Chapter 23

Perhaps thanks to Cheshion’s meticulously written letter stating, “We cannot send Mori to the Grand Temple,” the Grand Temple sent the Archbishop’s representative and several priests. Officially, it was to ensure Mori’s comfort by conducting the ritual in the most relaxed environment possible.

The bag they brought contained silver needles and holy water—both deadly to witches.

“!”

Gremory, who had been in the form of a black cat, hissed at the priests from Cheshion’s arms.

Hiss—!

“Heh, you keep quite a fierce pet. Pleased to meet you—you may call me Rufellon.”

As the elderly priest chuckled, Cheshion forced an awkward smile.

“Haha, pleased to meet you too, Priest Rufellon.”

Cheshion guided the priest to the parlor while stroking the bristling black cat.

The moment Rufellon settled into the plush parlor sofa, he cut to the chase.

“Might I ask where the saintess known as ‘Mori’ is?”

“She should still be working at the convent. She’ll return soon, so could you wait a little longer? It won’t take too much time.”

Cheshion lied as he petted Gremory, who was sprawled across his lap. She had asked him to buy her time. Cheshion assumed she was stalling because she hated silver needles, but Gremory had another plan.

‘I need to slowly probe his darkness and find a way out of this.’

Her ruby-like eyes began scrutinizing Rufellon. Though his divine energy obscured his darkness, no one could evade the gaze of a high-ranking witch. If she stared long enough, his weakness would eventually reveal itself.

Meanwhile, Rufellon, who had no interest in a cat’s thoughts, readily agreed to Cheshion’s request.

“Of course. The saintess verification process is quite simple, so I don’t mind waiting.”

To pass the time, Cheshion struck up a conversation.

“Could you explain how the verification works? I’ve only heard that it involves pricking a fingertip with a silver needle and dripping blood into holy water.”

“Heh. That much is common knowledge, but the results aren’t as well known. If the subject is a saintess, the blood turns clear like water. For ordinary people, it simply spreads red. And for the wicked… ahem, it turns black—but I won’t elaborate further. It’s against protocol.”

“You’ve already said most of it.”

“Ah, well, I can’t say more.”

Rufellon didn’t seem particularly tight-lipped for a priest. Cheshion found it slightly amusing that such a man was the Archbishop’s proxy.

Meanwhile, Gremory pondered.

‘My body originally belonged to “Belita,” who died in the mountains, but it’s long since assimilated with a witch’s essence. Will my blood really spread red? Probably not.’

Time passed steadily until the hour Cheshion had claimed Mori would return.

Finally, Gremory succeeded in reading Rufellon’s darkness.

‘This man feels no real responsibility as the Archbishop’s proxy. He just enjoys the position. And that flapping mouth of his lies without a shred of guilt. In that case…’

As Gremory schemed, Rufellon began preparing for the ritual. He ordered the novice priest with him:

“Prepare the silver needle and the bowl of holy water.”

“Yes, Rufellon.”

The novice priest pulled a case from his robe. When opened, the silver needle gleamed ominously.

HISSSSS—!

Gremory let out a fierce hiss and bolted from the parlor. Cheshion worried she might not return, but thankfully, she came back—in human form—just as the novice was pouring holy water into the bowl.

“Haha, you’re here, Mori. I’ve come as the Archbishop’s proxy—”

“So I just drink this, right?”

“Eh?”

Before Rufellon could process the situation, Gremory chugged the entire bowl of holy water in one go.

Gulp, gulp—!

“Pah!”

She slammed the empty bowl onto the table with a thud.

It took Rufellon a full minute to comprehend what had happened.

“W-Wait! You can’t just drink all of it!”

“Oh, sorry. I thought it was for drinking.”

“You mean you have no idea what the saintess verification entails? The famous ritual?”

“Nope.”

“How dare you speak so rudely—! Wait, that’s not the point! Liam, do we have any holy water left?”

Rufellon turned to the novice, who hesitated.

“That was all we brought.”

“Damn it all! Who in the empire doesn’t know how saintess verification works?! Ugh, Liam! Why didn’t you bring extra? You always bring extra for emergencies!”

“We never bring more than this for verification trips! C-Can’t we just take her blood with the needle?”

“You idiot! It’ll clot on the way back!”

Meanwhile, Gremory began swaying like she was drunk.

“M-Mori?”

“Hic. I’m drunk.”

As Cheshion steadied her by the shoulders, he asked Rufellon,

“Um, Priest Rufellon… was that liquid really holy water? It seems more like alcohol.”

“Damn it, Liam! I told you to bring holy water, not booze! What kind of mix-up is this?!”

“I-I’m innocent! I swear I brought holy—!”

“How am I supposed to explain this to the Archbishop?! You’re taking full responsibility!”

While Rufellon berated the novice, Gremory grew thoroughly intoxicated.

To a witch, holy water was poison. As a powerful witch, Gremory only suffered the effects of strong liquor, but a weaker witch would’ve coughed blood and died.

In her drunken stupor, Gremory suddenly shouted:

“I’m a witch! What saintess?!”

“Mori, calm down.”

Cheshion desperately tried to cover her mouth.

“I’m a witch. Seriously. Hic.”

“Okay, okay, you’re beautiful.”

“Not beautiful—urp.”

The parlor descended into chaos.

After Gremory passed out on the sofa, Rufellon’s anger subsided, and the situation stabilized.

Rufellon and Cheshion began discussing how to resolve the mess.

“Your Grace, frankly, reporting this to the Archbishop would be… embarrassing. So let’s settle it like this.”

“How?”

“Let’s just agree that Lady Mori isn’t the saintess. That’s better for her and for me.”

He was right. Mori wouldn’t have to live at the Grand Temple, and Rufellon could hide his blunder to save face as the proxy.

“Agreed.”

The two men shook hands solemnly.

The priests departed for their quarters, leaving only Mori—slumped from “holy water” intoxication—and Cheshion in the parlor.

“Hey, Mori. Wake up.”

Under the eerie moonlight, Cheshion brushed his fingers against Gremory’s face. She blinked drowsily, then pulled his hand into her embrace, snuggling comfortably.

“I like your hand…”

“…!”

“So warm.”

Cheshion’s face burned red. Every time she said things like this, he wondered if she meant anything by it—only to end up flustered anyway.

His gaze lingered on her flawless face. It was the kind of beauty that could enchant any man. He didn’t know who might fall for her, but the mere thought stirred a pang of jealousy…

No. No way.

Staring at her face while imagining her with another man? It made him seem like he… liked her.

As Cheshion wrestled with his thoughts, Gremory began snoring peacefully.

Nearby, Iris screeched, “What are you doing to my brother?!”—but Gremory, fast asleep, heard none of it.

After a while, Cheshion carefully freed his hand, lifted her, and carried her to her bedroom.

At dawn, Rufellon and the novice priest left for the Grand Temple. Gremory, back in black cat form, hissed from Cheshion’s arms until they were out of sight.

Chuckling, Cheshion stroked her fur.

“Did you pull that stunt just to avoid the silver needle?”

Meow.

“But… was that really alcohol?”

Meow.

“…Is that a yes or no?”

Too lazy to answer, Gremory just rolled around in his arms. She could speak as a cat, but she couldn’t be bothered.

From that day on, Mori—now “proven” not to be the saintess—was treated differently. People addressed her as “Lady Mage” instead of “Saintess.” In a land where mages were rarer than saints, her status had only risen.