Chapter 3
Ninia’s carriage traveled for days on end. The windows remained covered, obscuring the outside world. The few times they stopped, it was always at night, in dark, indistinguishable forests.
Ninia no longer spoke to the priests. They, too, remained silent, though occasionally they would cast strange glances at Ninia as she embroidered.
When Ninia had finally embroidered every scrap of cloth in the bundle, the carriage reached its destination. Unlike before, the priests didn’t blindfold her. As soon as she stepped out of the carriage, she recognized where she was.
‘The Grand Temple of Promaia.’
What Ninia beheld was a lavish garden surrounded by hundreds of flowers.
Some called this garden, meticulously maintained to bloom in all seasons, the embrace of God. In the center of the garden stood the temple, even more beautiful than its surroundings. Each of the dozens of white pillars supporting the massive roof was so grand that it created the illusion of a truly divine presence.
The Saint’s temple where Ninia had grown up held symbolic significance, but the largest and most magnificent temple in the empire was located in Promaia, the golden land upon which the capital was built.
Ninia had been here many times. The last time was to bless the crown prince.
Standing before the dazzling Grand Temple, Ninia’s mouth went dry. The Grand Temple of Promaia was established for noble purposes. However, the massive temple served various functions.
It was also the site of religious trials.
“Please, this way.”
The priests who had accompanied her in the carriage stood on either side of her, guiding her. They were surrounded by open flower fields. There was nowhere to escape, even if she tried. It seemed her obedient behavior during the carriage journey hadn’t earned their trust.
With a bitter smile, she followed them. Despite the fragrant and beautiful surroundings, she couldn’t appreciate any of it.
Unlike the vibrant garden, seemingly brimming with all the life in the world, the temple’s corridors were covered in cold, white marble. The chilling echo of each footstep brought Ninia back to reality.
‘Those who stand trial…’
Having been a part of the Canerian faith for so long, Ninia was well aware of the fate that awaited those who defied God’s will. It was rare for anyone to emerge from a trial and live a normal life.
Most were unable to prove their innocence and were subjected to countless tortures, eventually confessing to crimes they hadn’t committed. Death was often a welcome respite. The religious trials were merely a formality, a means to justify a predetermined outcome.
She clutched the bundle tucked inside her inner pocket. Inside were the cloths she had embroidered during the carriage ride.
The door at the end of the corridor was already open, awaiting her. The brightly lit interior was so dazzling that Ninia instinctively squinted.
‘…The courtroom.’
The place Ninia entered resembled a white coliseum. Beneath the chandelier-lit ceiling was the courtroom, its central floor at the lowest level. The seating area rose in tiered levels, allowing everyone to look down upon the center.
Her premonition had been correct. What awaited Ninia, who had failed to fulfill her duties as Saintess, was a religious trial. She was led to the defendant’s place – the center of the lowest level.
Craning her neck to look up, she saw the heart of the Canerian faith assembled.
On the third level sat the chief priests who governed blessings, hymns, protection, and healing. Above them, the High Priests, symbolizing wisdom and punishment, the two serpents, solemnly looked down at her. Ninia’s gaze continued upward, but she quickly lowered her head. Her body trembled slightly beneath her loose-fitting clothes.
“Former Saintess Ninia.”
The voice of Mithor Persoel, the 39th High Priest, resonated through the courtroom from the highest seat, the one Ninia hadn’t dared to look at.
This wasn’t a trial to determine whether Ninia was a Saintess or not. With a single word from the High Priest, Ninia had already been cast out from Caner’s embrace.
‘Don’t tremble. Please.’
Her fingertips, gripping her arms in an attempt to control her trembling, felt as if icy crystals were blooming on them. Only those who have experienced death truly understand it. The revered Goddess’s highest servant was, to Ninia, a terrifying figure.
The High Priest was both Ninia’s de facto father and the Goddess’s absolute servant.
Every single action she took was reported to the High Priest by Altahalf, the High Priest of the Goddess’s right serpent, and her conduct as Saintess was evaluated monthly.
