CHAPTER 69…………..
Curled up and sobbing, a man’s right arm hung limply, and beneath it a thin, pale leg could be seen.
Squelch—
Kyle’s foot stepped into a pool of blood as he drew closer.
Startled by the sound, the man snapped his head around. The moment Kyle met his face, he gasped.
The same green eyes as his own.
Long, tangled hair, stained red with blood.
The man glaring at Kyle with murderous intent—was Kyle himself.
“—Kuhk!”
Kyle sucked in a ragged breath and opened his eyes.
“Your Excellency! Your Excellency! Are you all right?”
Ventus’s voice became clear again, and the hazy blur before Kyle’s eyes gradually brightened.
“Your Excellency, can you hear me?”
“Why am I….”
“You suddenly collapsed, I was so shocked!”
Beyond Ventus’s worried face, Kyle could see the ceiling, covered messily in cobwebs.
Slowly, Kyle pushed himself upright.
“Your Excellency, please stay lying down a little longer.”
“I’m fine. More importantly, how long was I out?”
“About five minutes, I think.”
“Only that long? But I wandered for so long in there.”
“…Pardon? What do you mean, wandered?”
“Never mind.”
The blood-soaked face of the man who looked exactly like him would not leave his mind.
Kyle picked up the canvas that had fallen to the floor.
The painting had been rubbed away so much it was nearly blank, unrecognizable who it had once depicted.
“Ventus, do you know who this was supposed to be?”
“This painting? Hm… I see something, but it’s all smudged. I can’t tell.”
“Exactly. Erased completely.”
Kyle stared fixedly at the canvas again.
Then why… why did the name ‘Anish’ come to me the moment I saw this?
A throbbing headache pressed against his skull, and he shut his eyes with a groan.
“Your Excellency, perhaps you should head back up now.”
“Did you find the remaining blueprints?”
“I’ll return and search for them later. For now, you need rest….”
“Fine. Let’s leave it at this today.”
Even as they left the basement and stepped out of the library, the sound of a man’s weeping echoed in Kyle’s ears.
“Ventus.”
“Yes, Your Excellency.”
“Do not speak of what happened today to Alfred.”
“But….”
Ventus was strict, loyal, and upright. It wasn’t in his nature to hide Kyle’s collapse from Alfred.
Kyle let out a shallow sigh.
“You’ll end up telling him I ordered you to keep quiet, won’t you? Then don’t say I fainted—just tell him the dust made me dizzy for a moment. Not for me, but for Alfred, who worries too much. Understood?”
Ventus hesitated, his eyes darting, then finally bowed his head.
“Yankeller! Yankeller Peneo!”
The booming voice of the High Priest roared through every corner of the temple.
When the large, corpulent man appeared, the priests scurried to either side of the walls and bowed low.
With each heavy step he took, the temple seemed to shake.
In stark contrast to the High Priest’s furious face, Yankeller emerged from his chambers with a calm expression.
“Yankeller Peneo!”
Even as the voice thundered again, Yankeller only bowed respectfully.
“I greet the High Priest. What brings you to the temple on a day like this?”
Yankeller was his one and only son—his unreadable son.
As always, his expression was utterly impassive, which made the High Priest’s greasy face twist in frustration.
“Let’s speak inside.”
The curious eyes of the other priests watching from the hall irritated him.
Once inside the room, the High Priest’s face was flushed, nearly bursting.
“Yan! Just what in the world are you—”
His finger shook violently as he jabbed it toward his son.
“Why are you like this?”
“Why? You call that a question?”
“I truly don’t understand why you are so angry.”
“Didn’t I tell you, when we’re alone, to call me Father?”
Ever since the High Priest had burned his magical tools and books, Yankeller had never again called him “Father.”
Yankeller’s gaze was cold as ice.
“High Priest, please explain why you’ve stormed in here early in the morning in such a temper.”
“Since you seem to know nothing, I’ll tell you.”
The High Priest, breathless from nearly running to Yankeller’s quarters, felt his legs ache. Clicking his tongue, he motioned for a chair.
“Yan, do you know how the Saintess came to the temple?”
“Wasn’t it you, who personally brought her as Anish’s incarnation?”
“You fool. Did you truly believe that, even after seeing her with your own eyes?”
At his father’s scorn, Yankeller looked as if he were asking what nonsense he was spouting.
