* * *

The mercenaries dragged the unconscious Marchen along without hesitation.

Naturally, I was no exception. With a cloth draped over my head, I was led out of the underground storage.

‘So far, everything’s going according to the plan. We’re supposed to be kept alive under the pretext of martyrdom, then Jerome, disguised as a mercenary, was to ambush us.’

The plan was to join Jerome’s side and prevent Freya… but something felt off.

No matter how far we walked, there was no sign of an ambush.

The mercenary got irritated at my slowing pace as I hesitated.

“What the hell are you doing? Walk faster!”

The mercenary roughly pushed my back with the hilt of his sword, and as I stumbled forward, my mind went blank.

Clenching my fist, I thought, ‘Did Jerome betray us? Or did something happen on his end?’

I kept walking, my head swirling with confusion.

A cool breeze seeped through the cloth—I could tell we’d reached the surface.

Finally, the mercenaries removed the cloth covering my head.

“From now on, keep your eyes on the ground,” one of them barked authoritatively, and I immediately lowered my gaze.

Once we passed through the winding alleys, a grand plaza came into view, dominated by a statue of Parac holding a sword and shield.

I gasped for breath as a dense crowd filled the square—all here, it seemed, to witness the sacrificial rites led by Freya.

Five candlesticks encircled the square.

‘This entire plaza forms a massive magic circle, and those candlesticks are the catalysts to summon the divine beast. And the offerings… will be all these people gathered here.’

Through the drifting snow, I anxiously searched for Freya.

Far off, veiled and praying, I spotted her.

The candlesticks, once unlit, began to glow one by one—a sign that Parac was responding to Freya’s summoning ritual.

Every hair on my body stood on end.

‘If this continues… everyone here will die, just like in the original story.’

Determined to stop Freya, I forced my way through the crowd.

But as soon as I glimpsed the figure stepping onto the platform, my eyes widened.

Marchen, who’d been pretending to be unconscious, suddenly opened his eyes and murmured, “What the hell is he doing up there?”

The person who appeared on the platform was none other than Jerome Howard, the once hero.

Loosening his necktie, Jerome scanned the audience, then gripped the podium firmly with both hands.

“Greetings, citizens of the northern territory. I am Jerome Howard. Before we begin the ritual, I’d like to express my gratitude to Lady Freya for graciously inviting me to this precious occasion.”

Thunderous applause erupted from the crowd, unsurprisingly given Jerome’s reputation.

Once heralded as the hero who would save the empire, Jerome patiently waited for the applause to subside, hands clasped behind his back.

When the crowd quieted, he continued speaking calmly.

“A few years ago, I fought alongside Lady Freya to vanquish the great demon Mephisto. It was a time of killing and being killed. At one point, when we were trapped in a pocket dimension with no food, some heroes even resorted to eating the bodies of their fallen comrades—to protect people whose faces they didn’t even know.”

The crowd fell silent at Jerome’s horrifying story. Jerome waved it off with a wry smile.

“But I believe it was worth it. There’s no greater justice than protecting and defending the weak. Now, to change the mood a bit, I’ll tell you another story. Let’s see… Ah, yes, this one will do.”

With a small sigh, Jerome leaned casually against the podium, arms crossed.

“The late pope accomplished many things before he departed from us. He established an orphanage in the capital, laid the groundwork for social welfare for the underprivileged, and protected us from evil.”

People couldn’t take their eyes off Jerome, captivated by his handsome face and his voice—gentle yet unwavering.

Jerome’s gaze, scanning the crowd, eventually met mine.

There was an unusual sharpness in his eyes, but he quickly looked away, resuming his speech.

“But on the other hand, he had a penchant for young children, ardently supported enslaving minority races, abandoned his lawful wife of decades, and in his old age, married a woman fifty years his junior.”

Jerome’s sudden shift in narrative left the praying crowd frozen, many looking up in bewilderment.

With a smile, Jerome addressed the crowd of stunned onlookers.

“To the late pope, who abandoned his wife to take in a mistress, I have this to say.”

Even as murmurs of dissent started to ripple through the crowd, Jerome paid no heed, slamming his hand on the podium with a loud bang.

His expression was resolute, like a commander rallying troops in a crusade.

Raising his voice, he declared passionately.

“The sole purpose of a man’s existence, his duty, his ultimate goal, is to protect his wife. It’s said that a man who abandons his lawful wife cannot enter heaven. So, the late pope is probably burning in the fires of hell as we speak. Shame we can’t witness the spectacle.”

