The entrance to the apartment building was packed with a crowd, so dense that not even water could seep through.
Normally, anyone violating the curfew would be lightly beaten six times per second, and in severe cases, executed on the spot. If caught organizing large gatherings during this period, they would be deemed to be conducting heretic activities, drawing down the combined heavy hand of both the Knight Order and the Holy Church, sending every violator straight to the afterlife.
Such an almost unreasonable show of authority naturally stirred dissatisfaction among some of the populace.
But after the last protest march a century ago ended in corruption and turned an entire city to ruins, the Empire’s people accepted the reality of occasionally needing to stay indoors.
And the crowd Loki faced now was certainly not ordinary citizens looking to taste the thrill of breaking the law.
From the moment they were attacked by heretics to descending downstairs, it hadn’t been more than ten minutes before patrolling knights and Holy Church clerics had all rushed over.
Although such a swift response provided a strong sense of security, the prerequisite was that the leader was merely a Knight Captain and a few knights and regular soldiers sent to investigate.
The moment they saw Loki, every single person simultaneously placed their hands on their weapons; the clinking and scraping of armor and cloth filled the air, accompanied by heavy breaths, quick prayers, and long gulps—a symphony of tension that gripped the entire scene like a dangerous orchestra.
Time seemed stretched like the dough in a street vendor’s hands, so much so that even speaking aloud felt like torture.
Loki had experienced this atmosphere before, after following Christine Caesania.
Only that time, it was an entire Knight Order and an army of thousands.
“Wow… I didn’t expect us to be such a big deal. Are these people here to welcome us?”
Breaking the silence this time was no longer the sharp sword of a cold female knight, but a sweet, girlish voice.
The moment Celulu spoke, it seemed everyone suddenly noticed the radiant girl standing beside Loki—like the sun itself.
The sight of these tightly wound, fully armored men and women suddenly widening their eyes was so ridiculous that Loki couldn’t help but show a faint smile.
This group wasn’t here just for a knight killed by heretics.
If you asked why—
“Strictly speaking, the only one who deserves a welcome is you.”
Loki said softly, then put on a polite smile, looking at the elderly man trembling as he stepped out of the crowd, kneeling on one knee in salute.
The white clerical hat and gold-embroidered robe, along with a halberd-like staff—
If the Saintess was not present, then this man was the one making this apartment shine with prestige.
“Your Highness, the Saintess.”
Bishop Palte Visagi spoke respectfully.
A myriad of complex thoughts flickered in his murky eyes, the wrinkles around his eyes seeming sealed in cement, motionless.
At the same time, the surrounding clerics and knights all knelt and saluted, and the previously tense atmosphere vanished without a trace, as if Loki did not exist.
Even Loki himself was caught off guard by this reversal—it showed that the hostility toward him was based on knowing he wouldn’t strike recklessly.
Loki had no objections; after all, some things were just for show. No matter how ferocious a chihuahua bared its teeth, it was still a chihuahua.
Not to mention, he had an even more useful heavyweight figure beside him than Christine.
“Palte Visagi, Bishop of Caesania District, at your service.”
—Because a dignified bishop would never personally come for trivial matters.
He wasn’t the kind of leader who went down to the grassroots to understand the people but was the pillar holding the Caesania Holy Church together.
Unless there was an extremely high-threat target that had to be dealt with personally.
Like…
Himself.
But why now?
“Your Highness.”
Palte stood up.
“Please forgive my negligence. I had not received notice from the Holy Capital of your visit to Caesania.”
“I came purely on vacation this time, and to meet a friend along the way.”
Celulu smiled as she uttered the rehearsed lie.
Whether Palte believed it or not, at least it had to be said.
“You see, I just finished a major mission. There’s no need to trouble you with such minor matters… Besides, I hate your cumbersome ‘welcome ceremonies.’ I only want a quiet, relaxing environment—not a crowd so dense I can barely breathe, or a banquet full of forced smiles.”
“…If that’s the case, Your Highness, you could simply have told us your wishes. I would never force you.”
“Perhaps you have no such thought, but others—I cannot say.”
“In any case, at least I could prepare accommodations to suit your preferences, rather than this…”
Bishop Palte spoke, shifting his gaze toward Loki.
In that instant, his pupils trembled.
Loki heard something shatter faintly beside his ear.
Though he wanted to laugh, he held it back, feigning indifference as he looked toward the strained expression—
“Wait, Your Highness, the friend you just mentioned isn’t…”
“Ah~ yes.”
Celulu smirked, elbowing Loki’s waist.
Though she wanted to call it a closer relationship, such words would surely provoke the Holy Capital to forcibly interfere.
Her seductive pajamas had already been swapped for normal outdoor clothes, and it wasn’t yet late enough to raise suspicions. Even if Palte wanted to doubt, he couldn’t risk acting without evidence.
“Wh-When? Why have I never heard of this…”
“Bishop Palte, this is a private matter. I ask you to stop.”
Celulu’s gaze sharpened, her sweet smile reserved only for Loki vanishing and replaced by a coldness he knew too well.
“…Yes. My apologies, Your Highness.”
“Cough, cough, excuse me.”
At the same time, a man stepped out from the knights’ ranks.
Unlike ordinary knights, his armor bore more striking patterns, clearly marking him as a person of some status.
“Who are you?”
Celulu asked, her tone growing impatient.
Her first proper night with Loki had already been interrupted repeatedly, wearing down her patience—if not for her title as Saintess, she would have kicked everyone present out the door by now.
“Your Highness, I am Lotharn Granwary, Vice Captain of the Caesania Knight Order. At your service.”
He then looked at Loki.
“Of course, and you as well… Mr. Loki.”
“A Vice Captain and a Bishop both gracing us with their presence… there must be something important, then.”
Loki said casually.
“I just don’t understand. I’m merely a heretic who believes in bloodshed. How could that possibly warrant your attention?”