Chapter 48
“According to temple law, meat can only be eaten on the feast days of each month, but here, you can eat as much as you want. The cursed are never seen by the gods, no matter what sin they commit.”
Arzeletta nodded. She hadn’t been able to eat meat. Neither the animals that were dead nor those still living.
But if it was something Yoseph gave her, she planned to eat anything.
Arzeletta, who had neither possessions nor a secure status, had no other way to live.
And now, she had to learn not only how to survive, but also how to kill someone.
‘I want to escape. It hurts, Rzel.’
Facing herself in the mirror, clad in black, Arzeletta recalled it.
His scream that had echoed through her heart. The pain of Theogrim, which she had felt as if her own skin were burning.
‘Kill him for me. I want to kill him.’
…It was the command of the one who owned the prayer.
Ragnar lowered his gaze.
He looked down at his precious heir, groaning and collapsed at his feet.
No—the only thing in his line of sight was Theogrim. There was no emotion contained within Ragnar’s eyes. One could not call it a gaze.
The young man’s beautiful body was covered in blood. If it had been an ordinary person, their heart would have already stopped from the shock.
The sin of the day was heavier and deeper. It was a sin committed by the common people as they ate, breathed, and lived. It was not Theogrim’s sin, but one he had to bear.
There was no mercy in Ragnar’s whip.
Theogrim’s bones were crushed. His flesh was mangled, and his nerves torn apart, but Ragnar did not stop.
If he was the Del Rose of the glorious Impellias, if he was his heir, this was something he must endure.
Because Ragnar had endured it too.
Ragnar was certain—this pain had brought him closer to God. Ragnar could control every emotion and desire within his body.
To make his heir into the same as himself was his duty.
He had to become a tool of God, who felt no pain, no sorrow—only will.
Ragnar raised the whip.
Snap!
The chains binding Theogrim’s arms clanged. The smell of blood pierced the nose. Toward the half-conscious Theogrim, Ragnar spoke.
“Does it hurt?”
Theogrim’s shoulder flinched. He slowly raised his head.
The purple eyes, praised as jewels, were paler and more transparent than Ragnar’s. They looked as though they had been drawn from water dyed by a violet sunset, with not a trace of impurity.
His hair, white as moonlight, was likewise silver, resembling Ragnar’s. Theogrim was the very embodiment of the chosen boy recorded in the sacred scriptures.
Theogrim gave no answer.
Only his eyelashes trembled finely with fear that could not be hidden no matter how hard he tried.
“It seems it does hurt.”
“…No, I…”
“To be dominated by the pain of the flesh means you have not yet reached God.”
Once again, the long, heavy whip came down. Theogrim bit his lip, unable even to scream.
“You lack the resolve to bear their sins.”
“…Ugh.”
“It means you are still just one of those weak, wavering, foolish and ignorant humans.”
Snap!
With another full-force strike of the whip, Theogrim collapsed, his arms still bound.
Ragnar looked down at him wordlessly, then gestured with his chin to the priests.
The priests poured holy water over Theogrim’s fallen back. The holy water flowed into the open wounds, split like cracked earth, and soaked the floor along with the blood.
As Ragnar silently watched the wounds begin to heal, he threw the whip to the ground.
He turned and began to walk away, and behind him, a priest with long eyes followed.
“Grand Duke Lukwell desires Young Master Theogrim.”
“He desires the heir of Ragnar.”
“If we borrow the power of Grand Duke Lukwell, it may even be possible to establish Impellias as the state religion.”
Ragnar’s throat swelled at the priest’s words.
“You, Lord, shall at last become the Saint.”
Impellias becoming the state religion of the Empire!
That was Ragnar’s long-cherished wish—something that had to be achieved for the sake of their true god.
It was the only way to save humanity from this corrupt world and its false god.
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