April 18, 269, New Era.
Calonpolis, the Pope’s City, capital of the Desorian Continent.
Under the shining sun, a tall young woman stood clad in silver knight’s armor. Her golden hair, bright as the morning sun, was particularly striking. Her emerald-green eyes looked forward, her calm gaze reflecting a dignified heroism while hiding a maidenly purity that others could not perceive. Over her shoulders hung a navy-blue knight’s cloak emblazoned with the Parishio family crest. She wore a sleek skirt-armor over slim-fitting black tights, with a knightly sword equipped at her waist. Her entire presence was elegant yet majestic.
This was the Knight Princess, Christina Parishio—commander of the so-called Witch Hunting Group.
Today was the long-awaited day the Pope had summoned her to the Pope’s City. Taking the matter very seriously, she had arrived early to wait in the Great Hall. However, for some reason, the Pope’s preparation time was unexpectedly long today.
Finally, Archbishop Gilliam, another high-ranking official close to the Pope, entered the hall to greet Christina and escort her to the Pope’s residence.
“Your Excellency Knight Princess, His Holiness has been feeling unwell lately. He can only hold this audience from behind a curtain. I hope you will understand. Without further ado, please follow me from the temple to the side palace.”
“Thank you for your trouble, Archbishop Gilliam. It seems His Holiness has been exhausting himself for the sake of this continent, but he must still take care of his health.”
Christina, however, remained in the dark, unaware that the current Pope was no longer human.
Eventually, the Knight Princess arrived at the Pope’s residence. Unlike previous visits, she was seated before the platform at the entrance. From the entrance leading up to the Pope’s bedroom, five layers of deep crimson floor-to-ceiling curtains were hung, resembling the layered curtains of a theater.
The Knight Princess knelt on one knee, her armor clashing against the floor with a crisp echo. The beautiful girl, with her golden hair, green eyes, and sharp features, displayed the piety of a holy knight in every line of her face. Even her breathing followed the disciplined rhythm of the church’s teachings.
“Rise, my knight.”
“Lady Knight Princess, I trust you have been well. I have been feeling poorly of late, so I shall not meet with you directly.”
The Pope’s voice sounded different today, filling Christina with a sense of strangeness.
A raspy, decaying voice drifted from behind the curtains. Every word seemed to carry the scent of a corpse, like the whispers of a weathered, crumbling tombstone. An oppressive sensation that caused strong physical discomfort welled up in her heart, making it sink as her breathing grew rapid.
Indeed, this was the negative effect brought about by the Pope unconsciously releasing the pressure of necromantic magic.
“Your Holiness has worked hard lately. I have captured over sixty more demon-kin women and have sent them to the designated locations you arranged.”
Christina respectfully placed a hand over her chest and performed a knight’s salute. These basic etiquettes were things her father, Marcus, had taught her every day when she was a child.
“You must fulfill your mission, Lady Knight Princess. You must hunt down and kill every last witch!”
Pope Dussell intentionally emphasized the word ‘witch.’ In reality, he was using Speech Craft to reinforce the brainwashing of the Knight Princess, as the restriction he placed upon her was tied to that very word.
Christina did not know what had happened to her over the past two years, but every time someone mentioned the word ‘witch,’ her emotions would flare into an abnormal rage. It wasn’t just a physiological stress response; even if her personal feelings toward the witches who killed her father were intense, she felt as if her emotions were being artificially ramped up. This sudden, explosive feeling of fury whenever she heard ‘witch’ made her feel as though she wasn’t herself.
The Knight Princess took a deep breath, gripped her cross, and began to pray, trying to quiet her mind and body so she would not be governed by rage.
However, the holy light energy emitted by the Knight Princess clashed with the necromantic energy radiating from the Pope deep within the side palace, creating a faint crackling sound in the air. The Pope, who had once unconditionally believed in the Holy Light, now harbored a deep loathing for that power after becoming a Lich.
The orthodox Pope protected by the Holy Light was long gone. Sitting deep within the side palace was a Lich that fed on death.
Christina did not know that behind the curtain, there was no warm cardinal’s throne, only a withered, gaunt figure huddled on a high platform. Hands as dry as old branches rested on the armrests, and deep within the sockets of a fleshless skull, two clusters of deep blue ghost-fire flickered—the unique aura of a Lich.
After praying for a time, the Knight Princess regained her composure.
“Lady Knight Princess, please head to Heliwood immediately. At the same time, pay attention to whether any witches are appearing near the Sela Temple. I believe you will find your answer there soon.”
Pope Dussell spoke in a tone devoid of any warmth.
“Long live the sovereign. Your Holiness must take care of your body; this continent still needs you to protect the believers,” Christina replied in a resonant voice. Although she had doubts, she still offered her well-wishes out of etiquette.
Then, the Knight Princess left the Pope’s residence, a place filled with a sense of wrongness.
Shortly after she departed, a low, sneering chuckle drifted from behind the curtain in response to the mention of ‘protecting believers.’
“Protecting the believers… naturally. After all, they are all useful kindling.”
‘Just a little more, and the sacrifice at Heliwood will be complete.’
Trust is the most brilliant trap; it captures prey that walks in willingly.
Christina, who had grown up alone, was surrounded by nothing but flattery. Deprived of the love of a father and mother, she had now become a slave to the faith represented by the Pope.
***
The Parishio family estate, Calonpolis.
The elderly butler was the only person in this mansion she could truly talk to. He was a distant relative of the Parishio family and, in a sense, the last family member her father had left her. Even though the Mayor of Heliwood, Philip, was Marcus’s sworn brother and was willing to treat her as his own, he was not related to her by blood.
She felt like a prisoner—a prisoner under house arrest in her own home. This was the childhood of the orphaned Christina.
Christina craved love but could not receive it from relatives, so she turned her gaze toward ‘love’ for those of the same gender. The hypocrisy and insincerity of noble boys disgusted her, while heartfelt communication with girls her own age provided more emotional fulfillment.
‘They only get close to me for their families’ goals. Truly, don’t pay them any mind, Chris.’
Thus, she found girls among the commoners and even in the slums who shared her passion for the country and had similar goals. Compared to the intrigue among the nobility, the girls in her personal guard who came from the common folk knew better how to care for the people and could better reciprocate Christina’s emotions.
Furthermore, over the years, the Pope had given her unconditional trust and provided assistance in many ways. She sought to remain loyal to her chivalric spirit, remembering her father’s teachings from her youth. Her steadfast loyalty to the sovereign was, at this moment, the very thing harming her.
To the Pope, the Knight Princess currently heading to Heliwood was merely a powerful pawn to execute his plan.
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