~Chapter 31~
The vigorous young man and woman were crammed together in a tight space.
Even if guards and the Kinzello family’s young wolves were stationed outside the carriage, inside it was just the two of them.
*- I heard Theodore refused the wyvern transport offered by the Kinzello family, Your Majesty.*
Instead, he chose a carriage.
A very cramped carriage.
It must have been hot inside, right?
Yes, it must have been hot.
How must it have felt, having a woman as ripe as a violet within arm’s reach in that enclosed space?
What was her scent like?
A violet scent, matching her hair color?
Rosiniol recalled the memory from when he first met her in private audience at the hall—a taste akin to Burgundy wine seemed to linger on his lips.
If he swirled that rich, full-bodied aroma in his mouth, what flavor would it yield? Did that pure-hearted holy knight wonder too?
What taste would her skin, clinging to the tongue, have?
“……?”
Pavella was the first to notice the Emperor’s persistent gaze fixed on Ivyn.
Interestingly, Ivyn was also looking somewhere else.
As if following the trajectory of a ping-pong ball, the Saintess’s gaze turned towards where Ivyn was looking.
*‘Theodore…….’*
*Snap.*
It was then that a sound, as if something inside her broke, seemed to be heard.
“Sir Lateiner.”
When Pavella called in a deeply subdued voice, Theodore startled and turned to look.
He seemed embarrassed, as if caught with his attention diverted elsewhere while the Saintess was beside him.
“Yes, Your Holiness.”
“Shall we return now?”
However, the Saintess cut him off with a tone that seemed subtly pointed.
“But……”
“Isn’t the atmosphere here already so chaotic that it’s disrupting your focus?”
Theodore’s expression became as if he’d been suddenly struck by a whip, and he quietly lowered his gaze.
As this strange energy swirled between Saintess Pavella and Theodore.
“Your Majesty.”
An aide approached Rosiniol’s side and whispered something.
“In one hour, the Senate meeting regarding the incident and a noble assembly are scheduled back-to-back.”
“Ah, damn it.”
The Emperor, pressing his temples as if disgusted, waved his hand dismissively at the nobles gathered in the audience hall.
“Let’s stop here for today.”
It was the signal to end the audience.
“Lock down the capital. The heads of relevant departments, proceed according to procedure and begin the investigation. The interrogation of those involved and questioning of related persons will continue at a later date.”
With those words, the crowd began to disperse.
As Rosiniol gestured lightly, a quick-witted chamberlain swiftly opened a cigar box, cut the end with a cutter, and placed it between his red lips.
*Sssst.*
The sound of the cigar end catching fire followed.
“Phew.”
Rosiniol calmly took a few puffs of the cigar, his gaze alternately fixed on a particular man and woman among the people turning their backs and leaving the hall, the ones who particularly caught his eye.
“……What amusing folks.”
***
That evening.
On the way back from the Imperial Palace.
Inside the Kinzello family carriage, it was excessively quiet.
“With the Saintess’s appearance, it seems the Holy State has shed all suspicion in this case,” Bill said, pushing up his glasses that had slipped down his nose.
“Hmm.”
Dylan, who had been looking out the window with a stern face, nodded indifferently.
“But won’t they conduct an internal investigation anyway?” Ron, who had been quiet, asked Bill.
“Of course they will, at least formally,” Bill answered coolly.
“Binnie, what do you think?”
Bill’s gaze turned towards the youngest.
Ivyn, who seemed lost in deep thought since leaving the audience hall, was on his mind.
“I… don’t really know,” she said.
She was pondering the Saintess’s character from the original story.
*‘Even if the flow of the story has changed, a character’s core traits can’t change.’*
Ivyn carefully examined if she had missed something.
What was wrong?
Or perhaps…
Was there a scene in the original she hadn’t fully grasped?
*Thump.*
As if matching her troubled heart, the carriage wheel hit a bump and jolted upwards sharply.
“Whoa, are you alright, little princess?”
“My goodness! Binnie’s body shook so much! What is the coachman doing out there?! Stop the carriage right now!”
Even though it was just a slight jolt, the three men rushed to the youngest as if the sky had fallen.
“I-I’m fine, really!”
Seeming quite accustomed to this situation, Ivyn stopped her family with her usual awkward smile.
Only Obok grumbled irritably to himself.
“Pfft… Seriously, no matter how much you dote, it’s never enough. So dramatic.”
***
That afternoon.
In a conference room at the Imperial Palace.
