The crown prince’s name was Jeren Ushiophe.
He was the nephew of Gester and the only son of Anton Quolin—now called Anton Ushiophe—who had taken the throne through rebellion.
It was Gester’s first time meeting him.
At the time of the rebellion, Jeren was not even five years old, and until then, Anton had remained secluded in his residence.
That was likely the reason.
Why Jeren did not recognize Gester.
To be honest, even Usher, who had spent his entire childhood with Gester, couldn’t recognize him when he was dressed as a woman.
His disguise was that perfect—how could Jeren possibly recognize him?
But that wasn’t the real problem.
The real issue was something only Usher, who knew the truth, could sense.
‘Cousin, male, cross-dressing.’
Usher could define Jeren with these three keywords.
A close-relative homosexual? What a dreadful hybrid.
The thought of that man becoming king was terrifying.
If that was the predetermined fate of Baern, Usher wouldn’t feel the slightest guilt in bringing about its downfall.
But personal feelings aside, all Usher could do in this situation was endure.
He just had to wait until nightfall.
“I’ve looked into all of Lady Mila’s activities! Ah, n-no, I wasn’t stalking! It’s pure admiration! This tournament was impressive, but if I had to pick the most memorable request regarding the Lone Rose, Mila…”
…Just until nightfall.
“How do you usually train? People might mistake Lady Mila for a brute-force warrior, but I know better! Your true weapon is the unpredictable attacks that stem from your overwhelming flexibility! I can’t even begin to imagine how much training went into compressing those massive, solid muscles…”
“Ah, anyway, it’s such an honor to meet you! I really…”
Why is nightfall taking so long?
Gester looked at Bersia.
His eyes pleaded for help.
But unfortunately, Bersia was too busy enjoying the situation.
Usher, the only one who truly sympathized with him, was powerless to do anything.
Bersia mouthed to Gester:
‘For the greater cause.’
For the sake of something bigger, you must endure.
It’s not like a bit of flattery would kill you.
Gester’s eyes glimmered with betrayal.
Usher could only shake his head at Bersia’s ruthlessness.
Fortunately, time only moved forward.
And eventually, the torturous moment came to an end.
The king entered, and Crown Prince Jeren swallowed his disappointment, greeted him, and moved to his side.
Only then did Usher whisper to Bersia.
“Wasn’t that a bit too cruel?”
“So what? It’s not my problem.”
“But that’s my friend you’re talking about…”
At that, Bersia flashed a mischievous smile.
“A knight only needs me, don’t you think? Body and heart—you said they were both mine.”
It was a statement that made Usher flinch.
A sudden heat rose within him.
He fanned himself for no reason, while Bersia chuckled softly.
As for the current king, Anton Ushiophe…
How should one put it?
The first impression upon seeing him was—
“He looks like dried-up jerky.”
“…I can’t even deny that.”
He resembled an old, withered tree.
Not just in aura, but in appearance.
It was different from what Usher remembered.
The Anton he recalled was towering and imposing, exuding a sharp, menacing presence.
A usurper who killed his own brother to seize the throne.
A man who fit that description like a predator.
And yet, now, none of that ferocity remained.
Even Gester, despite his resentment, was taken aback as he observed him.
Had he withered under the passage of time?
Or was it the guilt of fratricide eating away at him, leading to his decay?
…That might have been a reasonable assumption in most cases.
But this time, there was a clear, different reason.
‘It’s the work of a witch. The heretic’s divinity is resonating throughout his entire body.’
The king was enveloped in a sinister, twisted divinity.
As if it were strangling him.
Usher felt no sympathy.
Even setting personal grievances aside.
He had aligned with heretics, after all.
Anton should have known that such a path wouldn’t lead to a peaceful end.
He had brought it upon himself, and considering the lives lost because of him, he deserved nothing but contempt.
Usher decided to focus on something more productive.
If a witch was lurking in the palace, there was a high chance they were manipulating the weakened king from behind the scenes.
So where was the witch?
