No matter how much hypocrisy and calculation lay hidden within Archbishop Duran’s words, there was no denying that his promise was like a shot of adrenaline, temporarily stabilizing the precarious situation in the square.
The crowd, which had been on the verge of losing control, finally stopped their rioting after hearing the two key pieces of information—that the poison was not lethal and that the Church could produce an antidote.
Though the groans of agony still rose and fell, and the shadow of fear still hung over everyone’s heads, at least the inclination toward violent chaos born of despair had been suppressed.
People began following the guidance of the clergy, gathering the wounded in the ventilated area at the side of the square, waiting for further treatment.
Watching the scene gradually return to order, Eleanor’s fingers, which had been gripping her staff tightly, finally relaxed somewhat.
She let out a long breath of stale air, feeling her back drenched in cold sweat.
This sudden disaster had completely upended her carefully laid plans. The ledger meant to expose Duran’s corruption, the witnesses she had arranged—all of it lost its meaning in this moment.
In the face of tens of thousands of lives hanging in the balance, she had no choice but to swallow all her resentment and doubt, shifting her full attention to this more urgent and more important matter.
“Since Duran says he can produce an antidote, we need to find out exactly what his plan is.”
Eleanor turned and spoke to her companions. Her gaze had become resolute once more—that decisiveness required of a Saintess when facing disaster.
“If this is an alchemical toxin, then every second of delay could cause the poison to strengthen further. I need to keep an eye on him. I can’t let him waste the best treatment window just to put on a show.”
“I’ll go with you.”
Julius stepped forward without hesitation. Though the Holy Sword at his side had been sheathed, the sharp aura of one always ready for battle had not diminished in the slightest.
He glanced at the figure in red surrounded by the crowd in the distance, a flicker of vigilance passing through his eyes.
“That old man is dangerous right now. If he orchestrated all of this, then going over there now is practically forcing his hand. With me there, at least I can guarantee no one will hurt you.”
“I’m going too.”
Gavi also stepped forward. “As Miss Helos’s maid, and as a maid of the Olivias Family, it is my duty to eliminate these potential threats.”
The two flanked Eleanor’s sides like twin indestructible shields.
But then, almost in unison, they turned to look at Helos, who remained where she was, hesitation showing in their eyes.
If they all left, who would protect Helos?
“Oh, don’t you worry about me.”
Helos saw through their concern and waved her hand dismissively. She pointed at the ring on her finger, then at the altar area shrouded in holy light, and flashed them a reassuring smile.
“Don’t forget, this is the entrance to the Cathedral—the place where holy light is most concentrated. As long as Teacher is still here, no assassin foolish enough to try would get anywhere near me. If a fight actually broke out, I might end up protecting them instead. Besides, I’ve still got… well, you know.”
She was telling the truth.
During the special training at the Rose Pavilion, Sylvia had claimed she didn’t meddle in other people’s affairs, but she had nonetheless left an extremely subtle mental imprint on Helos.
Unless someone of Julius’s caliber—a chosen one—unleashed their full power, or someone like Duke Eisend came in person, ordinary sneak attacks against Helos were no more threatening than a mosquito bite on an elephant.
“Besides, I’m not just going to stand around here.”
Helos narrowed her eyes, her gaze drifting toward the patients receiving preliminary treatment at the edge of the square. “I’m planning to go over there and take a look. As an alchemist, I’m very interested in a toxin that could make that old fox Duran so confident. Maybe I’ll find something useful.”
Seeing Helos’s firm attitude and sound reasoning, Julius and Gavi stopped insisting.
Right. With Sylvia around, there weren’t many people in this world who could harm Helos.
They nodded, warned Helos not to leave the protective range of the altar, and then escorted Eleanor toward where Duran stood.
Watching the three figures recede into the distance, the smile on Helos’s face gradually faded.
A number of low-ranking clergy members who had heard the news had already gathered there. They were busy giving water to the wounded, wiping sweat from their brows, or casting basic soothing divine spells.
Helos turned and walked toward the closest casualty assembly point to the altar.
The air was thick with the sour stench of vomit and that heart-wrenching aura of despair.
Helos did not approach rashly.
She stood at the edge of the crowd and quietly activated her mind’s eye.
In that black-and-white world of lines and points of light, she could clearly see what was happening inside the bodies of the fallen wounded.
The flame representing life force was being wrapped and devoured by a strange gray-green mist.
That mist didn’t have the intense destructive power of ordinary toxins—instead, it carried a sticky, cloying sensation.
It seemed to be drawing on the host’s life force to strengthen itself, but it indeed didn’t appear lethal.
Like a parasite.
“Just as I thought—this isn’t ordinary poison.”
Helos said to herself.
This method was too sophisticated. One could even call it an art.
It perfectly bypassed the purifying mechanism of holy light, disguising itself as part of life itself.
If she didn’t possess that special vision capable of seeing through to the essence of things, she too might have been deceived by its gentle exterior.
This was definitely the work of Chaos Believers.
Just as Helos was about to move closer to try analyzing the specific composition of that gray-green mist, a hushed conversation drifted into her ears on the cold wind.
The voice came from behind a stone pillar not far to her right.
Several nuns in plain robes had gathered there, hastily whispering among themselves while organizing bandages and medicine in their hands.
Their faces still held the lingering youthfulness of recent graduates from the theological academy—novice nuns caught off guard by this sudden disaster.
