SOTBW - 121

“Among the people I know, there’s someone who is quite a… hmm, I’m not sure how to describe it.”

Descending the stairs that led underground, Gwyneth slightly furrowed her brow.

“A follower? A fervent devotee? Someone who would lick even Aron Noctis’s toes if he were still alive… Well, anyway, there’s someone like that. They revere Aron so much that when they graduated from the clergy school, they brought five theses related to him, shocking their teachers.”

“You mean Daniel’s uncle.”

Belshua, following behind Gwyneth, murmured quietly.

“Oh, you know about Venus? That’s surprising.”

Gwyneth’s initial surprise was quickly followed by a pause. The fact that Venus’ fanatical adoration for Aron Noctis had reached the ears of the Holy See… Did that mean Venus’ obsession with Aron was that famous?

Sensing Gwyneth’s thoughts, Belshua spoke indifferently.

“The Pope told me.”

“Ah.”

Nodding in understanding, Gwyneth resumed descending the stairs.

“Since Venus is part of the Luamars family, His Holiness must have taken notice.”

“No, that’s not what I meant…”

After the seals on the Celestials were lifted, Mahilen had feigned disappearance but had actually remained by the Pope’s side. In exchange for ensuring Mahilen’s comfort, the Pope would occasionally ask questions about Astrun.

Were Sylin and Sainth really lovers? Was there a reason why Sainth had so few records? Was it true that Aron was a drunkard? Had Rakhshu completely vanished? When would Astrun reincarnate?

And among these, the Pope asked the most about Aron. Despite Aron being the hero who left the most traces behind, with countless records scattered everywhere, the Pope persistently inquired about unnecessary details.

For instance, how tall was Aron, how much did he weigh, what was his favorite food, what did he dislike, why did he remain unmarried until the end of his life, and did he ever love anyone?

Belshua initially assumed that the Pope had a deep interest in Aron, but it turned out that the Pope had been asking on behalf of a certain priest.

That priest’s name was Venus.

The very same Archbishop Venus Luamars, who now oversees the operations of the Noctis Cathedral branch.

Thanks to this, Belshua had been forcibly exposed to just how much Venus revered Aron. He also learned that Venus’ obsession with studying alcoholic beverages as a hobby stemmed from his desire to follow in Aron’s footsteps. And if Venus managed to ascend to the Papal seat someday, his hobby would become the perfect pastime.

Belshua, who remembered Aron from his lifetime, found Venus’ pure admiration for Aron quite astonishing.

“What is this? Why’d you stop talking? Don’t tell me… you’re still mad?”

When Belshua abruptly fell silent, Gwyneth asked nervously. Belshua didn’t reply. His expression screamed annoyance, but since the stairs were narrow enough for only one person to descend at a time, Gwyneth couldn’t see his face.

The two finally reached the basement, where ice was stacked in various places. From a tilted skylight, lukewarm winter sunlight trickled in. As soon as they entered the spacious area, Gwyneth turned to Belshua.

“Look, I already apologized for burning the book and said I’d get you a new one. Okay? And I even promised to introduce you to Venus. What more do you want? That guy’s a snooty noble who doesn’t meet just anyone, you know.”

Muttering under her breath, Gwyneth approached the coffin where the body was laid. Inside the coffin lay Nathan, resting peacefully. His severed limbs had all been neatly stitched back onto his torso, and the ancient script that had been carved grotesquely into his limbs had been cleaned up, leaving no scars. The only thing left was his head.

Standing in front of the coffin, Gwyneth silently gazed down at Nathan’s face, encased in ice. If she had come straight here instead of meeting the Noctis Commander first, she might have been utterly convinced that Maximón wasn’t the culprit.

Gwyneth removed her gloves and touched the ice. It wasn’t the kind of ice one could see just anywhere. At least, to Gwyneth’s eyes, the uneven flow surrounding the ice was visible—a quality that natural ice could never possess.

Frowning slightly, Gwyneth conjured a small flame in her palm and ran it over the ice. Normally, ice would melt immediately upon contact with fire, but the transparent ice encasing Nathan’s head didn’t melt. Instead, it slowly evaporated. As the ice gradually vanished, the bluish, stiffened head was revealed.

Putting her gloves back on, Gwyneth carefully placed the head back where it belonged. She hadn’t particularly cared for Nathan, but seeing this kind of end forced a click of her tongue.

“What is this ice?”

“You’ll have to find the answer yourself.”

“It’s not divine power,” Gwyneth said firmly as she closed the lid of the coffin.

