“Excuse me,” Paul began, his voice tight with anxiety. “Might I ask where we’re going?”

Before them stretched a forest of razor-edged leaves shrouded in black mist.

He had to pick his way through with extreme care; only his training as a mid-level Aura Expert allowed him to keep pace.

A lesser man would already be a corpse on the forest floor.

“Excuse me…” he tried again.

“Ugh, you’re noisy,” the boy—Martin Artezia—snapped, his face twisting into a scowl. “Should I kill you and be done with it?”

“…My apologies.”

Paul ducked his head, clamping his mouth shut. The Aura radiating from the boy was an oppressive force, far stronger than his own, and the name alone had frozen him to the core.

Damn it all, he cursed inwardly as he trudged onward.

Martin Artezia. The legitimate heir to the Ducal House of Artezia, whose disappearance had once shaken the continent.

And now that same boy walked before him, impossibly powerful.

Another man might have called it a lie, but Paul knew. He had seen the face on a missing-person notice years ago. The memory, once hazy, was now sharp as glass. 

The boy had become something… different. But his name, at least, was no lie.

The real question was why Martin Artezia was here.

Can he not return to the Duchy?

If that were true, it was a terrifying thought. A ducal heir willingly dwelling in the Demonic Realm meant that a man of no consequence, like Paul, could never hope to escape.

He clenched his fists, trying to crush the anxiety rising in his throat.

Just then, Martin spoke.

“In here.” He pointed toward a fissure in the rock, nearly hidden by moss and thickets.

With a single, sharp slice, he cleaved a path through the overgrowth.

As they stepped inside, the narrow passage opened into a vast cavern, an open area illuminated by clusters of glimmering glowstones.

“What is this place?” Paul whispered, dumbfounded. It felt less like a cave and more like another world.

Ignoring Paul’s awe, Martin gestured with his chin, his voice dripping with annoyance. “Go wait over there. I’ll fetch the boss.”

“Over… there?” Paul repeated, his gaze following Martin’s finger.

The spot he indicated was a shallow pit teeming with centipedes and vipers, writhing over one another. With the rest of the cavern floor wide open, the command was nothing short of a petty torment.

You little bastard.

A spike of fury shot through him, but Paul swallowed it down, gritting his teeth as he walked toward the pit.

Martin sneered at the sight, then turned and strode deeper into the cave to find this “boss.”

Paul let out a long, slow breath, staring down at the venomous swarm. A bite wouldn’t be lethal, not for him, but pain was still pain.

An Aura Expert was not immune to agony.

“Ugh!”

He winced as he lowered himself into the squirming mass, a sharp sting piercing his thigh, but he endured.

An indeterminate amount of time passed.

Finally, Martin reappeared, now bowing and scraping before another young man who looked to be about twenty.

Who is that?

Paul tilted his head, confused.

Martin approached. “Boss, I’ve brought him as you commanded.”

“Well done.”

“Haha, it was nothing.”

Paul let out a hollow, silent laugh. Seeing the proud Martin Artezia act so subservient was like watching a slave attend his master.

Though Martin’s tone held a trace of familiarity, the rigid hierarchy between them was absolute.

“I don’t believe we’ve met,” the Boss said, his voice calm and measured.

“…Ah! It is an honor!” Paul scrambled to his feet and bowed low.

“You’re far too tense. Compose yourself. A man should not carry himself with such undignified haste.”

“Yes, yes!”

“There now. Ah, thank you.” The young man nodded his thanks as Martin brought him a chair.

He sat, then fixed his gaze on Paul. “The reason I summoned you is simple. You strike me as a man of talent, one who would make a fine addition to our cause.”

“Our… cause?”

“Yes. To be precise, I’m speaking of your cause… the one where you schemed against a knight named Louis Berg.”

A slow, deliberate smile stretched across the young man’s lips.

Paul’s mouth fell open.

How? How could he possibly know what had occurred deep within the Demonic Realm? It was as if he had eyes everywhere.

As if reading his mind, the Boss elaborated. “I watched your every move. The monsters spoke of you. The Demonic Realm itself whispered your name to me.”

“…The monsters spoke to you?”

