Jeremiah didn’t know why the Emperor had spared Tenebrei. It wasn’t as if she would go to her grandmother and ask, ‘Why didn’t you kill my sister?’

“When Azazel stabbed me, he guessed where the tattoo was and stabbed there.”

At that moment, Jeremiah realized Tenebrei had betrayed her. Azazel must have heard from Tenebrei where the pattern was on Jeremiah’s stomach.

“She stole my name… Was Tenebrei jealous of me?”

Jeremiah had a habit of asking questions she already knew the answer to.

***

As if to prove that twins were ominous, the patricide who killed his father, Tenebrei, returned as a corpse. Coincidentally, it was Gabriel who transported the body. People whispered that the knight, driven mad by love, abandoned his beliefs and drew his sword to kill the young girl, all to get the witch he adored out of prison.

After taking a sip of tea, they spoke of how pathetic and wicked the deceased Tenebrei was compared to Jeremiah.

While the outside world was in such an uproar, the temple was enveloped in a deeper silence than ever before. Since the summoning circle reappeared at the Crown Prince’s banquet, the temple had been on high alert, hunkering down.

The priests, hearing rumors of the sorcerers’ reappearance, cast furtive glances at Bishop Marik, observing the situation with caution.

Thanks to this, Saraka was staying in the quietest place within the temple.

“Bishop. Your meal for today.”

“Thank you.”

Bishop Marik indulged in no luxuries when it came to food. His residence was so humble that even a common priest would be believed to live there. His meals were equally simple. The portion given to Bishop Marik was also modest.

Saraka prepared only a soup and bread. Today’s meal was sufficient.

Carrying a single candlestick and the meal, Saraka headed underground. In Bishop Marik’s humble room, there was a basement unknown to others. Even a devout priest, who felt no guilt while torturing and murdering heretics, claiming it was God’s will, had things to do that might escape God’s notice.

The deeper she went, the damper the smell of mold became.

Reaching the end of the stairs, Saraka checked if the basement interior had changed, then placed down the candlestick and meal, and lit a fire in the brazier.

As the fire, resembling the sun, blazed brightly, warmth finally filled the basement.

“Ugh… Ugh…”

Hearing a sound that seemed to be speaking to her, Saraka smiled broadly.

“You’re awake. Bishop.”

The thing lying on the bed seemed more fitting to be called ‘alive’ than ‘awake.’ If anyone other than Saraka saw it, they would scream, ‘H-he’s alive!’ and run away.

Because she had been away from him for a moment to stay by Tenebrei’s side, bedsores had developed on his body. Pus flowed from his burn-scarred face and body. Despite the sickly appearance, the smell of decay, the rattling breaths, and the person who exuded nothing but unpleasantness before her, Saraka didn’t even blink.

This was because the person before her eyes was none other than Bishop Marik, whom Saraka respected like a teacher, loved like a lover, and trusted like a parent.

“To be so disfigured…”

Who would believe this was Bishop Marik? Saraka thought so and praised the Bishop’s foresight in creating a replacement for ‘Bishop Marik.’ And that replacement, of course, was Saraka herself.

This basement, currently used to care for the Bishop, was Saraka’s hometown, the place where she grew up.

Saraka was originally the daughter of a sorcerer. Her parents were murdered before her eyes by Bishop Marik. Her mother’s heart was pierced, and her father died in agony from torture. Only Saraka survived alone.

“A child of heresy is receiving God’s love. Thank the Sun God. He spared your life.”

However, Saraka had a constitution that responded much better to holy water than others. Bishop Marik noticed this while torturing the child and decided to keep Saraka alive.

Initially, Bishop Marik intended to send Saraka to the temple’s orphanage, but reasoning that Saraka, the child of a heretic, might corrupt the other children, he decided she needed thorough education first and confined her to the basement. In the basement, Saraka learned that she, the child of heresy, was impure, as naturally as breathing.

Not long after, Bishop Marik realized he had fallen ill. Something that even holy water couldn’t cure; it was a curse placed on Bishop Marik by Saraka’s parents as they died. If it became known that the Bishop was dying from a mere curse, it would be a great stain on the temple’s honor. So, Bishop Marik sought another solution.

Bishop Marik always wore a veil to cover his face due to burn scars from childhood. Other priests recognized Bishop Marik just by the veil. So, wouldn’t they not notice if the contents changed, as long as the veil remained the same? Fortunately, Bishop Marik had an excellent resource.

From then on, Saraka was raised to impersonate Bishop Marik. Bishop Marik taught Saraka everything he possessed. His tastes, small habits, way of speaking, preferences, even his beliefs – everything was meticulously replicated, shaping Saraka into who she is today.

