“It’s a punishment usually reserved for traitors to the nation.”

In the Demon Realm of Arcadia, traitors to the nation referred to those who had sided with the Holy Nation. From those who leaked military secrets to those who handed over Arcadia’s rights and assets—
their betrayals took vast and varied forms.

It likely wasn’t much different in the Holy Nation. Just as Chronosa was thinking that, the explanation continued.

“They are priests who were captured for forming families with demons.”

Chronosa’s expression contorted at the unexpected answer. What had this man claimed was the reason the Holy One had given her to him? Wasn’t it, in many ways, a crude and deeply demeaning justification?

A bitter smile crept to her dry lips.

— A one-night toy is fine, but starting a family is an unforgivable sin?

“Fleeting indulgence and the vow of eternity are two entirely different matters.”

She had pointed out a contradiction, but his reply only made it clear he didn’t understand her meaning at all.

The difference between the Holy Nation and the Demon Realm was probably irreconcilable, even on the day she died.

Chronosa drew her brows together.

— Then how were they caught?

“Gulgalta.”

— Ah…

Chronosa sighed silently.

So that was why the Holy Nation had so abruptly invaded Gulgalta.

She had assumed they had settled for a secondary target, unable to overcome Belphegor—but in truth, it had been to seize these “traitors.”

This punishment was a spectacle to display the miserable end of those who betrayed their nation.

Chronosa clicked her tongue quietly as she looked at the bloodied priests, moaning with tears of blood.

Were those tears shed from unbearable physical pain or for the families they had lost forever?

Whatever the reason—

— …How pitiful.

“What’s pitiful? You?”

— No. Them.

Upon hearing those incomprehensible words, Anankeus paused for a moment. He stared silently down at the small woman in his arms. She was so light that it was as if she carried no weight at all.

“…Just now… who was it you were pitying?”

— A human sees a chicken served at their table and offers a prayer for the dead bird. That’s just what people do. Sometimes, we even feel compassion for beasts.

A sorrowful winter wind swept across the barren landscape. The scent of nameless, bloody tears, filled with lingering sorrow, was carried on the wind.

Anankeus’s scarlet gaze took in the sight of the mutilated, groaning figures and shimmered with quiet grief. An unreadable expression bloomed on that beautiful face, one that Anankeus could not decipher.

Then, suddenly, something unnamed surged from deep within his chest. It was an intense emotion, so overwhelming that he could not even describe its colour.

“‘Humans… sometimes feel compassion for beasts,’ huh…”

Anankeus pondered her words.

Was what he felt for this woman something similar? Maybe it was pity—for someone who had been mistreated by her own parents, when all she truly deserved was unconditional love.

Abandoned in the end, she now tried to end her own life without ever questioning whether the command to die was unjust.

Is that why these inexplicable feelings kept surfacing, uninvited and without reason?

“They’re only receiving the punishment they deserve. They knew what would happen and still went through with it. There’s no reason for them to be pitied.”

— It’s because they knew and still went through with it that they’re all the more pitiful.

They must have known. Siding with their homeland’s enemy would lead them here. That it was an unforgivable betrayal.

And yet, they couldn’t resist the pull of their hearts. They couldn’t help it. And so, they ended up like this.

To the Protogenoi Chronosa, their stubborn, blind devotion was a foolishness she had never understood in all her eternal years.

“Have you never thought differently?”

— Differently? About what?

“If it weren’t for them, we wouldn’t have attacked Gulgalta. Then you wouldn’t have been captured, and your father would never have had to give you that dreadful order.”

This time, Chronosa tilted her head.

— No, I never thought about it that way. But… what dreadful order are you talking about?

“‘Die with honor.’ Is that something a parent should say to their child?”

— But… His Excellency the Grand Sovereign was right.

Her reply came as if it were nothing of significance.

— I can’t trade my life for the lives of my people. If it comes to that, it’s better to end it with my own hands than be defiled by yours and die a miserable death.

Anankeus simply looked down at the woman in his arms. Her softly glowing red eyes lingered on the dying figures in the courtyard.

