CHAPTER 106…………………….
“Until now, no one outside our family has ever held the position of High Priest. Do you think that will change so easily?”
“I agree, but we can’t predict the Emperor’s whims. And nobles who don’t rely on the temple might try to seize this opportunity.”
“That’s possible.”
Yankeller muttered quietly.
The High Priest, who had been pondering deeply, suddenly let out a short exclamation as if struck by an idea.
“We must announce that the temple cannot accept Kyle’s appointment as High Priest.”
“How do you mean?”
“We’ll mobilize the priests. Every day, at the same hour, they will stage a silent protest all the way to the Imperial Palace. It’ll not only make a statement but also draw the public’s attention—two birds with one stone.”
The High Priest grabbed Yankeller’s hand tightly.
“Yan, I’ll assign you the best inquisitors. They’re old now, but once, their names inspired fear across the empire…”
Yankeller pulled his hand away and shook his head.
“No. That won’t be necessary. Until I find the Saint, I plan to move quietly, on my own.”
“Quietly? The foundation of an inquisitor is fear. You should sweep through the streets like a reaper from hell, your robe billowing behind you.”
“I know. But will that really help us now?”
“What do you mean?”
“The Inquisition hasn’t been active for decades. If they suddenly reappear, what will the Emperor and Kyle think?”
“Well…”
“Kyle is no fool. He just pretends not to see or hear. He’s shrewder than anyone else in the Empire.”
The High Priest let out a groan.
Yankeller wasn’t wrong—but humans were creatures drawn to what they knew.
To him, inquisitors were beings who, clad in black robes, once filled the streets with dread.
He had longed to feel that thrill again.
“You’re right, but still, inquisitors…”
“I understand what you mean. But if word spreads that inquisitors are prowling the streets to capture Edette’s Saint—”
“—then the priests’ authority will rise.”
Yankeller shook his head again.
“No. Kyle might capture the Saint of Edette first. He has the enemy’s knight order under his command.”
“Ah…”
The High Priest, who had always looked down on Kyle, had not considered that possibility.
“As expected… he is my son.”
At the word son, Yankeller’s eye twitched irritably.
The High Priest hurried out, saying he needed to convene a council of priests.
“Phew…”
Yankeller sank into a chair, exhaling deeply.
“Kyle, why do you want to be High Priest?”
The Kyle he knew despised power—anything that even brushed close to the throne.
He recalled the Kyle he had met recently. There had been something subtly different about him. Clearly, something had changed.
“Is it because of Everett?”
Just thinking her name made his chest ache.
The emotions he had tried so hard to suppress all came flooding back.
He missed her—Everett.
Yankeller leaned back and covered his eyes with his hand.
If Kyle wasn’t in the capital… could he be with Everett?
There was no answer to that question.
Confusion and longing dragged Yankeller down, deeper and deeper.
Meanwhile, at the Kestarrican Estate…
Everett stood in her newly prepared study, surveying the small room.
“I did as you asked, my lady, but this space is far too small. There are plenty of rooms in the mansion—why use this one in the corner?”
“This is enough. And even if I’ve inherited it, this is still the Kestarrican estate.”
If she erased all traces of the late Count and Lady Dora, she would be no different from Chad.
She only intended to preserve the estate to keep it out of Baron Akot’s grasp—and as a means to approach Duke Varkad.
“The Count’s fortune should be put to good use.”
Her quiet words moved the butler, who sniffled softly.
Since their first meeting, he had been polite and loyal, much like the lady he once served.
A quiet, steadfast man—someone she could trust to handle the household.
“Did you bring it?”
“Yes, here it is.”
The butler placed an old wooden box on her desk.
Everett took out the key she’d received from the Count’s legal agent and unlocked it.
A musty smell of old paper wafted out. The box contained more documents than she’d expected.
“These are all promissory notes from people who borrowed money from the Count?”
“Yes, my lady.”
“I’d heard he was very attached to his wealth. Did he lend money as a side business?”
The butler sighed softly.
