"What?"
"Lady Rohanson simply saved me. That's all. That's why I revere her."
Contrary to Gabriel's expectations—that Michel, under some enchantment, would shower Evangeline with unconditional praise—the reason proved far more mundane. Almost disappointingly understandable.
_Come to think of it, it was the same with Kanna._ She had claimed Evangeline rescued her when Donau Blue had taken her captive. And Daisy, initially so hostile toward the lady, had eventually softened. Changed.
"Then... what about me?"
Gabriel had missed his chance for salvation. Even if Evangeline had reached into his dreams and offered her hand, the dead boy had not risen from his grave. Reality remained unchanged. Perhaps this was precisely why he could not accept her existence—could not bring himself to believe.
He considered this briefly, then forced the thought aside. Even if a tsunami were destined to engulf everything around him someday, he had to remain wary of the predator lurking so close.
---
As they approached Bishop Marik's chambers, the assistants accompanying them stopped Gabriel at the threshold.
"Sir Gabriel. His Eminence is expecting you. Please, come in."
"Wasn't Sir Michel the one summoned?"
Gabriel raised an eyebrow. The priest wilted under the weight of his authority, gaze dropping to the floor. He stood silent, unable to justify himself—until another man nearby intervened, his smile slick and obsequious.
"There seems to be a misunderstanding. Sir Michel was indeed summoned, but merely for a follow-up interview. It's part of standard procedure and bears no direct connection to His Eminence."
Michel, sensing the conversation veering in an unexpected direction, shot Gabriel a furtive glance. Just as Raphael had said—he really was the sort of subordinate who constantly stumbled into his superiors' way.
"Ha-ha. The captain himself surely knows that subsequent interrogation is mandatory formality," the second priest added.
"Exactly so."
The first priest, who had looked frightened only moments ago, perked up and nodded eagerly.
A full month had passed since the fire that destroyed Nopedi's painting. As the priest said, serious incidents were always debriefed after four weeks. Gabriel's sense of time had grown dull lately; he hadn't immediately recognized the true purpose behind Bishop Marik's summons.
_Therein lay his mistake._
Michel's challenge had been nothing more than bait.
When Bishop Marik first attempted to summon Gabriel directly, he had postponed the meeting under various pretexts. Eventually, a more indirect approach was adopted. This explained why the reason for Michel's summons had remained undisclosed—had they revealed it was merely a routine interview, Gabriel would never have accompanied him. Furthermore, this method shielded the bishop from accusations that she had invited the captain of the order without compelling reason.
"Since you're already here," the priest said smoothly, "would you care to have a word with His Eminence while Sir Michel is being questioned?"
"It's already late. I wouldn't dare be so tactless."
"How is that tactless? This is my personal invitation."
Another voice—softer, yet weighted with quiet authority. Bishop Marik herself emerged through the doorway, drawn by the commotion. Today, like always, a veil shrouded her face.
"And surely the captain of the order has something to say to me." She tilted her head, the gesture almost gentle. "Don't you have even a moment to share tea and conversation? I always drink tea before bed—it's excellent for relieving fatigue and ensuring restful sleep. A captain so burdened with work clearly needs rest. Tea would do you good."
The request was soft but insistent. The surrounding priests gazed at Gabriel with undisguised envy, as if he had been granted a rare honor. In the end, he could not resist the pressure.
"Thank you for your kindness," Gabriel said, his voice carefully neutral. "Lately, I have been feeling truly exhausted."
He exchanged a knowing glance with Michel before they parted ways. Gabriel had already explained which information could safely be shared with outsiders; Michel should remember everything.
Raphael claimed Michel had lost his mind, but Gabriel suspected the object of his blind faith had simply shifted—from Rachel's Lord to Evangeline. Judging by their recent conversation, Michel remained perfectly sane. He certainly wouldn't say anything that might harm her.
_He could be trusted in that regard._
---
"A modest dwelling," Bishop Marik said, gesturing him forward, "but please, come in."
Gabriel crossed the threshold.
Indeed, for the chambers of a respected bishop, the interior was remarkably austere. Even Father Giovanni's office, despite his reputation for frugal modesty, contained many luxurious decorations. Bishop Marik's quarters, by contrast, looked sparse and almost penitential—as though he had stepped into a monastery cell.
She had once been a nun, he recalled. Old habits, it seemed, died hard.
When they sat, the bishop herself brewed and poured the tea. The porcelain cups were plain, unadorned.
"This is the first time I've spoken with the captain of the order alone."
Having filled his cup, Bishop Marik settled into the chair opposite Gabriel.
She lifted her veil slightly to take a sip. Her chin flashed into view—revealing terrible burn scars, the flesh looking as though it had once melted like wax.
"Is it an unpleasant sight?"
"Not at all."
"There's no point in empty pleasantries." Her tone remained mild, almost conversational. "I cannot stand the sight of my own face, so I cover it with cloth."
That Bishop Marik concealed her face due to burns was common knowledge within the church. As was her reluctance to appear in public. She rarely ate where others could see her.
Gabriel had never imagined he would be among those rare exceptions.
He followed her example and took a sip. The tea wasn't hot—merely warm, its heat barely noticeable against his lips.
"So," he said, "what did you wish to tell me?"
