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[Translator - Night]
[Proofreader - Gun]
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Chapter 46: Conclusion (1)
The incident from the previous night had spread across the entire capital by the following morning.
Naturally so—unlike the previous incident at the Magic Tower, this time, there were simply too many witnesses.
A pillar of light had appeared above the Papal Palace at midnight, along with a divine punishment magic circle.
The light alone was enough to wake the sleeping citizens of the capital, and the priests and paladins nearby realized quickly that a battle was taking place.
Thanks to Callios's swift suppression of the situation, no one actually witnessed the battle itself… but not everything could be concealed.
First of all, the chapel had collapsed.
Many people saw Callios carrying a battered and broken Verheim over his shoulder as he exited.
Likewise, many priests witnessed Yuren carrying an injured, bloodied Historia out in his arms.
Thus, rumors began to spread:
—The Saint and the Saintess committed a sin and were imprisoned.
Whether it was true or not didn't matter.
Rumors, by nature, spread with only sensational content, lacking all context.
But the actual facts were corrected quicker than expected.
Very few knew of Callios’s involvement in the matter.
"Hey, did you hear? That rumor was wrong! It wasn’t the Saintess! It was the Saint—he researched forbidden texts."
"I heard that too. Thankfully, the Saintess sensed something was off early and asked His Highness for help…"
"Apparently, Pharos was involved again! He may be a rogue, but he’s seriously capable."
"Second time now? First the Magic Tower incident, now this…?"
"Third! Don’t forget the Orc Champion subjugation!"
The best lies are those built on truth.
He used several factual threads to weave together credibility.
"So what kind of forbidden text was it?"
"Supposedly, he was seeking divine power."
"Sheesh… from someone who already had divine blessings?"
"And apparently, he was stripped of them. Even his title of Saint was revoked."
"Then what happens to the Papal Palace?"
"What do you mean? Who stopped it all?"
"His Highness the Crown Prince, and Lord Pharos. And… oh!!!"
"Right, the Saintess! They say this generation’s Church will be led by hope!"
That was how the rumor was settled in the public eye.
Verheim had sought divine power and researched forbidden texts.
Historia sensed it and secretly requested aid from the royal family, and together with the others, put an end to it.
With this outcome, high-ranking bishops in the Church lost their voice.
The Church of Hope was criticized for having left all the burden to the Saintess alone.
The Church of Fate was hit especially hard—how could they not have known about the Saint's recklessness?
In the end, the Papal Palace began to restructure itself internally around the only one who still held public trust: the Saintess.
The situation was so chaotic that all external events were canceled.
And then—
"So what happened to the Saint?"
"Well, about that…"
When it came to punishment,
the rumors spread fast.
“…There are whispers he was executed.”
"Huh?"
"They say it was done secretly, in the dead of night, where no one could witness it."
To the world, he was already dead.
It was exactly at the time this rumor had taken root that Historia opened her eyes.
"Finally awake, huh?"
The first thing she saw was none other than—
“…Lord Pharos?”
"Are you feeling alright?"
It was Yuren, seated on a chair beside her bed.
* * *
She had drifted in dreams for a long time.
Wandering through a hazy world in a daze.
For a moment, she even wondered if she had crossed into the afterlife.
But when she finally opened her eyes, she was in the real world.
Historia gave a dry laugh.
“I… I’m alive.”
She had prepared herself to die.
She had done something tantamount to suicide.
And yet, for all that, her body was in remarkably good shape.
In fact, she felt an inexplicable vitality—more than before.
She had no doubts about why.
Her gaze turned to Yuren.
She remembered their conversation clearly, even while on the verge of death.
—Didn’t you say it yourself? That someone has to believe. So what do we do if you don’t believe?
—That’s why I’ll believe in you. Just today. Just now.
—I’ll become your hope.
Yuren sat slouched, resting his chin on his hand, looking away.
Historia gripped her blanket tightly.
She didn’t know what to say.
This kind of situation was entirely foreign to her.
Historia had always been the one doing the saving.
The one admired for her noble spirit and conduct.
But now, she had been saved.
Her life had been spared—by someone else.
Her heart felt ticklish.
A surge of emotion welled up inside.
And finally, she understood something.
“…Thank you.”
—Th-thank you, Saintess…!
Now she understood why the sick people she had healed had said those words.
Why they had cried and stammered, unable to say more than "thank you."
Why they had smiled through tears.
No other words came to mind.
The overwhelming emotion left no room for anything more eloquent.
Even as she smiled, transparent tears welled up at the corners of her eyes.
‘Ah…’
She realized it then.
Though she had resolved to die, deep down she had wanted to live.
She had only given up because she couldn’t believe survival was possible.
Yuren had kept his word.
He became the hope even she couldn’t believe in—and saved her.
That truth filled her completely.
It shook her very soul with joy and trembling.
And at that moment—
“I always keep my promises.”
“Y-Yes…”
“So, I’ll keep this one too.”
Yuren stood up.
His posture was slouched as if uncomfortable, but he walked toward her without hesitation.
“Uh?”
Historia tensed up without thinking.
As he approached, her whole body stiffened, her mind in disarray.
But what happened next was nothing like what she expected.
Smack!
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[Translator - Night]
[Proofreader - Gun]
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“Ahgk?!”
