Episode 124
Felix ran a hand through his hair roughly, his frustration evident.
He had thought Lucius was intelligent, but he had been wrong.
How could he possibly gather enough faith, elevate Tristan to godhood, and achieve his revenge with such incompetence?
His knuckles turned white, the veins on his hand bulging.
‘…This is bad.’
Lucius braced himself.
Felix, despite being considered the most composed of the Heilan royals, had a tendency to lose control when things didn’t go his way.
And after his two defeats against Ravanta, his temper had worsened.
Felix’s eyes gleamed with a chilling intensity.
“Lucius, you will pay for your failure.”
He raised his sword, still sheathed.
Lucius closed his eyes, bracing himself for the inevitable pain.
But it never came.
Instead, he heard a gentle voice.
“Please calm yourself, Your Majesty.”
“…Tristan.”
Lucius opened his eyes. Tristan, who had appeared out of nowhere, was standing behind Felix, his arms wrapped around him.
“But Tristan, Lucius’s betrayal has jeopardized our plans.”
“Apostle Lucius didn’t do it intentionally.”
Tristan’s gaze, his opaque gray eyes, fell upon Lucius, who was a disheveled mess.
“He risked his life to return here. He understands his duty to survive. Now, please, calm yourself for my sake.”
Tristan gently stroked Felix’s hand.
Felix, who had been ready to strike Lucius just moments ago, calmed down instantly at Tristan’s soothing words and touch.
It was like magic. He dropped his sword and took Tristan’s hand, his voice filled with affection.
“…Yes, you’re right. I shouldn’t lose my composure in front of you.”
He kissed Tristan’s pale hand repeatedly.
Tristan, stroking Felix’s hair with his free hand, turned to Lucius, his eyebrows drooping apologetically.
“I apologize, Apostle. We were desperate, our plans jeopardized by the loss of our pawns. We were too harsh.”
Lucius, unable to meet his gaze, stared at the floor.
Tristan chuckled, his eyes gleaming with an unseen emotion.
“But His Majesty is right.”
He continued, his smile not reaching his eyes, his words like daggers piercing through Lucius’s heart.
“You failed your mission. The prayer meeting, the search for a sacrifice, the distribution of the prayer altars, the sanctification of the academy… And you were discovered and forced to flee.”
Tristan’s lips curved into a cruel smile.
“You’ve disappointed us.”
Lucius, his head bowed, remained silent, hiding his fear.
Tristan was even more terrifying when he smiled.
He couldn’t read his thoughts, couldn’t predict his actions.
He had to regain his trust, even if it meant performing more of his dirty work—
“And you even brought back something… troublesome.”
“…What?”
Lucius’s eyes widened.
‘Troublesome? Could it be…?’
That was impossible. Philemon would be searching the castle for the holy relic.
Lucius anxiously watched Tristan’s smiling face. Tristan raised his hand and snapped his fingers. A woman, falling from thin air, landed on the floor.
Tristan grabbed her hair.
“Ugh…!”
The woman groaned.
She had black hair.
Who was she? Lucius, though confused, was also relieved. It wasn’t Philemon.
‘Then why was she captured?’
His question was answered by Felix’s surprised gasp.
“Alexia?”
Lucius’s gaze snapped towards them. Alexia? That was impossible.
But then the woman looked up, her face contorted in pain, and Lucius had to admit,
The black-haired woman had blue-green eyes, the same as Chelon.
And her face resembled Philemon’s.
‘No, their faces are slightly different.’
She resembled Philemon, but there were subtle differences.
She had looked like Philemon in the carriage, but now, she looked like Alexia. Lucius hadn’t realized it sooner because he didn’t know what Alexia looked like.
Tristan, the only one who seemed calm, greeted her cheerfully,
“Long time no see, Alex. I didn’t expect you to be the one coming after me. It seems even the Calamity God underestimates me.”
“Don’t call me Alex…!”
Lucius couldn’t follow their conversation.
Why could Philemon, who had died twice, still appear and communicate, as long as she was within the Calamity God’s domain?
He had assumed it was related to Tristan.
But he hadn’t expected them to know each other.
Alexia glared at Tristan, her hair still in his grasp. Tristan chuckled, amused.
“My, my, you’ve grown bolder, Alex. Glaring at your senior like that. And talking back.”
“You’re the one who’s changed. Running away from the Calamity God? Are you insane?”
