* * *

The Pope’s room hadn’t changed in the past year. Its atmosphere was serene yet comforting, making it easy to relax.

As I instinctively found a seat, the Pope knelt before me, bringing his hand to rest on the area near my ankle.

His fingers, together in a delicate motion, emitted a soothing warmth that enveloped my injured ankle.

The gentle sensation of his healing magic was as pleasant as I remembered from when Owen had treated me.

I found myself sinking into the comfort of it.

“Did you witness something unsettling?” the Pope asked softly, breaking the silence.

“Pardon?”

“You don’t look well,” he clarified.

“My complexion?”

“Yes.”

I had been immersed in the warmth of his healing touch, so I doubted my appearance was poor.

It occurred to me he was referring to the moment we encountered each other in the corridor.

If he noticed, my face must have looked dreadful.

I hesitated, weighing my words carefully before replying.

“Not something I shouldn’t have seen… but perhaps something close.”

“It must have been quite shocking.”

“Not shocking, exactly.”

I had expected to encounter Kaindel again at some point, so it wasn’t shock but disorientation that I felt.

The Kaindel I met today was so drastically different from the one I remembered.

The rumors that the hero had gone mad… they weren’t exaggerated.

If I didn’t know the context, I might have thought he’d lost his mind too.

Sitting motionless in the rain had been odd enough.

A mad hero.

That’s what he seemed to be.

The Pope nodded, his expression thoughtful as he met my gaze.

His golden eyes, so transparent, held a faint shadow that flickered like a mirage.

“When did you dye your hair?”

“A year ago.”

“It’s been a while, then. Was it because of what I said?”

“…It wasn’t because of that.”

“Then I’m relieved.”

The unexpected question momentarily threw me off guard.

I had intended to change my hair color for a while, and his words hadn’t directly influenced my decision.

But if I were honest, they had played a small part in pushing me to follow through.

Gray was said to be the color of corruption—an ominous association.

Yet, I was more surprised that the Pope remembered our past conversation at all.

Even I had forgotten it until he brought it up.

The Pope smiled faintly at my indifferent response, then lowered his gaze again.

As his fingers moved to assess my calf, seemingly measuring the extent of the injury, he spoke.

“Before, I told you that gray symbolized corruption.”

“Yes.”

“I regretted not explaining further because Owen interrupted me that day.”

“There’s more to it?”

Does he mean there’s an additional meaning to gray?

I watched him curiously as he continued.

“In some countries, gray isn’t seen as a symbol of corruption but rather as a sign of being chosen by the divine.”

He added, “For instance, in the Republic of Shaynes.”

The Pope’s tone was calm, devoid of any fluctuation, as if recounting a simple fact.

His fingers returned to my ankle, continuing the healing process.

The warmth seeped into my skin, soothing yet unsettling.

I had assumed his earlier comment about gray was definitive, not something that could have such a drastically opposite interpretation.

Could a single color hold such contradictory meanings?

“Is it possible for the same teaching to be interpreted so differently?” I asked.

“It’s all a matter of perspective. Nothing is impossible,” the Pope replied, shrugging lightly.

“Nothing is impossible…”

The phrase struck me with an odd sense of familiarity, stirring a memory.

A rough voice echoed in my mind, one that always carried the smell of rum.

An image of an old man appeared vividly before me.

He had repeated that exact phrase countless times.

“My grandfather used to say the same thing.”

“Did he ever introduce himself as ‘Grandfather’?”

“Yes, Grandfather… How did you know?”

I paused mid-sentence, startled.

How could the Pope know about Grandfather?

It wasn’t even his real name, just a nickname used among close acquaintances.

The Pope chuckled, raising a hand in a placating gesture as I eyed him suspiciously.

“Because Theo and I were comrades. It’s a strange coincidence, isn’t it? Not only us but even our students ended up as allies.”

The Pope spoke with a nostalgic smile, recounting their shared history.

Theo. So Grandfather’s real name was Theo.

If Theo and the Pope were comrades, and their students, Owen and Ruen, were as well…

It was an unexpected connection that I had never considered before.

I pictured the Pope, who seemed better suited to a quiet life of study, alongside the lively Grandfather.

The image was hard to reconcile, almost surreal.

The Pope finished treating my injury and stood up, glancing down at my ankle one last time.

“All done.”

“Thank you.”

I rose, following the Pope, who was adjusting his robes, and discreetly tested my ankle.

Thanks to timely healing, it bore less strain now.

I could stand with ease, my condition noticeably improved.

So, should I take my leave after a formal goodbye?

I checked my ankle one last time and glanced at the Pope, who was rubbing his eyes.

Now that the purpose of following him to this room was fulfilled, there was no reason to linger.

Besides, I had nothing more to discuss with him, and the awkwardness only grew as time passed.

I decided I should just say goodbye and leave.

As I hesitated in the heavy silence and resolved to speak, I suddenly recalled a conversation I had overheard not long ago in the prayer room—a discussion between Viscount Chernian and his entourage.

The topic was dubious, to say the least.

The polite smile I had unconsciously worn stiffened.

I couldn’t help but wonder if the Pope was aware of this matter.

Even though he might not know every detail about what transpires in the temple, the remarks made by Viscount Chernian lingered uneasily in my mind.

‘I agree. In that sense, the temple is truly a wonderful place. There’s no better venue for a chat.’

Why did the temple strike Viscount Chernian as such a space?

Was there truly a connection between his group and the priests?

Above all, did the Pope know about this?

Judging from his conversation with Owen last time, he didn’t seem entirely oblivious to the atmosphere in the Kingdom of Hadelber.

“Um…”

“I’m listening.”

“I was just…”

But as soon as I tried to broach the subject, my throat tightened.

Should I blindly ask the Pope when I had no concrete information?

Perhaps it would be wiser to gather relevant details first before taking any action.

It was always better to avoid fueling unnecessary fires.

I decided to change the topic and casually steered the conversation elsewhere.

“When you and Sir Theo were companions, did you ever visit Luter Village?”

“I did. I went there with Theo, Jeremy, and Alexander. They’re now more famous as the Tower Lord and the editor-in-chief of Gazette, respectively.”

“Do you think we might have met back then? My memory isn’t the best, so I’m not sure.”

“Hmm.”

The Pope tilted his chin slightly, then picked up the mask resting on the table.

His vague answer left me uncertain.

…Could we have met?

A quiet sigh escaped me.

I had clear memories of Sir Theo, but none of anyone who resembled the Pope.

As I furrowed my brows, lost in thought, the Pope, as if reading my mind, offered a cryptic piece of advice.

“Since we’re on the topic, if you ever face troubles too overwhelming to handle alone, I recommend visiting the Gazette.”

“The answer might be closer than you think,” he added with a subtle smile, waving his hand in a gesture of farewell.

“Well then, I must leave for a meeting.”

His farewell was curt.

“It was a pleasure speaking with you today, Isaac.”

–

* * *