102.

Erika thought she had been running around far too much since yesterday. The rare sight of her rushing about had the staff whispering from the morning, wondering if some issue had arisen with the Romdak merchants.

‘Young Master Archie moping around just because he liked that knight from Diazi… It’s obvious he’ll be sulking somewhere after his watch duty.’

There was a certain place Harry always went when he wanted to cry in secret. Behind the training grounds, where there was a tall tree, just wide enough to hide a single sturdy knight.

Though the training grounds were eerily quiet, Erika was certain Harry was there.

“Harry.”

“…Erika? How did you—?”

Harry emerged from behind the tree, as if entranced by Erika’s voice. As she had expected, Harry, who had just finished his watch duty, had not returned to his quarters but had instead dug himself a hiding hole here.

Caught off guard by Erika’s sudden appearance, Harry looked flustered. Normally, she would have been in Lord McFoy’s study at this time.

But Erika paid no mind to his reaction. Instead, she silently gazed at Harry’s face.

His eyes, like dewy, pale blue lakes, betrayed the fact that he had already shed a few tears. The sight reminded her of the first time she had discovered him crying here.

‘How could someone look so beautiful when they’re crying? I must have a terrible personality to think that.’

Looking at Harry, with his tear-streaked face, Erika felt her heart race—not just from the running she had done to find him.

Stifling the laugh that threatened to burst forth, she slowly approached him.

“Are you crying here, hoping I’ll drag you out again?”

Recalling the day they had first kissed, Erika teased him in the same shameless tone one might expect from an aging bachelor on the streets. Despite her composed and gentle demeanor, she occasionally enjoyed taunting the younger Harry as though she were a mischievous rogue.

“It’s not… like that…”

“Not like that? Then should I leave?”

At Erika’s playful provocation, Harry frantically shook his head.

Erika, suppressing her amusement for a second time, asked him, “Are you really this upset that Young Master Archie fancies the young knight from Diazi?”

“…”

Harry lowered his gaze in silence, as though her question had struck a chord of both sorrow and humiliation.

‘This is the same Sir Forn that the fanatics fear the most as McFoy’s Fallen Knight?’

The Harry standing before her, lashes trembling faintly, was the same infamous knight known for coldly slitting throats without hesitation when outside the western regions.

“…You’ve got such a tender heart.”

Standing close to him now, Erika brushed away the tear that clung to the corner of his eye.

“Even after all these years, seeing you curled up crying in a corner just makes you seem all the more adorable.”

At her words, Harry’s face flushed as he pulled a complicated expression. He was well aware of the fact that he was younger than Erika, and it clearly bothered him.

Reading his expression, Erika finally burst into laughter.

‘I surrender.’

Erika declared defeat in her heart. She couldn’t help herself—everything Harry did seemed endearing to her.

The next moment, Erika grabbed the back of Harry’s head and kissed him boldly.

‘What choice do I have? I’ll have to tie him to me with paper if that’s all I can manage. At least that way, he’ll be bound to stay by my side.’

Funnily enough, it was on this day that Erika resolved to marry Harry.

* * *

“Help me, young priest. It hurts. Please, help me.”

Once again, the pitiful voice of an old man called out to the young priest. For hours now, the priest had been hearing the sorrowful cries.

“Priest, my child. Help me just this once. It hurts so much.”

And again, the frail voice called out, showing no signs of weariness.

Unknowingly, the young priest felt his resolve faltering. He was almost compelled to turn around.

“Stop. You lack the strength to withstand it.”

A voice interrupted him, sounding like a young man but carrying the dignity of an elder.

Before the priest could even react to the unexpected voice, a sharp ‘crack’ like the sound of a walnut shell splitting reverberated through the cave.

“Argh!”

The young priest screamed, clutching his forehead as he rolled across the stone floor.

“Tsk, tsk.”

A man dressed entirely in white cloth clicked his tongue as he gazed down at the young priest. Carelessly, he tossed the silver rod he had used to strike the priest’s forehead. One of the attendants following behind the man swiftly caught it.

“Not even sensing me approach… You could have died if you weren’t lucky. Go back now. And don’t forget to find a high priest to purify you.”

The man spoke indifferently as he passed by the groaning priest.

Only then did the young priest snap out of the strange trance. He hurriedly lifted himself off the ground and stared at the man.

The youthful figure, with an aged tone of speech, was followed by three high-ranking priests in formal attire.

