Chapter 19
Naturally, neither the Master of the Mage Tower nor the Crown Prince was the type to ignore whatever others were doing. In this atmosphere brimming with chaos and confusion, the only person capable of barging into someone else’s business while pretending to know nothing was Angela Reagan—the unrivaled genius at putting on an innocent face, blessed with a shamelessly thick skin.
“Yulian, it’s been a while. But my, you look terrible. You’ve changed so much I almost didn’t recognize you.”
“Yeah. If I’d changed just a little more, it’s a shame you might not have recognized me at all.”
“Oh my, that sharp tongue of yours hasn’t changed a bit? Hearing it again after so long is almost nostalgic.”
Yulian was both dumbfounded and suffocating at Angela’s behavior—speaking in a gentle, sweet voice while simultaneously grabbing her by the collar as if to break up someone else’s fight. Only her voice sounded soft; her eyes were clearly unhinged.
I hate you too, damn it.
That girl had already kicked her square in the backside and even had her exiled from her homeland, so Yulian had no idea why she was still brimming with such hostility. With a deep sigh, Yulian pressed a hand to her throbbing forehead.
“At least now I know for sure that there’s one undeniable criminal here.”
Ah, right. Wouldn’t be complete without you.
While the two of them bared their teeth and growled at each other, His Highness the noble Teorn seemed to dislike even sharing the same space as Yulian. He stood leaning against the wall far from the drawing room sofa, as if he refused to sit anywhere near her.
Of course, it was none of Yulian’s concern. His legs hurt, not hers—why should she care? When her withering glare failed to do him any damage, Teorn only seemed to grow more irritated, grinding his teeth as he deliberately provoked her.
“Three years have passed, yet that vicious expression of yours hasn’t changed at all. Well, I suppose that’s why you showed up as a criminal condemned by the oracle.”
“Ha.”
Surprisingly, it was the Master of the Mage Tower who let out a derisive laugh. Lucas sneered openly at Teorn, and true to form, Teorn didn’t disappoint—he clashed with him head-on.
“What’s so funny, Tower Master? And why did you arrive together with that woman? If you have a mouth, then explain yourself.”
“Since when did I need to explain where I go or what I do to you? Besides, you were dragged here as a criminal of the oracle as well. Isn’t it ridiculous for you to pick a fight over that?”
What’s with those two now?
Yulian recalled how, three years ago, Lucas and Teorn had formed a secret alliance over her exile. Granted, given their thoroughly unpleasant personalities, it probably hadn’t been a perfect partnership—but even so, seeing them bare their fangs at each other like this, with Angela—our love, your love, everyone’s love, Angela—watching plainly, was rather unexpected.
Come to think of it, the Tower Master hadn’t even exchanged a single greeting with Angela since arriving here.
What is this—did they have some kind of internal split over the past three years?
Yulian was seriously considering whether she should go fetch some popcorn when the tightly shut door of the drawing room finally opened. At last, someone entered who did not have an X-shaped mark on their forehead.
“Welcome, everyone. I’m afraid I’m a bit late.”
The man who strode into the drawing room with an air of authority was enormous—built like a mountain. And to make matters worse, he wore a shirt whose second button looked ready to pop at any moment.
He was at least a head taller than Sol, who was already taller than Yulian. Though his muscular physique was concealed beneath a white shirt, its contours were so pronounced that his breathing was visible at a glance. Judging by appearances alone, one could easily believe that he was a paladin rather than a Grey—his presence was that overwhelming.
A priest…?
His hair was grown long and shaggy, obscuring his eyes. He hadn’t shaved, leaving his beard rough, and he even wore slippers that shamelessly exposed his bare feet. Yet pinned to his chest was a golden badge engraved with the symbol of the temple.
Unless that badge was a trophy he’d looted from hunting down priests, this strikingly unconventional man was neither a holy knight nor a paladin—but a priest. The group of “criminals” in the room stared at him in a daze for a long moment, stunned by how completely different he was from every priest they had seen before.
“Everyone, please show some respect. This man is the High Priest presiding over this convocation.”