“How horrible…”
One of them, a round-faced nun, spoke while wiping her tears. “That woman collapsed right in front of me just now, and I didn’t even have time to catch her. Was this really done by cultists? How can they be so cruel?”
“Shh! Keep your voice down!”
A slightly older nun quickly covered her mouth, glancing around warily.
“Don’t say things like that. If the Law Enforcement Team hears you, they might arrest you as someone who destabilizes the people’s hearts.”
“But…” the round-faced nun sniffled pitifully. “I just think it’s strange. Don’t you all feel that Archbishop Duran has been acting odd these past few days?”
“You noticed it too?”
Another tall, thin nun chimed in, lowering her voice with a hint of gossip in her tone.
“Normally, he always dumps this kind of dirty, tiring work on us underlings. He absolutely hates touching those filthy commoners. So why has the sun started rising from the west today?”
“That old lecher who only cares about money actually came to the front lines to treat people himself? Even personally administering medicine?”
“I think something’s off too.”
The older nun frowned. “And haven’t you noticed? The Archbishop’s reaction to this toxin was way too fast. Before any of us could even tell it was poison, he’d already determined it wasn’t lethal.”
“That’s true…” another nun hesitated. “But he is the Archbishop. He must have at least some skill, right?”
These seemingly casual remarks struck Helos’s mind like a bolt of lightning.
Her foot, which had been about to move, stopped instantly.
The girl turned slightly, using the stone pillar as cover, and cast her gaze toward the group of nuns.
Among that small circle, one figure stood out.
She was a girl who looked only fifteen or sixteen.
She had warm chestnut-brown short hair, the ends slightly curled and playfully resting against her cheeks.
What was most distinctive about her was a pair of emerald-green eyes that resembled those of an elf.
At this moment, the girl was looking with a worried expression at the groaning civilians lying in the distance, then at Archbishop Duran who was pontificating nearby, and then at Eleanor and her group heading over.
She seemed to be hesitating about whether to say something.
As the discussion among the nuns around her fell into silence, the green-eyed girl suddenly took a deep breath, as if she had made up her mind, and spoke in a voice so low it was barely audible but perfectly clear to those around her:
“Actually… I think something’s strange too.”
“Mi Ya? Did you notice something too?”
The round-faced nun asked curiously.
The girl called Mi Ya shrank her neck, looking somewhat frightened.
She glanced around to make sure no one else was paying attention, then leaned in close to her companions and said mysteriously:
“It was a few days ago. When I was delivering tea to the Archbishop’s office, I think I heard him losing his temper inside.”
“Losing his temper?”
Mi Ya nodded, her emerald eyes full of innocence and confusion.
“Yeah. There seemed to be someone else in the room at the time, so I didn’t dare go in. I just stood at the door and listened for a moment. I heard the Archbishop shouting things like ‘those damned people’ and ‘just endure a few more days.'”
She paused briefly at that point, then imitating Duran’s sinister tone, she quietly recited:
“He also said… ‘By the time of the festival, I’ll show those arrogant fools who the real master of this place is.'”
“Um.”
The moment the words left her mouth, she seemed to realize she had said something she shouldn’t have. She quickly covered her mouth, staring at her companions in alarm.
“Dear God!”
The older nun turned pale with fright. She reached out and pinched Mi Ya’s arm, scolding her with a trembling voice:
“How dare you say something like that out loud?! Mi Ya, do you have a death wish?! If the Archbishop finds out, we’ll all be…”
“I-I don’t know anything!”
Mi Ya’s eyes instantly reddened, tears welling up in them, looking like a frightened little thing.
“I was just speaking off the cuff… I didn’t hear it that clearly either… or maybe I misheard… I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything…”
Seeing her pitiful state, the other nuns couldn’t bring themselves to scold her further. They could only sigh and change the subject.
But behind the stone pillar, Helos had completely abandoned any pretense of hiding.
Her suspicions and speculations seemed to have found confirmation in that moment.
If what these nuns said was true, then this was no coincidence at all.
That little nun named Mi Ya might genuinely believe this was just the Archbishop throwing a tantrum, but to Helos, who knew the inside story, this sounded like nothing less than a direct confession of guilt!
Duran knew in advance that something would happen at the festival.
Or even—this was part of his plan!
He wanted to use this festival, this man-made disaster, to achieve some ulterior motive.
Perhaps to undermine Eleanor’s authority, perhaps to scheme for greater gains.
But no matter what the goal was, this red-robed Archbishop who preached morality and righteousness on every tongue was absolutely connected to this disaster.
Helos’s fingers dug into the cracks of the stone pillar, her gaze piercing through the crowd and fixing squarely on Duran, who was still performing the role of a “benevolent elder” among the people.
What exactly was this man trying to accomplish by using this festival?
Just to seize power?
Or was there something else he was after?
The girl’s intuition told her that things were definitely not as simple as they appeared on the surface.
Would a greedy, lecherous bishop really have the nerve to collude with cultists and poison people at a nationally watched event like this?
Wasn’t he afraid of being held accountable afterward, of losing everything?
Unless he had absolute confidence, or some reason that made him willing to gamble everything even at the cost of his own downfall.
And then there was the mastermind behind the toxin.
That alchemist capable of creating such an insidious poison.
What did they really want?
Helos took a deep breath, forcing herself to calm down.
This was no time to act rashly.
Even though she had heard that little nun’s testimony, it hardly counted as solid evidence.
Duran could deny it outright, or even turn it around and accuse them of slander.
She needed more direct evidence… or a more direct method.