Chapter 59.The Duke and the Saintess Meet (1)

The sorrowful gaze of Saintess Yuria was still vividly etched in his mind.

That day, in the royal court, she had been the only one, along with his mentor, who bore genuine sadness in her eyes. That gaze remained deeply embedded in his heart.

“She ran away…? Why?”

The saintess had escaped from the royal palace.

For someone of her status, there should have been neither a reason nor a necessity to flee.

Rosell spoke carefully, his tone heavy with concern.

Before handing the saintess over to the Holy Church, he needed to confirm her will.

The judgment of a traitor and a deceiver was solely Emilia’s right. His role was merely to facilitate.

“She must have fled because she committed blasphemy.”

“Blasphemy…? The saintess?”

“The prophecy that you would attempt rebellion—it was false… She proved that herself.”

“A false prophecy…? That prophecy was a lie…?”

Emilia’s eyes widened in shock.

One lie from a single person had plunged her into sixty days of relentless hell.

No grand justification, no unavoidable necessity—just a single falsehood had condemned her to unimaginable torment.

If her suffering had served a noble purpose, if it had led to some monumental event, perhaps she could have understood.

But to have her teeth shattered, her veins burst, her body covered in countless wounds—all because of a simple lie—it was so senseless she almost refused to believe it.

Yes, it was absurd and hollow.

Of course, until she heard it from the saintess herself, she could not be certain that the prophecy had indeed been a lie.

But she knew one thing for sure—Rosell was not a man who would speak baseless nonsense.

And if not for this reason, there was no other explanation for Yuria’s escape.

Rosell embraced Emilia, who seemed lost in despair.

“We will find Yuria and take responsibility for handing her over to the Holy Church. But before that, I need to ask you something.”

“What is it…?”

“About Yuria’s fate.”

“Her fate…?”

Emilia murmured softly in his arms.

Her mentor, Duvel, had chosen atonement through death. But Saintess Yuria had chosen escape over atonement.

If the prophecy was truly false, then she had destroyed Emilia’s life and then fled.

Why had she done it?

Why had she fabricated the prophecy and then run away?

She needed to know.

Why had Yuria looked at her with such sorrowful eyes that day?

“I want to hear it directly. I need to know what truly happened…”

“…Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure. I have you by my side now, don’t I?”

At Emilia’s resolute smile, Rosell hesitated for a moment but eventually nodded.

Though she was afraid, she wanted to hear the truth with her own ears.

She wanted to understand the real story behind Yuria’s actions.

Even if it changed nothing, she needed to hear it from Yuria herself.

Why had she done it?

Did she regret it?

Why had she fled?

What had she hoped to accomplish by running?

She wanted to hear everything—Yuria’s thoughts and the full truth of that day.

Only then could she begin to heal the deep scars left in her heart, just as Rosell wished.

Rosell gazed down at Emilia.

“All right.”

—Knock, knock.

“Come in.”

Rosell, seated alone in his office, responded to the knock at the door.

Emilia had expressed her desire to confront Yuria.

Though Rosell could have told her the truth himself, he chose not to.

This was Emilia’s decision—to face the truth directly.

Thus, he had ordered Duraton to strengthen security and secretly detain any suspicious individuals.

“Lord Rosell.”

The office door opened, and Laferon entered, bowing as he addressed him.

“Ah, Laferon. What brings you here?”

“I have something to report.”

“I see. Sit down.”

Rosell and Laferon sat on the sofa, and Laferon lowered his voice before speaking.

“Are you aware that Saintess Yuria has escaped from the royal palace?”

“How do you know this?”

Rosell’s eyes widened at the sudden mention of Yuria’s escape.

This was highly classified information—he had even ordered Duraton to capture any suspicious figures discreetly.

How could Laferon, who had been staying in the annex, possibly know about this?

But as Laferon continued, Rosell quickly understood.

“Well… I encountered the saintess while out for a walk. She was being pursued.”

“What…?”

“She was being chased by a group of merchants. It seems she stowed away in a cargo cart to enter the territory.”

“A cargo cart…? Never mind that—where is she now?”

“I couldn’t bring her to the mansion directly, given the number of eyes around. She’s currently in the sewers.”

“The sewers…?”

