Chapter 153
“They say the Miracle of the South has been imprisoned.”
“They claimed to be friends with the saint, but in the end, it was just jealousy.”
Familiar names were scattered throughout the city’s tea houses and markets.
“Velia Arpedi… René… The Miracle of the South.”
Until a few weeks ago, the “miracle child” had been praised, but in just a few days, she was transformed into “the scapegoat of a false saint.”
The “young lady of the marquis house” was packaged as a cold woman consumed by the goddess’s jealousy. At the center of this were the Southern nobles, led by Count Levan, and clandestine believers in the capital.
They submitted petitions to the emperor every day and spread rumors across the streets:
“The empire is reviving black magic by exploiting the saint’s miracles.”
“The Arpedi family has stolen the name of God.”
The Holy Kingdom remained silent, but that very silence made the empire even more uneasy.
Velia slowly flipped through the Beha Trading Company reports.
“The places where the spell has been cut are here.”
The list Dorrito had compiled contained hundreds of names, half of which were people who had supported the Arpedi family.
“They’re starting to waver.”
Velia let out a short laugh.
“Money is loyalty. Cutting the spell means they’ve turned their hearts. Conversely, those still performing the spell consistently are on our side.”
Her fingertips traced the names on the list.
“Finance officials, the trade guilds, the marquis houses, and half of the capital’s noble council. That’s enough.”
Her gaze turned cold and steady.
“It’s time to respond to the Southern rumors. From now on, it won’t be about the ‘miracle’—it’ll be about the ‘price of that miracle.’”
Velia stood and called Dorrito.
“Master Dorrito, let’s go to the place I mentioned.”
Those who had already received her favor before the rumors began still supported her. They would gather all the gossip spreading across the capital or within each noble house and neatly organize it for her.
Walking with Dorrito, Velia examined the journal they had compiled.
After some time, they reached a corner of the workshop. Pushing aside a decoration revealed a door and a narrow staircase leading downward.
The air carried the scent of iron. Beneath it, a faint hint of incense lingered, as if someone were trying to conceal something.
At the far end of the basement, under a cover, a man’s arm came into view.
His fingertips had turned black, the color of dried blood, fading to an ashen gray.
Dorrito lifted the cloth.
“This is the man who claimed to have received a ‘miracle’ from the Southern saint. Since that day, his fingertips have been rotting daily.”
Velia’s eyes narrowed.
“Side effects of the miracle?”
“Yes. At the time, everyone said the wound had completely healed. But a few days later, the decay began again. They said it would stop if he gave more money.”
Velia slowly lifted her head.
“Are there many like him?”
“Yes. But their whereabouts are unknown. They are powerless without money—.”
The workshop fell silent, broken only by the mechanical hum that pierced the space like needles.
“The Southern nobles couldn’t be unaware of this.”
“They likely know. But a few months ago, someone who had moved from the capital to the South and joined a noble house sent a letter. The nobles themselves are fine.”
“Paying more money would be the nobles’ problem, and they wouldn’t care as long as it didn’t concern them personally.”
Velia studied the man’s arm. Black veins crawled up to his shoulder. At the center, his heart throbbed irregularly. She turned to Dorrito.
“Preserve this condition as it is. This isn’t a ‘miracle.’ It’s evidence.”
Her gaze hardened.
“The time has come to end this fraud committed in the name of God. Master, I’m entrusting you with these people—.”
“Yes. Don’t worry. You’re not the only one who has shown them favor, Miss.”
Pulling her robe tightly, Velia left the workshop. A cool wind swept through the alley.
Someone was waiting ahead.
“Here?”
“Mm.”
Velia answered briefly and lifted her head. The tension on her face since morning softened slightly.
When Carlton extended his hand, she leaned her head casually against his arm.
“Not easy, huh.”
“Is that so?”
His fingertips lightly tapped her back.
For a while, neither spoke.
The Arpedi mansion was quiet, but that calm felt like the stillness before a storm. Outside, the streets were different.
More and more people were shouting the name of God, and a trade in miracles had emerged.
The sick bore markings symbolizing the miracle, and those who received the mark called themselves “chosen by God.”
As heresy spread, people donated more money and offerings. Even if the sickness wasn’t cured, they queued for another attempt.
The name of the “miracle child René” spread to every corner of the empire.
“Even taking the carriage from the mansion isn’t safe anymore.”
Velia said quietly.
“Because René is called the ‘miracle woman,’ just seeing the marquis’ carriage has some people throwing stones. Whether it’s agitation or genuine anger, I don’t know.”
Carlton’s face stiffened.
“You weren’t hurt?”
“I walked out just in case and temporarily moved the carriage. Didn’t want anyone tailing us.”
“You did well.”
Carlton checked her over for any injuries and relaxed.
“Oh, and I went to the temple.”
“The temple? That’s where we were going today?”
“Mm.”
His voice was unusually heavy.
“I couldn’t get inside. The guards were too strict. So I pretended to be a patient… and they handed me this.”
Carlton produced a piece of parchment. Velia took it in her hands.
“A notice for a large-scale gathering…?”
“Yes. They plan to collect donations in the name of performing a miracle in the capital square.”
Velia read the words aloud:
“A grand miracle will be performed. Prepare your gold and silver.”
Her fingers paused.
“…This isn’t a simple religious event.”
Carlton looked up.
“What do you mean?”
“It seems they’re planning to take René soon.”
“René?”
“Yes.”
Velia’s gaze sharpened.
“It’s clear why Bain is gathering funds. He’s using the ‘miracle’ as a weapon for political purposes. The sick will come regardless of rank—commoner or noble alike.”
Carlton’s expression darkened.
“If he has politicians who’ve received his favor as well as funds, he plans to manipulate even the political sphere.”
“Exactly.”
Velia paused, spreading the parchment in the dark once more.
Her eyes scanned the date, her expression hardening.
“This day…”
“Mm?”
“Next Thursday. That’s when the Holy Kingdom delegation will arrive.”
“…”
“A gathering held on the day the sacred relic arrives is no coincidence.”
She inhaled sharply.
“I need to contact Allen. This isn’t just a family issue anymore. It’s a fracture across the entire empire.”
“…Then they’ll target the gathering when the delegation enters the capital.”
At that moment—a faint movement came from the alley opposite the workshop.
Carlton’s gaze instantly followed the motion.
“Seems like someone’s tailing us.”
“Mm.”
Velia quietly adjusted the hem of her robe.
“Let’s move. Before it’s too late.”
They walked at the same time. The alley’s shadows stretched and swayed.
As they disappeared, a strange prayer echoed quietly from the darkness.
“The light abandons the corrupt, and the truth is proven in blood.”
The city’s darkness slowly spread, carried on the temple’s bells.
In the shadows, ragged, wretched people moved toward their designated places.
Golden morning light filtered through the window bars.
Maps, reports, and sealed documents were scattered across the long conference table.
“Your Majesty.”
A minister bowed.
“Count Levan has submitted another petition. The entire Southern Noble Alliance has signed it.”
The emperor’s fingertips trembled slightly. He opened the petition silently.
“The empire’s legitimacy is proven through blood. If blood is not accounted for, even the royal house will be questioned.”
“Such ghosts…”
A low voice muttered.
“So the young fox has now backed herself with the Southern nobles?”
“Yes, Your Majesty. Count Levan is also in contact with the Southern trade guilds and part of the clergy. He does not hesitate to speak against the commands of the Holy Kingdom.”