At that moment, the man removed the translucent cloth covering his head. The fabric slid off, revealing long strands of wheat-colored hair, illuminated faintly by the dim light of the cave.

“Lord Hailot…”

The young priest muttered in a shocked voice.

The man halted his steps abruptly. Half-turning, he stood with a tilted posture, looking back at the young priest.

His irises, almost white, gleamed as if mocking the priest for only realizing now. The fierce gaze made the young priest shrink.

As the oppressive atmosphere pressed down, Hailot grinned, baring his teeth. In a playful tone, he said, “It seems there’s no promising talent these days. Weaklings, the lot of you.”

The young priest held his breath at Hailot’s unpredictable behavior. His flippant words and tone seemed far removed from what one would expect of a High Priest.

The mischievous smile lasted only a moment. Hailot turned coldly and walked away.

“If you don’t want to die, don’t even think of turning around next time, no matter how pitiful ‘it’ sounds.”

The seemingly kind advice was left behind as Hailot began walking deeper into the cave. The high priests following him kept their heads bowed in reverence, silent as loyal servants.

“A weakling like that won’t last another day. Who brought him here?” Hailot asked, his tone suddenly stern.

“It was me, Lord Hailot. We were short on capable high priests, so I selected the most talented among the young priests. I apologize for the oversight,” one of the high priests answered promptly.

Those who served Hailot were used to his erratic behavior. They believed that the overwhelming divine power he housed in his mortal body had driven him partially mad.

“Send that priest back to the Great Temple. Keeping him here will only cause trouble.”

“Yes, Lord Hailot.”

After the brief exchange, they reached their destination.

“Now then,” Hailot muttered, looking around the space with a weary expression.

The area was vast, with a ceiling open to the night sky. Moonlight streamed in, illuminating the underground spring at its center. The water shimmered white under the moonlight, and in its midst…

“It’s been a while, Nyx. I’d feel lonely if I didn’t see you for even a day. Do you feel the same?” Hailot crouched, a sly smile playing on his lips.

In the spring, Nyx was bound tightly with coarse, handwoven cloth, submerged up to his chin.

Hailot leaned in with a mocking friendliness. “So, how have you been? Yesterday was Nicholas’s turn, wasn’t it? It must’ve been so dull. I can imagine how suffocating it was.”

At his words, Nyx, who had been slumped lifelessly, suddenly raised his head. He began screaming, a guttural, incomprehensible sound devoid of any semblance of language.

Hailot’s smile faded quickly. He brushed off the droplets of water that had splashed onto his face and rose to his feet, expression weary.

“Why do you keep tormenting the priests?” he asked, running a hand through his long hair with a bored look. He gazed at Nyx as if looking at an inanimate object—or an eternal nuisance.

Nyx was indeed a thorny problem.

Silencing him only caused him to invade their minds. Allowing him to scream like this was, oddly enough, the lesser evil.

Killing him was impossible. Even if his limbs were severed or his body burned, he regenerated. Hailot had tested the theory that Nyx’s resurrection was tied to the number of McFoy lives he had consumed, but the experiments led nowhere.

Nyx was essentially a demigod, and no ordinary power seemed capable of ending him.

In the end, even Hailot, the infamous “Mad High Priest” renowned for his immense divine power, had given up. The best he could do was this imperfect seal to contain Nyx.

‘How tiresome. This is beyond frustrating,’ Hailot thought, grinding his teeth as he raised his hand. A gust of wind rippled out from him.

Golden light spread from his fingertips, filling the cave and piercing the night sky through the open ceiling.

‘How long can I keep suppressing his power like this?’

As Nyx let out an agonizing wail, Hailot gazed at him impassively. Behind him, Chloe, one of the high priests, shuddered at the sound. No matter how many times she heard it, she could never get used to Nyx’s screams.

By dawn, the sealing ritual had drained Hailot completely. He was carried out of the cave on Chloe’s back, limp as a corpse.

As they exited the cave, a figure in a white robe stood waiting. Chloe stopped abruptly, sensing the stranger’s presence.

Though he seemed unconscious, Hailot lifted his head suddenly and narrowed his eyes at the figure. “You’re not here to greet me, are you? What brings you?”

Nicholas Diazi turned slowly to face them, his expression unreadable. In the faint purple light of dawn, he spoke at last.

“What do you think?”