—Step, step.

Damp, humid air filled the underground sewer.

A stench beyond words assaulted his senses, prompting Rosell to cover his nose and mouth with a handkerchief.

If one let their guard down, the stench was enough to induce nausea.

Drip, drip. Small droplets of filth dripped onto the stone path of the sewer, creating an oddly crisp, yet misplaced, melody.

A holy saintess’ refuge ending up as a sewer…

It was a bitter thought.

A saintess who had fulfilled her duties was supposed to be honored with a grand retirement ceremony, hosted by the kingdom. She would be escorted by a luxurious guard and return to the Holy Church in comfort, leisure, and sentimentality.

She would bask in the privileges granted to the representative of the Divine, receiving all manner of respect and honor.

And then, she would live out the rest of her life in a lavish estate, enjoying a life of abundance.

That was supposed to be the life of the Divine’s representative, the sacred saintess.

Yet here she was.

A single desperate choice for survival had led her to flee into a sewer, a place unfit for humans.

It was tragic.

And at the same time, Rosell felt the weight of responsibility settle heavily on him.

He had known about the false prophecy, but even he had been powerless.

The saintess was the fundamental cause of all this.

But fate could not be easily tampered with. Just as a fortune teller could not foresee their own destiny, the saintess—who could not predict her own fate—had been manipulated by Bricol into making a false prophecy.

She was human in the end.

Logically, rationally—who would ever believe that a mad king would commit the suicidal act of blasphemy?

Even now, despite everything that had happened, it was almost unbelievable.

That was why he had been unable to intervene, to try and persuade her beforehand.

Had he made contact, Bricol would have grown suspicious, and the years-long plan he had carefully crafted to save Emilia could have fallen apart.

Everything had been for Emilia.

He could not afford even the smallest stain on that plan.

Thus, he had been unable to give Yuria any warning or advice.

He could not tell her to refuse the false prophecy either.

Until the moment Bricol commanded it, he had committed no crime.

There was no crime in simply existing. And when the order was given, the blade was already at Yuria’s throat.

A frail, powerless human could not refuse.

And after the false prophecy, he could not provide her with an escape route either.

How could he tell the saintess to flee when Bricol’s gaze was fixed on her like a hawk?

In the end, all he could do was help her after the fact.

If she presented her case to the Holy Church and revealed that she had acted under the king’s coercion rather than for personal gain, she might be spared immediate execution.

By sheer luck, she had gained a brief respite from Bricol’s watchful eyes thanks to the knight Duvel’s intervention.

So he had planned to secretly meet with her, away from the regent’s notice.

He had intended to tell her everything and suggest that she accompany him to the Holy Church before Bricol awoke.

Not force her—simply offer the choice.

That was the best he could do as a bystander.

And that was the only thing a bystander could do.

But instead, she had hastily chosen to flee, and that choice had led her straight to the gutters—the dwelling of the Skepers, the outcasts.

His entire plan had revolved around Emilia, but that did not absolve him of responsibility for Yuria’s fate.

And that was why Rosell could not help but feel deeply troubled.

“We’re almost there, my lord.”

“This is my first time in such a place… It is revolting.”

Even through his handkerchief, the stench pierced his senses, causing Rosell’s brow to furrow.

After walking for some time, Laferon suddenly stopped and looked around.

“Uh…”

“What is it?”

There was nothing.

But he was sure this was the right place.

He had lived as a Skepper in his youth, navigating maze-like sewer tunnels without getting lost. His instincts were honed.

And yet, though this was undoubtedly the correct location, there was no sign of Yuria.

She had promised to wait here.

“Hm… Could it be that she’s run away again?”

Rosell sighed in exasperation.

Just when it seemed like the faint spark of atonement might ignite, had it been extinguished before it could even catch flame?

Laferon knelt down on one knee, running his fingers over the damp stone floor where Yuria had been sitting.

“This was definitely the spot… And there aren’t any Skepper nests nearby.”

“Hm… Let’s split up and search for her. She couldn’t have gone far.”

“Understood.”

But at that moment—

A piercing scream echoed through the cavernous sewers.

It was a desperate, gut-wrenching scream.

—Kyaaah!

It was Yuria’s voice.