"Alright. So be it."
The moment Theo departed, one of the paladins accompanying the Lucerne delegation approached Juliet with measured steps.
"Forgive the intrusion, my lady..."
The paladin, clad in a dark crimson tunic that seemed to absorb the fading light, gestured for her to follow him aside.
"The guest of honor wishes to speak with you."
To her surprise, he led her not into the main hall but to a small open-air theater adjacent to the temple, situated away from the crowded square.
The person who had requested this meeting was none other than Archbishop Gilliam himself—Lucerne's official representative.
He sat observing with evident pleasure a performance presented by young students of the theological academy, their voices rising and falling in practiced harmony.
"It's been quite some time, Miss Moned. How have you been?"
The archbishop was familiar to Juliet. Not intimately enough to exchange warm pleasantries, but sufficient to recognize one another on sight.
"Was it truly me you wished to see?"
"Indeed," he replied, his manner reserved and dignified. "I have a direct question to pose."
His eyes fixed on hers with unwavering intensity.
"Where is the Soul Stone, Miss Juliet?"
"I don't possess it."
Contrary to her expectations, the archbishop didn't press the matter. He merely raised his eyebrows in mild surprise.
"It is a priceless temple relic, Miss Moned."
"The temple houses many such treasures," Juliet countered with polite firmness. "The Regalia, for instance?"
She glanced meaningfully at the massive ring adorning the archbishop's left hand—ostentatious to the point of excess. It was the Fisherman's Ring, the symbol of papal authority bestowed upon the Pope's representative.
*But does it truly hold power?* Juliet wondered.
She had heard it possessed historical significance, but never that it contained miraculous abilities.
*Unless... is it meant for healing?*
"If you continue to evade us, we cannot remain indifferent indefinitely," Gilliam said, his words carrying a subtle edge of menace.
"I am not evading anything. I genuinely cannot return it."
*Juliet knew the Genovian Soul Stone had been used to heal the Duke of Carlisle's eyes. Returning it would mean...*
"Are you familiar with the content of that play?" the archbishop asked abruptly, gesturing toward the stage.
"Yes, of course."
Young novices were performing a scene from a well-known Lenten legend. Though their acting lacked refinement, the story itself was familiar to everyone.
"*Lord of the Voice, I have nothing left... Help me one more time.*"
"*Then give me your firstborn.*"
The plot was deceptively simple: A royal tailor, having lost everything, wanders into the forest intending to take his own life. There, he hears something—a voice promising salvation.
He strikes a bargain... and ten years later, the voice returns on the very day his long-awaited child is born.
The entity with whom the tailor made his contract reveals itself as a demon and, keeping its promise, drags the firstborn into the darkness of the forest.
*The moral?* Juliet thought bitterly.
*Don't trust those who appear from nowhere offering gifts too generous to be real.*
"Demons are masters at manipulating human desire," the archbishop said instructively, as though addressing a naive child. "And your key belongs to that very category, Miss Moned."
Juliet's eyes widened slightly. He was speaking of her artifact.
"It is a cursed object. Surely you understand this?"
"Who claims such a thing? It's a family heirloom."
"Pope Hildegard herself declared it so."
*The name struck like a bell in her memory: Juliet knew her well. When the impostor Sebastian had kidnapped Juliet years ago, the true Pope Hildegard had also been imprisoned in those same dark dungeons.*
"Why are you suddenly concerned with my possessions?"
The archbishop spoke slowly, his expression grave and deliberate:
"We will no longer demand the return of the Soul Stone."
He paused, letting the weight settle.
"In exchange, surrender that dangerous artifact to us."
Juliet couldn't suppress a quiet laugh—soft, but laced with unmistakable irony.
"May I ask you something in return?"
"Certainly."
"There are rumors that a prophetic text has been discovered. Is that true?"
The archbishop showed no surprise. His eyes flickered with something unreadable, but his composure remained intact.
"How did you learn of this?"
"Everyone is whispering about it."
"It is true," he confirmed with measured reservation, almost as though confessing a minor inconvenience.
But Juliet remained unimpressed.
