Greeta quickly checked the child she had pulled into her arms.

“Waaah!”

Eve was safe, but she was so startled by the sudden fright that she burst into tears. Greeta comforted the trembling child while her sharp eyes turned towards the carriage. Driving like that through a crowded square was reckless beyond reason.

Her gaze fell on the brazenly painted emblem on its side: a golden star, the sacred symbol of the temple.

Just then, the carriage door flew open.

“Why did you stop the carriage so suddenly? What madness is this!”

An indignant voice rang out as a priest stepped down. The coachman shifted uneasily, but his eyes flicked toward Greeta and the child.

“My apologies, Father. The little one darted into the street—!”

Greeta’s brow furrowed darkly. To drive so carelessly and then place the blame on a child?

“A child?”

The priest’s gaze followed the coachman’s words, settling on Greeta and the sobbing girl in her arms.

Greeta knew this man. She had never trusted priests, but the one newly assigned to Scizlon was worse than most. The priests sent here were always the kind who worshipped gold more than God—perhaps that was why they fought to be posted in Scizlon. Their greed was infamous, generation after generation, and this one was no different. Already, he had become a source of constant vexation for Eclace.

Draped in white robes, the middle-aged priest advanced with an air of haughty grace, the gold chain at his waist and the ornamental relics at his side clinking with every step. He stopped before them and looked down at Eve, who was still sniffling.

Greeta knew all too well the danger of provoking the temple. Scizlon might belong to Eclace, but the church was its own power—one even a lord had to treat with caution.

Taking a steadying breath, she lifted Eve to her feet and clasped the child’s small hand tightly in her own.

“Was it you who ran in front of the carriage?”

The priest’s voice was heavy with feigned benevolence. Terrified by the stern man, Eve swallowed her sobs and gave a small, hesitant nod.

Then—

Smack!

The priest’s hand cracked across her face.

“!”

The child’s tiny body crumpled helplessly onto the stone square.

Greeta had no time to react.

“How dare you nod your head so rudely.”

Struck without warning, Eve gasped, unable even to cry.

“A pitiful little thing like you dares block the path of the temple’s carriage? Blasphemous child!”

The priest scolded her like a judge condemning a criminal.

Finally, Greeta could endure it no longer. She pulled Eve to her feet and positioned her behind her. On tiptoe, she towered over the priest by a head. Surprise flashed across his face for a moment, but it quickly morphed into pride and arrogance.

“And you? You stand there as her mother, and not a single word of apology leaves your lips?”

He lifted his chin at the silent woman before him and reprimanded her.

Greeta ground her teeth. Not an ounce of her wanted to submit to a man like him. But Eve was with her now, and anger alone would not solve anything.

‘It’s people like you with your bad manners that allow sin to run rampant in the world. Disgraceful!’

She clenched her fists so tightly that her nails dug into her palms. She longed to unleash her fury on him, but the words burned inside her, scorching her throat.

‘Endure. You must endure.’

First, she had to get Eve safely away. The priest’s violence could be answered later—repaid with interest.

So Greeta lowered herself. To shield Eve, she sank to her knees and bowed her head. Unable to speak, she offered the only apology she could — a posture of submission more fervent and humiliating than any words could express.

The priest’s mouth curled into a mocking smile. Encouraged, he tapped her kneeling leg with the toe of his white shoe.

“Do you think kneeling alone is enough? The carriage stopped so suddenly I nearly injured my back. What if my spine or my neck had been broken?”

Even with her head bowed, he continued to heap scorn upon her.

Suddenly, Eve flung her arms around Greeta, clinging tightly to her as if to shield her.

“It’s not her fault! It was me!”

Her small, trembling voice rang out in protest. Greeta’s eyes widened as the child’s fragile embrace closed around her.

The priest scowled at the interruption.

“What was that?”

His icy tone made Eve flinch. She squeezed her eyes shut.

“I’m sorry! It was me—it was my fault!”

Her tiny hands pressed together at her chest. She was terrified. What if that frightening man struck her aunt, too?

‘What if it’s my fault again? What if I’ve upset Mommy, Daddy, and Auntie because of me?’

Terrified, Eve dropped to her knees beside Greeta.