When he tried to hasten the conversation, Bishop Marik raised a hand in a gentle staying gesture, urging patience. She finished her tea, lowered her veil once more, and only then addressed the matter at hand.
"It is important to maintain composure when communicating with others."
"I apologize."
"The captain of the order seems to have a joyful event approaching."
"I do?"
"Ha-ha." A soft, knowing laugh. "I can tell from your face that you have no idea. Well, rumor has it you're to be Lady Rohanson's partner at the debutante ball."
"Yes." Gabriel inclined his head. "It's true."
_So that was the reason for the summons._ By the time he had secured an invitation to the Crown Prince's birthday reception, rumors had already begun to spread.
"To become a debutante at twenty..." The bishop let the words trail off.
"Lady Rohanson had been ill for a long time. I felt that, even though it was somewhat late, she should experience this rite of passage now that her health has been restored."
"So the captain shows concern for the object of his affections? Well, it seems Lady Rohanson can only rely on you."
The bishop's words carried the cadence of praise, but something sharper lurked beneath—a hidden mockery. Not aimed at Gabriel himself, but at Evangeline's position. _Forced to rely solely on him._
"Lady Rohanson has no mother, so she has no one to lean upon. No connections with other aristocrats. Even her maternal relatives have been severed, haven't they?"
This, too, was well-known gossip. To make matters worse, Count Rohanson himself kept avoiding the house under various pretexts, which only fueled the whispers about Evangeline.
"I hadn't expected Your Eminence to pay attention to such rumors."
"When the eyes grow weak," Bishop Marik replied softly, "hearing sharpens."
Gabriel remained still, watching her closely. The veil obscured her expression entirely.
"So... the Marquise de Toten has agreed to serve as her chaperone?"
Only those with a particular interest would know the Marquise de Toten had consented. _So where had the information leaked?_
Dolline Fonor knew how to keep her mouth shut. The servants at the Rohanson mansion were unlikely to spill secrets. Had the church intensified its surveillance, distrusting even Father Giovanni—their own tool? Perhaps they were tracking carriages from the mansion? Or had the leak originated from the Marquise de Toten's side, where vigilance might be more relaxed?
"But things seem to have stalled." Bishop Marik's voice remained conversational, pleasant—like honey drizzled over a blade. "Ever since the lady visited the Marquise, she hasn't been seen in public, has she? She no longer appears at the temple. I don't believe she's responded to your messages, either."
_How much does she know?_
Did she know about Gabriel's deal with the Marquise de Toten? And why was she deliberately revealing the extent of her knowledge?
"What if I were to become her chaperone?"
Gabriel froze.
Bishop Marik sat perfectly upright, her posture impeccable. She possessed no particular habits or mannerisms that might betray her thoughts—making it impossible to discern her true intentions.
"I simply feel sorry for Lady Rohanson," she continued, her voice impossibly soft, dripping with sympathy. "Finding herself in such a difficult situation..."
"Your Eminence dislikes going out. I wouldn't dare burden you with such troubles."
"I'm not offering out of mere courtesy." The bishop's tone firmed slightly. "This is a banquet celebrating the Crown Prince's birthday—the future glory of the empire. Surely the temple deserves representation? I've received an invitation myself, and I intend to attend."
_Future glory..._
Everyone in the empire knew the Emperor had no desire to pass the throne to his son—which was precisely why he still clung to power. But Bishop Marik possessed a remarkable talent for speaking lies as though they were the purest truth.
"If not the Marquise de Toten," she said, "then I will serve as her chaperone."
Gabriel thought he glimpsed her eyes gleaming beneath the veil.
---
## — A Warning Delivered —
Gabriel's letter arrived with startling urgency. Truly urgent. Even as a commander, he hadn't hesitated to entrust its delivery to a knight—quite the feat.
Raphael looked utterly spent when he stumbled through the door. He had clearly been running on fumes by the time he arrived. Though, come to think of it, it was the *horse* that had done the galloping. Incidentally, Melek had somehow coaxed the exhausted animal so skillfully that it wandered off to the stables on its own.
_Strange._ He was a werewolf, after all—and yet he handled horses as though he'd always shared some special bond with them.
"Hhh... *cough*-ha..."
"Sir Raphael, drink some water."
"Thank you."
Hena handed him the mug, and Raphael immediately began drinking in great, greedy gulps. It looked so *delicious*—the way he savored each swallow! He could have been filming a mukbang video right there!
While Raphael recovered, I finished reading Gabriel's letter. I had been worried ever since our last awkward separation, but his swift warning proved he still cared. That brought some small comfort. I could finally breathe again.
After reading it, I returned the letter to Raphael. Holding onto it felt unsettling; better to let him handle such matters himself.
"Is Bishop Marik a dangerous person?"
"To her parishioners, she is exceptionally kind and considerate." Raphael set down the mug, his expression grave. "But to you, my lady? She certainly poses a threat."
_An exorcist._
So if she discovered I was possessed, they would brand me as such and begin their "healing"—which was essentially *torture* dressed in holy vestments. I needed to be extraordinarily careful. If the truth about my possession ever came to light, I was finished.
No wonder Gabriel had been so worried.
But judging by the letter...
"And *such* a person wants to be my chaperone?"