It wasn’t a sacred relic.
A crystal that glowed with divine energy, discovered by one of Yulian’s ancestors, had been donated to the temple.
The temple mounted it on an old branch, passing it off as an ancient relic, claiming it brought luck with a touch.
People opened their wallets, donating to receive its “blessed light.” The temple shared a portion of the profits with the Johannes family, so the dukes quietly infused the crystal with divine energy.
Swindlers.
Like most religions, the Defria Church hadn’t started corrupt. Its tenets were equality and freedom—everyone should enjoy pleasure without infringing on others’ rights. But as it became the state religion and the temple gained power, the “no infringement” clause became mere scripture.
The push to recruit devotees sidelined “equality for all.”
Now, the church pursued endless pleasure, and the temple focused solely on collecting donations.
It also ran the empire’s only legal casino. Yulian scoffed at the increasingly corpulent popes.
Priests and monks were chosen for looks suiting the pope’s taste, earning the church foreign mockery as “the pope’s harem.” Its survival as the state religion relied on fanatics and entrenched tradition.
Changing deep-rooted imperial faith overnight was impossible.
Though many raged at the temple’s injustices, they still joyfully attended the Defria Goddess’s birthday or temple carnivals.
Under tradition’s banner, the church endured alongside the Rotanders Empire.
Yulian knew how deep its roots ran.
No need to rush.
People had to realize the roots were rotten themselves.
Recalling his plan, he smiled faintly.
* * *
“I’ll take my leave. Croia, ready the carriage.”
Croia bowed and hurried out, eager to leave.
The pope, fixated on Leo, reluctantly looked at Yulian.
“Stay longer; it’s been a while.”
His tone dripped with regret—not for Yulian, but for Leo.
Leo sauntered to the door.
Desrachino, resigned, opened it and escorted them out.
“By the way, when will you marry? You should secure an heir while young.”
Yulian waved off the monthly nagging.
“You focus on heirs, Pope. How many wives, and still no children?”
“You…”
Desrachino’s retort was drowned by the clamor of devotees.
“Oh, gods! Thank you!”
“No, not again!”
Cheers and anguished cries mixed as dice rolled for daily fortunes.
For a donation, anyone could roll—higher numbers meant better luck.
Most rollers were headed to the temple’s casino, eyes bloodshot, tossing coins into donation boxes until they hit the highest number.
Their frenzied gazes clashed with the temple’s serene white interior.
Familiar but repulsive, Yulian grimaced.
As they neared the exit, a priest rushed up, whispering to Desrachino.
The pope’s face lit up with a wide grin before he hastily saw Leo off and rushed back inside.
Yulian didn’t need to hear directly.
Calling Leo in his mind, Leo scratched his ear, annoyed.
“They say Rebecca might be a saint.”
* * *
“We’ll retrieve the relic.”
Rebecca watched the priest carefully produce a pendant—a transparent crystal set in intricately carved gold, radiating holiness.
Servants gaped in awe.
The saint verification ritual was simple: if the relic glowed upon contact, you were a vessel. Such individuals appeared monthly, but becoming an official temple saint was harder. One needed to desire the role, possess beauty, and gain the approval of Leo, the divine messenger. The last was toughest.
Even chosen, saints served as temple mascots with near-unpaid honorary duties. Few welcomed it, but a divine certificate helped secure good jobs or marriages.
Being a vessel was honorable.
No wonder the maids had bathed her frantically that morning, though the blisters’ stench persisted.
With Zeppelin at the vineyard, Octavio had smuggled in the priest. He’d be furious if he knew, yet Octavio watched the priest with a pleased expression.
Rebecca shot him a curious glance.
Feeling her gaze, Octavio approached and whispered.
“Become a saint, and you can leave. Isn’t that why you spread the rumor? I’ll help you escape.”
“…!”
It sounded like concern, but Rebecca saw through his vile intent.
Her eyes widened with feigned joy as past and present memories aligned, revealing a startling truth.
So that’s why he…
Octavio saw her as a thorn.
He wanted to control Zeppelin, but Rebecca stood in his way—not by action, but by existing.
Zeppelin heeded Octavio, yet changed course when Rebecca was involved.
Octavio wanted her gone.
In her past life, escaping the estate had been suspiciously easy. She thought Alicia helped, but Alicia was watched too. No hounds stopped two women betraying their master. Fleeing to Liberta Orphanage was obvious, yet she wasn’t caught. Even the nearby village where she lived after wasn’t searched.
Back then, scraping by, she wasn’t cautious.
If the hounds wanted, they could’ve found her.
She wasn’t caught until much later, likely because Alicia tipped off Zeppelin.
It wasn’t luck—Octavio didn’t want her back.
Ha!
The irony amused her. Their goals aligned, but she wouldn’t meekly become a saint.
Rebecca no longer fled.
“This light…!”
The pendant blazed, signaling immense divine energy.
The priest knelt before her.
“Holy Saint!”
Servants gasped. Rebecca was truly a saint!
Startled by the light, she glanced at Octavio’s wide grin and understood.
It’s rigged.
She hadn’t known he could manipulate relics.
His cunning was formidable, proving why he was Zeppelin’s right hand.
“What’s going on?”
Zeppelin’s shout cut through the crowd.
Octavio’s brow twitched before he smiled sweetly.
Zeppelin, eyeing the glowing relic and kneeling priest, grabbed Octavio’s collar.
“Octavio! I told you no pointless stunts!”
“I sent word to avoid coming, but it was late. The priest came himself; we couldn’t turn him away…”
Octavio smiled calmly, unfazed by the threat.
Zeppelin glared, then released him.
Adjusting his collar, Octavio added.
“But look—it wasn’t futile. That light! Lady Rebecca is a saint.”
“Lies. It can’t be. Speak clearly—is she really a saint?”
Zeppelin drew his sword, pressing it to the priest’s throat.
Servants gasped—wielding a weapon against a priest was blatant blasphemy.
Trembling but steadfast, the priest spoke.
“It’s true. The relic’s radiant light proves the countess is an unparalleled vessel of the divine.”