Jerome raised a goblet from the podium with a grin that suggested he’d already had several drinks.

The unsettling display left the crowd in growing horror, yet the solemnity of the occasion seemed to keep any objections at bay.

Marchen and I muttered in unison, “Crazy bastard.”

“Crazy bastard.”

Jerome turned back with a gaze now laced with intensity, signaling to the mercenaries without sparing me a glance.

His disregard only heightened my sense that something had gone terribly wrong.

‘So I was betrayed after all.’

If anyone could go to such lengths, it would be Jerome, who despises boredom above all.

Following Jerome’s signal, the mercenaries forced me to my knees.

I glared up at him from beside the platform, eyes brimming with resentment that screamed, ‘How could you do this to me?’ But Jerome resumed his speech, unfazed.

“Forgive me, I got a bit carried away. Let’s return to the matter at hand—the oracle. Recently, Lady Freya received an oracle: a martyr is needed for this ceremony.”

With a sharp swish, Jerome unsheathed his sword.

He gripped my hair without warning, and I swallowed the scream rising in my throat.

Some members of the audience, sensing the unusual turn, sprang up and denounced Jerome.

Apparently, the notion of a bloody execution at a sacred ritual was unsettling to them.

Jerome raised an eyebrow at the jeers, replying nonchalantly.

“Without a sacrifice, the monsters will only continue to multiply. If a stranger—someone you don’t even know—can be offered in place of your family or friends, isn’t that a fair trade?”

The crowd fell silent, his words turning their discontent to stillness.

The ease with which he controlled the crowd was chilling.

After casting a glance across the now-deadly quiet audience, Jerome’s eyes filled with disgust as though he were looking at insects.

He muttered quietly.

“That’s why I could never like any of you.”

As Jerome raised his sword, the final candlestick flared with a blue flame.

His actions had only accelerated Parac’s summoning, and with a horrified expression, I shouted, “What are you doing?”

Jerome looked at me with a smirk, answering with chilling indifference.

“Hm? You wanted Maya’s stone, didn’t you?”

“…”

“I thought it over carefully. If it’s that, then there’s no reason to stop Freya. After all, she’s even summoning Parak for us here.”

Jerome’s voice, utterly devoid of guilt, left my lips slightly parted.

In short, he was suggesting that we could use Freya to summon the sacred beast Parak and obtain Maya’s stone.

Grinding my teeth, I questioned him.

“And if people get hurt or die in the process?”

“Do you think those people stayed silent just now because they were worried you might get hurt or die?”

Our ideals clashed fiercely.

Jerome cut the rope binding my wrists and gave me a faint smile as he sheathed his sword.

“Jeanne, I really like and care about you, but…”

“…”

“I have no interest in indulging your admiration for humanity. Whether a hundred or a thousand people die—it doesn’t matter to me, as long as I can protect you.”

“You’re… no better than a villain…”

His words left me speechless, sounding like something only a villain would say.

It was the mindset of a classic sociopath, one who wouldn’t care if someone didn’t serve his purpose.

I shook my head, clutching my throbbing forehead.

“Never mind. We’ll talk about this later.”

“Freya!”

Amidst the commotion, Marchen, who had somehow freed himself from his restraints, ran toward Freya.

Just as Freya, who was conducting the summoning prayer for Parak under the guise of a ritual, turned her head in surprise, Marchen grabbed her from behind in a firm embrace.

The moment her prayer stopped, the flames on the burning candlesticks began to go out one by one.

I barely had time to feel relief at having stopped Freya’s rampage when an unbelievable sight unfolded before me, leaving me speechless.

People, sensing something strange, started shouting.

“Wait, did the statue of Parak just move?”

“The statue is starting to crack!”

The flames on the candlesticks, which had died down just moments before, suddenly blazed back to life.

It was a sign that Parak had responded to the summoning ritual.

The priests, realizing the situation belatedly, helped Freya escape.

‘But Freya definitely stopped the summoning… so why?’

Just as I was frozen in shock at the unexpected turn of events, Parak’s statue, which had been kneeling on one knee, slowly rose.

People began screaming at the eerie sight of the colossal statue moving on its own.

Parak, fully upright, gripped his sword and looked directly at me.

[Maya, Maya is here. She’s returned to meet me.]

A chillingly strange voice resonated in my ears.

As Parak started walking toward me, people scattered in terror. He stretched his hand toward me with a terrifying intensity.

[Give Maya to me.]

* * *