Chapter 49
Ragnar’s faith was sincere. He had truly met God through extreme restraint and suffering. In this world filled with death, war, famine, and fanaticism, Ragnar could find no truth other than Impellias. Just rebuilding this land, once polluted by the blood of fairies, was enough to make Impellias a great religion. Ragnar was indeed a knight chosen by Impellias. His divine power was capable of purifying filthy curses.
“…We must make Theogrim a warrior of Impellias.”
Grand Duke Lukwell was the strongest supporter of Impellias—a power among powers, who ruled over half the continent. His precious daughter had been promised in marriage to Ragnar’s successor even before she was born.
“Lukwell’s daughter is a pure daughter of Impellias. There isn’t a single drop of impurity in her blood. If Theogrim doesn’t prove divine power, Grand Duke Lukwell won’t approve the marriage.”
“But my lord, as for divine power…”
Theogrim was beloved by the people of the territory for his sincerity, kindness, charm, and intelligence—but he still had not demonstrated divine power.
It wasn’t that Ragnar expected him to possess divine power equal to his own. But if Theogrim was truly the successor prophesied in the scriptures, then he had to manifest even the smallest miracle himself.
“Train Del Rose more harshly.”
Ragnar spoke in a low but clear voice.
“Pain, hardship—they will guide him to the world of God.”
Leaving the bowing priest in the corridor, Ragnar returned to his chamber. A place where extreme discipline and the ecstasy of fanaticism coexisted.
Ragnar lit incense, a habitual gesture. The cloyingly sweet and bitter scent of red lilies spread instantly. It felt like sinking into a potent liquor. For anyone but Ragnar, even a single breath would have induced hallucinations and painful arousal.
Even in this overwhelming and sweet delirium, Ragnar could maintain the cold rationality of one encased in ice. Abstinence and pleasure, reason and fanaticism—they clashed like two edges of a blade.
Ragnar sat at the table. New blood had been prepared on the table.
The severed head belonged to a peacock. Though dead, it was stunningly beautiful. Gazing at the bird’s head laid on the silver platter, Ragnar slowly raised his goblet.
The blood was hot and fragrant.
“……!”
As he sat upright drinking, Ragnar’s eyes suddenly sharpened. He lowered the goblet and stared down at his body, as if he had sensed something strange.
It was a suspicious sensation, one he had never experienced before. He peered into the goblet in his hand. It was real blood—nothing had been mixed in. With his hyper-sensitive divine power, Ragnar could immediately detect even the faintest impurity in a cup.
But this blood was oddly sweet. Ragnar felt his body gradually warming. A foreign tremor coursed through his veins, spreading across his entire body. The blood that flowed through every corner of him was returning to his heart, where it was being pumped with force. His blood-filled heart felt as if someone had grabbed it tightly in their fist.
Ragnar sprang to his feet.
He felt blood pooling toward one side of his body. Without pause, he turned and stepped outside.
A knight flinched at the sight of the lord’s pale face and asked—
“Lord? Your complexion…!”
“Who prepared today’s offering?”
“As always. It came directly from Yoseph’s slaughterhouse.”
Even if it was a tribute meant for the Holy Knight himself to drink, the sin of slaughtering a beast and placing it upon the altar of death could only be committed at the slaughterhouse.
Upon hearing this, Ragnar turned his body.
As if he were about to head to the slaughterhouse himself, his escort moved to follow behind him. Ragnar raised his hand to stop him.
“There is something I must confirm with my own eyes. Do not follow me.”
“Understood.”
On a night when all were asleep, only the sound of the lord’s footsteps echoed through the stone corridor.
Without hesitation, Ragnar turned down the staircase and headed to a place he never normally went—the filthiest, most damp, and gloomy place in the castle.
Ragnar prided himself on being able to control every sense of his body.
And yet, he had not forgotten the humiliation of just recently, when his own body had swelled.
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