Chapter 180

Marquis Kendall’s daughter hadn’t been seen for days.

‘Looks like she failed.’

Pope Omnitus III found it displeasing.

He had never liked the girl—too soft, too meek. Still, he’d given her the family heirloom ring and a poison potent enough to accomplish something lucrative. All because she had volunteered for the task.

‘Same age as the woman the duke brought. Attended the academy with her, too.’

This was why those raised in luxury were unreliable. Omnitus himself came from a good family, but as a boy, he’d grown up constantly overshadowed by the Fayel family. The moment he became pope, he had purged them all.

‘All but one remains a thorn.’

Ren Fayel, that persistent eyesore, enjoyed absolute popularity among the ignorant masses thanks to his image of integrity and piety. Killing him recklessly was no longer an option.

Omnitus recalled the report that the duke and his candidate for duchess were staying at Ren’s temple. He began considering how to conveniently “deal with” them all at once.

What he deemed “convenient” meant whatever served ‘his’ interests—whether it involved killing, sparing, or selling them out.

As he contemplated this, his treasurer approached. The treasurer, having narrowly avoided being struck by a thrown Bible just an hour ago, nervously extended a cigarette.

“I told you to bring it ‘later’.”

Omnitus growled. The treasurer, visibly frightened, replied,

“You asked for it earlier…”

Did he? Omnitus blinked. Perhaps he had.

Lately, he was forgetting things more often. Age was catching up with him.

“…Fine.”

He accepted the cigarette and lit it with the treasurer’s help. The smoke calmed him slightly.

It seemed the afternoon might pass peacefully—until a commotion broke out outside, from the direction of the city. Omnitus scowled and instructed the treasurer,

“Go see what’s happening.”

There were constant issues surrounding the mausoleum construction. If something had flared up again, it needed to be handled swiftly.

After all, his crowning achievement needed to be unveiled to the world as soon as possible.

The treasurer moved to the window. Though they were only on the second floor of the White Lily Palace, the building sat on high ground, providing a view of most of the city.

After a moment, the treasurer spoke with puzzlement.

“It’s the Kendall girl’s maid… she’s collapsed near the front gate. Holding someone in her arms—dead? Sick? Wait… it looks like the marquis’s daughter.”

“What?”

Did that stupid girl fail and end up dead at the hands of the duke?

That would be a serious problem. Omnitus had just taken a deep drag of smoke and was in a slightly more tolerant mood—but not so tolerant that he could sit still at such news.

He leapt up and went to the window. Through the glass, he saw exactly what the treasurer had described.

The maid was positioned close to the gates—not trying to enter, but rather displaying herself for all to see. It was the same wide boulevard where citizens gathered for Holy Knight parades and papal speeches.

The girl sat weeping, and someone in a dress lay limp in her lap. From this distance, it was impossible to confirm whether the person was dead, but the posture alone suggested lifelessness.

The color of that person’s hair matched that of Aidalia Kendall.

“Aiiee! My lady! Please open your eyes!”

The citizens of Ullevis stopped in their tracks to watch, curiosity piqued. A crowd formed in seconds.

Omnitus felt unease settle in his gut. The maid’s voice was too loud, too theatrical to be mere grief or rage from a failed mission.

Her cries were loud enough to carry even to the palace’s second floor. A vegetable seller approached and appeared to speak to her.

The seller’s voice didn’t reach, but the maid’s reply was clear as day:

“My lady drank from the cup His Holiness gave her! I was only a maid employed by her father—how am I to live now that she’s ended up like this?!”

Omnitus and the treasurer gaped in unison. Omnitus wondered if he had lost his mind. Or maybe it was the wine he drank late into the night with Count Barom?

Could that girl really be risking her life like this? She had failed. That was all. Why go to such lengths to stir up a crowd and blame the pope?

‘Was she bought off?’

Omnitus arrived at a more plausible conclusion.

If the girl had failed and Aidalia had died, perhaps the maid decided to raise a scene and get paid before disappearing. She seemed much more cunning than her mistress.

“Bring her in.”

Omnitus ground his teeth. The treasurer rushed out.

But before he and the Holy Knights could reach the gate, the maid had already said everything she needed to.

“My lord said he couldn’t give up my lady’s dowry for the mausoleum donation! That’s why His Holiness was upset! The person who gave us the cup left this behind! Anyone in Ullevis knows it’s the ring that’s always on the pope’s finger!”

❖ ❖ ❖

Claims that Heather Rayling’s testimony was suspicious were widely dismissed as pathetic excuses.

Yes, dragging a corpse to the city gate and suddenly wailing in public seemed overly dramatic.

But the body ‘was’ real, wasn’t it?

And hadn’t she stuck to her story even when the Holy Knights dragged her away?

