Volumes 1-4 + Side Stories of DMS are available uncensored on ko-fi! ※ This work contains depictions of coercive relationships, explicit language, and other graphic content. Reader discretion is advised.

VII.

Jaha fiddled with the object hanging around her neck. It was a rough, pitch-black stone, and for some reason, looking at it made her feel good. Her heart beat faintly, a strange mix of longing and something like hope welling up inside her. So, from time to time, Jaha would caress the stone.

The Emperor silently watched her.

What Jaha was playing with was the “Heart of the Black Prince,” fashioned into a necklace. When he had given it to her, the Emperor had secretly hoped for some kind of reaction, but Jaha showed no meaningful change. She just seemed to like it, often touching it like this.

“Jaha. Come outside with me today.”

The Emperor spoke while pressing a kiss to the ends of her hair. Jaha showed no particular interest.

To fix Jaha, he had gone to great lengths—seeking out renowned physicians, healers, and priests—but nothing had worked. He had tried almost everything his imperial status and power could achieve. And today, he planned to attempt the one thing he had yet to do.

“We’re going to the temple.”

Imperial royalty were generally born with magical aptitude, and every Emperor without exception had been a mage. Naturally, their relationship with the temple had never been good.

Mages and priests were as opposed in the source of their power as they were mutually exclusive. At the peak of their conflict, they had even gone to war. But realizing that it only led to mutual destruction, they no longer fought—though the bad blood remained.

He could not remain free from the discord between the two factions. Moreover, he was considered the pinnacle of all existing mages. His visit to the temple was an act that would inevitably invite countless political interpretations. He would undoubtedly return bearing significant damage.

The continent’s foremost mage would appear to be bowing to the temple. Not only would this embolden the temple’s influence, but the mages, too, would turn hostile toward him.

Even if he hadn’t been a mage, as the Emperor, this was still an unfavorable choice. Just as mages and priests had clashed, so too had past Emperors and Popes stood in sharp opposition.

If the former was a conflict of beliefs, the latter was a struggle for power. After all, there could not be two suns in one sky.

It wasn’t hard to imagine how triumphantly the temple—which had been suppressed since his ascension—would revel in this visit. Though the Pope had come to the imperial palace several times, the Emperor had never once set foot in the temple. A superior does not seek out an inferior—it is the inferior who must come to pay respects.

The thought of the Pope, puffed up with arrogance and trying to act superior, already twisted his mood. Yet despite all this, he chose to bear every disadvantage and go to the temple. The Pope’s divine power was his last remaining option.

Only after the Emperor had left did Jaha murmur softly to herself.

“The temple.”

It felt as though the fog muddying her mind had lifted ever so slightly.

The temple.

Hadn’t she once wanted to go there…? Why?

What had she wanted to do there?

Her long-unused mind refused to turn properly. The current Jaha was little more than a computer barely running the most basic background processes. Even that was a struggle—so when she suddenly tried to process something new, her thoughts froze.

Unable to recall the reason, Jaha found herself gripped by a vague but unshakable urge: She had to go.

It was faint—so fragile that even the slightest breath might snuff it out—but for the first time in so long, a tiny spark flickered to life inside Jaha’s heart.

“The Emperor has come to visit this humble temple—this old man couldn’t be more delighted.”

The Pope, leading a procession of priests, spoke with a face brimming with superiority. Thanks to divine power slowing his aging, the term “old man” was misleading—he looked no older than his forties.

Even a timid dog barks in its own home, and this was exactly that kind of sight.

The Emperor ignored the remark and cut straight to the point.

“This is the patient the woman I spoke of. Is it possible to treat her?”

“We will do our best.”

When Yoo Jaha was presented, the Pope smiled with exaggerated benevolence. He had heard rumors that the Emperor had gone blind over some idiotic slave, but to think such a day would come—this arrogant brat, lowering his pride and begging for help. The Pope was so amused he could die.