Chapter 84. Who Imprisoned Her?
The place he stopped at was the very same stable where Nikolai and I had once been imprisoned.
“There isn’t a filthier or smellier place in the entire temple. Though, since the Saint once stayed here, I suppose it could now be called a sanctuary,” Arkanso remarked with a click of his tongue, sounding genuinely regretful.
I didn’t know much about Arkanso, but somehow, he felt like someone cut from the same cloth as me.
Is he the type to repay what he’s given? Or maybe the kind who takes revenge tenfold, like me? Either way, I like him.
I adjusted my mental description of Arkanso — from an unknown fanatic to a potentially useful fanatic.
“The lowly servants greet the noble Saint!”
The high priests of the Great Temple bowed so deeply that their heads nearly touched the ground.
I shot Arkanso a look that said, Can you please do something about these people?
But Arkanso, like any blind man would, pretended not to see a thing.
With a small pout, I had no choice but to step into the stable.
“Oh, Saint! This unworthy servant has committed a sin so great that even death cannot atone for it!”
The High Priest, who was tied beside the horses’ trough, actually shed tears as he wailed for forgiveness.
“Please kill me at once! I deserve to burn in hell for failing to recognize the Saint sent by the Goddess!”
“Quiet,” I snapped.
“S-Saint?!”
“Don’t you feel sorry for anyone else? How much money have you extorted all this time?”
I glared at him sharply. The High Priest twisted his whole body in protest.
“I had no personal greed! There were circumstances, I swear—!”
“Shut that filthy mouth!”
Arkanso struck the ground hard with his staff.
The priest flinched, as if remembering the sting of that very staff.
“Save your lousy excuses for the tribunal. Don’t waste the Saint’s precious time.”
“Thank you, Arkanso.”
“Please, proceed with your questioning, Saint. I’ll excuse myself.”
Arkanso stepped back and quietly disappeared.
I was going to tell him to wait outside anyway.
Ah, how beautiful it is when someone knows when to step in—and when to step out.
I silently praised Arkanso’s impeccable tact, then turned my gaze back to the trembling priest.
“Answer honestly, and I’ll consider sparing your life. Not that I know if my word still carries weight.”
“As expected of the heaven-sent Saint! Please, ask anything!”
“You know the late Marquis Nettleton, don’t you? He once served as the Imperial Apothecary.”
The High Priest’s dry lips quivered. He clearly knew something but was hesitant to speak.
“Don’t think. Just answer. Unless you’re eager to catch an express carriage to hell.”
That did the trick. The priest hunched his shoulders and stammered out a reply.
“Of course I knew him. He visited several times to pray.”
“I assume he made generous donations, too?”
“He was quite devout—until his son’s gambling debts ruined him.”
“What did he do when he came?”
“He prayed. Forgive me for saying this before the Saint, but our temple is famous for its healing prayers.”
“So that’s why your high priests live such long lives?”
“H-how did you know that?”
The High Priest gaped in shock.
I lowered my voice.
“Tick-tock. Stop wasting time.”
“M-my apologies. The Archbishop, the Cardinals—every priest knew about it.”
“Must’ve been fierce competition.”
“I, too, paid a great sum just to be assigned here. More money than a priest could ever earn in his lifetime…”
“That’s when you went into debt, isn’t it? Then you started squeezing money out of people to repay it.”
The High Priest bowed his head even lower.
“I saw the cemetery,” I said. “There’s no way so many priests living long lives is just a coincidence.”
“I am in awe of the Saint’s wisdom.”
“The fact there’s a cemetery means none of them left this place until their deaths. Which means this backwater temple is worth far more than it seems.”
“Oooh, you see through everything! Never in my life have I met anyone as brilliant as you, Saint!”
“Save the flattery. It makes me nauseous.”
The priest’s shoulders slumped again.
He was more straightforward than I expected—easier to read, too.
I leaned in, pressing just enough.
“You knew about the relic here, didn’t you?”
“I swear I knew nothing of any holy relic!”
“And why should I believe that?”
“If I had known, do you think I’d have stayed still? Offering it to the Great Temple could’ve made me a Cardinal!”
He clamped his mouth shut—perhaps realizing he’d said too much.
I let out a short, cold laugh.
“So you’re certain the Great Temple didn’t know where the relic was?”
“Finding a relic is an accomplishment worthy of scripture! It’s the quickest proof of one’s faith and divine power.”
“So everyone must’ve been desperate to find one.”
“Indeed. Every Archbishop and Cardinal before us devoted themselves to that very task.”
The priest’s careful answer made me narrow my eyes slightly.
Why does the Light keep tormenting me? If they wanted the relics so badly, why not just use their fanatics?
The High Priest, stealing glances at me, murmured hesitantly:
“The current Archbishop… he’s rather greedy.”
“What did he do?”
“He tried several times to visit Marquis Nettleton’s estate. There was a rumor that something gifted by the First Emperor to the Marquis’s family might be a holy relic.”
“But he failed, didn’t he?”