“Divine power doesn’t flow that violently.”

“You can see the flow?”

“Well, I am a holy power user, after all. I’m pretty good at seeing things others can’t.”

Her violet eyes shimmered beautifully as she spoke.

Belshua nodded and turned away.

“Then remember that flow. If you ever come across a being that uses power like that, you won’t be able to avoid a fight.”

“Belshua.”

Gwyneth, who had been quietly staring at Nathan’s face, murmured softly.

“You already knew Maximón didn’t kill Nathan, didn’t you?”

“You’re no different.”

“Oh, I had my doubts. It’s not like he hasn’t caused trouble before.”

“Then why did you let Najane reveal his curse? If you had stepped in, Najane wouldn’t have been mocked and called a whore.”

“Oh, so now the guy who’s left Najane’s curse alone despite being capable of lifting it is going to criticize me?”

“......”

Belshua concealed his discomfort and fell silent. He had no intention of intervening in the fates of those two. From the beginning, he had made up his mind to remain a passive observer when he entered Romsoa.

Even Belshua didn’t know who had engraved the curse on Najane. He only knew that Emaydis, who was set to meet Maximón, needed that curse for some reason.

“To be honest, I didn’t do anything that day. I just watched Najane passionately defend Maximón and occasionally nodded along. When I heard that ancient script had been carved into Nathan’s limbs, I thought it was clear someone had set a trap.”

Gwyneth turned her gaze away from the pale Nathan and smiled bitterly.

“I didn’t expect Najane to reveal the curse. Though I didn’t show it, I was truly surprised. That he would endure such humiliation to save Maximón… Or perhaps the curse no longer bothers him? Hmm, the more I think about it, the sorrier I feel.”

“Can’t the Holy Church manipulate public opinion?”

“What, about Najane?”

It wasn’t impossible, Gwyneth answered internally.

In fact, there was something about Najane that had been bothering her. Whenever Najane held the Holy Sword, the blade faintly glowed. A soft halo of light would spread around the edge, much like a moonlight haze. Gwyneth had never seen anything like it before.

When she held the sword, it did emit a slight glow. That was because the metal, naturally imbued with divine power, had been forged by Gwyneth’s flames.

Come to think of it, even the fragment of Hilderund had shone brilliantly. She’d used it a few times to resolve incidents, but she’d never seen it glow as brightly as it had recently.

“…Well, anyway… Thanks to the fragment of Hilderund, we managed to avoid a bigger crisis,” she muttered under her breath, lost in thought.

As soon as Gwyneth mentioned Hilderund, Belshua’s expression turned incredulous.

“A fragment of Hilderund? You used that?”

“Yeah, I did. It’s the best tool for solving complicated cases.”

“......”

For a moment, Belshua wore an unreadable expression before he clamped his mouth shut.

The Mirror of Hilderund wasn’t actually capable of discerning truth. Its original purpose was to test whether someone had potential or not. But people of the current era mistakenly believed it was a sacred relic that revealed lies.

Well, letting them believe that wasn’t the worst thing, Belshua thought as he averted his gaze from Gwyneth.

“In any case, that ancient script must’ve been another trick by the fake Zelter. What a vile sense of humor—engraving ancient text onto someone’s body.”

Gwyneth’s voice carried conviction. Belshua said nothing but didn’t deny it either. Adjusting her gloves with a determined grip, Gwyneth followed behind Belshua, continuing to pepper him with questions.

“Was it him who ordered Najane’s kidnapping?”

“Probably.”

Thinking back on it, Belshua ground his teeth in frustration, anger flaring up again.

Gwyneth tilted her head as she walked along the wall lined with candleholders.

“Why would he target both Maximón and Najane? Maximón, I can understand—he’s done enough to earn some enemies. But why Najane? Did he threaten him just because Maximón treasures him?”

“That guy isn’t capable of such subtlety.”

“Oh ho. You do know who the fake Zelter is.”

Gwyneth smirked, pleased to have pried something out of Belshua.

“Well, I’ll stop with the questions here. My head still hurts just thinking about that conversation.”

She had been so shocked when she learned that the reincarnations of Sylin and Aron were somewhere in the Noctis Fortress that it felt like her heart might stop. Belshua must know who all of Astrun’s reincarnations were.

At first, her curiosity burned to know who had been reincarnated as Sylin. But she quickly realized that knowing would make it impossible to live normally. She’d undoubtedly check on them every day, ask after their wellbeing, and volunteer to care for their every need.

