Blasphemous Grace - Chapter 55

Ian could understand Delonas’s heart, if only a little. To her, he was still no ally. He was, rather, the figurehead of those who committed atrocities upon her. Forced to share the same space, her discomfort was inevitable. Therefore, he sent her to the bath under the pretext of cleaning—a private space where none could touch her, and the only solution that also satisfied the condition of keeping her near.

But a problem arose.

“The priests are concerned the princess may yet bring harm upon Your Holiness.”

The issue broke the surface in earnest when High Priest Lekia arrived.

‘Are you quite alright?!’

Lekia, who had scampered to the provincial temple as if hearing news of his own son’s misfortune, only released a sigh of relief after confirming Ian’s safety. Then his wrath ignited—directed, of course, not at Ian.

‘That wench! How dare she!’

At Delonas. Thanks to Ian, who had moved Delonas far away the moment he heard of Lekia’s approach, she was spared the brunt of that fury. Yet Lekia remained convinced she had summoned Beakin remnants. The magical mirror he possessed—which grew cloudy if its inscribed subject held contrary thoughts—remained perfectly clear for Ian. In contrast, Delonas’s was utterly murky, which could only cement Lekia’s conviction.

And so, he was livid.

The pleasure derived from violating the princess’s depths? Immense, of course. But any threat to the Pope, the maker of Ephina, was an entirely different matter to Lekia. Thus, he played a card he had held in reserve for the sake of his own carnal delights.

“I, too, am deeply concerned for Your Holiness’s safety,” Lekia said with fervent sincerity.

It’s not me you worry for, but the maker of the holy water, Ian thought. Yet he replied with feigned remorse, “I am sorry to have caused a fatherly figure such worry. I shall be more cautious.”

Ian sought to end the conversation there. To continue would inevitably steer it toward Delonas. But Lekia had already made up his mind. “That is insufficient. We must hasten the Offering.”

At those words, a pang shot through Ian’s heart.

“……The Offering?”

He had to muster every nerve to echo the question with nonchalance. He wanted to cry out that it was madness, but he could not.

Was his effort inadequate, or was his desire to resist simply too strong?

“……Does Your Holiness perhaps wish to avoid the Offering?” Lekia’s voice sank, low and heavy.

And all of this dialogue was heard by Delonas, in the bath. Her hands, which had been moving under the pretense of cleaning, froze.

Offering?

The faithless Beakin had no such concept. The act of presenting something living to a god. It had once been called sacrifice, but that was deemed too barbaric; the terminology was changed to ‘Offering.’ And it existed, of course, only in Archion.

An Offering… was to be made?

The identity of the subject was painfully clear.

As her heart plummeted, the conversation outside continued.

“You seemed quite taken with the princess. Surely you have not set your heart upon her?”

“……Of course not,” Ian answered Lekia’s sharp query, his words a perfect inversion of his truth.

If Lekia were to discover Ian’s regard for Delonas, she might live a little longer. But she would certainly become another tool for Lekia to bind Ian with. The trajectory of her life thereafter would be painfully obvious.

“Are you certain?” Lekia asked after a brief silence.

Outside the bathroom door, beyond Delonas’s sight, Lekia’s eyes met Ian’s.

“Lekia. I was never taught to view an Offering in personal terms, nor have I ever entertained such thoughts,” Ian’s placid voice resonated.

To the outside world, the leader of the temple was, of course, the Pope. But to any insider, the true power was High Priest Lekia. He had, for all intents and purposes, raised the Pope himself. This remained true so long as the Pope, now the temple’s figurehead, did not deny it. And the Pope accepted this reality seamlessly.

Realizing this, Lekia allowed a satisfied smile. “That is a great relief, then…”