The maid with a scarf tied below her nose watched without blinking as Evangelin drank all the wine. She only moved again after receiving back the empty glasses from Evangelin and Kinder Toten.
How strange. Holy water didn't affect Evangelin Rohanson. Was she not a demon?
When she saw her swallow, she hadn't used any strange trick—she had really drunk all the wine mixed with holy water. Drinking the wine in one go seemed like a demonstration that holy water wasn't a weakness. As she stroked the empty glass, the supervising maid snapped at her.
"Hey, you! What are you standing around for? Is there time to rest? Hurry up and serve more wine!"
Nodding, Saraka picked up another plated dish. She mixed holy water from her apron pocket into every glass. She had several wine glasses taken from her while walking, but she didn't stop anyone. Holy water wasn't poison, so it didn't matter who drank it.
"Give me a glass of wine too."
Fortunately, she reached the person she needed to see before all the wine glasses were emptied. Saraka handed one glass to Viscount Whikel and conveyed her request.
Contrary to what was known publicly, Viscount Whikel was quick-witted and tight-lipped, making him one of Saraka's frequently used pieces. Recently, she had been using him to build a friendship with Count Rohanson.
"Is that so? I just need to subtly provoke Duke Hosakin? Hah, really. How did he even know that's my specialty?"
Duke Hosakin had bad manners and a fiery temper. Especially when angry, he couldn't make rational judgments. If she added the option of having the Duke throw a wine glass at Evangelin by provoking him through Viscount Whikel, he would act on it exactly.
Drinking didn't work. Then what about when holy water is poured on someone? What about wounds? Saraka felt her heart pounding vividly, just like when she dealt with the heretics imprisoned in the underground dungeon.
Evangelin and Kinder soon approached Duke Hosakin. The Duke threw one perfectly fine glass to break it, then picked up more wine to throw. But she didn't expect the Knight Commander to embrace Evangelin and take the glass in her stead. She had arranged for Sir Mujeta to briefly leave his post so he wouldn't be in the way, but who knew he would return so soon.
Viscount Whikel avoided Saraka's gaze at the slightly twisted plan. However, in that moment, Saraka was so filled with ecstasy that she couldn't even pay attention to Viscount Whikel. Beneath the scarf, her scar-riddled mouth stretched eerily wide in a smile.
Viscount Whikel thought the Knight Commander was hit with regular wine, not holy water, but the second glass Duke Hosakin threw was also mixed with holy water.
"Ouch!"
The maid clearing the glasses from the floor definitely cut her hand. She herself dismissed it as a misunderstanding, but Saraka clearly witnessed the moment her hand was cut. Since holy water was mixed in the wine, it healed immediately. Yet the Knight Commander's wound showed no sign of healing even after taking holy water directly.
'Found it...'
She wanted to reveal Evangelin's secret, but she didn't expect to discover the Knight Commander's weakness. An unexpected harvest.
Evangelin, seeing herself soaked in wine and wounded, sent Gabriel out to change clothes quickly.
Saraka followed Gabriel outside. Since no one cared whether a maid came out or not, she could move freely.
Servants weren't treated as fellow humans by nobles. Even with half her face covered by a scarf, no one found it strange.
Of course, except for Kinder Toten. Seeing how he went out of his way to ask about her situation showed how considerate Kinder Toten was toward others. He was truly a regrettable person. If it weren't for her son, she would have become a perfect devotee of Lord Lahel, as if painted.
Saraka's heart ached when she recalled being ordered by "Him" to prohibit supplying holy water to Kinder Toten. Still, if she openly gave holy water to the cursed one, the temple would be accused of being blinded by money, so it was an unavoidable choice. Kinder Toten seemed to have come to detest Saraka—or more precisely, "Him" whom Saraka represented—as a hypocrite since then.
Saraka quietly followed the Knight Commander.
"Sir Gabriel! How did you end up covered in wine?"
"Something happened. Could you bring me some clothes to change into?"
"Yes! I'll bring them right away!"
The knight went to find clothes to change into and soon returned with clean clothes. Saraka, waiting nearby, extended her hand as if to deliver them on her behalf.
"You'll deliver them to Sir Gabriel? Then I'll ask you to."
Saraka took the clothes and entered the room where Gabriel was waiting. Gabriel had removed his wet clothes and was topless.
"Are you delivering them for me? Thank you."
Unlike other knights, Gabriel received the clothes politely without speaking informally. Saraka glanced at Gabriel and hid her face as if shy. In truth, it was because her scarred mouth was too disfigured to reveal. She hurriedly left the room, worried her pounding heart might be heard.
She saw it clearly with her own two eyes. On Gabriel's shoulder, there was a round scar.
When "He" could barely manage a sigh, no—when Bishop Marik could still speak clearly, Bishop Marik had held Saraka's hand over the brazier and told her of the past.
"I see the fire and think of old times. Sigh. My tribe was all burned to death by the fires set by evil heretics, and I alone barely survived. But that's not it. Much later. Saraka, have you heard about the Emperor's youngest child?"
