It was the first time the woman, who had remained as silent and still as the deep sea, had displayed such a sharp reaction. Nevertheless, compared to Talata, who expressed her feelings without hesitation, it was merely a quiet ripple.

Nevertheless, it was unexpected. More than ten days had passed since Anankeus had started caring for the woman. From the incident in the courtyard of the Sanctum of Emptiness until now, she had finally begun to feel capable of expressing her emotions.

Perhaps that reaction pleased him. The Holy One’s lips curled into a smile.

“Surely you haven’t forgotten. I’m talking about Arcadia’s legendary general—Ishtar.”

“Ishtar…?”

“Ah, of course, it’s only natural you wouldn’t know. She died when you were still young. The wife of the Grand Sovereign of Belphegor.”

Words spoken with indifference can cut deep into someone’s heart.

When Ishtar died an honourable death on the battlefield, Chronosa was only three years old. The poor child had giggled and fluttered about in front of the messenger who had come to tell her of her mother’s death.

She didn’t understand death at that time; her mind was blank, like white parchment.

The tale, recounted by someone who had travelled far since then, unfolded like a chapter of history to a daughter who only remembered longing and emptiness.

“Though she was our enemy, I cannot deny she was a great commander. Under Ishtar’s hand, many cities were devastated, a sizable portion of our territory lost, and in the end, we lost three high priests.”

— The three high priests… the ones imprisoned in Belphegor? They claimed to represent Strategy, Karma, and Abundance.

“Indeed. Are they still alive?”

A flicker of interest passed through the golden eyes of the Holy One.

Stripped of honour and pride. What reason remained for those who continued to cling to life?

Trampled and humiliated in that place?

His gaze, touched by a brief contemplation, drifted to Talata.

When he thought of her, the idea of continuing to live despite being crushed didn’t seem so incomprehensible.

The Holy One slowly bowed his head to Chronosa once.

“I thank you for your mercy. Their families will be pleased to hear it.”

— They’ve adjusted well to life in the Demon Realm, serving us from the lowest ranks. I doubt it’s news worth celebrating.

“It is better for them to live on as slaves than for their families to never know whether they are alive or dead.”

He claimed that this was an expression of love for one’s family.

The young woman, who hadn’t flinched when her father gave her a cruel command, looked up at him in confusion as if she didn’t understand.

Then, lowering her head, she sipped her tea.

Once she had put her half-empty teacup down, the Holy One continued in a gentle tone:

“When Ishtar met her end on the battlefield, she remained—without question—a formidable enemy to the very last moment.”

The one who fought her in the final duel and struck her down was the previous Champion of War.

— ……

Having revealed the name of her slayer, the Holy One cast Anankeus a brief glance. As he silently bowed his head, the corners of Chronosa’s mouth turned up slightly.

Lost in memory, the Holy One absently stroked his beard, a familiar habit. It had been less than twenty years, yet the recollection now felt like a dream from a distant era.

One truth had remained unchanged since then, however: even without Ishtar, Belphegor still loomed as an overwhelming threat.

Even when we had Ishtar’s body in our hands, the Grand Sovereign of Belphegor refused to negotiate. He does the same now. He is truly a man of unwavering resolve.”

— You didn’t ask for the return of your high priests either, did you?

“Ah… still so young.”

The Holy One studied Chronosa quietly. Her long, flowing black hair. Her unusually pale skin. Those vivid, blood-red eyes. Her sharp, refined features.

All these features marked her out as the epitome of a high-ranking demon. At first glance, she seemed mature.

However, according to Anankeus, she had only just entered her first rut. If so, then she was younger — more of a child — than dear Talata, who could still be cradled without causing her pain.

“That is an entirely different matter. A high priest can be succeeded across generations. It’s a position designed to be passed on. But…”

His gaze, warmer than the air in the temple itself, turned to Talata.

“Family is different.”

— …..

“There is a vast difference between knowing a family member is alive… and believing they’re dead. Between a wife and a child, too.”

In other words, you’ll understand once you have a family of your own.

Chronosa tapped the table twice with her fingertips.

Tap. Tap.

Would there come a day when she, too, could understand that kind of sentiment?

— So. Why did you call me here?

“…What?”