It was a stunningly rational judgement. Strictly speaking, it was the right one. However, the fact that it was the right choice didn’t mean it could be easily understood.

There was a reason why this woman could make such a cold, calculated decision. It was simple. She was a monster, too, moulded by the horrors of war.

But why did such a monster show compassion for those who were now suffering a punishment born of that same war? At the same time, why couldn’t she see her own dreadful fate for what it was: an injustice?

Like a butterfly drawn in by scent alone and unaware that it would freeze to death in winter, that is what this woman reminded him of.

— You who kill even your own kind… the future awaiting me in your hands must be even darker.

Another logical assumption. Once she had outlived her usefulness, she would be discarded as the Holy One had commanded.

Yet this was a truth that Anankeus did not want to hear at that moment. He turned towards the temple.

“We’ve wasted enough time. His Holiness is waiting.”

She seemed to move her lips slightly as if she wanted to say something else, but he ignored her deliberately.

Inside the temple, the winter chill was replaced by warm air. An oppressive silence cloaked the space; not even the faintest sound of dust could be heard, only the soft echo of footsteps across the wide hall.

Soon, Anankeus pushed open a door. From inside, a warm, orange glow poured out like sunlight from a chandelier.

At the far end of the long table sat the Holy One, smiling gently.

“You’re finally here. I’ve been waiting.”

“My apologies for the delay.”

“No matter. Come, sit.”

The Holy One pointed to the seat beside him.

Talata was already sitting opposite that spot. It was unclear when she had arrived, but she looked prim, her lips slightly pursed in displeasure.

Dressed in her formal high priest’s robes, Talata looked the part for once.

Anankeus set Chronosa down in the indicated seat. Then he took his place beside her.

Finally, the Holy One spread his arms wide. Feigning kindness, the wrinkles on his face deepened as he smiled in an attempt to appear benevolent.

“Welcome to Saint Arvoos, Princess of Belphegor. I’ve prepared a gift for you.”

— A gift?

“You like the dress, I hope?”

Chronosa looked down at the plain winter dress. It wasn’t cumbersome, and its thickness offered warmth. It was practical in many ways. She gave a quiet nod of approval.

— For something made by your kind… it’s decent.

“How dare you!”

The moment Chronosa shut her lips, Talata slammed the table and sprang to her feet. Her harsh, ragged breaths spoke volumes of her rising fury.

The Holy One simply raised a gentle hand in her direction.

“Calm yourself and sit, Talata.”

“But she dared speak so lowly to Your Holiness!”

“Can you truly expect them to speak as we do? Were the situation reversed, would you bow your head to the Demon King?”

Talata clenched her fists, biting her lip hard. Bow her head to that mongrel more brainless than a dog? She’d rather kill herself first. That was the pride of Arvoos Talata.

She sat down heavily, still glaring. The Holy One gave her shoulder a couple of approving pats.

“There you go. That’s just the way the world is. There’s no need to get excited or react.”

“Your… Holiness’s… wisdom… shall be etched… into my very bones.”

She ground out the words between clenched teeth, her narrow, slanted eyes fixed sharply on Chronosa.

The Holy One let out a light laugh, his gaze fond as he turned to Talata with a benevolent smile.

Just then, the door opened again. A group of lower-ranking priests entered, carrying tea and refreshments. They laid them out neatly on the table.

Green tea rippled in the porcelain cups. Chronosa lowered her gaze slightly at the familiar scent that reached her nostrils. Her subdued crimson eyes swept over the array of snacks.

Perhaps mistaking her silence for suspicion, the Holy One lifted his cup first, as if to show there was no hidden intent.

“There’s much I wish to discuss with you.”

He said,savoring the subtle aroma that lingered in his mouth. His blood-colored eyes remained intently fixed on the tea and confections.

“Yes… perhaps we should begin with the matter of Arcadia Ishtar.”

The beloved yet painful name reached her ears, causing Chronosa’s head to snap up.

No matter how many times she had heard it before, it still made her heart ache.

Her cracked, dry lips moved of their own accord.

— You… know my mother?