Chapter 415: The Traitor

"That’s the thing you schemed so much for? The creation you wanted to make?"

From the Highest Seat, the Pope’s gaze pierced through Kanteville. The moment Muen revealed that black flame, he caught the demonic fire in his eyes—and then, before the scene could become unsightly, hurriedly cut off the broadcast.

His expression turned strange as he forcibly resisted the urge to break all three legs of that yellow-haired brat who had so shamelessly ruined his family’s cabbage. Turning aside, he asked:

"You’re sure that abomination—even more heretical than an Evil God itself—won’t bring any future disaster?"

Though it had been only a brief glance, the Pope had clearly sensed the strangeness within that flame. Beneath its holy exterior was a darkness as deep as the abyss. Horrifying whispers and murmurs of sin still echoed inside it, as though they could drag a person’s soul in and devour it completely, leaving nothing but embers within the fire.

"Well, although I did run quite a few simulations, somehow I just feel..."

Meladomir rubbed her chin; her baby-round face grew serious. Counting softly on her little fingers, she mumbled to herself for a long time before muttering:

"This result isn’t just a little different—it’s practically unrelated. Something’s off somewhere."

The Pope nearly went dumbfounded and snapped angrily:

"So you’re saying your calculation failed, and that thing has completely slipped out of your control?"

"No, not exactly. After all, the most important goal—severing all ties with the Evil Gods—was perfectly achieved."

Meladomir shook her head. "Besides, didn’t you yourself say just now that no one could predict what it would become? It’s a fusion of several Evil Gods’ powers—some irregularities are normal. What matters isn’t the ability itself, but that boy. No matter how bizarre the thing is, it’s nothing more than a weapon in his hand. In the end, it depends on how he uses it."

"You trust that disciple of yours that much?"

"What do you think?"

Meladomir didn’t answer but instead turned to him with a half-smile, curious about his opinion.

The Pope pondered for a moment, then couldn’t help sighing.

If it were before, the idea of a once-infamous playboy gaining such an unknown and terrifying power would have made him extremely wary. After all, the roots of countless disasters lay in greedy people reaching recklessly for powers they couldn’t control—only to be consumed by them in the end.

But... after everything that had happened in Kanteville—such as maintaining his composure even after being locked out of his cheat by the Love God, or burning away his own Divine Favor without hesitation—

Even the Pope had to admit: though he still wanted to break that boy’s three legs, Muen Campbell did possess the mental strength to control his own power.

Just... a bit too lustful.

And a scoundrel.

Thinking this far, the Pope couldn’t help rubbing his temples again. Wasn’t this supposed to be the Holy Ceremony of Sophemia to choose the Saintess? Why did it look more like a trial designed specifically for that brat?

"It seems you’ve realized it too."

Meladomir’s lips curved faintly. Unlike the Pope, who still tried to maintain dignity and decorum, she lowered her head, gaze piercing through Kanteville, watching with great amusement the flesh-wave-shaking action scene playing out below.

"His achievements today weren’t through me, or any external force. They’re his own effort."

"He never needed anyone to bestow anything upon him. Everything he has is rightfully earned. These supposedly extraordinary powers are just the tools he grasped along the way."

"It isn’t the power that made him—it’s he who made the power."

"..."

The Pope fell silent. It was probably the umpteenth time today that Meladomir’s words left him speechless.

"I’ve never heard you praise anyone like this. Do you like him that much?"

"This isn’t praise—it’s simply me being satisfied with my own choice. You could even say I’m complimenting myself."

Meladomir crossed her arms proudly; her amber-red eyes slid toward the Pope.

"And what do you mean I’ve never praised anyone? I used to appreciate you quite a lot."

"Appreciate me?"

The Pope frowned. Having only ever experienced this old loli’s talent for scamming people, he searched his memories of her rare awakenings, uncertain.

"I don’t recall that."

"Of course you don’t. You were only this tall back then. When I saw you in the arms of the previous—or rather, the one before that—Pope, I immediately thought: This child will achieve something great someday!"

Meladomir reminisced and sighed.

"After all, to wet yourself right there in the Pope’s arms, in front of everyone—that’s something only a truly remarkable person could do."

"..."

The Pope’s old face twitched.

Even when Evil Gods descended he could stay stone-faced, yet now he wanted nothing more than to drag this old demon down with him.

But thinking of humanity’s future... he endured it.

"Let’s not speak of that right now."

With a sweep of his robe, he regained his authority. "Enough idle chatter. If your projection wants to spectate, do as you please, but don’t interrupt my official business."

"What official business?"

The Pope glanced toward Kanteville. "Do I have to tell you?"

As he spoke, a graceful and holy figure floated over, bowing slightly to him.

"Your Holiness."

"Latina."

The Pope nodded in return.

The Saintess politely turned to Meladomir and gave a formal bow. "You must be Grand Magus Meladomir. It’s an honor to meet you."

"Hello, current Saintess girl... hmm?"

Meladomir gave her a casual glance. Her ink-fine brows arched; her tone grew subtly intrigued.

"Your body’s in that state and you’re still forcing yourself instead of having a proper meal?"