And hadn’t she shown the pope’s ring to the entire city?

The citizens of Ullevis took pride in their service to God. But because they lived so closely tied to the sanctity of their religion, they also knew better than anyone how political the papacy could be.

“They believe it too easily.”

Having just overheard local worshippers whispering about the pope’s corruption, Cledwyn held Nerys’s hand in the front pew of the chapel.

Nerys didn’t scold him with, “Is this the place to hold hands?” She’d already said it a dozen times, and he always found a new excuse:

“It’s cold.”
“The ring looks heavy; I’m helping.”
“I’m tired, lean on me a bit…”

Excuses that would’ve sounded ridiculous from any other man—but Nerys let them slide. She knew she was weak to Cledwyn’s words.

‘Maybe because I pity him.’

Her words in Ren’s prayer room had been sincere. She did love Cledwyn—but she also pitied him.

None of the storms he’d endured in life were of his own making. Yet he had survived.

And not just survived—he had thrived, brilliantly.

Perhaps that was why being with him felt safe. Like she had something solid to lean on.

‘Enough.’

What was the point of thinking like this now? She would let him go when he found a better woman anyway.

Nerys forcibly reeled in her drifting thoughts and responded to his earlier comment.

“When people have no money, they crave dramatic stories.”

Donations alone wouldn’t be enough to fund the mausoleum. For some time, every temple in Ullevis had been collecting “special offerings.”

Not just that—most citizens relied on temple jobs for income. But since the project began, all other departments had their budgets slashed. Many became unemployed or could barely scrape by.

Sure, the construction created some new jobs. But most of the money went to importing expensive materials and labor from outside the city. Ullevis was slowly growing poorer.

It was the perfect environment for resentment to fester. A young, innocent noblewoman dies unjustly—yet again, because of money—and people weren’t in the mood to listen to logic.

Cledwyn smiled and kissed the back of Nerys’s hand.

“I’ve already made sure news reaches Marquis Kendall.”

“Good.”

The marquis cherished his daughter. He likely sent her here hoping she’d gain some worldly experience.

He never imagined it would destroy her.

“When he hears his beloved daughter is dead, he’ll want an investigation—but more importantly, he’ll be emotionally compromised. He’s a powerful patron in the arts. That alone could disrupt the supply chain for the mausoleum’s artists.”

“The project will stall.”

“When someone pushes past their limits, the fall is severe. If rumors spread that a noble died because she didn’t donate enough, other houses will step back and wait.”

When a leader’s obsession leads to mass suffering, the people need something tangible to blame. No one sacrifices their livelihood for ambiguous ideals.

If construction halts, Ullevis will spiral. Imported workers, with no ties to the city, will protest without pay. Citizens’ long-simmering resentment will explode.

“Aidalia really did show up at the perfect time. What’s Heather doing now?”

“She’s in the White Lily Palace’s dungeon. Still clutching Aidalia’s corpse and sobbing. Keeps insisting this was all by papal order. How did you persuade her?”

“Just… appropriately.”

Nerys dodged. If she explained too much, she’d only leave traces for Cledwyn’s sharp mind to follow.

“I don’t think ‘appropriately’ will be enough. The White Lily interrogations are infamous—not for torture, but for being far worse.”

Cledwyn’s eyes softened. But the way he looked directly at her made Nerys glance away.

Her heart felt… unsettled. Then again, maybe that wasn’t strange. He ‘was’ about to become her husband. She did love him.

But it wasn’t a fairy-tale first love or a marriage built on dreams. They had lived together in the same castle for years—was it really so odd that she didn’t know how to react?

“Don’t ask. I never imagined I’d get wrapped up in something like this.”

“You got yourself wrapped up.”

“That ‘is’ getting wrapped up. If things had gone smoothly, I would’ve just gotten married and left. But I’m not complaining. This is a good opportunity. If Omnitus were still ruling the religious world alone, it’d take forever—and cost a fortune. The priest you were thinking of using was Ren, wasn’t it?”

“If there’s a good method, use it.”

“I agree. He’s the one most likely to marry us.”

Ren might be their biggest obstacle now—but that could be dealt with.

Nerys sighed. Since that tense conversation days ago, she and Ren had only exchanged formal greetings. But now was not the time for allies to be avoiding each other.

“I need to talk to him.”

“Or not.”

She glared at Cledwyn. Why was he always so relaxed?

“What do you mean, ‘or not’? When else are we supposed to work this closely together?”

“As long as the outcome’s the same, what does it matter? I’ll talk to him.”

“I have to do it.”

The two of them could barely look at each other without arguing. Nerys didn’t have time for that now, so she spoke firmly—and though Cledwyn looked displeased, he ultimately agreed.