“It’s my fault! Please, forgive me…”

Her small body trembled as she bowed again and again, little hands pressed so tightly together they burned with desperation. Greeta’s eyes quivered. This child—this innocent child—truly believed she was at fault, pleading through her tears before the priest.

A storm of fury rose in Greeta’s chest. She had knelt only to keep the situation from spiraling further, and now she cursed that choice with every fiber of her being. Because of her, Eve had come to believe all of this was her burden to bear.

Greeta reached out to lift the girl, but Eve shook her head stubbornly and sank down once more. Her small knees struck the rough stone of the plaza, but she did not flinch.

The priest, watching the two of them in silence, finally opened his mouth to speak.

“The brat is better than her mother. She admits her fault, while you sit there mute as a stone—”

“She’s not mute!”

Eve’s teary eyes flew wide as she cried out.

“What?”

“Take it back! ‘Mute’ is a bad word—you have to say sorry!”

When Eve first came across the word in a book, her mommy and daddy told her never to use it because it was cruel. Nobody had ever called her auntie Greeta that on Janna Island before. It was the first time she had heard it spoken aloud. It made her furious.

However, the priest thought the protest was absurd.

“You dare to lecture me? You, a filthy little commoner whelp who hasn’t even grown up yet?”

His eyes glinted with menace as he glared down at her. Yet Eve, stubborn and trembling, still forced the words out.

“I said sorry for what I did… so you should say sorry too, mister!”

Her eyes brimmed with tears, but she glared at him all the same.

“You little—did you just call me ‘mister’?”

The priest raised his hand high. Eve squeezed her eyes shut, heart seizing with fear.

And then—

“Ghhk!”

A rough hand seized the collar of his white robes from behind.

Crack!

A bone-jarring sound rang out as the priest was hurled to the ground. Gasps spread through the plaza; everyone froze in shock.

Eve, her heart thudding wildly, cracked her eyes open.

And there he was—taller even than Auntie Greeta, looming above her.

Eve knew this man.

“The… scary mister?”

His face was as fierce and brutal as a villain’s, yet his eyes glowed with a haunting violet light, like precious gemstones.

The villainous man that Eve had encountered in the corridor stood there, rolling his wrist as if to loosen it. His gaze was cold and unflinching as he looked down at the priest lying on the plaza floor.

The priest clutched his dislocated jaw, gasping and weakly flailing his arm. His coachman rushed over and fumbled to reset it. A rasping hiss escaped the priest’s lips; his fury was bleeding through the pain.

“H-How dare you lay hands on a servant of the temple!”

Shed’s violet eyes narrowed, his voice a low growl.

“Regrettable. It should have been a blade, not a hand.”

“What—what did you say?”

“My sword.”

He muttered irritably, brushing the empty space at his hip. Eclace’s paranoia had forced him to leave his weapon in the city. Today, of all days, he acutely felt its absence.

“To strike a priest—you’ll be executed for heresy—”

“Heresy?”

The word sharpened his gaze to a deadly edge.

“Then, by all means, run to your precious temple and tell them this: ‘Shed Lester, their so-called heretic hunter, is the heretic himself.'”

The name alone struck terror.

“Sh–S-Shed Lester?”

Recognition finally dawned. It was the violet eyes, the enormous frame, and the black leather boots that no ordinary wolf could wear. Not to mention the silver belt around his waist. The priest staggered upright, suddenly deferential.

“L-Lord Lester… why are you here?”

“Do I owe the temple explanations of my comings and goings?”

“N-no! That’s not what I meant—!”

The priest shook his head in panic. Of all people, he knew better than anyone that Shed Lester was not a man to be provoked. He was the warrior who had gained glory during the heretic hunts, and a figure that not even the temple dared oppose lightly. Since then, he had risen even higher, becoming the Empire’s hero and conqueror of Blancas. One day, historians would record his name as emblematic of this age.

And what was a provincial priest of Scizlon compared to such a figure? Nothing. Less than nothing.

He let the silence linger, heavy and suffocating, before finally speaking in a voice like steel wrapped in indolence.

“I’ll grant you a choice.”

His eyes slid to the priest’s swelling cheek.

“Will you walk away as you are, or will you turn the other cheek and leave after I hit you?”

He flexed his wrist slowly and deliberately again, like a predator relishing the inevitable.