“The Count was a kind and generous man—quite the opposite of how people thought of him. That’s why others often took advantage of him.”
“Greedy people drawn by his wealth.”
“Exactly. He lent money out of kindness but was only ever hurt in return. That’s why he eventually shut himself away in this mansion.”
Everett examined each faded note carefully.
She’d expected many different names, but surprisingly, more than half were from the same borrower.
“Paula Akot… Baron?”
“Yes, he borrowed the most.”
“There aren’t any recent dates.”
“The Count said he wouldn’t lend to him anymore.”
“Why? Because he didn’t repay?”
“That was part of it, but… even the Count didn’t have an endless supply of gold.”
“I see.”
“The Baron’s loans kept growing larger. He even asked the Count to sell his lands to raise more funds.”
“What a shameless man.”
Now Everett understood why Chad had used poison to claim the estate.
The Baron needed money, and Chad wanted the title—so they helped each other.
“The Count lent out of goodwill. We’ll treat the interest as a gift and recover only the principal.”
“Pardon?”
The butler stared at her, wide-eyed.
“We’ll get the money back.”
“My lady, the Count tried that too. It’s not so easy.”
Everett locked the box again.
“I know. I don’t intend to demand repayment. I’ll make them bring it to me themselves.”
The butler blinked, confused.
“Just wait. The cowardly ones will pay first.”
Once the Kestarrican fortune began to flow back, Baron Akot would have no choice but to come to her.
He needed money—and Everett had far more than he could ever imagine.
Soon, rumors began to spread.
Everett herself had set them in motion, and the results came quickly.
“Lady Naz, I heard something absolutely chilling the other day.”
“Oh? What was it?”
“You know the Count’s son-in-law was executed recently?”
“Yes.”
The noblewoman lowered her voice conspiratorially.
“They say it was because the Kestarrican fortune is cursed.”
“What? Cursed?”
Everett gasped as though she were hearing it for the first time.
“They say anyone who holds—or covets—the Count’s money will meet death.”
Normally, she would have laughed such nonsense off.
“But when you think about it, it makes sense. The son-in-law died, and so did the woman who conspired with him.”
“That’s right! She was hanged soon after.”
The lady shivered and wrapped her arms around herself.
Everett was pleased—the rumor she had started was spreading faster than expected.
Why not add a little more fuel to the fire?
“I heard something too, actually.”
“You did? What was it?”
The woman’s eyes sparkled with curiosity.
“They say the Count’s death was caused by a curse cast by Chad’s mistress.”
“Oh my! A curse?”
Bored noblewomen lived for scandal.
A shocking rumor like this made their slow hearts race with excitement.
“So the Count died because of that curse?”
“No one knows for sure…” Everett said, letting her voice trail off deliberately.
“Now that you mention it, it was strange. The Count was in good health before he suddenly passed.”
The noblewoman’s imagination took over, weaving an entire tragic tale.
“Lady Naz, what should I do?”
“What do you mean?”
“My friend once borrowed money from the Count!”
“Then she’d best be careful. The curse doesn’t discriminate by the amount borrowed.”
The woman turned pale and hurried out of the glass conservatory.
The rumor, embellished and reshaped by every retelling, soon took full effect.
Servants—and even debtors themselves—began secretly returning money, leaving it at the mansion gates.
Most of the debt was repaid quickly.
Except for Baron Akot.
Instead of money, he sent letters—begging to meet her in person.
“Baron, another letter from the east has arrived.”
The Baron’s butler entered the study, holding a bundle of letters.
“Why are you bringing that here? I told you to burn them!”
“But, sir…”
The butler hesitated, then placed the bundle on the desk.
The Baron waved him away irritably.
“Those eastern dogs! They have no patience! Haven’t they already eaten enough? How much more do they want?”
He crumpled the letter and threw it to the floor.
“Money! Money! Everyone wants money!”
He bit his lip nervously and began pacing the room.
“Damn it. And the one message I want to come still hasn’t arrived…”
