Killing the Possessor - Chapter 143

Chapter 9 End. The Bird That Does Not Cry

Saying too much always leads to trouble.

Words tinged with resistance have a way of attracting problems like a magnet, and even positive remarks can end up raising expectations so high that they create unexpected complications.

For Vice, who spent his childhood in an orphanage before joining the monastery, speaking out had always seemed like a needless risk—one that only made things more dangerous. He was a man who understood the value of silence, and he exercised restraint to uphold that belief as much as possible.

Still, even he had rare moments when his instincts got the better of his head, when a peaceful silence was broken, and he found himself standing at the threshold of regret, all because of an impulsive word.

“Must the executions really go forward?”

This was one of those moments. Almost before he realized it, Vice blurted out this unnecessary question at the Emperor’s announcement that he would carry out the long-postponed executions of the possessors. The moment the words left his mouth, a wave of regret crashed over him. But the words were already out.

Standing in front of a favorite tree, Emperor Ricardo IV smiled wordlessly as he opened his pruning shears. Snip. Any branch that was dead or even slightly withered was cut off without hesitation. Dusting the soil from his wrist and adjusting his gloves, the Emperor spoke.

“I’m sure you’re wondering. Wouldn’t it serve me better not to go through with it?”

Vice didn’t argue; the Emperor was right. With a little manipulation, the ‘possessor’ label was all the justification they needed to imprison anyone inconvenient. It was true that they had squeezed a lot of benefits from those unfortunate enough to be caught in that web.

But holding the upper hand only works as long as there are people left to squeeze.

Vice simply couldn’t guess why the Emperor would now want to tear down the very foundation of his power.

“Priest Vice, people are fickle creatures. If you don’t tighten the reins now and then, they forget the reins are even there.”

“…”

“These past few years have been too peaceful. If we grow any more complacent, disaster will follow.”

Whether intentionally or not, the shears grazed a flower this time, clipping off a red bud before it could bloom. Staring down at the severed flower, the Emperor’s lips curled slowly into a smile.

“Some sacrifices are unavoidable. But we must see the forest, not the trees. Don’t let minor things trouble you.”

“…”

One moment of deviation was enough; this time, Vice chose silence, staying true to his principle.

Leaving the audience chamber, he paused in the corridor. He’d sensed the presence of a spirit nearby.

A spirit, right in the middle of the imperial palace? He couldn’t see any guards. Was someone already confronting it?

He hurried toward the source, but what he found was unexpectedly peaceful. Instead of a rampaging spirit, he saw a familiar woman.

“I’m not stupid. I’m just a little clumsy, that’s all.”

“It’s all right. No one here will blame you for losing your way.”

A woman with red hair braided over one shoulder was comforting Princess Aveline. Whatever had happened, from the time Vice entered the garden, the spirit’s presence had completely vanished.

The princess looked as though she’d actually rolled around in the garden. Vice watched as the woman gently reassured her.

Camilli Mute. A woman whose intentions were obvious from the start, she wanted to get close to him.

Why, he couldn’t say. But despite the deliberately vague impression he’d tried to give, he remembered her clearly. Or perhaps ‘remember’ wasn’t even the right word. ‘Observed’ might be more accurate.

From the moment he first saw her—when she possessed the youngest daughter of the Mute family, and even now, in the body of the eldest—he had always watched her.

“Priest!”

“Um, I was hoping for confession…”

Whatever her reason for approaching, her hope would not be realized. He could not help her.

Vice looked away from the two women and turned his back. The art of silence still served him well.