At that time, she couldn't answer because the burn scars on her face and jaw made even opening her mouth painful, so she only lowered her head. Bishop Marik continued his explanation while holding Saraka's hand over the brazier, indifferent to her screams.
"They say he died before even letting out his first cry, but that's not actually true. How do I know? Because I was the one who took the prince away."
Saraka needed to hear everything about Bishop Marik. Even while screaming as her hand burned, she strained to listen.
According to Bishop Marik, there was something not widely known to the world—the tribe's bodies bore a pattern of noble blood, a dragon mark. A dragon eating its own tail. The one who ate the dragon would be immortal, symbolizing the eternal prosperity of the imperial family.
It was considered an honor to bear the mark, and the most trusted family was tasked with it. During the reign of Emperor Mate, this role belonged to Bishop Marik.
By tattooing the mark on the newborn prince with immortal ink, the prince would become a vessel of immortality. But the youngest prince was different from others.
"The youngest prince was not affected by holy water. Don't be surprised. Such people are occasionally born into this world. Those who are deeply tainted by sin from birth, so profoundly that they carry the weight of humanity's accumulated wickedness—pitiful, wretched creatures who cannot be purified. Such people can only find redemption after being born, sinning, and dying repeatedly, finally cleansed to return to the Lord's embrace. Before that, you must never show them mercy. The youngest prince was such a one. Kinder Toten's child was the same."
The Emperor wanted to kill the child, but Bishop Marik proposed raising the child instead, and so he did. The Bishop had raised the child in secret, hidden from the Emperor who sought to kill the young prince.
"Such is fate. That is why the young prince was sent away to be raised elsewhere, far from the Emperor's reach."
The Emperor eventually learned of this and was furious, but the matter was quietly settled. And the young prince, bearing the dragon mark, became a knight in a distant land.
"He who cannot receive the Lord's blessing—most are short-lived. Even if they survive to adulthood, they cannot escape their fate. The young prince was no exception. Death came early, but that death was meaningful. Through his sacrifice, countless heretics were purged, and the temple's influence grew. All according to the Lord's design."
Bishop Marik had shared this secret with only one person—Saraka—before passing away.
"You, Saraka, will be my hands and feet. When the time comes, you will find the one bearing the mark. The dragon's head points the way. Follow the tail to its tip, and you will know."
The dragon tattoo on Saraka's hand, the one Bishop Marik had given her, pointed the way. It was an incomplete tattoo, stopping at the dragon's head. Only when she found the marked one and completed the circle would the path be revealed.
And now, Gabriel's shoulder bore the mark—a round scar where the dragon's tail should have been.
Saraka felt her heart pound as she remembered the Bishop's words.
"If you find the one bearing the mark, do not hesitate. Even if they seem human, they are not. They are vessels of accumulated sin, destined to bring calamity. Strike them down before they awaken."
She had found him at last. The Knight Commander Gabriel—the one Bishop Marik had spoken of, the one who bore the dragon's mark.
But now she had another problem. Evangelin Rohanson—holy water didn't affect her either. Was she also one of those marked ones? Or was she something else entirely?
Saraka needed to report to "Him"—no, to Azazel. She had to share what she had discovered.
Making sure no one was watching, Saraka slipped away from the banquet hall. She made her way to the small chamber where Azazel was waiting.
Inside, Azazel sat in the shadows, his silver hair catching what little light filtered through the curtains.
"You're late," he said, his voice carrying a hint of impatience.
"Forgive me. There were complications."
Saraka recounted everything—the test with the wine, Gabriel taking the hit instead of Evangelin, the wound that wouldn't heal, the scar on Gabriel's shoulder.
Azazel listened in silence, his expression unreadable. When she finished, he leaned back, fingers steepled.
"Interesting. So the Knight Commander bears the mark."
"Yes, and Evangelin—"
"Evangelin is something else entirely. Holy water doesn't affect her, yet she has no mark. That's... troubling."
He fell silent, thinking. Then he smiled—cold and calculating.
"But this could work to our advantage. The Knight Commander is now a liability. If we expose him as one of the marked ones, the temple will have no choice but to act."
"And Evangelin?"
"For now, we watch. We need to understand what she is before making a move."
Saraka nodded. The plan was changing, but the goal remained the same—to bring about the glory days of the temple, when heretics were purged and the faithful rejoiced.
She remembered Bishop Marik's teachings, the feel of her hand burning over the brazier. Pain was a teacher. Sacrifice was necessary.
"By the way," Azazel said, breaking into her thoughts. "Flauros is here."
Saraka stiffened. "Here? In the banquet hall?"
"His stench is all over you. He must have brushed past you at some point."
Flauros—one of the demon lords, and Azazel's rival. If he was here, things were more complicated than she had thought.
"Will this interfere with the plan?"
"Not at all. Fooling Flauros is easy. Aside from his sharp eyes, he's nothing special."
Azazel blew gently from his lips. Somewhere in the banquet hall, the lights would be going out. The humans would be panicking, but none would be more confused than Flauros—robbed of his sight, he would be helpless.
Saraka allowed herself a small smile beneath her scarf.
It was almost a shame she couldn't watch the chaos unfold. Almost.