The atmosphere inside the room was cold and rigidly frozen.
The faces of the elders and nobles sitting around the large round table were also dry and stiff.
“For security to be so lax that evidence in the very heart of the sanctuary could be stolen, what kind of place allows such negligence? This seems to be the height of the Holy State’s dereliction of duty,” complained one noble, sparking a series of echoing grievances.
“Truly, utterly incompetent.”
Of course, the State was not about to just sit and listen.
“Incompetent?”
Archbishop Bernas did not hide his disgusted expression and immediately retorted.
“Let me ask just one thing first. While the State dispatched personnel to the plague control zone, what exactly did the nobles do? Did they even send so much as a single cart of medicine or other relief supplies? I wonder if you even have the right to utter words like ‘incompetent’.”
While nobles and State elders were red-faced, arguing with each other…
“…….”
Rosiniol merely watched the old men indifferently, his chin resting on his hand, eyes half-lidded.
Despite his relaxed appearance—the black velvet doublet, the untucked white shirt underneath—he couldn’t shed the unique, lofty aura of one sitting on the throne of an empire.
He looked like someone who was simply staying seated out of curiosity, wondering how long these noisy old men would keep arguing if left alone.
“What is your opinion, Your Majesty?”
At a noble’s question, Rosiniol, who had been sitting slouched, shifted slightly.
“Oh, are you all finally done talking?”
As he uncrossed his legs, the lilac silk garter tied around the middle of his boot, which reached up to his thigh, was revealed.
“Ahem, ahem.”
The old elders frowned.
“Ah, this? Pretty, right? It’s all the rage in the Maé Duchy lately. I was planning to gift them to all of you soon.”
He stood up.
He patted the creases from his pant legs, rumpled from sitting too long, then clapped his hands with a bright smile and looked at the old men staring at him one by one.
His expression said, *‘Well, did you all talk as much as you wanted?’*
His ruby-like red eyes finally landed on the white-haired elder, Gregory.
The man who always cast a large, imposing shadow behind him.
People called him ‘the power behind the throne’.
“Your Majesty?”
Gregory looked at Rosiniol with a hardened face, as if waiting for his answer.
Looking at his face, Rosiniol suddenly recalled a scene from the past.
An event from a day when he had just turned thirteen.
*- How to be a good Emperor?*
Gregory, the regent at the time, gifted him a golden necklace.
*- It’s very simple.
*- How?
Then, Gregory chuckled at Rosiniol, who was clinging to his side like a son.
*- You just need to fear me, Your Majesty.
*- ……!
*- Fear me, be afraid of me, find me difficult. Then, Your Majesty will become a great sage ruler remembered in history.
*- And if… I don’t…?
*- You will beg, Your Majesty.
*- ……
*- To spare your life, please.
*Clink.*
Only then did the young Rosiniol realize what the gift in his hand truly was.
It was a dog collar.
*‘Old, cunning fox.’*
With a throat-burning feeling, Rosiniol habitually reached for the tray placed before him.
“The weather is nice, but everyone seems a bit too tense. Let’s have a drink while we talk. Slowly, okay? Look at all this fine liquor.”
And that dog collar was still valid.
The reason Rosiniol was mindful of the State, led by the former regent, was for one reason alone.
The influence they had steadily built up.
Using the faith of the imperial citizens as a pretext, they wielded powerful influence within the empire.
The power of religion.
That, too, was power.
The State’s pawns were also popular.
Saintess Pavella was hailed as a fragment of the Goddess of Light, Plurra, a mysterious and holy being that inspired people’s longing. Holy Knight Theodore was treated like a hero not only among the faithful but also among the common people.
In contrast, what was the standing of the current Emperor, Rosiniol?
He remained merely a symbolic figure of a royal family losing its power by the minute.
“Your Majesty.”
Duke Blake, one of the major nobles, called him in a grave voice, seemingly to draw the attention of the young Emperor, who was only spouting nonsense during an important meeting.
“Ah, my apologies. My throat’s a bit parched.”
At Rosiniol’s foolish reply, Duke Blake and the nobles around him exchanged glances as if in disbelief, smiling wryly.
An expression that said, *‘What else did you expect from him?’*
The nobles were in high spirits even before the Emperor.
Thanks to the slackened leash on them during the regency period.
Gregory had allowed them, regardless of noble rank, to operate private armies within their means and abolished limits on the number of soldiers.
That wasn’t all he had meddled with.
He had been even more blatant.
