Chapter 147

“I hope this lowly man has not inconvenienced such esteemed company.”

Ren spoke gently as he took the seat Cledwyn’s knight had brought for him.

He certainly looked young—so much so that a stranger might believe he was still a student at the Academy. Yet the divine purity radiating from his bright face was so powerful that it made those around him instinctively shrink before him.

The people of Maindulante were not especially passionate about the state religion, Timaeosism, but anyone who saw Ren would likely feel compelled to head straight for a temple.

‘He’s grown impressive.’

Still, Nerys, who knew his true nature, was unaffected by his transformation. Seeing how cooperative he was with Cledwyn now, she could guess what survival strategy he’d chosen.

And despite that cooperative attitude, his composure never appeared servile. Even his humblest words couldn’t conceal the authority he held—his position was unmistakable.

Since his graduation, Nerys had heard little about him. Clearly, he’d caused quite a stir in the theological faculty, considering he now wore the robes of a high priest, but none of it had reached her ears.

She was slightly pleased. Though she didn’t acknowledge him given the setting, Nerys undoubtedly felt so—especially in a situation like this.

Ren spoke again, his voice like that of a blessing angel.

“Thank you for hosting such a splendid banquet. I would love to offer my humble blessing to everyone here, but since the meal has already begun, I’ll save it for later.”

“A great honor.”

Though his face said otherwise, Cledwyn replied smoothly. Seeing this, the Marquis of Tipion swallowed nervously. His mind felt ready to explode from anxiety.

‘He couldn’t have invited him knowingly.’

Ren Fayel’s diocese was quite far from here. It would’ve taken him at least a few weeks, perhaps over a month, to arrive—meaning he must’ve set out before the marquis had even come here. As great as Cledwyn was, no one had ever said he could predict the future. It had to be coincidence.

But why—of all days—did a high priest known for his tremendous divine power have to arrive today, the very day the poison was to be used?

The marquis scrambled to think. Should he awkwardly try to remove Nerys Truydd’s soup now, or take the risk and let her die—albeit a few days later?

‘No, that bastard might be gone in a few days.’

His troubled complexion didn’t go unnoticed. Cledwyn looked at him almost charitably.

“Is something the matter?”

“N-No, not at all.”

Under heavy pressure, the marquis replied more politely than ever. Nerys added with a smile.

“If you’re unwell, why not ask Father Ren for a check-up later? Will you be staying long, Father?”

“I am but a mere tool of the Lord, but if there’s any way I may be of help, I shall gladly oblige.”

Ren responded with the utmost grace. The marquis quickly shook his head. It was now clear he couldn’t seize Nerys’s soup. Too many eyes were watching.

All he could do now was act in a way that didn’t arouse suspicion.

“M-My apologies. I must’ve disturbed the meal.”

“As long as you’re fine. Oh, Father Ren will be staying for about a week, so if anything comes up, just let him know.”

The marquis’s spoon dropped to the floor. ‘Thud.’ Though it landed on carpet and made only a dull sound, everyone stared at him curiously. He felt breathless.

Without a change in expression, Nerys’s gaze slowly turned to him.

‘She knows.’

He was certain, beyond logic or evidence. She knew. And so did Cledwyn.

They knew he would make his move tonight.

The banquet hall fell silent. Nerys smiled directly at the marquis.

“Is something wrong?”

‘I’ve walked into a trap.’ The thought consumed him. That soup—was it never poisoned at all? Of course. That’s why she had boldly raised the spoon to her lips!

He cursed everything. The incompetent underling of Adrian. Adrian, who offered no help in this moment. The conniving Nerys Truydd. And most of all—Cledwyn, the cause of all this.

The cause of it all spoke, now in a cold, icy voice.

“She asked what’s wrong. Was there something in the soup?”

‘Clink, clink.’

The surrounding attendants drew their swords. Several knights moved in, yanking the marquis violently from his seat. He thrashed.

“No! I-I didn’t do anything! I didn’t do anything!”

“Really?”

Cledwyn asked coldly. His face now bore an expression as cold as ice.

The marquis had seen that face once before. On the previous duke—when he was enraged to his core.

“You really thought you could touch my advisor and walk out of this castle alive?”

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about! Nothing even h-happened! Why are you—!”

Nerys sighed. Even that sound felt repulsive to the marquis. That vile woman. A spy from the Elandria Estate!

Not once did he question his own bias, even in this situation. Nerys looked down at the kneeling marquis from across the table.

“Is that so?”

Her original plan had been to drink the poisoned soup right before his eyes. Not real poison—Dora had swapped it out earlier. Then, a few days later, she’d fake her death and trap the marquis.

With Adrian and the marquis both around, there was no way any true opportunity had existed for a real poisoning. The opening discovered by the informant had been a fake one—engineered by Ellen and Nerys.

