The offer was simple: support the Second Prince.

On its face, the proposal had merit. It mattered little to me who wore the imperial crown, and having an emperor in my debt was a clear advantage.

It was certainly better than waiting passively for a new ruler to be chosen.

But there was a problem. A single, insurmountable one.

I won’t stand with the fiends of House Artezia.

To help crown the same emperor as those monsters? The thought was so absurd it was almost laughable.

I’d rather die.

A shudder of pure revulsion went through me.

Duke Artezia would inevitably betray the prince and try to seize the throne for himself. I knew that much.

But even a temporary alliance, a single moment of shared purpose with that house, was unthinkable.

I refuse.

My decision was made. I turned back to Cardinal Key.

“My apologies,” I said, my voice firm. “I must refuse your offer.”

Surprise flickered in Cardinal Key’s eyes, a tremor at the corners of his mouth before he masked it with a practiced smile. “…Are you certain that is your wisest choice?”

“It is. Imperial etiquette forbids me from meddling in the affairs of the Imperial Court.”

“So you are determined to drink from a poisoned cup.”

“A cup can only be served by one who holds it, Cardinal. And from where I stand, you have nothing to offer but empty hands.”

My gaze swept from the cardinal to the retainers at his side.

None of you have the strength to force my hand.

Under different circumstances, I might have needed to flatter him to secure the Grand Duke’s treatment. That was no longer the case.

And if I didn’t need his help, I had no reason to be civil.

“…You are an arrogant man.”

“Perhaps. Or perhaps it is confidence. The people at my side are formidable.”

“…Isn’t that ‘formidable’ Grand Duke of yours gasping for his last breaths even as we speak?”

The bastard.

Before I could spit out a venomous reply, a voice like sharpened ice cut through the air behind me.

“Say that again.”

The Grand Duke’s youngest daughter was staring down Cardinal Key, her Aura radiating a palpable killing intent.

Lea Praha.

“Since when does a mere cardinal from the Holy Kingdom dare threaten an imperial ducal house?”

“…You must be Lady Lea.”

“I am,” she said, her tone glacial. “And you are only a cardinal.”

Behind her, the other knights began to exude a formidable pressure of their own, ready to move at a moment’s notice.

Perhaps the weight of their combined presence finally registered.

“…It seems I have misspoken.” Cardinal Key took a single step back, offering a shallow apology.

Whether it was sincere was irrelevant; it was an admission of retreat. Pushing further would risk an international incident.

“Lea, stand down,” I said, reining her in and signaling for the knights to do the same.

As I walked past Cardinal Key, I leaned in, my voice low enough for only him to hear.

“A word of advice, Cardinal. Don’t be so eager. In any wolfpack, the first to lunge is often the first to die.”

“…Pardon?”

“You are all servants of the Goddess, are you not? Try not to hasten your meeting.”

I gave his shoulder a light, deliberate pat and walked away.

My retinue fell in behind me, my master watching with a curious glint in his eye. 

Only Cardinal Key remained, his lips trembling as he fought to swallow his rage.

* * *

After Berg had gone, Key Dupron fought to still the twitching in his eye.

He’d never dreamt of such humiliation. By a castoff from the insignificant House of Berg, no less.

“…A wretch who couldn’t even secure his own inheritance dares speak to me so,” Key muttered, grinding his teeth.

Who was he?

He was a rising star of the Holy Kingdom, the next pope in all but name. He was the vital link between the Second Prince and the Holy See, with dozens of Templars at his command and hundreds of clerics who revered him.

Thousands of the faithful looked to him for guidance.

And some provincial imperial noble had shown him such disgrace?

Key’s eyes slid to one of his knights, the same man who had brought him the initial report. He was a Templar of the Papal Guard who had volunteered for service under Key.

“Are you certain of your report?”

“Yes, Your Eminence. I heard that the Grand Duke is dying.”

“I am not interested in what you ‘heard’!” Key snapped, his composure cracking. 

He took a sharp breath, forcing himself back under control. “I asked if you are certain.”

The knight hesitated before giving a firm nod.

“…Yes. I could feel demonic energy coiling within his Aura. It is impossible for a human body to withstand such a taint. Without the Holy Grail, he will die. It is only a matter of time.”

The cardinal’s composure finally returned.

A human wielding demonic energy? It was a theological and biological impossibility. He refused to believe some whelp had achieved what the Goddess herself had forbidden.

