I swore under my breath.

Of course. In all my dealings with him, I’d only seen the Pope in his official role. I’d forgotten what he looked like as a man.

The face he wore now was a glamor, using a Dark Relic granted only to the Pontiff of the Holy Kingdom—a privilege the Emperor had, of course, permitted.

To demand the Pope cease using a “holy” relic, as they called it, would be tantamount to declaring war.

Militarily, the Empire would crush the Holy Kingdom, but the seat of a continent-spanning faith wielded a different, more insidious kind of power.

Any conflict would quickly escalate, pitting the Empire against the entire continent.

The Emperor understood this. It was why he looked the other way.

Still, for the Pope himself to be on the move, disguised and furtive… something was deeply wrong.

For all his current subterfuge, the Francifis I knew was a true saint. He was a man who spent sleepless nights in prayer for his flock, a clergyman of unwavering devotion to the Goddess.

For such a man to resort to this level of secrecy meant a crisis was brewing.

“I have to follow him,” I murmured, turning to go.

Lancelot scrambled to keep pace, looking confused. “Wait, the Pope? Where are you going? Give a man some warning!”

“Just keep up.”

“Hey, come on!”

I trailed the Pontiff into the Grand Cathedral, the heart of the Holy Kingdom and his de facto palace.

By tradition, the Pope was expected to live a life of austerity, free from luxury and indulgence… a standard few of his predecessors had managed to uphold.

True to Francifis’s character, however, the cathedral’s private chambers were spartan. There was not a single lavish object in sight.

“It’s so different from the outside,” Lancelot whispered beside me.

In the vast, echoing stillness, even his whisper seemed to boom.

“There is no need for adornment here.” The Pope’s voice, though soft, carried with perfect clarity. “This is not a home for the faithful to admire, merely a place for worship and my own simple needs. Would you not agree?”

“…Ah. My apologies, Your Holiness.” Lancelot’s face flushed, and he ducked his head in embarrassment.

Kai shook his head, muttering, “Idiot.”

Lancelot’s retort was a low hiss. “Shuddap.”

“Both of you, quiet,” I commanded, my voice sharp. “His Holiness has summoned us for a reason.”

I inclined my head to the Pope, who returned the gesture with a faint, weary smile.

“Your men are quite devoted to you, Baron.”

“They’re troublemakers, Your Holiness.”

“Perhaps,” he said, a gentle chuckle in his voice. “But your affection for them is written plainly on your face.”

His smile was that of a kindly grandfather, but his eyes held a familiar, shrewd light.

He gestured to a simple wooden table. “Let us sit. We will eat first.”

We took our seats, my men following my lead, and began the modest meal.

Halfway through, the Pope set down his utensils with a soft click and fixed his gaze on me.

“First, I thank you for coming. I am certain you have your own purposes, but the mere presence of a delegation from the Empire gives the faithful great pride.”

“We should have visited sooner, Your Holiness. I can only apologize for the oversight.”

The Pope chuckled, waving a dismissive hand. “Let us be honest with one another, Baron. You are here for Grand Duke Praha. The healers and the former Saintess we sent were unable to cure him, I presume.”

“…You knew?”

“The faithful of the Holy Kingdom are everywhere,” he said, his tone casual, yet it carried the weight of a spymaster’s reach. “One hears many things, even from a simple chair like this one.”

He chuckled again, and for a fleeting moment, I saw the ghost of the cunning High Elder I had once served—the kind of man I found most difficult to deal with.

Clink. I set down my own fork and met his gaze directly. “You are correct. Mihaila’s divinity could not mend him, nor could the healers’ arts. I believe his life force is simply depleted. One person with Mihaila’s gifts is not enough.”

“Hmm. You seem to know a great deal about the nature of divinity, Baron Louis.”

Did I know a great deal? Quite.

In my past life, as Artezia’s hound, I had hunted not only the Demonkin of the Demonic Realm but countless humans as well.

A significant number of them had been figures from the Holy Kingdom, wielders of this very power.

At the time, I had never questioned my orders. Now, knowing the truth of the alliance between House Artezia and the Demonkin, I understood.