In a flash, his fist came down hard on her head.
Sharp pain made her jerk upright.
Her mind went blank.
Then came the dull, lingering ache, and Historia groaned.
“Oww…!”
“I told you. The Saintess needs a good smack to come to her senses.”
Tears clung to her eyes for a different reason now, as she looked up at Yuren.
For some reason, his expression was cold.
“L-Lord Pharos…?”
“I don’t take kindly to the idea of the Saintess sacrificing herself of her own accord.”
Historia faltered.
Her head dropped.
Yuren continued speaking.
“I don’t want to live by feeding off someone else’s life. I also refuse to be that much of a coward. Even if the Saintess says she’s saving me for her own satisfaction, I need you to understand—it would only make me feel miserable.”
She felt ashamed.
Her cheeks burned with embarrassment.
Would it mean anything to say that wasn’t her intention?
She couldn’t speak, and in that silence, Yuren spoke again.
Like an adult scolding a child.
“Do something else instead of just thanking me.”
Historia hesitated, then began fiddling with her fingers.
After a long moment, filled with embarrassment, she replied.
“…I’m sorry.”
“What are you sorry for?”
“For trying to die on my own whim…”
“Now you’re making sense.”
Yuren’s voice softened.
Historia fidgeted with her lips in awkward silence.
It was a situation where she could neither laugh nor cry, and her scalp ached and ached again.
Strangely, what cheered her up—at least a little—was the sense that she had been praised, even if just a bit.
It was after such a moment had passed that she suddenly remembered something she had forgotten.
“…Ah! Ver!”
Her head shot up.
How could she be so out of it?
Realizing she hadn’t asked the most important thing, she turned to Yuren, who said:
“He was executed.”
Thud—!
Her heart plummeted.
Historia’s expression began to turn to despair.
Had Yuren not added one more sentence, it certainly would have.
“That’s what’s been reported. For now.”
He smirked—slyly, almost cruelly.
Historia blinked in stunned silence.
* * *
The imperial capital was vast.
Regardless of the number of people living there, it had earned the title of the “heart of the thousand-year empire.”
As such, it was filled with historic buildings—many so ancient and mysterious that their original purposes were no longer known.
The building where Verheim was imprisoned was one of them.
A spire located at the northern end of the empire.
A relic of the old era, in a district that had transformed from a bustling area into a slum over the course of a millennium.
Being in the slums, it wasn’t very visible.
And being a spire, it was difficult for anyone to approach.
The room where he was held had only a single, fist-sized hole.
From the moment he opened his eyes, Verheim had spent his time staring out through that hole.
It wasn’t in preparation for an escape.
He simply gazed over the city, reflecting over his actions, endlessly cycling through regret.
Where had it gone wrong?
What had been twisted, leading him to make such decisions?
The more he thought, the more regret and despair filled him.
Most of all, the fact that he had tried to kill Historia with his own hands—that was what tormented him most.
And that’s when it happened.
“So you’ve been waiting quietly.”
Verheim lowered his head when he saw who had arrived.
“…Your Highness.”
“Finally, your neck has become flexible. That’s good to see.”
How could he still dare to raise his head?
After all that he had done?
This was their third day of conversation.
It had been Callios who had subdued his initial frenzy upon awakening.
Callios who had explained the situation.
Callios who had told him what must be done.
Callios had investigated far more than Verheim expected—and pointed out things that Verheim, lost in his twisted perception, had missed.
The most significant of those was this:
“I looked into the people you mentioned.”
“Milly, Fern, and Gordyn. Is that correct?”
“Yes. The priests who supported your research.”
Verheim’s gaze dimmed.
Each time those names were spoken, a strange feeling of dissonance stirred within him.
In hindsight, there had been too many oddities.
“…They were people I had no prior contact with. But at some point, they started helping with my research. The process is unclear—like a haze in my memory…”
“I understand that feeling. I still can’t recall how I ended up having secret meetings with Rebecca in the cave.”
“….”
It was laughable.
That, too, was something Verheim could relate to.
He had mistaken a demon in human skin for a woman suffering from a grave illness and had tried to save her.
Worse still, the reason was that memories of his time with Historia had been overwritten with memories involving Rebecca.
It made no sense.
Nothing about it fit any kind of context.
But even so, things had already happened.
And that terrified Verheim to the core.
It was a deep, dreadful horror.
He sighed.
He knew by now that no amount of regret could change anything.
“…Were those people caught?”
Verheim was curious.
He hadn’t shared anything personal with them, yet they had told him quite a lot.
The knowledge of forbidden books, the direction of his research—those had all been led by Milly, who posed as the group’s leader.
“The samples I used in my research… they were creatures from the Outer Lands. Fern handled the logistics of acquiring them, Gordyn handled refinement, and Milly stayed by my side, managing and providing feedback on the research.”
Thinking about it now, he hadn’t even known where the samples came from.
Just one thing echoed in his memory:
—I have a friend in the Outer Lands!
He’d dismissed it at the time, thinking it was just an adventurer’s tale.
But wasn’t that “friend” actually the mastermind behind all of this?
He wanted answers.
But the reply that came was utterly shocking.
“I requested the full personnel records from the Holy See and combed through them.
But none of those names exist.”
Verheim’s expression froze.
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[Translator - Night]
[Proofreader - Gun]
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