He claimed the Divine Archer vouched for his talent, but that means nothing.

The boy could have lied to gain an audience, to get a chance at the Trial of a Saint. The Holy Grail was a sacred artifact, a prize any knight would covet.

“Good. That is a comfort,” Key said, nodding.

He then turned his full attention to the Templar. “Find out when the Trial is scheduled.”

A cardinal did not ordinarily command a Templar. But Key Dupron, backed by the future emperor of the largest nation on the continent, was no ordinary cardinal.

The knight, Sir Philip, nodded without protest. “At once, Your Eminence.”

“And, Sir Philip,” Key added, his voice dropping. “In the unlikely event the trial involves a contest of divine power… I will rely on you to intervene.”

“…How far am I to press the matter, Your Eminence?”

Key closed his eyes as if in prayer. “A dangerous element must be… neutralized. The Goddess would surely approve of purging such a stain.”

The knight mirrored the gesture. “As you say. The Goddess’s will be done.”

As Sir Philip disappeared, Key turned to the bishops who had remained at his side. “Where is Inquisitor Helena?”

“Your Eminence… why would you call for her?”

Key clicked his tongue.

“Isn’t it obvious?” His brow furrowed. “A human wielding demonic energy. It reeks of corruption.”

He let the implication hang in the air for a moment.

“The possibility of collusion with the Demonkin cannot be dismissed, can it?”

A slow, vicious smile spread across his face, his eyes gleaming with cold fire.

If I cannot have it, I will break it. That had always been his creed.

“Prepare for an inquisition,” he commanded. “The moment he fails the trial, we will begin.”

His time was running out, and Louis Berg would die screaming under an inquisitor’s tools.

A fitting price for defying him and the Second Prince.

* * *

As I walked back to my quarters, a sudden chill ran down my spine. A premonition.

It must be the cardinal. No doubt already plotting his revenge.

If he’s willing to cross that line, he’ll call for an inquisition.

The charge would be simple: my ability to wield demonic energy was proof of collusion with the Demonkin. Escaping such a frame-up through conventional means would be next to impossible.

But I’m not exactly conventional.

I had anticipated this. My options were already laid out.

Becoming a saint was one. Eliminating him before he could move was another. And failing that, I would throw my support behind the First Prince.

The Emperor himself had named me a hero of the war against the Demonkin; he would never allow that title—and by extension, his own judgment—to be tainted by a charge of demonic collusion.

Whatever move the cardinal made, I had a counter. The main obstacle was the inquisitor he would inevitably summon.

Helena.

Inquisitor Helena’s name was infamous even before my regression.

A Templar who butchered unbelievers and hung their remains from trees on the anniversary of the Goddess’s birth. A zealot who sang hymns while putting entire villages to the torch.

She wasn’t a knight; she was a butcher in the Goddess’s name.

I had to act quickly to avoid falling into her grasp.

My master’s voice pulled me from my thoughts.

“So, what was that you slipped the good cardinal?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t play the fool with me, boy. I saw it plain as day, even if the others were blind to it,” he said with a dismissive snort. Trust a Grand Master to see everything.

Fine. It doesn’t matter if he knows.

I scratched the back of my head. “Think of it as a key. One that will prove very useful later.”

“…It looked like powder.”

“Knowing too much can be a dangerous thing.”

“…You have a viper’s tongue for your own master, boy.”

He shot me an incredulous look, then clicked his tongue and shook his head. “Do as you wish. Knowing you, there’s a damn good reason for it.”

“Are you turning in?”

“I am. This old body of mine has wandered enough for one day. A soft bed sounds like heaven.”

With that, my master disappeared into his quarters.

I watched him go, my thoughts returning to my parting gesture with the cardinal.

When I’d patted his shoulder, I’d brushed a fine powder into the collar of his robes. It was a potent hallucinogen Lexa had sent me, one synthesized from the corpse of a Demonkin.

Victory belongs to the one who strikes first.

A grim smirk touched my lips.

Key Dupron would die by the very poison he meant for me.

A fitting end for an apostate who cloaked his ambition in the Goddess’s light.

I let the thought settle, a cold satisfaction spreading through me. Then I went inside.

A day passed in quiet preparation.

And then, the summons came from the Pope himself.

“Come forth,” the proclamation read. “The Trial of a Saint is to begin.”

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