Gwyneth hadn’t even reported this to the Holy Church. She could already guess what would happen if they found out. If they had reincarnated, they were no longer the Sylin and Aron she once knew. They were just ordinary people, living their own lives.

As they exited the basement, a fierce, cutting wind roared in their ears. Gwyneth hunched her shoulders against the cold and shouted, “Have you narrowed down what you want to ask Venus?”

“I’m not sure he’ll be of any help.”

“You’ve said before you don’t know much about Lord Aron despite living in the same era as him. Archbishop Venus probably knows how many barrels of wine Lord Aron emptied in his lifetime.”

“199 and a half.”

“…What are you talking about all of a sudden?”

Gwyneth asked in confusion.

Belshua, walking toward the cathedral, explained calmly.

“The barrels of wine Aron drank in his lifetime. By oak barrel standards used to store brandy, 199 full barrels and half of another. He wanted to finish the last one before he died but never managed to. So, 199 and a half.”

For a moment, Gwyneth was at a loss for words before her face twisted into an incredulous expression.

“…Didn’t you say you weren’t close to him?”

“I wasn’t. We just knew each other for a long time.”

“And yet you remember the number of barrels of wine he drank?”

“I have a good memory, so I know it reluctantly.”

“Well, aren’t you impressive,” Gwyneth said sarcastically.

Most people would call that being friends.

Shaking her head as though dealing with an insufferable fool, Gwyneth shifted the topic to something less trivial.

“So, why do you need me to introduce you to a scholar who studied Lord Aron Noctis? What are you looking for?”

“I need magic stones.”

“Stones imbued with magical power? What are you planning to do with those?”

Belshua didn’t answer. His habit of clamming up at crucial moments was irritating, but Gwyneth didn’t press further. It was clear this had something to do with the fake Zelter.

A bizarre figure who could use ancient language—so complex that even the brightest theologians couldn’t perfectly interpret it—as if it were their native tongue, and who could mimic the appearance of others. Perhaps it was time to stop calling him an eccentric and label him a villain instead.

Dealing with the Seriths beyond the fortress was exhausting enough. Having to confront a tone-deaf villain on top of it felt unbearable.

“There are records, after all. Lord Aron was said to be exceptionally skilled with his hands, able to craft anything. But in the end, all that remains are a few holy relics. It’s a bit disappointing, really.”

Gwyneth murmured softly as she gazed up at the spires encircling the cathedral.

Perhaps it was the wistful tone in her voice that sent Belshua’s thoughts drifting back to the past once again.

Aron, as talented as he was at creating things, was just as adept at hiding them—objects, his feelings, his true intentions. But none of that worked in front of Sylin. Sylin had an uncanny ability to immediately notice when people forced a smile despite being hurt or feigned calmness when they were far from okay. No one could fake their laughter or tears in front of Emaydis.

That was why Aron had opened his heart to Sylin. Sylin never let anyone cry alone. When something joyous happened, he would share the news with the entire world and celebrate together.

Climbing the cathedral steps, Belshua let out a bitter smile.

Ah, more memories of the past…

Those irritatingly vivid and unnecessary memories that continued to sparkle…

Belshua shut his eyes tightly for a moment before opening them again, forcing his expression back to a neutral one. He despised getting lost in sentimentality.

The two exited through a door frequently used by the priests. As they made their way to the back of the cathedral, they came across a building where the clergy resided. Priests standing at the entrance had come out to greet Gwyneth.

The priests smiled with childlike innocence the moment they saw Gwyneth. To them, a holy adept was an awe-inspiring figure—a person who had sacrificed themselves to save others, earned recognition for their nobility, and been granted another chance at life under Sylin’s protection. Holy adepts often ascended to the position of Pope, leading the Holy Church and spreading the values of love and sacrifice to the world.

The current Pope had lived for a very long time. His body was frail, and his mind had grown cloudy. Many bishops had pointed to Gwyneth as the next Pope, but Gwyneth herself harbored doubts about whether she deserved such a position.

A holy adept was someone who had conquered death and returned to life, understanding the true meaning of sacrifice.

Those who had come back from the edge of reincarnation awakened to a divine essence, becoming extraordinary beings.

That was the extent of what the world knew about holy adepts. Priests, newly robed in their vestments, revered holy adepts and steeled themselves for the possibility of making their own sacrifices one day. But they had no idea what price a person had to pay to return to this world after dying once.

“Lord Luamars is waiting for you. Please, come upstairs.”

An older priest led Gwyneth and Belshua inside.