Chapter 10 Part 1

“What are you doing, my lord?”

“Six of the eight elders agreed on this.”

“You have no authority to imprison the duke…!”

“Authority? You?”

Aksion’s eyes narrowed as he looked down at Makus, a mocking smile playing on his lips.

“Elder Makus, I hear you mobilized private soldiers to guard the saintess.”

“That was… all for the saintess’s safety!”

Makus flinched as if caught in a crime, then shouted in defiance.

“Even while your territory was being attacked?”

An elder, as part of the family, was also responsible for the welfare of their land. Hence, Makus was as guilty as the duke.

“Eight elders, too many indeed.”

“You…!”

“Take him away.”

Two knights grabbed Makus by the arms and dragged him away. He resisted fiercely, but his loud cries gradually faded.

“Let’s go in.”

The remaining knights made way to the bedroom.

Elia exchanged glances with Aksion before they both entered the room. Inside, it was quiet, and sunlight filtered through the window, making the dust sparkle. Apart from the luxurious carpet and furniture, the walls were adorned solely with swords.

‘Weapons everywhere,’ she thought.

From short swords to double-edged blades, the collection ranged from decorative pieces to practical weapons, yet all were swords.

Surrounded by these weapons, Duke Tartan sat on the bed, resembling a puppet with its strings cut. No nickname could fit the current Duke Tartan better. Elia’s gaze fixed on his neck; she had cut the black cord that bound him, but remnants still clung to his throat.

‘So, it’s not something that just disappears by cutting it off.’

His other hand was bandaged, hiding the arm burned by wielding the Sun Sword without permission. Whether it could heal was uncertain.

As Elia stared at his hand, Tartan slowly stood up. He spoke to them while looking out the window, his back turned.

“It feels like waking from a trance. My mind is finally clear.”

It was true. His recent strange behavior had been due to someone’s manipulation.

“Do you remember everything?”

“…Unfortunately, yes.”

He recalled all the actions he took under control.

“A voice suddenly spoke to me. When I came to my senses, I was in the middle of the forest, attending to the saintess.”

Tartan had arrived with his knights just as the saintess appeared. From the moment he locked eyes with Sharon, he lost his reason. Tartan explained he had been controlled since then.

He had approached Elia with the intent to kill her, enveloped in black mist. Recalling this, Elia traced the connections.

‘Sharon is linked to the black mist.’

What was clear was that neither the black cord nor the mist controlling Tartan was divine power.

Tartan turned around, his face stern as he looked at them.

“Princess, use me.”

“…Use you?”

Elia’s eyes narrowed, her suspicious voice prompted by necessity.

“There’s a festival at the temple soon. I’ll attend and pretend to still be under control. This way, we might gain unknown information.”

It was true Tartan had been controlled, but how much of his words were true or false was unclear.

“How can I trust you?”

Her suspicion was justified. Though Tartan’s cord with Sharon was severed, traces remained on his neck. No one knew when or how it might reconnect and influence him again.

Tartan leaned close to Elia’s ear and whispered something only she could hear, making Aksion’s eyes sharpen.

After hearing everything, Elia could only nod.

“Alright. I’ll send a letter to the temple.”

Stating that the Maharhart family would attend the festival.

As they were about to leave the room, Tartan’s words halted Aksion.

“Aksion Maharhart.”

He hesitated before speaking.

“I didn’t mean what I said. I…”

“It’s not something that would help to hear. Excuse me.”

But Aksion refused the conversation, creating another rift. Elia knew well that the deep emotional chasm between the two wasn’t something words could easily mend.

The door closed. Tartan’s imprisonment was unofficial and would soon end with Aksion’s permission, but eventually…

“What did the duke say earlier?”

As they walked down the hallway, Aksion asked about the earlier conversation. Elia hesitated but ultimately swallowed the truth.

“I’ll tell you later.”

He would find out soon enough.

“We need to prepare to go to the temple.”

“I’ll make the arrangements.”

Aksion didn’t press further, following her lead. Though grateful for his compliance, Elia felt the promise she made to Tartan weigh on her.

‘The temple, it feels like walking into a lion’s den.’

Given Sharon’s mysterious nature, the temple was far from safe. They couldn’t take the knights due to the festival, but proper preparations were necessary.

‘I need to bring Rien.’

Though a miser, there was no more reliable wizard if paid well.

‘But why did Rien come to report back then?’

She knew they were acquaintances, but Rien had never reported anything other than the capital’s news.

Caught in this strange feeling, Elia couldn’t pinpoint the issue. Perhaps it was just her imagination. She watched Aksion’s back thoughtfully.

* * *

Temple of Light.

Located west of the capital, the grand and magnificent temple rivaled the imperial palace in splendor.

The first day of the pre-announced festival dawned. Already, the temple was thronged with worshippers, leaving no space in front of it.

Despite the chaos caused by monsters, the faithful chanted their prayers, believing that the gods and the saintess would protect them.

At the edge of the temple, in the most radiant spot, the saintess was protected within the temple.

Priests attended to Sharon, who shone in the sunlight. As a wooden comb passed through her silver hair, a sound as soft as bird feathers was heard.

With her long, wavy silver hair and golden eyes, Sharon’s eternally youthful face embodied the saintess’s image.

“That’s enough. It’s fine.”

Sharon halted the combing. As she stood, the priests quickly lowered their eyes.

She passed by them, heading to her private prayer room, a space only she could enter.

The inner chamber contained nothing but a statue of the god of light and a carpet beneath it. Sharon sighed deeply, staring nervously at her own fingers. One strand of the black cord wrapped around her delicate fingers had snapped.

“I did everything as told. It’s not my fault that girl ruined things.”

She grumbled, and the statue’s shadow responded. The shadow morphed into black mist, filling the chamber.

“You should have spread more misfortune faster.”

The man’s accusatory voice agitated Sharon. She bit her lower lip but said nothing. The mist continued to reprimand her.

“The misfortune I granted was on the verge of blossoming. You should have released it all, pretending it was divine power.”

“I did! That’s why so many monsters gathered.”

“But you failed to consume the territory.”

Sharon fell silent again.

‘I thought the plan had succeeded.’

She had been excited, thinking she could finally become the real deal when she left the territory with her controlled puppet.

In the past, Sharon, a poor commoner, met an old man in the back alleys. He promised to lift her from poverty, and weary of her street life, she took his hand.

The result was this.

Following the old man’s instructions, Sharon became a revered and sacred figure, basking in everyone’s admiration. But her position wasn’t yet secure. The voice continued to goad her.

“Would you like to be exposed as a fake?”

“…I’ll do it right this time!”

Her fearful shout echoed in the mist-filled chamber, and the old man’s clicking tongue sound reverberated.