“What on earth…?”

He frowned, confused, and murmured the question under his breath. What kind of memory is this? The harder he tried to remember the fleeting images, the more it felt as though his head might split open. Pressing his fingers to his throbbing temples, Kailos exhaled sharply and took a deep breath.

The unfamiliar pain was unbearable. Yet the more intense it became, the clearer the images grew, mercilessly raking through his mind. It felt as though all the blood in his body had surged to his heart at once, only to boil and rush outwards again. The color drained from Kailos’s face.

This was the kind of agony that would have made an ordinary man scream and writhe, but Kailos endured it without making a sound. When the pain finally began to subside and his breathing became labored, a small, fragile voice reached his ears, as if awakened by his movement.

“Ahh… Kailos?”

“…You’re awake?”

Selonia, who had been tossing and turning with a dull ache flooding her body the moment she woke up, caught sight of Kailos looking unusually tense. Her sleepiness vanished at once.

“You don’t look well. Is something bothering you?”

“No. I was just thinking for a moment.”

After shaking his head slightly, he appeared so calm that the expression she had seen earlier must have been her imagination. Had she really been mistaken? Still groggy, Selonia quietly accepted the hand stroking her hair. Only then did warmth creep into her cheeks. She finally realized where she was: lying in his bed.

When she glanced down, her body looked improbably clean and dry, as though the previous night had never happened. Had Kailos cleaned her while she slept? The thought was mortifying in its own way. Selonia quickly pulled the blanket higher, tucking it up to her chin.

Watching her grow increasingly flustered, Kailos smiled wider and sat up, looking amused.

“You must be tired. I should have the meal brought here.”

“N-no. I should be leaving now—ah!”

Even though she was only pretending to be his fiancée, being seen together in his bedroom felt unbearably embarrassing. She shook her head and tried to get up quickly, but as soon as she stood up straight, she felt a dull ache in her lower abdomen and waist.

“Didn’t I say you would be tired?”

His whisper, laced with quiet amusement, was a gentle reminder of just how much she had overindulged the previous evening. With a lingering heat between her legs and a dull ache in her back showing no signs of fading, Selonia finally gave up trying to stand. Only her eyes peeked out from beneath the blanket as she nodded faintly.

“Rest a little longer, Selonia.”

As though his words were a lullaby, drowsiness swept over her once more. Kailos watched until her heavy eyelids fell shut. He lingered on her peaceful face, his expression complicated, before slowly rising to his feet.

***

As time went by, Bishop Delfor became increasingly restless. With each passing day, the cold in the ducal territory intensified and so did his gloom. The cold was already deadly, and the thought of being forced to stay there indefinitely was unbearable.

The ducal house would never treat a bishop poorly, and the monastery where he was staying after leaving the ducal castle was warm and well-appointed. Nevertheless, Delfor spent his days staring out of the frosty window, busily justifying his irritation to himself.

Hardly anyone here truly believed in God. The cold was relentless, and perhaps because their faith was so weak, the people treated him with far less reverence than he was accustomed to in the capital. Even if he survived this winter, he had no intention of staying for another.

He needed to return to his office in the Grand Cathedral as soon as possible. It was warm and opulent, and entirely his own. He longed for the days when he had lived comfortably, sustained by invitations from devout nobles, as he always had before.

But, as ever, circumstances refused to unfold according to his wishes.

Despite uncovering Selonia Brienne’s whereabouts and rendering a great service, the Imperial Palace had offered no response beyond the initial letter. He had already sent more than three carefully worded petitions requesting a change of assignment. “If there is anything you need, speak freely,” he had said — an outright lie.

It was nothing more than silent pressure, forcing him to achieve greater merit if he truly wished to escape the north.

This meant that he had to produce results quickly. And yet, at this critical moment, why did the blizzard have to rage so fiercely? In such weather, even the priests dispatched to preach hesitated to leave the chapel, using the cold as their excuse.

“This won’t do. I need a decisive strike.”

