Chapter 111
“This is Torch Hyperion, the priest newly assigned to the Caricas territory.”
“I greet you, Torch Hyperion.”
The young priest with black hair knelt and even went so far as to kiss Sinclair’s hand.
Right.
With the monsters attacking the territory and her father dead, they probably could no longer afford to ignore the Caricas domain as before, right?
Was that it?
Yan finally noticed what had been invisible until now.
Next to her father’s coffin stood the future heir—the Grand Duke—rather than herself.
Moreover, next to the Crown Prince stood the Grand Duke, not her.
Even those who had come to pay respects were busy trying to make an impression on the Grand Duke, ignoring her entirely.
And now, this priest was kissing Sinclair’s hand—something he wouldn’t even do for the Empress.
Yan bit her lip.
Could it be that the Grand Chancellor intends to ally with the Grand Duke?
If that’s the case, what will become of the Crown Prince?
Confusion flickered across Yan’s face.
Meanwhile, Sinclair, noticing that the Grand Chancellor and the priests were moving toward her instead of the coffin, felt puzzled.
When the newly appointed priest tried to place his lips on her hand, Sinclair subtly pulled it away.
His hand was colder than ice, and the approaching lips were so cold they hurt, sending a shiver down her spine.
Had she pulled away too roughly?
The young priest awkwardly rose from his knees.
The Grand Chancellor quietly spoke as he observed.
“I heard that last time you requested the return of your mother-in-law from Bishop Dyson.”
“…!”
Sinclair furrowed her brow.
‘This doesn’t seem like the right time or place to bring that up.’
“If I become bishop, I’ll try to do my best.”
The young priest added his words afterward.
What? Is this something a mere bishop should be saying in front of the Grand Chancellor?
Isn’t it the Grand Chancellor, not the bishop, who communicates with the Emperor?
Sinclair looked at the Grand Chancellor.
Yet, Chancellor Jubius nodded with a smile.
Wow, what the…? These people!
Is it because of the monsters?
Priests or not, they’re all the same.
Even when monsters invaded and the territory was devastated, the palace and its guards didn’t ask Schlesen for help.
Only a few noble families requested aid from Caricas’ retainers with whom they had past connections.
So, the places left untouched by the invasion were precisely those under Caricas’ protection.
Furthermore, Gerald had driven all the monsters back into the Demon Realm.
These rumors spread across the entire territory in an instant.
Could that be why most of the empire’s citizens recalled past glories?
The curse of Theodore had become nothing more than a forgotten tale.
In fact, during this Demon Realm Conquest Contest, Sinclair thought that once Theodore’s curse was lifted, her role here might finally be complete—and it excited her.
“Well… I can’t say I trust you.”
Sinclair’s words made the atmosphere tense.
“You want me to trust those who can’t even keep an appointment?”
“…!”
The Grand Chancellor’s face twisted harshly, but Sinclair ignored him and continued.
“If you are a faithful servant of the gods, act according to their will.”
After a solemn bow, Sinclair passed them and added a word to Yan.
“Sir Yan, what are you doing? If you intend to be the head of House Owen, host your guests properly.”
Yan was flustered as Sinclair coldly rebuked him and passed by.
Although the Grand Chancellor’s eyes were on Sinclair, for some reason, she had pointed out his fault and directed the etiquette toward Yan.
It stung his pride, yet it was clearly an act of consideration.
Taken aback by Sinclair’s unexpected action, Yan watched her retreating figure in a daze.
“My apologies. I should have arrived on time, but the roads were cut off, and I had to return.”
Embarrassed by Sinclair’s rebuke, the Grand Chancellor made an excuse.
“Yes. The territory is in chaos at present. Thank you for making the long journey.”
“No, no. I should have anticipated and hurried. My apologies.”
Yan wondered what final words the Grand Chancellor had left for Michael.
But now, there were too many eyes watching.
“After the funeral, I would like a brief audience.”
“Of course.”
“I would like to meet alone after dismissing the others.”
