* * *
Behind the iron bars, other guards were visible — they were dunking someone upside down into a water barrel.
And the person being held underwater was—
Zavad charged into the cell without a second’s hesitation, sword still in hand.
The guards turned in shock, trying to speak, but Zavad didn’t respond with words.
His blade sliced through the air in a gleaming arc.
The guards restraining Ranshel were slashed, clutching nearly severed arms as they scrambled away from the cell.
Even after the hands holding him disappeared, Ranshel didn’t move.
His limp body simply sagged.
Zavad dropped his sword and rushed to pull him out of the water.
His lips were blue, his breathing faint.
Zavad immediately pressed his own mouth to Ranshel’s, forcing breath into his lungs.
He thought it was unnecessary — too much, even — for a mere servant.
But his body had moved on its own.
When Ranshel finally came to, he cried.
Zavad had always frozen at the sight of his tears.
Logic would dictate that he ask what had happened first — but instead, his mouth said something else entirely.
“It’s okay now. It’s alright, I’ve got you.”
“…”
“I’ll take care of everything… whatever it takes.”
He didn’t even know what he meant by “okay” or what he was going to do.
The words just came out, instinctively — all he could focus on was holding Ranshel’s trembling body close.
Just then, someone rushed into the prison.
A man in pure white armor with a silver badge on his chest — likely the commander of the Holy Guard — entered.
He didn’t even look at Zavad as he grabbed Ranshel’s wrist, checking his pulse with careful fingers.
Once he confirmed a pulse, his anxious expression finally relaxed.
“Ah… he’s just unconscious.”
He looked relieved that Ranshel was alive.
Flames of anger erupted in Zavad’s eyes.
He swatted away the man’s hand from Ranshel’s wrist.
Only then did the man acknowledge him, raising his head.
“It’s quite rude to touch another man’s servant without permission.”
Zavad spoke coldly.
The man calmly looked Zavad up and down, then tilted his head slightly.
“This one is suspected of possessing dangerous materials within the sanctuary. That makes him my responsibility, as the Commander of the Holy Guard.”
His pitch-black eyes locked onto Zavad, then without hesitation, he held out his hand again.
“So, hand him over and step aside. I’ll take it from here.”
“I thought you were just incompetent at conducting a proper search, but apparently your judgment’s no better.”
Zavad scoffed and picked up his sword from the ground.
“The High Priest confessed. Ranshel is no longer a suspect.”
The commander’s dark pupils drifted to Ranshel, still in Zavad’s arms.
That glimmer of shadow in his eyes gleamed with a twisted sort of desire.
Zavad barely held back the surge of rage rising in his chest.
He pointed his sword at the man’s still-outstretched hand.
“Move it. Before I cut it off.”
A slow smile crept across the commander’s stiff lips.
He continued to stare at Ranshel as he spoke in a hoarse, deliberate voice.
“A noble young master like you… acting so bold. Makes me want to break you.”
He shifted his hand to the hilt of the sword hanging from his silver armor.
Zavad gently laid Ranshel on the ground and adjusted his grip on his own blade.
At last, the commander’s eyes left Ranshel and turned to Zavad.
Their eyes met midair, tension thick enough to strangle.
And then—
“Stop.”
Frey stepped lightly across the prison and entered the cell.
Though Zavad glared at the man with eyes burning in fury, he slowly lowered his sword.
Then he gently held Ranshel in his arms once more.
The Commander of the Holy Legion wiped the remnants of a smile from his face and turned to Frey.
“Saint, I am merely carrying out my assigned duty. The investigation into this criminal is not yet complete.”
Frey responded with a soft smile.
“Since when does the Legion Commander’s authority to investigate take precedence over a Saint’s judgment?”
“……”
Within the Holy Church, the Saint clearly held equal standing to the Holy Pontiff.
The Holy Legion, tasked with guarding the Grand Sanctuary, was bound to obey the Saint’s commands.
Baha clenched the hilt of his sword tightly, then released it with resignation.
He knelt on one knee before Frey, lowering his posture—an acknowledgment of submission to the Saint’s command.
“There’s no further need for interrogation now that the real culprit has been revealed. I order that he be treated once again as a Saint’s disciple.”
“…As you command.”
The man replied calmly, though his lingering gaze remained on Ranshel.
Zavad, holding Ranshel protectively, shot him a deadly glare as he approached Frey.
Frey immediately extended his hand to heal Ranshel’s injuries.
As a divine light flowed from his palm, the bruised and swollen cheek began to return to its original color.
Once the healing was complete, Frey whispered quietly to Zavad, who was still glaring murderously at Baha.
“We need to leave. If we cross swords inside the Holy Legion’s grounds, this will spiral out of control.”
“……”
“You know what’ll happen. If this goes to trial, the Imperial Court and the Church will likely try to end it by sacrificing a lowly servant before it ever becomes a dispute among nobles.”
Zavad let out a long breath, then turned and began walking toward the entrance.
Even as he exited the prison, he felt the unrelenting stares boring into his back.
The man never once took his eyes off Ranshel.
Next time we meet, I’ll gouge those eyes out first.
Zavad clenched his teeth, barely holding down the rage boiling up to the top of his head.
When Ranshel awoke, he blinked up at the ceiling.
His hands and feet twitched, but strangely, nothing hurt.
It almost felt like everything he had gone through was just a bad dream.
“You’re awake?”
He saw Frey walking toward him and quickly tried to sit up.
A sharp headache forced him to clutch his head, and Frey’s fingertips lightly touched his forehead.
The divine light that flowed from them instantly soothed the pain.
As the power flowed through him again, the memories of what had happened in the prison returned clearly.
It had hurt so much at the time, yet now, he felt better than usual.
His eyes sparkled at the miracle of divine power.
In contrast, Frey looked somewhat remorseful.
“I’m sorry. I led you into danger. I never imagined something like this would happen while you were serving as a disciple.”
“N-No, I agreed to it too. We were trying to gather information, after all…”
Information.
Ranshel looked around and realized the lavish room he was in wasn’t the sort of place one would find within the Church.
That must mean he was no longer considered a criminal and could move freely again.
He’d been cleared of the false accusations.
He hadn’t said a word during the Holy Legion’s interrogation.
Silence alone wouldn’t have been enough to clear his name—something must have happened.
“What about the real culprit?!”
He wouldn’t be treated this well if the perpetrator hadn’t been caught.
That meant they might be able to get more information out of the culprit.
Ranshel asked with a hopeful face, but Frey still wore a somber expression as he shook his head.
“Oh… they didn’t catch them?”
“No. The one who poisoned the monks’ food… was identified as a disciple. But he… was found dead not long ago.”
He’d been discovered hanged, leaving behind a suicide note.
It claimed he acted alone, and he just wanted to punish the fellow disciples who always looked down on him.
The incident was wrapped up as a simple suicide, and no further investigations were conducted.
“…That doesn’t make sense.”
“I agree. Someone must’ve killed him and staged it as a suicide. But suspicion alone isn’t enough to initiate a formal investigation.”
Still, not all was in vain.
* * *
