Chapter 102
‘What the hell has that bastard done now?!’
Gregory swallowed his curses as he ran.
Ever since the day the monsters invaded the city, Cronen had been acting… off. When Gregory had demanded, “What exactly are you planning to do?” Cronen had only offered vague answers that explained nothing. Even the Empress, who had heard of what was happening there, had started pressing for a solution.
Gregory had tried using the weakness the Empress told him about as leverage to threaten Cronen, but Cronen had only laughed it off, saying, “Ah, that… it won’t matter in the end.”
What do you mean, it won’t matter?! Has he lost his mind? Did he eat something rotten? Gregory was utterly speechless.
So, on the day of the Offering Festival, instead of helping Cronen, he had kept his distance from the temple, ready to pull himself out at the first sign of trouble.
He did hate Titania. The way the Duke of Castrain’s household humiliated him in front of everyone, and that insufferable Flux—he loathed them all. But still…
At times, the back of his neck would prickle coldly.
“Wow, I guess everyone around Her Highness is trash like you.”
That voice.
He knew instantly, by instinct.
That girl could kill him.
If it had just been that much, he probably would have plotted again after returning to the capital, even if the Empress’s punishment awaited him.
But then—monsters had invaded.
Gregory valued his life above all else. With a mess like that breaking loose, even the Empress couldn’t hold him too accountable if he failed to eliminate Princess Titania.
So on the day of the Offering Festival, he’d used the excuse of maintaining security near the temple to bring his soldiers and stay some distance away.
He’d watched everything unfold: the ceremony, the flash of light that flared brilliantly in the air…
And then—
“You’re a quicker little rat than I expected.”
Why was this kind of opponent chasing him?
“A useless, wandering mouse who can’t even do one job properly… Our master said it’s fine to dispose of you. If you don’t want to end up like your fellow rats, you’d better run faster.”
Gregory trembled, scanning all around. The area was silent.
His subordinates were scattered across the ground like straw dolls, felled effortlessly by his pursuer. The sight made his skin crawl.
There was no one left to stop her.
Everyone’s eyes were fixed on the temple.
Though her eyes were the color of lovely flower petals that bloomed in spring, the way she looked at him was terrifying—sharp as a blade.
The girl easily wrapped her slender fingers around Gregory’s throat. As he choked and gasped for air, she forced something into his mouth. It was cold, metallic, and carried a nauseating stench—and then came a burning, searing sensation spreading through his insides.
“Our lady has decided to forge a direct connection with your true master—our most distinguished client.”
Gregory’s eyes went wide with horror. The girl was feeding the same strange substance to his fallen soldiers, who lay like discarded dolls. A sweet, rotting scent hung in the air, like overripe fruit on the verge of decay.
“You should consider it… an honor.”
The soldiers began to rise, slowly, like puppets being pulled up by invisible strings—
like soldier ants lining up before their queen.
* * *
“Everyone, you are safe now!”
High Priest Illian was in his element.
He wore his most luxurious ceremonial robes—the ones so expensive he usually complained about even taking them out of storage—and gripped a magically amplified gemstone in one hand as he rode proudly through the city on an open carriage.
“Yes! The Offering Festival ended safely, and the vile energy that summoned the monsters has been purified! All thanks to your faith and support, citizens of this great city!”
The sooner peace returned and the faster the people calmed down, the sooner Illian could go home and get his bonus. That alone was enough motivation for him to hustle like a politician on election day, running on barely any sleep.
Those robes—decorated with fine golden script in ancient language—were normally reserved for audiences with the Holy One or for the grandest of ceremonies. He’d grumbled about wasting them on a “mere local event.” But now? You’d think he was born wearing them.
“Please believe me! My brother, Priest Cronen, did his best! The task was too dangerous, and he simply ran out of strength! Dear citizens, do not blame him—blame me! I was the one who arrived too late!”
God, he’s loud…
Like in the palace days, I was there beside him—having been roped into the cleanup job after smacking some sense into the priests who caused this mess. I smiled mechanically and waved at the cheering crowd, before subtly lowering my hand and gripping the hilt of my sword.
Ahem. Time to test what I’d been practicing. Please connect quickly, please connect quickly… I imagined pulling a waiting ticket at a government office.
[Contractor ‘Titania’ detected.]
Yes! Hello, voice-that’s-not-the-sword-emoji-one!
[Emblem of Gloriana—direct contact confirmed. Fragment of Podaga—transfer acknowledged. Access to Storiborg’s power—available.]
I muttered under my breath. “Open.”
[Access granted.]
Fwoosh. A faint breeze stirred at my fingertips.
Since the Offering Festival, I’d been exploring what I could actually do with my powers.
Apparently, once I completed the ritual of ownership and became the sword’s true master, I’d be able to use nearly every elemental attribute freely—just as the original Light power once did.
But for now, with Gloriana’s emblem around my neck and Podaga’s fragment in my possession, I could only use two powers.
The Light of Horus—that burned monsters to ash.
And the Wind of Storiborg—that repaid the priests’ “liquid terrorism” in kind.
The power of light was… well, hard to use discreetly. But wind? Wind had endless possibilities.
Most importantly—
“Barrier! Sound barrier! Noise-cancel mode, please!”
I could make an air shield!
It might’ve just been me, but creating a subtle, invisible barrier was harder than whipping up a visible whirlwind. Still, I managed to surround my ears with a bubble of air, blessed silence filling my world.
Ahh, peace. My ears had almost burst from the noise.
Smiling sweetly again, I waved at the crowd once more.
Citizens shouted things like, “High Priest Illian!” “Thank you, is the city truly safe now?”
As I looked around at their relieved faces, my mind drifted back to the aftermath of the Offering Festival.
Cronen had become a wreck—spitting up black water, barely human anymore.
And he wasn’t the only one. Every priest who had joined his ritual suffered the same fate.
Cronen was the only one who’d directly received the “seed,” but the others had still been tainted by his sweet-talking lies and the magic of Chernobog.
I had purified them—with my fists, admittedly—but the aftereffects were severe. They’d lost all energy, all motivation. They could barely function.
Oh well. That was then, this is now.
The problem was, it wasn’t easy for people to trust again after seeing those same priests—who’d once preached salvation—reduced to near-catatonic husks by the hands of a young princess.
People whispered, When did that corruption start? If it happened during the ceremony, could they really say it was over? Was it safe?
A reasonable doubt.
So we played our hidden card.
Flux, furious as ever, stepped forward and revealed a little truth to the people.
“Priest Cronen has been embezzling funds from the Offering Festival for years!”
Back when the fire broke out, Cronen had given a box to a boy delivering candles—planning to retrieve it later, once the chaos settled.
But that boy? He was one of ours—someone Flux had already set up.
Flux had known for a while that Cronen ordered unique, expensive candles every year from a certain small shop, pretending they were for ritual purposes but keeping them for himself. So he bought out the shop entirely—to set the trap.
People in crisis lose all sense of judgment. Cronen must’ve thought, “The temple guards won’t touch a small local store,” and left his box there for safekeeping. Exactly as planned.
In the end, that box ended up in our hands—filled with detailed records of all Cronen’s corruption.
Thank you, Cronen! You saved us so much effort! We couldn’t have stolen that stuff ourselves without trouble, but you just handed it over during a fire!
Generous Cronen, stripped to the bone! Finished Cronen, ruined forever!
“Behold these ledgers! Because of his vile greed, Priest Cronen performed the Offering without a pure heart—and that is why he fell to evil!”
And the people?
They believed it completely.
