Chapter 47

Chapter 47

Crash-!

An unseen power shattered both of Sergius’s hands, and a wretched scream was torn from his throat.

“Aaaagh!”

The destruction was not limited to his hands. His arms, shoulders, and legs were twisted and mangled as if run through a crushing machine.

A blood-curdling scream resounded through Yutia’s mansion. Yet Yutia, observing this brutal spectacle, merely looked on with a placid expression, pronouncing judgment on Sergius, whose body was now entirely broken.

“No one will come to save you, no matter how much you scream.”

“P-Please… save me!”

Terror etched on his face, Sergius cried out to Yutia, who watched him from within the crimson world. Overwhelmed by unbearable pain, fluids leaked from his eyes, nose, and mouth. Any semblance of his dignity as a cardinal was gone; all he could do was shriek, desperate to escape the torment.

“What are you saying?” Yutia, appearing genuinely confused, met the eyes of Sergius as he writhed on the floor and spoke again.

“You aren’t going to die, are you?”

As she said this, a soft white light began to glow from Yutia’s hand. The potent divine energy swiftly started to mend Sergius’s body, but—

“No! Stop it!!”

Sergius screamed even more violently as he watched his injuries heal. Then, the instant his body was completely restored—

“Gah…!”

Trembling from head to toe, Sergius looked up at Yutia, his eyes filled with pure horror. He was a pitiful sight, a far cry from a cardinal of Rosario.

The fear born from repeated, agonizing pain had already consumed the last remnants of his dignity and faith. Though he had endured this cycle countless times, he still could not grasp the reality of his situation. The holy knights who never came, no matter how loud he screamed. The invisible pressure that pinned him in place. The way his body contorted like paper with her slightest gesture.

None of it made sense. It was all utterly incomprehensible.

And so—

“Save me… I beg you… save me…”

He could only plead for mercy. Even without fully understanding why he was subjected to such horror, he begged for forgiveness, as if seeking absolution from a deity.

However—

Crrrrunch~!!

“Aaaaaaaah!”

Contrary to Sergius’s desperate hopes, his body began to slowly compress once more. His ears ringing with his own insane shrieks, he heard Yutia’s voice.

“I keep telling you, you will not die. You still have a purpose to serve.”

Her voice was sweet to any listener.

“But—”

Soft, yet—

“You must atone for the crime of attempting to harm Him.”

Her words sent a chill straight to his core.

“Aaaaagh!!!!”

Sergius’s screams echoed once again.

***

Approximately a month had passed since Alon returned to the Count’s estate. He had spent the time recuperating from the fatigue of his long journey through the desert, while also looking into the origin of the “Abyssal Entity” that should not have appeared yet, alongside hints of external threats he had learned about from “It.” Now, Alon was making preparations to depart the estate once more.

His departure was for two reasons. The first was to attend the magic conference, an event to which he had been invited by Liyan Aguileras, the daughter of the Red Tower’s lord. The second was to make an appearance at a social event preceding the conference.

Social gathering.

In reality, it was more fitting to call it a nobles’ social function rather than a grand “gathering.” It was simply an occasion for nobles to come together and reinforce their alliances.

The only somewhat unusual aspect was that, unlike typical noble events, this one permitted the participation of distinguished individuals who were not nobles.

‘I really have no desire to go.’

Alon clicked his tongue at the thought. Even so, the reason he felt obliged to attend the gathering before the magic conference was that, as the head of Kalpha, he needed to uphold a certain level of propriety.

Whether he liked it or not, he was now the leader of Kalpha.

Naturally, that did not mean he was forcing himself to do things he genuinely despised.

For much of the process, he was filled with thoughts of acting against his will, but that changed entirely because of a single letter delivered to Alon.

“Hoo—”

Alon gazed at the magical letter that lifted his spirits just by looking at it. It wasn’t enchanted; it was simply a letter confirming Alon’s legitimate position as the leader of a faction, accompanied by details of the regular stipend he would now receive.

“Impressive.”

The sum of money mentioned in the letter, which a faction leader was legally entitled to, was beyond anything he had imagined. It finally allowed him to understand why the leaders of the two factions he had never understood before had clung so stubbornly to their posts for years without resigning.

‘With this, I could endure all sorts of torment every day and still hold on.’

Alon pondered how the faction’s structure was designed to generate such vast wealth. But putting his curiosity aside, he felt a renewed sense of satisfaction, picturing the future income. Just as he was tucking the letter into his coat, comforted by this financial security—

“Count, isn’t that the letter you received two weeks ago?”

“It is.”

“And you’re still carrying it with you?”

“It brings me comfort.”

At this unexpected reply, Evan looked at him with a peculiar expression.

“Sometimes it’s difficult to discern whether you are being serious or not, Count.”

“Well, I am neither particularly serious nor particularly unserious.”

In response, Evan shrugged and shifted the subject.

“Now that I think of it, I heard some intriguing tales while we were staying in the village yesterday.”

“Intriguing tales?”

“Yes.”