— You didn’t go through all this trouble just to indulge in a bit of nostalgia with me… did you?

It was blunt.

Talata twitched her lips at the rude interruption, but said nothing. Remembering the Holy One’s earlier reprimand, she forced herself to control her anger, which was threatening to flare up again.

The seasoned Holy One didn’t lose his smile. Instead, he moved straight on to the matter at hand.

Almost surprisingly easily.

“Yes. I’ve heard something… strange.”

— Strange?

“Would you care to hold it for a moment?”

The Holy One held out a sheathed sword towards her. Engraved on its jet-black scabbard was the image of a white horse.

Despite its lack of other decorations, the raised design gave it an oddly noble air.

The sword itself exuded nobility. Its beauty was unmistakable. Anyone who saw it would have recognised its extraordinary nature. If a swordsman had seen it, they would have charged forward in a frenzy.

Chronosa accepted the sword with little suspicion. It was longer than her upper body. She naturally ended up embracing it.

The beautiful weapon was heavier than she had expected.

“…”

The moment she did so, the Holy One’s smile vanished. A heavy silence instantly engulfed the temple.

Tension crackled between the Holy One, Talata, and Anankeus. They both wore grim expressions and stared only at Chronosa, who held the sword in her arms.

“A holy sword.”

Some time passed before the Holy One spoke again. His face was now completely expressionless, and his voice held great weight.

“This is a sacred relic granted to the Holy Nation by the divine. It is a vessel of God that chooses its own master and possesses a will of its own.’ There are thirteen such swords remaining in Saint Arvoos. If someone who is not acknowledged as its rightful master touches one, the sword will reject them.”

Chronosa was reminded of what had happened in front of the Grand Citadel of Belphegor. The moment the man tried to snatch the sword from the priestess, a sharp current sparked in his hand.

‘So that had been the sword’s rejection…’

You didn’t go through all this trouble just to indulge in a bit of nostalgia with me… did you?

The Holy One, who had at least maintained a façade of composure until now, let it fall away completely. The voice that followed was laced with fury.

“Are we really to believe that the next Holy One has been chosen… from among the demons?”

— Don’t flatter yourselves. I wouldn’t take the job, even if you begged me.

Even when confronted with the full force of the Holy One’s wrath, Chronosa remained completely unmoved.

She glanced at the sword nestled peacefully in her arms. A small, wry smile tugged at the corners of her lips.

Without hesitating for a moment, she handed the Holy Sword of Emptiness back to the Holy One and spoke.

— It’s a matter of faith, I suppose.

“Faith?”

— The Creator God we serve… and the one you serve—they’re not the same, are they?

Having said that, Chronosa reached for a sweet on the table. Not one from the edge, but the one placed directly in the centre.

She washed it down with a sip of tea, then slowly parted her lips.

— You speak of Emptiness. But our Creator speaks of Jealousy. And the rest…

Where Emptiness reigned over space and time, Jealousy in her homeland stood as a symbol of love. Even through their gods, the two nations revealed starkly different values.

— The gods you worship… to us, they’re not gods at all. Just idolatry from a polytheistic cult.

Her blood-red eyes glanced down at the relics hanging from Talata’s and Anankeus’s belts, the sacred weapons Guhak and Warbound.

— Things like that… could never be considered sacred relics where I come from.

“Polytheistic… idolatry?”

Unable to bear it any longer, Talata jumped to her feet. There was a limit to how much sacrilege one could endure.

“Are you saying that our gods, the very beings we serve and revere, are nothing but a filthy cult?” And you? Are you not being manipulated by a charlatan pretending to be a prophet? Worshipping a mere human as a god — how is that not idiocy?”

This time, the Holy One did not stop Talata. In truth, she was not wrong.

Chronosa did not reply. Instead, she calmly raised a hand to cover her lips, indicating that she was not interested in continuing the conversation.

“You arrogan—…huh?”

Talata slammed her fist down on the table with a furious bang and then froze suddenly.

The woman, who had seemed fine just moments earlier, was now behaving strangely.

A deep red line of blood slowly trickled down from between her fingers, which were covering her mouth.

Her trembling hand reached towards the floor. And then—gurgle.

A thick, crimson clot spilled forth from her cracked lips.