Since entering the palace, even before stepping into the banquet hall, Usher had been assessing the people around him, trying to pinpoint their location.
There was nothing immediately visible.
They were either well-hidden or positioned somewhere inconspicuous.
The search stopped there.
After delivering his speech, the king left the banquet hall.
Now came the tedious part of the evening.
“The Blue Sword, your argument with the Sandstorm just now was quite striking. Very satisfying.”
Although the banquet was attended for a different purpose, there were still things that needed to be done.
In other words, a great deal of time had to be spent dealing with people.
Other mercenary leaders from the Big Ten approached, exchanging greetings and initiating conversations.
They asked about the reason for Baern’s visit, how each member was recruited, what Baern sought to achieve here, and the strategies devised for survival.
Most of the conversation was led by Halia.
They did not disregard Halia.
They knew how important it was to show at least a minimal level of respect to the leader of a powerful group.
Because of this, Halia established an equal footing with them and exchanged information.
Listening to the conversation from the side, Usher realized something.
Indeed, despite her usual outward personality, Halia was a highly competent individual.
Without shedding her image as a naive young lady, she smoothly extracted all the information she wanted.
Among that information was something about the leader of Sandstorm.
The mercenary leaders issued warnings about him, and Halia expressed her gratitude for the advice.
Finally, the time spent surrounded by people came to an end.
At last, the long-awaited night arrived.
“I’m exhausted.”
Usher slumped as he spoke.
Although he hadn’t engaged in much conversation himself, the sheer amount of attention he received as the star of the banquet drained him completely.
Being in the body of Bersia made enduring the gazes of others particularly difficult.
His body was already quite feminine in shape.
Wearing a dress only emphasized it further, making the stares from men feel even more blatant.
Just being looked at made his entire body feel as if insects were crawling all over him.
No matter how much he tried, he could never get used to it.
“You seem especially worn out.”
At Bersia’s nonchalant remark, Usher scowled.
“Men are all beasts. How do they not even think of averting their gazes? Do they not realize it’s rude to stare like that? Sigh… I’m sorry. I shouldn’t let the saintess’ body be subjected to such vulgar looks.”
“You talk as if you’ve never been a man yourself. By that logic, aren’t you also a beast?”
“I am different!”
“Oh? And how exactly are you different?”
“Hah!”
A hollow laugh escaped him.
After everything she had seen, how could she even ask that?
Since Usher immediately countered, Bersia smirked and replied.
“You don’t really seem like a proper gentleman. You’re more like… a bitch in heat.”
“Saintess!”
“See? The way you blush and glare like that—how am I supposed to think you’re manly?”
Bersia shrugged.
Usher was taken aback.
For a moment, the thought crossed his mind—‘Is this why Bersia is more popular with women when using this body?’
Losing to her in masculinity was something that always left Usher bitter.
His expression soured.
It was an involuntary reaction born from irritation.
But their little squabble didn’t last long.
Knock, knock!
“It’s about time.”
Diego’s voice came through the door along with a knock.
Still pouting, Usher shot Bersia one last glare before heading toward the door.
Even as he walked away, Bersia continued to tease him.
“How can he act like that and still feel wronged?”
Usher was truly indignant.
It was the shamelessness of someone completely unaware of their own behavior.
The night had deepened.
The sky was covered with clouds, making it an ideal night for stealth.
The shadows of night obscured the desert’s brilliant starlight, as if the primordial god himself was blessing their mission.
The Blue Sword had gathered in one place.
That is, the four elites of the Holy Order and Gester, who would guide them through the royal palace.
They had all changed into stealth attire.
Diego, having expanded his senses, closed his eyes and muttered.
“Most of them are asleep. The only ones awake are a few guards and some servants preparing to turn in for the night.”
“Good work.”
Diego’s abilities specialized in reconnaissance.
While he couldn’t specifically distinguish between divine power and heretical energy, his talent was still a great asset for the mission.
Halia lowered her voice and spoke.
“Let’s begin. The infiltration of the royal palace.”
Usher nodded.