‘Not His Holiness—but “Father.”’

She had deliberately chosen the word to emphasize her relationship with the Holy Nation’s leader. The meaning behind it clung thick in the air, and the sound alone sent a chill crawling down Aether’s spine for no good reason.

“Why is it that you can’t sit still for even a moment without causing trouble?”

“Hey now, it’s not like it was that big a deal… I didn’t even do anything.”

“Oh? Then what about that heat-stricken stench of yours wafting all the way to my temple? Who’s going to pay for the way my nose was practically rotting?”

In other words, Talata had found his movements suspicious and secretly tailed him. And in the end, her claim that Aether had lost his mind wasn’t wrong.

How had he failed to notice someone like Talata following him?

Aether cast a sidelong glance at the demon woman, a woman who clearly had no interest in him whatsoever.

‘He’d only gotten excited thinking about her. Damn it.’

“Hey.”

Thud—

Talata shoved her fist lightly into Aether’s shoulder. Her once-sweet voice had taken on a far sharper edge.

“Are you not going to answer?”

She looked less like a high priest and more like a neighborhood thug. And yet, it was this bold, irreverent attitude that made it all the more clear just how deeply rooted Arvoos Talata’s presence was in the Holy Nation.

Even the demon slaves remained unfazed, continuing their work in silence, as though such outbursts were normal for her.

“Do you want me to call in the others and humiliate you completely? I could give you the disgrace your behaviour deserves.”

“Talata, let’s just calm down. I haven’t even introduced myself to her yet.”

“And you think a lowly mutt like you gets to sit there and meet my gaze?”

Talata offered nothing but another loud scolding to the wronged Aether.

Finally releasing the strand of Chronosa’s hair he had been holding, Aether closed his fist secretly.

Splash—

Her pitch-black hair fell into the water with a sound as crisp as it was serene.

Aether languidly pushed himself upright from the edge of the tub.

“Let’s clear up this misunderstanding first, Arvoos Talata.”

He spoke to her gently, as one might to a younger sister.

It was an indirect attempt to placate Talata before she lost her temper completely, which she had the Holy One’s full backing to do.

Unfortunately, such tactics never worked on Talata, the infamous mad dog of the Holy Nation.

“Misunderstanding? What kind of bullshit misunderstanding are you talking about? Do you think I haven’t known you for years? I can read your twisted mind like an open book.”

“…If I really came here for the impure reason you’re imagining, I’d have just dragged off any one of the captives. They’re all in rut anyway.”

“Oh, is that so? Then why did you come looking for Belphegor’s daughter in particular?”

“We all want to know more about Belphegor, don’t we?”

Aether’s tongue brushed across his lips without him realizing, as he glanced at Chronosa—who clearly had no interest in him.

“Information gathering is my specialty, you know.”

“Well, that’s true enough. Everyone wants to know about Belphegor, and you are quite good at digging for things.”

For once, Talata seemed to accept his excuse with surprising ease. It was so out of character, it made the shift in her attitude feel almost suspicious.

Then, just as Aether began to wonder why, a sweet smile bloomed on Talata’s lips.

“But you see, Arvoos Aether,”

That falsely sweet tone was anything but reassuring. When the Holy Nation’s infamous mad dog acted like this, it was clear that something was definitely wrong.

“That wasn’t the task you were assigned.”

“……”

“It means His Holiness didn’t consider you the right man for the job.”

With a sharp flick of her wrist, Talata pointed toward the door, the one that was still creaking back and forth pitifully.

“So shut up and get lost. No—”

Talata’s voice took on an uncharacteristically solemn tone.

“Arvoos Aether is hereby placed on probation for one month. During that time, you are confined to your temple. No exceptions.”

One month. She must have decided that would be more than enough time to handle the matter at hand.

Aether faltered for a moment. He stepped back, his gaze dimming with a chilling stillness.

And what followed was a voice filled with unmistakable displeasure.

“That’s not really for you to decide, now is it?”

“I’m Talata, Aether.”

Her crooked smile reeked of venom.

“I can tolerate a lot of things, but a mutt in heat isn’t one of them. You know what mutts in heat need? To be thrown into boiling water and stewed until they’re tender.”

As always, Talata’s words spared no cruelty. If His Holiness—who always chose to see only the pretty side of Talata—had heard her now, he would’ve doubted his ears and leapt from his seat in shock.

