"
Near the prison station.
The rough-faced warden stood side by side with the sharp-eyed woman.
Soon, two massive carriages pulled up.
Built for long hauls, they were enormous.
Room for ten each.
I asked the coachman right away.
"Heading to the capital. Got seats?"
"Yes, sir. Standard and VIP."
Three days minimum to the capital.
VIP for comfort.
"VIP then."
"Before picking, may I ask your relation? Married?"
His sudden question made me tilt my head.
Clea stepped up.
"What if we are?"
"VIP seats are tight now—only narrow ones left. Ladies from the last stop filled them up."
Fussy Clea would hate that.
Might as well save on standard...
"We'll take it. We are married."
The vice warden handed over her gold coins.
I whispered wide-eyed.
"You sure?"
"Hearings are mental battles. Comfortable ride means you prep properly."
Clea boarded first with a cool tone.
I followed, a bit awkward.
VIP was luxurious, unlike standard.
Narrow enough our shoulders touched, but Clea didn't mind.
Thanks to her, I prepped for the hearing in peace the whole way.
"..."
Deep into the night.
The warden's head, lost in thought for hours, bobbed.
His weary body soon slumped heavily.
Onto thighs wrapped in sheer black stockings.
Clea stared down at the warden nestled in her skirt.
Her ever-calculating hands stilled.
"He has this side too."
She glanced around slowly.
Pulled the curtains to shield the seats.
Then gently stroked his hair, drifting off herself.
The curtains bore marks of being tugged open and shut repeatedly.
Even fist-clenched pinches.