“In the end, he gave up. He saw the late Marquis visiting multiple temples—including the Thirteenth—and assumed the rumor was false.”
“If the Marquis truly possessed Mora Cynthia’s relic, he wouldn’t have needed to seek healing prayers elsewhere.”
He clearly didn’t know about the relic I’d found in the Nettleton estate.
He nodded, oblivious.
Now it was time to move to the real question.
“Do you remember the golden-haired woman who came with him?”
The priest’s wrinkled face turned deathly pale. His lower lip trembled as his eyes darted wildly.
Why such fear?
“Do you know her name was Laila?”
“P-please spare me, Saint!”
“Just answer the question.”
“If I speak of her… I will die!”
“Who would kill you?”
But even that, he couldn’t answer.
Or perhaps—he wasn’t able to.
Everything about Laila had always been shrouded in secrecy.
Everyone who knew her was either dead or missing.
But for a priest bold enough to defraud people out of fortunes to be this terrified—it was strange.
This was a man who openly badmouthed even the Archbishop.
So someone higher than the Archbishop silenced him? Could that person really be Nikolai? But when Laila was alive, Nikolai was still the Crown Prince. He only guessed that this temple might’ve been the one Laila visited—he didn’t know for sure.
And suddenly, one thought flashed bright in my mind.
If Nikolai truly loved Laila, then why imprison her?
She was sick—so ill she traveled from temple to temple seeking a cure.
It couldn’t have been mere possessiveness.
Besides, Nikolai’s father was the “Saintly Emperor,” a man who’d remained faithful to one empress his entire life.
Would such a man really allow his son to imprison his lover? Especially when they had a child, Franz? If Nikolai had locked Laila away, there’s no way he wouldn’t know where she’d last traveled. But he didn’t—he genuinely had no idea she came here.
My heart began to race.
Each question led to another, and finally, to one inevitable conclusion.
It wasn’t Nikolai who imprisoned Laila…!
✧
Nikolai pressed his thumb and forefinger together and blew a sharp whistle.
A pale gray pigeon flew in from the blue sky—a messenger bird, with a tiny bamboo tube tied to its leg.
Well-trained, it landed gracefully on Nikolai’s finger.
As he fed it some prepared grain, he unrolled the small, tightly folded paper.
—Marquis Brendan: confessed that the four great houses are raising private armies. The forces they reported to the palace are at least one-third of their actual size. Evidence under pursuit.
—Three royal consorts from the old noble families are showing unrest.
—The whereabouts of Consort Rose remain unknown.
—The Crown Prince has begun acting independently. Seems to be aided by the Nettleton siblings and possibly in contact with the traitor, Owen.
—Reformist nobles are rallying around the newly appointed Captain of the Imperial Knights.
—Tracking the Minister of Internal Affairs. No unusual activity detected.
There was no sender’s name. No recipient’s, either.
But there was only one person who had ever promised to send Nikolai messages this way.
Claudia is doing well. And Finch seems to be holding up, too…
Nikolai’s gaze drifted to the memory of the signet ring he had entrusted to Franz.
He could still recall the boy’s lovely face as he received it—his shock, his confusion, and the deep anxiety that followed.
“This is the Imperial Seal. It grants full authority of the Emperor.”
“Why are you giving it to me? You’re supposed to keep it until your last breath, Your Majesty.”
“Because I trust you, Franz.”
“Your Majesty…”
“Whatever you do, I will trust you. I always have, and I always will. Rule in my stead, as Emperor.”
Joy had flared in Franz’s pale green eyes—only to waver moments later in fear.
“I want to live up to Your Majesty’s faith, but… I’m still too young, too weak.”
“You’ll grow. You’ll become stronger. You are not as weak or young as you think—remember, you carry the blood of the Yebrei dynasty.”
“Then I’ll work myself to the bone! I won’t disappoint you!”
“Don’t do it for me, Franz. Do it for yourself—for your future. This isn’t a test. I’m asking for your help.”
“Your Majesty…!”
Franz probably didn’t remember it anymore—
The first moment their eyes met,
That bright, innocent smile,
The tiny pink fingers that reached out to him,
And the vow Nikolai had engraved deep in his heart:
“I’ll protect you and Laila forever. I’ll become the strongest emperor in the world, so I can destroy anyone who tries to hurt you.
Because you’re my one and only little brother…”
But Nikolai had failed to protect Laila.
Laila had died—leaving young Franz behind.
Her death had been called an illness, but the guilt never faded.
At first, he’d suspected poison.
Yet neither the chief healer nor the royal apothecaries had found a single trace of it in her body.
Maybe it’s because this is where she once came… that I can’t stop thinking about her.
He retraced his memories—
The day Laila, with great difficulty, obtained the Emperor’s permission to go on a pilgrimage.
She’d said she wanted to bring Franz along.
That moment of surprise, of confusion—he still remembered it vividly.
Even now, seven years later, he could recall her voice as if it were yesterday, sealed perfectly in his memory.
End of Chapter 84