“But our lovely high priest isn’t a mutt, now is he?”

“…Ha.”

“I’ll report to His Holiness myself.”

If Talata herself chose to kneel before the Holy One, what did a mere month of house arrest matter? If she wanted to, she could have Aether replaced before the sun even rose tomorrow.

“So go hide away in your temple. Now.”

Lips pressed into a tight line, Aether bit back curses as he turned on his heel and left. The door slammed shut with a noticeably irritable thud.

“Hoo…”

Letting out an exaggerated sigh, Talata roughly pushed her bangs back from her forehead.

She made her way to the group of slaves who were now drying Chronosa’s wet body and preparing fresh clothes and without even realizing it, tossed the outfit she’d been holding this whole time.

“Not that one. Use this.”

One of the slaves caught the garment. It was a plain, white, patternless dress—quilted thickly with cotton for warmth.

Of course, Talata couldn’t help muttering to herself as an extra grumble.

“Why the hell am I doing this…”

She gave Chronosa a brief glare, then stomped off with heavy steps. Clearly, Talata wasn’t happy about the situation either.

***

The master of the temple only appeared after quite a long time had passed. He seemed completely unaware of the commotion that had occurred earlier in his absence.

Then again, perhaps he was aware of it but simply didn’t care. Just as Chronosa pretended not to care.

What human would feel ashamed if they were laid bare before beasts? Especially when those two beasts had been too busy clawing at each other to notice.

A man — no different in essence to those two snarling creatures — approached her. He slipped his hand beneath her knees and lifted her into his arms.

Not without precaution, of course. He wore thick gloves on both hands and placed an equally thick blanket between them, as if touching her were distasteful.

Without a word, the man began to walk. The crisp winter wind bit at their cheeks, in stark contrast to the brilliant sunlight. Soft, heavy snow sparkled dazzlingly white beneath their feet.

How long did they walk like that? Eventually, they arrived at a massive, imposing building.

The Sanctum of Emptiness, His Holiness’s residence.

Yet the well-kept front courtyard had become a desolate, barren wasteland that did not do justice to the grandeur of the building behind it.

Three bloodied and battered members of the Holy Clan were screaming in agony there. Tears of blood streaked their faces. Some were missing an arm or a leg, and all bore wounds too horrific to describe.

They looked as if they had been put on display for someone’s viewing pleasure. But perhaps that was merely Chronosa’s delusion.

— …What is that…

The sound of wind passed over her moving lips, prompting the man to halt and glance down at her.

His golden eyes fixated on the dried lips that had begun to move.

Chronosa raised a trembling finger, pointing at them.

— What… is that?

The man turned his head. His cold, golden gaze swept over the mutilated bodies groaning in the sharp winter wind.

But his expression remained unchanged. No emotion flickered in his eyes.

He had probably seen worse than this on blood- and ash-drenched battlefields.

Having taken in the scene at a glance, he returned his gaze to the woman in his arms. His eyes locked on her small lips.

“They are to be buried in the Cradle of Acheron.”

— The Cradle of Acheron?

“The highest form of punishment in Saint Arvoos.”

The wind slapped against her face. Anankeus glanced at her frostbitten cheeks, now tinged red, and continued.

“A punishment carried out over the course of one week.”

— A punishment… that lasts an entire week?

Chronosa furrowed her brows slightly as she repeated the question. What kind of crime could possibly warrant such a gruesome, drawn-out punishment?

Contrary to his calm tone, the words that followed were chilling.

“On the first and second days, both eyes are gouged out. By the sixth day, each limb is severed one by one. On the seventh day, the prisoner is sealed inside a square stone chamber carved into an underground tunnel. We call that chamber the Cradle of Acheron.”

— ……

Her dark lashes trembled faintly. That flat, emotionless voice seeped into her ears like the howl of a midwinter wind.

“When they’re sealed into the Cradle of Acheron, a small amount of food and water is provided. But in most cases, they die of thirst before the water has fully evaporated.”

This was a punishment that subjected the condemned to unrelenting pain and terror for over a week. It was a cruelty so vile that it turned the stomach.

Even Chronosa felt as though the god of death had gripped her spine in his cold, skeletal hand.

She couldn’t help but ask—

— So, what crime did they commit?