Chapter 107

-----------------------------------------------------------------

Translator: Harry Potta

Chapter: 107

Chapter Title: Crashing the Tea Party

-----------------------------------------------------------------

There was no hesitation in crashing Hilia's tea party.

"What can you do when a husband goes to see his wife?"

He was in a hurry.

He wanted to lay eyes on Hilia herself as soon as possible—to wash away the lingering remnants of that illusion he'd witnessed.

The sight of her staring at him with eyes stained by fear and despair.

And his own illusory self threatening her.

"Wait, come to think of it—wasn't that knight bastard right by Hilia's side even in the illusion?"

He'd looked gravely injured, as if trying to protect her.

The guy really had no sense of timing.

Or maybe Arpad had included him in the illusion because the man irritated him so much.

Either way, it left a bad taste.

The moment he drew near the crystal pagoda in the eastern garden...

Arpad's vision was filled solely with Hilia.

The sunlight, which ought to have bathed the entire garden evenly, seemed to converge only on her, sparkling brightly.

She was breathtaking enough to steal one's wits away, but he couldn't let himself get lost in it.

Sir Beltein— who had wedged himself in and ruined his mood even in the illusion—was hovering by her side.

And there was a red-haired youth he'd never seen before, but who exuded the most striking presence among any knight Arpad had laid eyes on.

"That must be the young Duke of Muzen."

Normally, he'd have viewed those two men as thorns in his eye.

But there was a far bigger issue.

Hilia's condition was off.

She was trying hard not to show it, but her face was pale.

The way she lightly bit her lovely lips, the way she clutched her skirt—those were her habits for swallowing fear.

Such reactions wouldn't surface unless someone was threatening her.

"Which bastard is it?"

Arpad's gaze sharply swept the surroundings.

One man had drawn closer to the pagoda than him.

A figure with elegant, refined features—smooth black hair cascading over white robes.

He was the culprit.

The judgment was instantaneous, and his footsteps were already carrying him toward Hilia even before that.

"A so-called archbishop getting lost in the imperial palace? Looks like the High Temple skimps on priest training."

Ignoring those greeting him as if they were invisible, he closed the distance to Hilia's side in one stride.

When he naturally took her hand to escort her, Arpad lowly clicked his tongue.

"Her hand's ice-cold. And clammy with cold sweat..."

It was rare to see Hilia so rattled or on the verge of crumbling.

She was the bold woman who moved without a care even amid an aura clash between two dragon-blooded imperial royals.

The closest parallels were when she'd collapsed and fallen ill... or when she'd met the Magic Tower Lord.

The Hilia he'd rushed to then had been slightly different from her usual calm, daring self. She'd pretended all was fine, but a distinct shadow of fear had lingered.

And now, her reaction to that man was even more intense than it had been with the Tower Lord.

Perhaps it'd been similar right after meeting him.

It felt like swallowing a whole burning coal.

But stabilizing Hilia's state took priority over the archbishop.

Onlookers be damned. He couldn't stand seeing her anxious and afraid.

Arpad leaned in as if to kiss her cheek and whispered.

"Just nod if you have to. Do you need my help, Hilia?"

"...!"

"Confess your sins."

"Involving a man! That I seduced you? I've never done anything like that! Why are you lying, Your Grace?"

"I'm no longer archbishop. I'm a cardinal now. Address me properly. Still refusing to admit your sins? Your repentance must be lacking."

"You—from the beginning, you weren't trying to help me at all, you were on Evangeline's side...!"

"Of course. No one would lift a finger to help the likes of you."

He'd shut me away in the underground darkness for a full month, claiming it was for repentance.

Meals were just barely enough to stave off starvation.

The only glimpses of light came every three days, when the disciplinary priest arrived to lash my back with a thornwood whip.

"Mercy—please, spare me!"

But I didn't die. Whenever my condition neared death, he'd use holy power to tether my life.

After months of torment, I meekly signed the affidavits and pledges he thrust at me.

A confession admitting crimes I'd never committed.

Pledges to return my title and lands to the imperial family in repentance—and to donate all my personal assets to the High Temple.

In exchange, the archbishop promised.

"Don't worry. I'll spare you the pyre. You can live out your days quietly and pass peacefully."

"...Thank you."

By then, I'd already lost all hope and any will to live.

Having gotten what he wanted, the archbishop packed me off to a remote provincial monastery.

There, under constant watch, I toiled at every menial chore imaginable.

But it was worlds better than the darkness, the thorn whips, and endless torture.

And about a year later, I was assassinated in the temple—disguised as a suicide.

Seeing Archbishop Pio flooded me with the horrific memories from my second life.

I was confident I'd hidden it well.

That I was truly not okay...

"Just nod if you have to. Do you need my help, Hilia?"

Arpad's low voice reverberating in my ears drove it home painfully.

So instead of a mere nod or glance, I burrowed into his chest and whispered.

"Yes. Desperately."

Arpad, with Hilia in his arms, glared at the archbishop and spoke.

"Got lost, you say? I'll assign you a guide. Off you go."

Arpad shot a look at Sir Beltein.

His plan: stick the irritating bastard with another annoyance and clear them both out.

Sir Beltein, who'd clocked Hilia's state second only to Arpad, obeyed without question.

"I'll escort you, Your Grace. This way."

Archbishop Pio waved it off with a genial smile spreading across his face.

"No need. An imperial knight needn't play guide. The Lord God will light my path."

He smiled warmly and took a step forward.

"Likely His divine guidance. To think such a noble lady possesses a fragment of the Goddess."

Everyone held their breath amid the subtle tension crackling between the archbishop and crown prince.

A somewhat oblivious noblewoman muttered.

"Come to think of it, didn't the archbishop mention earlier that Her Highness the Crown Princess holds a sacred relic?"

The archbishop seized the opening.

"Correct. That lovely ring appears to be it. Might I have the honor of inspecting it up close?"

Verifying a relic's authenticity with a priest was standard practice across denominations.

By that logic, the archbishop had a point. But Arpad sliced through it like a blade.

"No."

"...Pardon?"

"This ring I gave my wife as her wedding band is the 'Star of Statilia'."

Gasp of admiration and awe rippled through the crowd.

Statilia—the goddess of spring, queen of all seasons—had infused the sacred gem with her blessing.

A stark glint of greed flickered in the archbishop's eyes for an instant.

"I acquired and verified it myself. Why demand the temple confirm it? Are you saying I gave my wife a fake?"

"Perish the thought. It was mere curiosity and goodwill."

"The imperial family never asked, yet you insert yourself... Isn't that a bit too much interest?"

Thanks to Arpad, Hilia swiftly regained her composure.

And soon realized he was spot on.

"Come to think of it—in my second life, among the assets that archbishop took from me was Agrippina's Tear."

The goddess relic inherited from her maternal family.

Back then, she'd assumed he'd seized it from her and handed it to Evangeline.

Now, a sudden thought struck: maybe not.

"What if he'd been after the goddess relic in my possession from the very start?"

It felt like puzzle pieces from before her regression were clicking into place.

The misty traces of fear in Hilia's violet eyes vanished completely.

Her eyes began to gleam.