Divinity was one of the few powers that could truly threaten them.

Divinity. My master’s Aura cultivation. Mithril. Those were the three keys to severing the lifeline that sustained Artezia and their demonic masters.

“I understand a fair amount,” I said carefully. “I, too, am a devout man.”

“Ah, forgive my impertinence.” The Pope inclined his head, a smooth political gesture I knew better than to refuse. “It is rare for a knight to take such an academic interest. My words were sharper than I intended.”

I nodded, accepting the apology. “It is of no importance. Let us continue. Can you save the Grand Duke?”

“If you ask whether he can be saved… yes. As you suspect, Baron, the core of his affliction is a depletion of life force. There is demonic energy at play, certainly, but that is a secondary concern.”

A breath I hadn’t realized I was holding escaped me.

I had suspected as much from Mihaila’s report and my own grim experience, but I was no healer. To have it confirmed by the foremost authority on divine power was a weight lifted from my soul.

“That is a relief,” I exhaled.

But a flicker in his eyes told me he wasn’t finished.

“However,” he said, his voice lowering slightly, “there is a complication.”

“A complication?”

“Yes. It is a source of great shame, but the internal situation of the Holy Kingdom is… precarious.”

The situation.

My mind raced, sifting through memories of my past life. Was there some incident around this time?

Nothing came to mind. But so much had changed since my regression.

My actions could have triggered some butterfly effect, or perhaps this was a crisis I had simply been unaware of.

All I knew for certain was that the current Pope would eventually retire, passing the seat to his successor, Key Dupron—a politically brilliant but self-serving man.

And I knew the Second Prince, backed by the noble faction, was my enemy. In this new timeline, with his domestic support crumbling, he must be growing desperate. 

He would naturally seek allies abroad. And what greater ally than the Holy Kingdom, a power that could sway a continent?

I brought my focus back to the present. “Would you care to elaborate, Your Holiness?”

The Pope sighed, the sound heavy with exhaustion. “It is embarrassing to admit, but a problem has arisen concerning the succession.”

My men paused in their meal, listening intently.

I gave them a subtle look. “If you are finished, you may wait outside.”

Though their faces showed their curiosity, they rose without protest and departed. 

Once the door closed behind them, I turned back to the Pope.

“You may speak freely now, please.”

“Thank you for your consideration.” He bowed his head slightly.

“As you know, the papacy is not hereditary. My own time in this sacred office is drawing to a close. In one year, we must elect my successor. But this time… this time there are problems. Ordinarily, the Cardinals would decide by vote. However…”

“There is interference from a foreign power,” I finished for him. “The Empire, to be specific.”

“Yes,” he confirmed, his expression grim. “That is correct.”

My guess had been right.

It seemed the Second Prince was backing Key Dupron, while the First Prince, favored by the Emperor, was supporting the opposing candidate.

The contest for the next Pope had become a proxy war for the Imperial throne.

For a man like Francifis, this was intolerable. A Pope was meant to serve the faithful, not act as a puppet for a foreign power.

“You want us to mediate between the two Cardinals,” I stated.

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “That would be fruitless. I doubt either man would relinquish his Imperial support. Instead… I want you to expose the corruption of both Cardinals.”

The words stunned me.

What?

I could only stare, my mind struggling to fit his proposal into any sane political framework. “Did I hear you correctly, Your Holiness?”

“You did,” the Pope said, a faint, resolute smile touching his lips. “I am aware of the shame it will bring upon the Holy Kingdom. But is a little shame not better than allowing the entire institution to become rotten to the core?”

“You’re serious.” I looked into his eyes and saw not a politician, but a zealot. He was willing to burn his own house down to cleanse it of filth.

What was I to do?

I fell silent, weighing the chaos such an act would unleash.

Then the Pope leaned forward, the gentle elder vanishing, replaced by a man of burning conviction. His eyes locked onto mine.

“Please, Baron,” he implored, his voice low and intense. “For the sake of the faithful, grant my request. Do this, and I will muster all of my divinity—every last drop—and I will save your Grand Duke.”

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