“What kind?”

“Well, it’s still just a rumor, and I haven’t verified it with the information guild, so it’s not confirmed, but it seems Deus has defeated Reinhardt.”

“Reinhardt? You mean the ‘One Sword’ of Caliban?”

“Yes.”

“…Deus defeated the One Sword?”

At Alon’s question, Evan nodded.

“As I said, I haven’t confirmed it with the information guild, so it’s not absolutely certain… but given how widely the rumor has spread, I believe it is likely true.”

“Hmmm…”

Alon thought of Deus, with whom he had naturally lost contact after their joint expedition to the north half a year ago.

‘Isn’t Reinhardt far too powerful to defeat?’

Of course, Alon knew Deus was strong. He was a Master Knight, just like Reinhardt, and Alon had seen Deus’s prowess with his own eyes.

However, Alon, who knew exactly how formidable Reinhardt was from the game ‘Psychedelia’, felt a wave of confusion. To his knowledge, Reinhardt possessed strength on a completely different level from other Master Knights.

But then again, he didn’t think the rumors were necessarily false.

‘If he has grown strong enough to defeat Reinhardt in just half a year… just how prodigious is his talent?’

As Alon marveled at Deus’s ability, Evan continued with more news.

“There is something else as well.”

“Is it about Seolrang? Or Yutia?”

“Well… it might involve Yutia, but this is actually a separate matter.”

“?”

Intrigued, Alon listened carefully, and after hearing everything, he asked again in disbelief.

“The Duke of Limgrave was taken to the Holy Nation?”

“Yes, and this isn’t a rumor—it appears he was genuinely taken.”

“Why…?”

“I heard he received a ‘conversion letter.’”

“A conversion letter…?”

“You know, the letter the Holy Nation dispatches when there is suspicion of collusion with heretics. That is what he received.”

“So he was taken to the Holy Nation?”

“Yes, although it was said he went voluntarily, it is essentially the same as being dragged there. From what I understand, it happened about two weeks ago, so you probably will not see the Duke of Limgrave at the gathering.”

Alon nodded, seeming to think this wasn’t entirely unfortunate.

Truthfully, he had been somewhat reluctant to meet with either Duke Limgrave or Marquis Filboid at this time. Whenever he saw them, they looked at him as if they wanted to devour him.

“…”

Of course, no matter how much hostility they directed his way, it didn’t actually cause Alon any harm. Still, it was uncomfortable to share a space with someone who was openly antagonistic toward him.

“This might be more agreeable.”

Muttering to himself, he soon caught sight of the distant lands of the Verityun estate, where the gathering was being held. A short time later, they arrived at the estate of Marquis Verityun and proceeded directly to the ballroom.

“We have arrived, Count.”

At Evan’s words, Alon stepped out of the carriage.

‘There are a great many people.’

The moment he exited, he couldn’t help but notice the immense crowd before him.

There had been many attendees at the Grand Church event as well, but this gathering held even more.

‘There certainly are a lot of non-nobles here. Over there are mercenaries, here are merchants, and over there… mages and even priests.’

Alon observed as he walked, noting the abundance of guests who did not appear to be nobles. Soon, they reached their destination.

As if they had been waiting, Alon came across Duke Artia in a black dress and Count Zenonia.

“You’ve arrived.”

“Have you been well?”

“Yeah.”

Alon gave brief replies to the casual greetings from the two shadowy figures. Even though he was aware he was on the same side as them now, he still felt an inexplicable intimidation standing before them.

It was likely due to the subtle misunderstandings between them that made him inherently cautious. From Alon’s perspective, he could not afford to let them discover that a misunderstanding indeed existed.

So, after a brief exchange of pleasantries, Alon occupied himself by selecting snacks from around the ballroom and engaging in light conversation with them.

But then—

“Ah.”

Unfortunately, Alon locked eyes with the one man he least wanted to encounter: Marquis Filboid.

Until that moment, Duke Artia and Count Zenonia had been conversing, but the moment they noticed Marquis Filboid, they fell silent. As the marquis began walking toward them, their expressions grew rigid.

While Artia and Zenonia were undoubtedly powerful in the underworld, in the political sphere, they were still inferior to Marquis Filboid. Having survived countless political wars, he possessed the skill to inflict damage both internally and externally with his words alone, and this made them tense.

Simultaneously, several nobles attending the gathering observed Marquis Filboid approaching Count Palatio.

“I… I admit defeat…! So please, have mercy….!”

The marquis muttered in a dejected tone, and not only the watching nobles, but also Duke Artia and Count Zenonia, were stunned by his words.

It was no surprise—every noble present was fully aware of the immense influence Marquis Filboid wielded in politics. They also knew that since the marquis began his ascent to power, he had never bowed his head to anyone.

So, when every noble who witnessed the scene turned in astonishment toward Alon, who had apparently compelled the marquis to surrender—

‘…? Me…? What… did I do…?’

Alon, who had been distractedly responding to the other two ladies’ conversation while eating financiers, could only look completely bewildered.