Chapter 66
The Birth of the Prophet
Splash!
Whoosh!
Water splashed in all directions. Hasdeya, who had been staring into a bowl of water, suddenly got drenched.
“Damn it.”
He returned to his human form—taking on the face of Saint Malik.
With his smooth appearance and equally smooth fingers, Hasdeya pushed his wet hair back and grumbled through his teeth.
“This one’s not going to be easy.”
He suddenly leaned back, and out of nowhere, a chair appeared to catch his weight.
Sinking into the plush seat, Hasdeya stared listlessly at the ceiling.
The ceiling was strange. It wasn’t really a ceiling—more like a dark pit. Along the edges where the ceiling and walls met, strange symbols and letters writhed like living worms.
As he stared blankly, worm-like creases formed on his youthful-looking forehead. Though he looked young, Hasdeya’s face often defied age depending on his expression.
“I still can’t believe it.”
Snap!
He snapped his fingers in the air.
“You called, Saint.”
Someone entered a moment later.
The person wore priestly robes, though not the kind from the Harios Temple.
When his plans through Harios Temple failed and his hideout was at risk of exposure, Hasdeya abandoned the temple without hesitation.
He had made a new nest in another temple.
Controlling the priests was easy. These people were often more blindly devout than others, so with a little suggestion, they began to treat him like a god.
As Dekan had suspected, Hasdeya had limitations with space.
Unless he was inside a space bound by a magic circle that summoned and contained demonic power, he couldn’t maintain his human form or freely use magic.
Outside such a barrier, his true demonic form was exposed. To become Malik again, he had to find a safe place and rebuild the magic circle from scratch—tedious work.
For that reason, Hasdeya had become cautious not to ruin this carefully selected hideout.
He even made the knights of Malik wear priestly robes. Bahamut wasn’t stupid; he’d surely realized that Malik’s knight order was under Hasdeya’s control. So not only Hasdeya himself, but the traces of Malik’s order had to be erased too.
“That thing I asked you to confirm—was it true?”
“I reported exactly what my eyes saw and ears heard, Saint.”
“Hmm… Didn’t you say she had lived in the temple without knowing anything? That her parents locked her away in a dark room, didn’t even let her see sunlight?”
“That is what I heard.”
“Then how is she so full of life?”
Pop!
Hasdeya frowned, and the water droplets that had scattered before rose back up into the air. One hit Malik’s knight in the face, causing him to wince in pain.
“She already knows how to control power. If what you said is true, how is that possible?”
“Forgive me, Saint… but the temple in Dellarta where the woman stayed—everyone there has been replaced. The new king who seized the throne through rebellion apparently purged the temple. Those who remembered its former state vanished without a trace. There aren’t many left who could talk.”
“Unbelievable. I thought I was the only wicked one in this world.”
Hasdeya laughed in disbelief.
He hadn’t expected that there could be a human who would go so far as to slaughter an entire temple staff. The motive might be different, but the result—the temple’s fall—was the same.
It was fascinating to see someone not believe in god, not even a fragment.
“I should see her face soon… Anyway, nothing else? Squeeze your brain. There must be something we missed.”
“Saint, I have already told you everything I know…”
“Damn it, don’t make me repeat myself! That’s not enough—I’m saying dig up more! You must’ve seen something!”
“Uh… that woman…”
There weren’t many who knew the woman that Malik obsessed over. She was believed to be one of the Prophet’s dreamkeepers.
The Prophet was always accompanied by a few dreamkeepers, all dressed similarly with veils covering their faces. One of them was rumored to have long black hair like Empress Carthagena.
Within the Grand Temple was the Prophet’s chamber. It had no windows—more prison than room. It seemed like the temple had desperately hidden the Prophet, afraid someone might steal them away.
But since the rebellion, the Grand Temple had stopped delivering any prophecies. Some suspected the new king had silenced the Prophet permanently. The black-haired dreamkeeper’s whereabouts had also become unknown.
“She supposedly acted as a dreamkeeper… but she likely disappeared during the temple’s purge.”
The knight squeezed out his words with desperation.
But he had already said that.
“You think I have one ear? So I need to hear everything twice like a regular human?”
“N-no, that’s not… um, maybe… maybe she is the Prophet! It’s unclear who the Prophet actually was…”
“The what now?”
Hasdeya’s eyes sharpened like honed blades.