“That will be done.”
“Thank you. Then, please come this way.”
Yan led the Grand Chancellor and the priests he brought toward Michael’s coffin.
Torch Hyperion followed the retreating Sinclair and then the group, keeping up so as not to fall behind.
“Let us pray.”
Grand Chancellor Jubius sprinkled holy water over Michael’s head and shoulders as he lay peacefully in the coffin.
The priests formed a circle around the open coffin, kneeling.
In their right hands, they held thorn branches, an act meant to protect Michael’s soul from evil before meeting God Orlesion.
By Michael’s head stood the Grand Chancellor.
To his right, a young priest lowered his head devoutly, planting a banner symbolizing Orlesion into the ground.
On the left, a young saint held a prayer script.
In the front row stood Yan, Alfred, the Grand Duke, Theodore, and Sinclair.
Behind them were retainers, then nobles including the Numitori Study Team.
On the sides, maids, servants, and knights stood. At the very front, a servant held a small box containing the baby mole they had discovered earlier.
It wasn’t grand, but the turnout was respectable.
“O Orlesion, our savior, we gather here today to fervently pray for the departed Michael Owen, Marquis,”
The Grand Chancellor’s majestic prayer echoed solemnly through the forest cemetery.
The young priest struck the ground with the heavy banner.
The other priests followed, pounding the earth in unison.
“Grant mercy and forgive all sins of Michael Owen, who devoted himself solely to Orlesion,”
“Thud!”
“Squeeeek!”
Huh…?
The sound of pounding earth overlapped with the pained cries of a beast.
But no one seemed disturbed; they continued praying.
“Let him find eternal peace and joy in Orlesion’s embrace.”
“Thud!”
“Grrr… guuuu…”
“Let him find it.”
The terrifying screams continued every time the thorn branches struck the ground.
Sinclair squinted.
At this crucial moment for sending a soul, there were sounds of life being extinguished.
Someone must have been cruelly ending the beast’s breath.
Her heart raced.
Sinclair tilted her head, straining to locate the source of the ear-piercing sound that scraped her nerves.
“Squeeeek.”
It came from the box by the servant’s feet.
It was the baby mole that Theodore and Alfred had saved!
They had placed it there temporarily as the ritual began.
Even from afar, the small, shiny black body writhed in pain.
Despite the cries, the mourners bowed their heads and followed the prayer.
“Squeeeek!”
The sound echoed throughout the cemetery. Sinclair covered her mouth with one hand, shrinking in on herself.
She had empathized with the mole’s suffering.
“O Orlesion, grant eternal rest to Michael.”
“Shine eternal light upon him.”
Can’t they hear that sound?
Why don’t they notice this screaming?
Confused, Sinclair glanced at Gerald and Theodore praying beside her.
The Grand Chancellor conducted the ritual with utmost seriousness, and the people followed devoutly.
“Eternal light upon Michael.”
“Guuu… guu…”
Finally, Sinclair rushed toward the box to check on the mole.
She bent her knees to inspect the distressed baby mole.
“Baby, baby.”
Of course, the mole couldn’t understand her, but Sinclair’s urgency grew.
Was it suffocating?
She blew air into its mouth as if performing artificial respiration, pressing near the chest with her thumb and repeating breaths.
After a few cycles, the baby mole’s breathing stabilized.
Sinclair placed it back in the box, wiping the sweat beading on her forehead.
Phew…
The Grand Chancellor, the priests, and the mourners still recited the prayers, apparently unaware of the commotion Sinclair had caused.
What on earth was happening?
The feeling reminded her of a few days ago, when Heather had seemed to run the world backstage, leaving Sinclair feeling cold and isolated.
Surveying the unfamiliar yet strangely familiar scene, she met the blood-red gaze of the bishop-to-be from Dyson Diocese.
Those eyes… they seem familiar.
Torch Hyperion tilted his head. Sinclair could not look away from the sinister gaze of the future bishop.
Is this the author’s doing?
Her heart began to race.