At the even more shocking words delivered by the priest who followed him in, the mouths of the gathered criminals fell open. Teorn in particular—who had been the one insisting on meeting the High Priest today no matter what—blurred out a question in disbelief, heedless of his rudeness.
“—The High Priest? This man really is?”
“He truly is! This is indeed the High Priest!”
“Though he has only been ordained for a few years, he enjoys an unprecedented level of favor from the gods. To have accumulated such divine power at such a young age—one could count such individuals on one hand throughout all of history.”
Perhaps accustomed to such doubts, the attending priests quickly draped sacred vestments bearing the temple’s emblem over the man’s shoulders and placed the High Priest’s crown upon his head. Their effort was admirable, but even so, the man looked less like an embodiment of mercy and love and more like a god of destruction and battle.
Apparently finding the sacred vestments uncomfortable, the High Priest rolled up the long sleeves to his elbows and plopped down heavily into an empty seat. By coincidence, it was the chair to the left of Yulian’s, and their knees lightly bumped. At the sight, Sol’s expression twisted sharply.
“It seems the temple lacks not only humility but manners as well.”
“Sol, what are you saying?!”
“What? For once, I’m speaking the truth. Hey—what’s your game? You dared to use force to drag the Master of the Mage Tower here. You’d better be prepared for the consequences.”
Judging that arguing over such trivialities would gain them nothing, Yulian tried to stop Sol. However, Lucas—never one to keep his mouth shut—spoke up in his defense.
It wasn’t that some sense of camaraderie had formed while they were tightly bound together and hauled around in a carriage—that would be absurd. It was simply that when picking a fight, having greater numbers was more effective, so he pulled Sol into it.
At least the High Priest didn’t get prickly about talk of etiquette. Instead, he focused on a different word.
“—‘Dragged’ here?”
Hearing the Tower Master’s complaint, the High Priest asked what he meant and pressed for details. The Tower Master, who loved the sound of his own voice, rattled on at length about how they’d been treated by the Knight Alliance and exactly how they’d ended up here—leaving out not a single detail. No, rather than “explaining,” he was protesting.
After listening quietly to the end, the High Priest wiped the easygoing smile from his face and replied.
“My apologies for the offense. It seems the holy knights misunderstood the task I assigned them. The temple merely intended to invite those connected to the oracle. We had no intention of coercion or violence. I will see to it that this matter is properly investigated and that those responsible are disciplined.”
Lucas couldn’t accept that explanation. The phrase “properly investigated” was far too vague, and considering the holy knights’ impressive solidarity, it seemed unlikely that responsibility would ever reach Grey, the paladin.
“You call that an explanation—”
“That’s enough, Tower Master. That’s not what matters right now, is it?”
The humiliation suffered by the Yulian–Sol–Lucas alliance wasn’t of much importance to Teorn’s group. Unlike someone inflexible, Teorn had come here of his own accord after being persuaded in a comparatively moderate manner. In short, it was a difference in circumstances.
As the future emperor of Ratem, with his right-hand man—the young Duke of Baph—and his fiancée all labeled criminals by the oracle, he had an obligation to resolve this situation as quickly as possible.
“First, let’s talk about this damned ‘sin.’ High Priest, the oracle referred to us as criminals. Exactly what sin have we committed? And what is it that the god desires from us?”
“The oracle is exactly as it was proclaimed. That is all. I do not know anything beyond that.”
“What kind of irresponsible answer is that?!”
Teorn snapped in anger at the High Priest’s calm, noncommittal response. Wasn’t he the one who had received the oracle first? Wasn’t he the one who summoned the criminals to the Grand Temple? If so, shouldn’t he at least present some sort of plausible solution?
At Teorn’s outburst, the High Priest rolled his eyes from left to right, then answered calmly.
“Realize your own sins, and repent for them sincerely. That is why you have been gathered here—to aid you in doing so.”
As if we don’t already know that.
It wasn’t only Teorn who found his answer frustrating. Every criminal present had hoped that the High Priest would provide some concrete solution.
After all, he was the High Priest—the man with the greatest amount of divine power of the age, beloved by the gods. If not him, then who else could possibly resolve this situation?