He’s mad.

Monsters didn’t speak. Paul had fallen in with lunatics.

He forced a smile, nodding as if this made perfect sense. If he didn’t play along, his head would surely roll.

The young man merely chuckled, seemingly pleased. “You think I’m insane, don’t you?”

“…Not at all.”

“It’s an understandable assumption. A correct one, even. That is, if I were an ordinary human.”

He reached into his coat and produced a small, shimmering figure of a dragon.

The Imperial Seal.

Paul’s breath hitched. His jaw went slack. Even a common knight like him recognized the symbol of the Imperial House.

He knew, with gut-wrenching certainty, that this was no forgery. It was a genuine artifact, proof of direct imperial lineage.

Paul swallowed hard, his eyes snapping back to the young man’s face.

He finally noticed the brilliant gold of his hair, a shade said to capture the sun itself—the color of the Imperial Family. That, and the Imperial Seal, which should have been locked away in the palace.

The pieces clicked into place, forming a conclusion so staggering he refused to accept it.

“Impossible,” Paul whispered.

The young man before him couldn’t be the Third Prince. That prince was dead, killed years ago in a riding accident.

“What is so impossible?” the Third Prince asked, crossing his legs with a knowing smile.

A great darkness swirled behind him, a sinister energy bleeding from his very being.

The Third Prince, Lio Fortia.

The Emperor’s greatest sorrow, the Empire’s lost future, had returned in the heart of the Demonic Realm.

And he had become the Marquis of Envy, one of the Twelve Nobles.

* * *

At that very moment, in another land entirely…

“Welcome, Baron Louis.”

Sunlight streamed through magnificent stained-glass windows, bathing our party in brilliant color.

“…What is this?” I muttered, my eyes narrowed with suspicion.

I’d sent word ahead, so our arrival wasn’t a surprise. Still, I had expected assassins, not a welcoming committee.

This is unexpected.

I hid my surprise, studying the delegation of clergymen before us.

“Captain, this place isn’t half bad,” Lancelot quipped beside me. “Thinking of settling down here?”

I didn’t answer. Lancelot’s casual banter told me there was no immediate ambush. Which only meant their true intentions were buried deeper.

They wanted something. It was the only explanation.

“I wasn’t expecting such a reception. Thank you,” I said, offering a polite nod.

“Haha! Not at all!” a high-ranking clergyman exclaimed. “With the Divine Archer and Baron Louis gracing us with your presence, a grand welcome is only fitting. In fact, I was worried our humble preparations might disappoint you.”

What a practiced liar, I thought, hiding a smirk.

Men of the cloth, lying with such ease. What would they do if the Goddess of Beginnings struck them down for their blasphemy?

Then again, they either didn’t believe in her judgment or were so convinced of their own righteousness they saw no sin.

The former were deceivers. The latter were far worse.

“To call this grand welcome humble… you flatter us. We are most pleased,” my master said with a hearty laugh.

“Haha! The pleasure is all ours,” the clergyman replied smoothly. “Please, come this way. We have prepared a feast for you inside.”

“Wonderful. My knights are weary from the long journey.”

“Excellent, excellent.”

The atmosphere was almost friendly. It was strange enough to hear my master speak so formally, but stranger still to see these priests accept it as their due.

But then my eyes caught on the clergyman leading my master. A flicker of familiarity, a face I’d seen somewhere before my regression… but where?

The memory was just out of reach, a name on the tip of my tongue.

Then it struck me.

Ah.

The curse escaped my lips before I could stop it. “Shit.”

“What’s wrong? Finally snapped?” Lancelot asked, giving me a strange look.

I barely registered his impertinence. The man’s identity was too great a shock.

Just then, Lancelot muttered beside me. “Still, the Divine Archer is incredible. One of the most powerful men on the continent, yet he speaks with such humility. The wisest truly are the most modest.”

“Po—” I started.

“Huh? What was that?” Lancelot asked, cupping a hand to his ear.

I ignored him, my gaze locked on the clergyman’s retreating back.

“The Pope,” I whispered. “That man is the Pope.”

The king of the Holy Kingdom himself.

Francifis.

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.