‘You have failed to fulfill your sacrifice, Ninia.’
The sacrifice he spoke of referred to the profits Ninia brought to the temple.
In months where her sacrifices were deemed insufficient, she was forced to kneel before the High Priest. She was whipped by her tutor, Altahalf, until the fabric of her back-turned clothes shredded and became soaked with blood.
All the while, she had to maintain eye contact with the High Priest.
‘I hope you realize the essence of life.’
After the punishment, a young priest would wash her wounds and dress her in fresh clothes. By then, the wounds on Ninia’s back would have completely healed.
Her holy power regenerated her body. Under the Goddess’s grace, Ninia maintained smooth skin, free of even the smallest scars.
But did the preservation of her body also preserve her soul? Only the Goddess knew.
“Your judgment has been decided.”
As the High Priest raised his right hand, the other High Priests rose from their seats. Startled, Ninia almost stumbled back, but she forced herself to remain still.
The High Priests rising signified that the sinner’s sentence had been passed. This was different from Ninia’s expectation of being pressured through interrogation.
‘Perhaps this is better.’
She had known she would be condemned as a sinner, hadn’t she? This wasn’t a situation where confessing her sins would end the interrogation or torture. The beginning and the end were decided by only one person – the High Priest. As Ninia closed her eyes, bracing for death once more, Mithor delivered his verdict.
“With the eyes of God now turned towards the north, former Saintess Ninia will assist Tarahan Piechen Danteor, the new lord of the winter lands, in his pilgrimage.”
What…?
Ninia barely managed to suppress her instinctive question. Years of training served her well in this moment.
After a momentary flicker of surprise, Ninia composed herself, erasing any trace of emotion from her face. The High Priest’s eyes remained those of a judge.
“You will become Tarahan’s betrothed.”
The High Priest drove the final nail into Ninia’s bewilderment. Although her life had been destined for sacrifice, Ninia had lived under the Goddess’s grace as a Saintess.
Marriage was forbidden for those who dedicated their lives to God. While some in high positions unofficially kept illegitimate children and concubines, even that was never permitted for a Saintess.
‘Tarahan Piechen…’
Ninia murmured the name of the man who used the empire’s name as his own.
She was not only a sacrifice but also the face of the temple. The High Priest was aggressive in improving the church’s image. Two hundred years ago, the church, notorious for its corruption, had suffered a plummeting reputation due to interference from various nations.
Now, after years of effort, the Canerian faith enjoyed prosperity, gaining immense popularity through charitable works led by the Saintess and participation in the political affairs of various nations.
Having attended numerous parties, Ninia had a vague understanding of the political landscape of each nation. She had first heard rumors about Tarahan at a ball in the Piechen imperial palace.
‘The north is gaining the upper hand, they say.’
‘Indeed. It’s all because of him…’
The nobles hesitated to even utter the name of the man at the heart of the war. He was leading them to victory, so he should be a hero, but Ninia couldn’t understand why they were so cautious.
The Piechen Empire was struggling with the ongoing war against the Gilfurs Empire. The Gilfurs Empire sought to reclaim the northern lands they had lost to the Piechen Empire in the past. Outwardly, it was a useless, frozen wasteland, but it held the tomb of the Gilfurs’ first emperor.
The war between the two empires had begun over trade disputes, but the small spark had grown into a raging wildfire, fueled by national pride.
The Gilfurs Empire, using the return of their winter lands as justification, declared a trade embargo, and the Piechen Empire eagerly responded by declaring war.
However, the Piechen Empire, despite their eagerness, was on the defensive. The war in the frozen north proved more challenging than they had anticipated. Just as the northern lands were about to fall into Gilfurs’ hands, Tarahan appeared.
‘A bastard born between a barbarian woman and His Majesty?’
‘What preposterous nonsense!’
A noble, upon first hearing the news, clutched the back of his neck in disbelief. The surrounding nobles also wore expressions of utter horror.
