CHAPTER 90…………………………
After returning to his room, Izeph took out the vessels he had brought for holding holy water and laid them out in a row.
From ones made of white marble to those crafted from pure gold, he had at least five of varying sizes.
“I want to offer Her Highness the most precious one…”
With a slightly flushed face, Izeph looked over the vessels and chose a white one—a gift he had received to commemorate becoming the High Priest of the Great Temple. It was just the right size for a small flower to bloom in.
Each of the candidates’ rooms in the detached palace had been supplied by the Imperial Household with soil, flowerpots, water, and watering cans, but many of the candidates preferred to use special pots or soil they had prepared themselves. Izeph was no exception.
On his way back, he had stopped by the palace gardens and carefully gathered rich, fertile soil. Now, before him were that soil, the holy water vessel he intended to use as a pot, and the seeds. Kneeling, he assumed a prayerful posture.
He bent both knees, raised his clasped hands high above his head as if to invite divinity into all he possessed, and then lowered them to his chest.
Just as he was about to begin his prayer—
‘…What if I hear the voice again this time?’
Fear struck him like lightning.
At first, he had prayed to overcome that voice.
But whenever he placed holy water before him and prayed morning and night, the voice would suddenly echo in his head.
It didn’t happen every time—but as it became more frequent, Izeph began to fear that prayer wasn’t banishing the voice, but summoning it instead. That realization had brought unbearable terror.
He couldn’t pray anymore.
Even as his body grew weary and his nights became sleepless, he could not bring himself to pray.
Naturally, that meant there were many days he couldn’t use his holy power.
But now—
With the second contest underway, and faced with this crucial task, Izeph felt that there was nothing more sacred or pure than prayer to ensure the flower would bloom safely.
He had always tended plants through prayer—it was natural for him. Before he touched a plant, while caring for it, his lips would always move in prayer. And in return, every flower and tree would flourish beautifully.
This flower was not for anyone else—it was to be presented to the Princess. Remembering the steward’s words that the result would change depending on the heart with which he nurtured it, Izeph summoned his courage and opened his lips.
“Phew.”
Exhaling deeply, he began his prayer.
“O Lord, master of the weak, divine guide of my body and soul…”
His personal prayer began smoothly—at least at first.
But then—
[Yes. Pray.]
“Ugh!”
Agony consumed him without mercy. A splitting pain pierced his skull, growing sharper by the second. Just a single utterance from that voice made his body sway.
[Bring… him… to me.]
He couldn’t tell who the voice was demanding he bring. The pounding pain in his head turned his face pale and twisted it in anguish.
“Ugh, ha… ha…”
This headache was worse than ever before. Overwhelmed by pain, Izeph’s clasped hands fell apart as he struggled to rise. His trembling hands slipped, and his body collapsed forward—crashing into the pot and soil before him.
“Urgh!”
He fell among the mess, gasping. His mind spun, nausea surged, and dizziness clouded his senses.
[…Come. Bring him to me.]
“St—stop!”
Pray. Come to me.
The voice—its very nature unknown—was crushing his mind, as if to split it open.
“Izeph!”
A voice called out close by, making his head throb even more. Through his spinning vision, he barely made out a figure.
“…L-Lord…”
It was Asterios.
“Are you all right? What happened—”
He felt Asterios lift him up in concern. Only then did Izeph remember his holy power and tried to summon it—but instead of the pure white light that should have burst forth, something bitter and metallic rose up from within him.
“Urgh!”
He gagged, his stomach twisting, and looked at Asterios through his fading consciousness.
“Ah… Your Grace…”
“Izeph! Izeph, stay with me!”
Hearing the warmth and worry in that voice, Izeph couldn’t help but smile faintly.
And then everything went dark.
“Izeph collapsed?”
Roziana shot up from her seat.
Maria, who brought the news, continued her report.
“Yes. Duke Tenebres immediately called for a physician and a healer. I heard that he’s now stable and asleep in the duke’s quarters.”
Roziana paced anxiously, her hurried steps circling the same spot. Maria and the other three ladies-in-waiting followed her with their eyes.
“Did he overexert himself during the first contest? He had headaches, but didn’t Asterios say he was fine this morning?”
“He did, Your Highness. However, he also mentioned that Izeph hadn’t been sleeping well for several days.”
“I see…”
It wasn’t uncommon for contestants to withdraw for similar reasons.
Many participants had been plagued by strange dreams and sleepless nights during this competition, leading some to give up midway.
Given how extraordinary most contestants were—and that a Nayer, who had followed Mephisto, was among them—Roziana, who knew that being’s true nature, had considered such occurrences possible. But she hadn’t expected Izeph to be among the afflicted.
‘I can’t imagine Izeph falling prey to a succubus…’
He was a priest with strong divine power; it was unlikely that a Nayer was the cause of his collapse.
“How strange. Izeph’s a former priest—his body is imbued with holy energy. How could he have fallen into such a weakened state?”
Priests could heal themselves through divine power. Was there some reason he hadn’t been able to do that?
“Forgive me, Your Highness,” Fiona said quietly. “But he’s no longer a priest.”
Angela and Thomas, listening nearby, nodded in agreement.
“Yes, that may explain it,” Thomas added.
But Roziana wasn’t convinced. She stopped pacing and sat on the couch, deep in thought.
“He may no longer hold the title, but that doesn’t mean he can’t use holy power… His strength comes through prayer, and I heard that he was born with an unusually pure form of divine energy.”
There must be more to it.
Roziana looked up at Thomas among the trio.
“Thomas, go to the detached palace and find out how he’s doing. I need to know if there’s something Izeph hasn’t told me.”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
Thomas bowed and left, while Fiona and Angela remained by the princess’s chamber.
“Fiona, Angela—stand guard outside. Maria, stay with me.”
“Yes, Your Highness. Please rest easy.”
After the others left, Roziana gestured to Maria.
“Maria. Was there anything strange? You seemed hesitant to speak in front of the others.”
Her gaze was sharp as she asked.
“The truth is… Lord Izeph seemed to have been suffering from something like nightmares for several days. Duke Tenebres was aware of it as well.”
“Asterios knew?”
“Yes. But he appeared to act as though he didn’t, at least in Izeph’s presence.”
Ah.
So both of them lied, saying everything was fine.
“That means Asterios has been covering for him. Since when?”
“Since after the Secret Fog contest.”
“Wait…”
Roziana recalled several things Asterios had said about Izeph—that he had met the Holy Emperor during the Secret Fog event, and had been slightly shaken afterward.
‘Then this might be related to the Holy Emperor.’
He had said Izeph was suffering from guilt for doubting the one he worshiped… Could that guilt be what stopped him from using his holy power?
“Haa… He’s too kind for his own good, that Izeph.”
Roziana sighed deeply.
“I might have to assign Thomas to watch over him from now on.”
She couldn’t help but feel like she’d left a child alone by a dangerous riverbank.
While everyone was worrying about him—
In Asterios’s room, the voice in Izeph’s head grew clearer.
He wasn’t praying, nor was he even awake—just lying there, asleep.
Yet, more distinctly than ever before, the voice spoke its demand.
[Now… bring him to me.]
At last, Izeph understood.
That voice belonged to the Holy Emperor.