“Prophet? Didn’t you say dreamkeeper?”
“Yes… yes, I did. But a Prophet must have foresight, and not just anyone can do that. So we assumed she was just a dreamkeeper. But thinking again… there’s no reason she couldn’t be the Prophet just because she was born in Eliahdon…”
“What?”
Splash!
Water exploded outward.
“Uwah!”
Though it was only water, Malik’s knight collapsed to the ground, clutching his face in agony.
Hasdeya stood up and walked toward the knight.
Then he stepped on him.
“Aaaargh!”
“Too loud. Shut it. The Prophet, huh?”
“…Mm!”
The knight covered his mouth and nodded frantically.
“Damn it. That changes everything!”
“Mmff! Mmm!”
The muffled cries made the agony sound even worse.
Hasdeya kept kicking the knight—not with rage, but casually, like he was playing. That made it all the more terrifying.
“A Prophet… You think just anyone can do that? If she was a dreamkeeper, I guess that kingdom gets prophecies through dreams. You know she used to be a shaman, right? Even your peanut-sized brain could grasp that. What kind of god shares divine power with a human who dabbles in shamanism? And yet, she posed as a Prophet. You know what that means?”
Thud. Thud!
“I—I didn’t know… I only did what I was told… ack!”
But Hasdeya wasn’t speaking to him. He was venting at him—talking more to himself.
“She made herself a Prophet. That damn woman used her ability to dream—to see the past in dreams—and used it to play Prophet, even as a child. That’s how she survived. The temple couldn’t mistreat a Prophet, after all. Damn… She’s cunning, I’ll give her that.”
Crack!
“Please… have mercy…”
“Now it makes sense. Why that woman, who must’ve forgotten all her shaman tricks, is still able to counter my power. Damn it—it’s innate!”
Smash!
“…Guh…”
Malik’s knight rolled his eyes back—dead.
Hasdeya glanced at him but didn’t stop kicking.
“You should’ve told me sooner. If I’d known she was a Prophet, I wouldn’t have done all this.”
Still unsatisfied, Hasdeya bent down and screamed into the dead knight’s ear.
“Would I have done this?! …Oh. Right. He’s dead.”
Clicking his tongue, Hasdeya snapped his fingers again.
Whoosh!
Flames erupted, engulfing the corpse.
As the fire devoured the body, Hasdeya watched and muttered slowly.
“I can’t leave her alone anymore… If she gets stronger, it’ll be a problem.”
The fire, as if still hungry, continued to burn fiercely even after consuming the body.
Knock knock.
The bathroom door rattled.
Lasilia flinched and turned her head.
The whirlpool had long disappeared. So it wasn’t anything serious—probably Yvette bringing her a towel.
“Come in.”
“…Is that okay?”
It wasn’t Yvette—it was the Emperor.
“Your Majesty?”
Lasilia stared at the closed door.
It wasn’t that she was flustered—just… why now, of all times?
“They said the lady-in-waiting was bringing you a towel, so I intercepted it. I hope you’re not angry.”
“…So you intend to assist with my bath now?”
“Not exactly.”
“Then what?”
“I didn’t want to waste time.”
“….”
So basically, after finishing his duties, he came to the Empress’s palace and found out she was bathing. Not wanting to wait idly, he took the towel and came to the bath himself.
“If you tell me not to come in, I won’t. But don’t tell me to leave. Wouldn’t it be nice to talk? With the door between us.”
“…Is there a reason that would be nice?”
“Because I haven’t done it with you before.”
“…?”
“So to me, it’s a nice thing.”
“….”
As always, he had a knack for robbing her of any comeback.
“Only if it’s just a conversation.”
Since he said he wouldn’t come in, it was awkward to refuse further.
And ever since she’d accepted the reality of being his fated partner, Lasilia had become remarkably numb to his strange behavior.
She now knew—he wasn’t a generally odd or incomprehensible person.
He only became irrational… when it involved her.
Most likely, the instincts of a demon toward their fated partner were irrational through a human lens.
“Then I’ll stay.”
He sounded almost cheerful. Then came the rustling noise of him sitting down at the door.
Lasilia, sitting in the tub, found herself unconsciously leaning her head toward the door.
“…I want to ask you something.”
His voice came, like it had when he’d sat beside her on the couch.
“What is it, Your Majesty?”
“Has the mark returned?”