*This happened before, in my past life—an ancient stone tablet inscribed with predictions of future disasters was also called a prophecy.*
*Such as the time when the palace lake turned blood-red...*
She narrowed her eyes and spoke with a faint smile:
"If I offered to trade my key for access to this prophecy, would you accept?"
"Miss Juliet..."
"You wouldn't agree. That tells me everything I need to know."
"That is entirely different! Sacred relics bring order and stability to the world. But objects like your key sow only chaos and ruin."
"I don't know about that. I've never been particularly moved by lofty proclamations."
Gilliam sighed heavily, as though the weight of the world pressed upon his shoulders.
"She said you would respond exactly this way."
"Who did?"
"Her Holiness, Pope Hildegard."
With visible reluctance, he removed the Fisherman's Ring from his finger and extended it toward her.
"This is a minor relic."
"Why are you giving it to me?"
"These are the Pope's direct orders. She instructed me to convey this message: the ring will protect you from the curse carried by the artifact in your possession."
Juliet froze.
*Without my butterflies to shield me, I truly am vulnerable. And they vanished once before...*
*When I used the Soul Stone, the butterflies disappeared entirely. Since then, I've avoided all sacred objects.*
Finally, she carefully accepted the ring, handling it only through her glove.
"Convey my gratitude to Her Holiness."
For now, she decided to keep the ring close—hidden securely, and under no circumstances to be touched with bare skin.
---
When Juliet emerged from the temple theater, the sun had already begun its descent toward the horizon, painting the sky in shades of amber and crimson.
She passed silently through the stone arches and, feeling the ring's subtle weight in the pocket of her silk gown, tentatively called upon her butterflies.
To her relief, they responded immediately, their delicate wings shimmering into existence around her.
*It seems merely carrying the relic doesn't make them vanish. That's reassuring.*
Walking through the city streets, Juliet lost herself in the bustling energy of the capital.
In honor of the approaching Lent, joy spilled into every corner. People sang, feasted, and laughed with abandon. In the center of one crowded square, she stopped before a temporary arena constructed for the festival.
"Cruel..." she breathed quietly, her voice barely audible over the roar of the crowd.
The main spectacle of Lent was the beast ring—exotic creatures brought from distant lands to fight one another for the amusement of spectators who placed wagers with reckless enthusiasm.
"Get up, damn you!"
"I wagered everything on this!"
The crowd screamed, their eyes alight with savage excitement.
A rhinoceros-like beast with thick, armor-plated skin lay sprawled across the blood-stained arena floor, its labored breathing visible in the rise and fall of its massive sides.
Juliet frowned in distaste—and at that precise moment, a quiet voice spoke from behind her:
"Lady Juliet..."
She turned sharply.
"Dolores?"
A figure stood before her, wrapped entirely in layers of fabric from head to toe, face concealed beneath a deep hood.
"What happened? Where have you been all this time?"
"I had... business to attend to."
"Business? Here in the city?"
"Yes. I didn't expect to encounter you here." Dolores offered a weak smile, though her face remained partially shadowed.
"Why are you alone, without any protection? It's dangerous after dark. Come—I know a shortcut back."
Dolores began walking forward with confident, purposeful strides.
But Juliet didn't move.
Beneath the flickering glow of the torches lining the street, the shadow trailing behind her companion swayed unnaturally, writhing and twisting... like a serpent preparing to strike.
*Something is wrong.*
*She just realized: Dolores always spoke of herself in the third person. Always. Without exception. But not now.*
Ice flooded her veins.
"Really?" Juliet asked casually, as though merely making conversation. "And when exactly did you learn this shortcut?"
"Just recently," came the reply.
"Then, Dolores..." Juliet's voice dropped, quiet and deliberate. "Why is your shadow moving like that?"
Her hand slid toward her pocket, ready to summon her butterflies at a moment's notice.
At that very instant, the thing wearing Dolores's form slowly—*unnaturally*—turned its head with a sickening crunch of bone and sinew.
The creature looked down at its own shadow, which writhed and coiled as though something were struggling to burst free from within.
And then... it laughed.
A harsh, guttural sound—nothing remotely human.
*Caught you, didn't I?*