“Don’t tell me—you’ve never heard one of the Saintess’s prophecies?”
“No, I haven’t. I’ve only heard descriptions of how it supposedly happens.”
The High Priest pressed his forehead with a sigh.
“Didn’t I entrust the Saintess to you?”
A flicker of anger flashed in Yankeller’s eyes.
“Do you not know? Winter is the busiest season in the temple. And yet you expect me—”
His voice began to tremble.
“—to take care of some suddenly-appeared Saintess as well?”
The High Priest avoided his gaze, coughing awkwardly.
“Then why bring her up now?”
“Yan, you know how our family came to hold the High Priesthood.”
“Yes, of course. Our ancestor became High Priest by… very dishonorable means.”
Yankeller’s tone was low, glacial.
“Dishonorable? He simply read the flow of the times correctly.”
Peneo, once just a humble blacksmith running a small forge in the square.
During the continental unification wars, he amassed a fortune forging and selling weapons.
When the Empire was founded and he was suddenly appointed the first High Priest of the temple, everyone was baffled.
How could a mere blacksmith become High Priest, no matter how rich he’d become?
People asked him that very question at the temple.
And every time, he would smile kindly and answer:
“I merely followed the flow of the times.”
Thus began the Peneo family’s hereditary control of the High Priesthood.
Yankeller gave a short, bitter laugh.
“I knew you would say that. But what does the flow of the times have to do with the Saintess?”
“And what have our ancestors done, in order to protect the temple?”
“Killed countless false incarnations of Anish. Everyone knows the High Priest’s most important duty is eradicating heresy.”
“At that time, that was the flow of the times.”
Yankeller’s brow furrowed sharply.
“Are you telling me to kill the Saintess now?”
The High Priest shook his head slowly.
“If that were my intention, I never would have given her the Arcana.”
Yankeller recalled the winter night when the Saintess had come alone to the temple.
“High Priest, are you confessing that you manufactured a false Saintess yourself?”
He had begun doubting long ago, as he heard her stories through the attending priests.
Was she truly genuine?
But since the High Priest himself had confirmed it, Yankeller had believed.
For all his greed, his father was not the sort to risk creating a false Saintess.
“…Why are you silent?”
When the High Priest only pressed his lips shut, Yankeller asked again.
“Did you truly fabricate her? High Priest, what in the world for—”
“It is the flow of the times.”
“Father!”
Unable to contain himself, Yankeller shouted.
“The era of protecting the temple by killing people is over. Peace has lasted too long—if we shed blood now, it will only breed resentment.”
“Then what is this new flow of the times you’ve chosen?”
The High Priest gave a short, derisive laugh.
“Marriage.”
Yankeller’s eyes went wide.
“…You don’t mean… me, marrying the Saintess?”
“Exactly. Why else would I go so far as to grant her the Arcana, if not for this?”
“And how is marrying the Saintess supposed to protect the temple?”
Unlike Yankeller’s hard, cold expression, the High Priest smiled meaningfully.
“If you knew who stands behind her, you too would nod in agreement.”
“I don’t want to know.”
Yankeller glared at him, his eyes full of disgust.
“Does the Saintess… know about this?”
“Of course.”
Greedy laughter dripped from the High Priest’s lips.
Yankeller collapsed onto the edge of his bed, muttering.
“So that’s why she kept asking to meet, even visiting me at the restaurant.”
The White Temple, which laundered the black money of nobles.
Unlike the Peneo family, who worshipped not the goddess but wealth, Yankeller loved scholarship and bore a heavy sense of duty.
He was the family’s anomaly.
Though he loathed the name Peneo more than anyone, he could never bring himself to leave—it was still his family.
“…Why do you keep doing this to me?”
His voice broke with anguish.
“All of this is for you, Yan.”
Yankeller let out a deep, weary sigh.
“My son, just marry the Saintess. Once you become High Priest, you can indulge in all the magical study you want.”
Yankeller gripped his hair with both hands, lowering his head in despair.
“…Please….”
But his father remained deaf to his plea.
“I had it all laid out for you, but something unexpected has come up.”
Excitement returning, the High Priest huffed through his nose.
“Yan, do you know what I just heard?”
Yankeller did not lift his bowed head, but the High Priest pressed on, spitting curses.