But with Ren here, there was no need to wait days. She glanced sideways at Cledwyn. If only he’d told her, she could’ve made the scene even more dramatic—maybe by collapsing and undergoing a poison check on the spot.

Cledwyn raised an eyebrow at her. Then, he placed a chair in front of the kneeling marquis and sat confidently.

“Nothing happened, you say?”

“Y-Yes!”

The marquis insisted, grinding his teeth. Knowing the soup was untainted helped him stay calm. Hilbrin scowled and stepped forward.

“What are you saying, Your Grace? Are you saying your grandfather tried to poison your advisor?”

“That filthy poison, yes. This scum has used it to kill others before. Now he tried to use it on my advisor. Regardless of blood, a man should act with decency.”

“What! Do you have proof?”

“Proof?”

Cledwyn gestured, and Aidan brought something from outside the hall.

The marquis gasped.

It was the emerald ring—the one he had lent to that informant rat to poison Nerys’s soup. Next, that very man was dragged in and forced to kneel beside him.

Cledwyn nodded toward Nerys’s soup.

“He put the poison in that soup using the ring.”

“That bastard!”

The subordinate lords, led by Hilbrin, shot to their feet. They looked ready to wring the marquis’s neck. He screamed back.

“P-Poison? That soup is f-fine! I-I’ll even taste it if you want!”

“No need for that.”

Nerys spoke coolly.

“There’s no need for you to try it. Who can even say whether the ring is yours?”

The marquis’s eyes widened. He couldn’t understand why she was helping him. Then Adrian spoke.

“Oh, I’ve seen him wearing that ring many times.”

That bastard! Fire flashed in the marquis’s eyes. Then it dawned on him. That sly woman had secured Adrian’s testimony ahead of time in case of denial.

Cledwyn waved his hand dismissively.

“If the imperial court confirms it, then it’s settled. Otherwise, we can always ask your son.”

Just like that, his escape route vanished. Grinding his teeth, the marquis stayed silent. If the soup wasn’t poisoned, there was no need to make a fuss and draw suspicion. Nerys calmly looked to Ren.

“Is there any need for further commotion? We have an expert present.”

“Expert, you say?”

Ren smiled radiantly. The marquis’s forehead beaded with sweat.

‘No, the soup is clean. There’s nothing wrong with it.’

And yet, he couldn’t shake the unease.

Cledwyn smiled serenely.

“Clergy can sense malicious items, yes? Can you do that as well?”

“I can imitate it, to a degree.”

“Then examine this. Determine if it’s poisoned. After all, no one carries poison without ill intent.”

The banquet hall fell utterly silent.

Ren’s clear, focused gaze landed on the ring. The boyish youth with peachy cheeks held the tiny jewel and stared intently at it—an image almost sacred despite the tension in the room.

Then his cheeks paled.

Ren, now visibly shaken, cried out.

“A vile object! That something like this even exists!”

The marquis closed his eyes. Cledwyn grinned.

“Vile?”

“A deadly toxin that causes the body to stiffen and guarantees death within days.”

“And the soup?”

A servant brought over the soup Nerys had nearly eaten. Ren studied it, then nodded solemnly.

“Yes. I sense the same wicked energy.”

“L-Lies—!”

A knight harshly silenced the shouting marquis. Hilbrin rolled up his sleeves, eyes bloodshot, ready to kill.

But this couldn’t end here.

This banquet was arranged to expose the marquis not just for this crime—but for those in the past.

Just before silence returned, Nerys cried out like a scream.

“How could such a thing exist?! Don’t tell me…!”

All eyes turned to the new ring she held—a large baroque pearl. With a few manipulations, a trace of viscous liquid was revealed.

The marquis’s face turned pale. Ren, shocked again, spoke in a voice now revered by all present.

“The same toxin. How did you come to possess such a thing?”

“It was among the belongings of the late duchess. At least… that’s what I believed. Perhaps someone left it by her side… the one who committed such a terrible act, trying to dispose of the evidence.”

It was a lie. The baroque pearl ring had not been used to kill the former duchess; it truly was one of her possessions. Nerys knew that—but lied anyway.

To plant a suggestion in the minds of those present.

The late duchess had died young, suddenly and without cause. One of the nobles present had visited the White Swan Castle back then and remembered it well.

“…It was ruled a heart attack, wasn’t it?”

A murmured voice carried doubt. He recalled why that was the conclusion.

No doctor had found any signs of poison. But had there even been a high priest present back then? The noble looked blankly at the marquis.

Cledwyn issued his order in a heavy voice.

“Take him to the tower. Do not unbind his mouth until ordered.”

It meant: not a drop of water until I say so. The tower—reserved for the most heinous criminals.

What of it? No matter how high his title, he deserved this.

The marquis rolled his eyes and struggled, but was no match for the White Swan Castle’s soldiers.

As the doors shut behind his dragged-away figure, Cledwyn smiled lightly.

“Let’s continue the meal.”

Assuming anyone still had the appetite, that is.