Delfor bit his finger as he paced around the room in agitation. At last, he seemed to reach a decision and strode out. As he walked down the plain, orderly corridor of the monastery, which was made of plain white plaster and lacked any decoration, he clicked his tongue in displeasure.

He couldn’t believe that someone as distinguished as himself had to stay in such a wretched place.

‘ they knew I was coming, they could have at least hung a few sacred icons.’

Of all people, Delfor knew that the Grand Cathedral offered minimal support to the monasteries in the north. Nevertheless, he found fault with everything he saw.

As he passed through the central passage of the monastery, he cast a brief glance at the statue of Ardiel outside before heading straight to the abbot’s office. Having guessed who it was from the way the door was flung open without a knock, the abbot greeted him warmly.

“Did you rest well last night, Bishop Delfor? May Ardiel’s grace be with you.”

“And with Ardiel’s grace.”

Tracing a solemn sign of the cross, Delfor seated himself on the largest sofa in the office as though he owned the place. He accepted the warm tea that the abbot offered him, but his impatience, no less fierce than the raging snowstorm outside, pushed him to get straight to the point before he had even finished drinking it.

“Where is the inquisitor assigned to the northern branch?”

“You mean Priest Kachio? He should be in the prayer hall at the moment. I will inform him that you are looking for him, Bishop.”

“He’s still at the monastery?”

Delfor clicked his tongue at the answer.

“Why is an inquisitor, whose duty is to scour the North and root out witches, still lingering in a monastery?”

“Well, as you can see, the weather has been quite severe… In this region, it is customary to remain at the monastery during winter and begin activities once the weather improves.”

“Then at this rate, when will—! No. Never mind. Tell Priest Kachio that I am looking for him in the conference room once he arrives.”

“Very well, Bishop.”

The abbot nodded repeatedly, his face fixed in an obliging smile. Slightly appeased by the man’s deference, Delfor entered the conference room looking more relaxed than before.

Although it was called a conference room, it had effectively become his private office since his arrival. The abbot had offered to give up his own workspace, but it would have looked improper for a bishop of the Grand Cathedral to take over the abbot’s office, so Delfor had declined.

Settling onto the sofa, he picked up a quill. Messy, barely legible scrawls spilled across the parchment in uneven lines. How was he to manufacture an achievement that would satisfy both the Imperial Court and the Holy See? To secure a stepping stone that would take him back to the capital, he needed to do something spectacular, even if it was just for show.

Lost in thought, he failed to notice how much time had passed until a knock sounded at the conference room door.

“Bishop Delfor. It’s Kachio.”

“Come in.”

When the door opened and the man stepped inside, Delfor swallowed unconsciously. His sheer bulk was striking — clearly different from that of ordinary priests — and took Delfor by surprise. Although he knew that the work of inquisitors was entirely different from that of regular clergy, he could never quite get used to their appearance, no matter how many times he saw one.

‘Why do they all look like thugs…’

The image of Bishop Delmo from the Grand Cathedral appeared in his mind, causing him to frown. Delmo — the Chief Inquisitor and warden of the Prison of Atonement — was an enormous man with sharp, merciless eyes, much like Priest Kachio. Although Delfor had never seen Delmo in person, it was said that he showed no mercy when interrogating witches, and that screams could always be heard within the prison.

Well, perhaps that was only fitting. Those who dealt with wicked witches had to be men like that.

“I was told you were looking for me.”

“Yes. I was wondering how many witches you’ve managed to root out.”

Delfor cleared his throat and asked the question. At first glance, Kachio seemed sly, but his face twisted with visible discomfort as he heard it. Stepping closer, he clasped his hands together respectfully.

“Well… they hide themselves very thoroughly, so they’re not easy to find. And on occasion, villagers shelter them.”

“Even with a bounty offered?”

“Yes, it seems that the people of the north believe they must unite at all costs.”

In truth, Kachio had not been particularly zealous in hunting witches thus far, but he was right. He had become complacent in his duties as an Inquisitor from the outset, precisely because the witches concealed themselves so effectively and the northern people turned a blind eye to them, eroding his determination through their tacit collusion.