"Thank you for your concern, Grand Magus, but I know my own condition. My lamp hasn’t yet burned so low that I can’t handle small matters like this. In fact, I indulged a little just now, so I feel quite relaxed in both body and mind."

The Saintess smiled gently, looking at ease.

"With Your Holiness’s mercy, I should still have a few years left to live."

"Is that so..."

It was an internal Church matter, so Meladomir didn’t intrude—she simply watched as the Saintess and the Pope spoke at length, discussing certain issues.

When they finished, they summoned several bishops and clergy, swiftly assigning duties. Some looked elated; others grew gloomy, sneaking glances at the current Saintess with expressions of reluctance.

"So that’s what you call ‘official business.’ No wonder it took so long—you can’t actually do it yet."

Grinning wickedly, Meladomir rubbed her chin, not ready to leave; it had been ages since she’d played the role of a gossip spectator.

But before she could keep watching, her brows lifted again.

Because the Pope—who was just about to proceed with his so-called official work—suddenly froze, face draining of color.

His sharp gaze fixed somewhere unseen, as if listening to a voice only he could hear. The intensity of his reaction far surpassed even when an Evil God had just struck moments ago.

Because back then, he knew the Evil God’s attempt would fail.

But now... something truly dreadful had happened.

"Your Holiness?"

The Saintess asked softly:

"What’s wrong?"

"...The Captain of the Sacred Sword Knights, Kans Lord, has defected."

The Pope let out a heavy sigh.

"Defected?"

Meladomir rubbed her chin. "The Sacred Sword Knights... I remember they’re one of the four knightly orders guarding the Cathedral of Aimier, right? A captain of that order—that’s a high position even within the Church."

She paused, puzzled.

"But even if he defected, is that really enough to make you lose composure like this? Don’t tell me he ran off with a list of your ex-lovers and plans to blackmail you by making it public?"

"Heh. I’d almost prefer that. At least then, things could still be salvaged."

The Pope’s face darkened to pitch-black as he stared into Meladomir’s eyes, speaking each word distinctly:

"Unfortunately, I have no ex-lovers. And what he took... wasn’t that."

As the Pope’s lips moved, the words slipped one by one into Meladomir’s ears. Her face—initially amused—instantly twisted in shock.

...

...

Half an hour earlier.

Cathedral of Aimier, lower core section—Second Forbidden Zone.

Kans led a small squad of knights through layers of restrictions until they stood before the gate guards.

"Holy Sword Knights, by order of Archbishop Locast, here to relieve the guard."

His expression was solemn; fresh blood still streaked his armor. Even standing still, he radiated a pressure that made hearts quake.

But the guarding knight didn’t so much as blink, replying in a cold, mechanical tone:

"Transfer order."

"Here it is."

Kans handed over a metallic command token. The guard examined it carefully, verified that it did indeed bear Archbishop Locast’s authority, and confirmed the man’s identity and code. Only then did he nod.

"Order verified. Proceed with the change."

From the shadows, several knights with chilling auras stepped out. Kans’s subordinates, equally disciplined, swiftly replaced them at their posts.

The previous guards departed in silence, going to obey Archbishop Locast’s new command as instructed.

Once the rotation was complete, Kans walked a slow circle, inspecting everything, then told his men:

"I’ll go inside and check."

"Yes, sir."

The reply came pale and lifeless—like the voice of the dead.

And so, without anyone finding it strange or questioning him, Kans easily walked through the gate.

But only just through.

Beyond the threshold, he stopped—because two boundaries clearly divided inside and out.

In truth, the gate guards were merely the first line, the outermost defense. The truly crucial ones were the second and the third:

The Great Barrier.

The Holy Domain.

These two creations represented the Church’s highest achievements, loyally guarding this place. With both active, ◆ Nоvеlіgһt ◆ (Only on Nоvеlіgһt) no one in the world could break through by force.

Even entry required the highest clearance. As mere Captain of the Knights, this was already his limit.

This was one of the most secure locations in the entire Church.

But...

Kans closed his eyes, hesitant.

He knew—one more step, and there would be no turning back.

Move forward, or retreat?

Don’t you want... to truly have her?

A seductive voice whispered inside him.

That beautiful her. That holy her. That exalted her. The her who looks down on you with disdain...

Don’t you want her to belong to you alone? To kneel before you, utterly yours—your possession?

In his mind, that graceful, sacred figure surfaced—and somehow, the image of that ridiculous pink bear followed. Kans’s eyes snapped open.

"I want to!"

His pupils burned red. The usual dignity and composure vanished; madness consumed him. His voice rasped, no longer his own.

He hesitated no longer and stepped forward—into the Great Barrier.

Pure white light flared around him; ethereal hymns rose; feathers fell like the wings of a merciful goddess.

The Barrier made no move to stop him—only a mechanical voice echoed in the cold air:

"Good evening, Saintess Belena."

Kans did not answer. He kept walking forward, stepping into the final Holy Domain.

The Holy Domain rippled faintly, as if recognizing his clearance, allowing him to pass unhindered.

At last, Kans—who had just breached the strongest defense in this world—stood before a precision device. Inside the liquid chamber floated a being beyond words.

Half his face split open, revealing a grinning, twisted eye.

【Long time no see. At last... I’ve obtained you.】