In the world, no one knew more about ‘Bishop Marik’ than Saraka.

“And now, don’t you think I’m even closer to being ‘Bishop Marik,’ Bishop?”

Once the current endeavor concludes and she even reenacts the heretic massacre that Bishop Marik experienced, Saraka will truly be an impeccable ‘Bishop Marik.’

“Aaaah…”

Hearing Bishop Marik’s response, Saraka, feeling embarrassed, changed the subject.

“I’ll clean your body first. Then we’ll eat. I brought the soup you often have.”

Saraka wiped Bishop Marik’s body with a wet cloth. All the water touching the Bishop’s body was holy water, so what a luxurious life it was! However, unfortunately, even touching holy water did not heal Bishop Marik’s body. It was the effect of the curse.

“Uuu.”

“Yes? Did you call me?”

Saraka brought her ear closer to make it easier for Bishop Marik to speak. Bishop Marik whispered softly.

“Ebal uer-ao.”

‘Please kill me.’

That was what Bishop Marik whispered. Saraka felt like laughing out loud at his words, but since ‘Bishop Marik’ wouldn’t laugh so crudely, she simply offered a smile instead.

“Bishop. What are you saying? ‘Kill me’…”

Saraka replied to the Bishop she respected.

“Bishop. You told me yourself. If you commit a sin, you must live to the end and atone through suffering. But why are you already trying to die?”

I truly missed the brilliant Bishop Marik of the past. My Bishop was someone who never doubted his righteousness, even while torturing children and burning them with fire. He was someone who prioritized the temple’s honor and God above his own life.

However, at some point, the Bishop began to do things that ‘Bishop Marik’ would not. It was probably due to the curse placed by my impure heretic parents. The culmination of that was summoning a demon using a curse.

Bishop Marik had initially prepared diligently for his death, but soon he couldn’t bear to die and summoned a demon, begging for his life. The moment Saraka found out, she confined Bishop Marik to the basement.

It was because the Bishop had done something that ‘Bishop Marik’ would not. She could no longer stand by and watch the Bishop defile Saraka’s ‘Bishop Marik.’

The demon the Bishop summoned did not stop Saraka.

“Marik begged me to save him. But he’s already alive, so what other wish should I grant?”

Demons are like that. As a price for begging the demon for his wish, the Bishop incurred God’s wrath and his body became unable to be healed by holy water. Saraka meticulously cared for Marik, whose skin rotted, bedsores formed, and inflammation spread, keeping him alive.

The wish the Bishop made when summoning the demon was to prolong his life, and Saraka’s actions were also to heal Bishop Marik, so there was no reason for the demon to stop Saraka.

Astaroth watched Saraka, leaving the Bishop’s wish aside, and then simply stuck to her, finding her more amusing for some ridiculous reason.

“Don’t you have any wishes?”

Saraka’s wish was to discard her impure self and become the perfect ‘Bishop Marik.’ Bishop Marik despises curses, hates heretics, and scorns demons. Therefore, he would never have made a wish to a demon.

Then the demon proposed to Saraka. It said that to become a more perfect Bishop Marik, she only needed to use the resource standing before her.

Not making a wish, but using it. Just as the Bishop used Saraka, a former heretic, to maintain ‘Bishop Marik.’ Saraka accepted the demon’s offer and gave the demon named Astaroth the name Azazel.

“Sir Azazel is quite late.”

He should have returned immediately after killing Jeremiah. Gabriel said he presented Jeremiah to the Emperor, so it must have been Lady Rohanson’s intervention that messed things up.

Bishop Marik, who had been listening quietly, tapped Saraka with a trembling hand. As he extended his finger as if to write, Saraka offered her arm.

‘The contract with the demon has ended. My purpose is fulfilled, so please kill me.’

The contract has ended? It seems Azazel might have died. Perhaps he was soaked in holy water. Saraka focused more on Bishop Marik’s writing than on Azazel’s fate.

The handwriting in the letters Bishop Marik wrote with his hand was still elegant. Sometimes, it showed glimpses of the Bishop Saraka loved, making it impossible for her to let go.

“Bishop. You said you wanted to live so badly that you’d even make a wish to a demon, so how can you speak so lightly of death?”

In the meantime, Saraka had completely cleaned Bishop Marik’s body. Although there was no outward change. Next was mealtime. Saraka removed the gag from Bishop Marik’s mouth and advised him.

“I trust you won’t bite your tongue and commit suicide.”