Alexia gritted her teeth, but Tristan, as if he hadn’t heard her, smiled nonchalantly.
Running away from the Calamity God? A disturbing thought crossed Lucius’s mind.
And Felix, as if finally understanding, smiled. He embraced Tristan from behind, his voice filled with emotion.
“Tristan, you defied death to be with me. You truly are my angel.”
Defied death. Those words were unsettling.
Lucius looked at Alexia, his eyes filled with an unfamiliar fear. Alexia avoided his gaze, and a chilling laughter echoed through the room.
“You won’t get any answers from Alex. Those are the rules.”
[I can’t tell you. Stupid rules.]
Her words from the carriage echoed in his mind.
Tristan’s gray eyes gleamed with amusement.
He leaned closer to Lucius, his pale hand, colder than Lucius’s water-soaked skin, gently tracing the curve of his cheek.
Lucius, his voice filled with denial, whispered,
“…That’s impossible.”
“It seems you’ve already figured it out.”
Lucius struggled, but his hands and feet were bound, and Tristan’s grip on his jaw was unbreakable. He could only stare at Tristan, his eyes wide with fear.
Tristan, his pale lips moving, revealed the cruel truth.
“Apostle, you can never escape. Once a slave, always a slave.”
Lucius had suspected it, ever since Alexia first appeared in Heilan. But he had denied it, afraid of admitting that he was also trapped in this cycle.
Tristan, just like Alexia, had appeared out of nowhere. And he hadn’t been able to leave the Heilan Royal Palace. Alexia couldn’t materialize outside the Calamity God’s domain.
Once a slave, always a slave.
An apostle was an eternal slave to their god.
Not even death could free them.
“…Apostle.”
Lucius’s eyes, filled with a dawning horror, finally saw the truth.
“You… were an apostle?”
Tristan smiled gently.
“The first apostle, to be precise. The true owner of the holy relic you’ve been searching for.”
He patted Lucius’s head condescendingly, as if praising a student for a correct answer.
Lucius’s mind went blank.
Tristan was the first apostle. Which meant…
“…The holy relic.”
“Hmm?”
“The holy relic…”
Lucius’s voice trembled.
Tristan was the owner of the holy relic, but even he had spent years searching for it. Perhaps it was gone.
“Ah, that.”
Tristan grinned.
It was an unsettling smile. He removed his hand from Lucius’s head, tilting his head as he chuckled.
“You thought you were clever, didn’t you? Unfortunately for you, the holy relic you’ve been searching for is a fake. I haven’t found the real one yet.”
Lucius’s eyes dimmed with despair.
“I planted a fake to see if you would betray us. I wonder what changed your mind in Ravanta.”
Hmm?
Tristan, his foot pressing down on Alexia’s back, tilted his head.
It was over. Lucius had been too naive.
Just then, Alexia, lifting her head slightly, asked,
“Tristan, why did you abandon the Calamity God…? You were the one who said once a slave, always a slave!”
Tristan’s eyes widened momentarily, then his usual smile returned.
He smiled brightly, like a shy boy, and replied,
“No one wants to be a slave, not even in front of their beloved.”
Nine years ago, the day Felix returned to Heilan with Vermon’s severed head after failing to assassinate Artius.
“Artius! How dare you humiliate me?!”
Felix, his face contorted in rage, had issued a closed-door order and locked himself in the prayer room, abandoning all pretense of composure.
There was a large statue in the center of his prayer room. A statue of an angel, its face androgynous, its large wings spread wide.
It had been there since Felix was a child, and he had been captivated by its beauty from the moment he first saw it.
It was the only object he had ever truly cherished.
“Please, save me…”
Felix clung to the angel’s legs, his voice filled with desperation.
Vermon, the puppet king, and Chelon, his pawn, were gone.
All he had left were Dolce, the idiot, and Olivia and Simon, who were still too young to be of any use.
Was this the end of Heilan’s glory?
He had dreamed of restoring Heilan to its former glory, of usurping Vermon’s throne. But it was all over.
He would be just Felix Heilan, the king of a defeated nation.
He should have taken the throne himself.
Just then,
A cracking sound echoed through the room, and marble dust rained down.
“No! My angel!”
Felix jumped up and embraced the statue.
It was an old statue, but why today, of all days?
“Please, don’t abandon me…”
He had suffered such humiliation today. He couldn’t bear to lose the statue as well.
Felix closed his eyes tightly.
As if mocking his desperation, the statue crumbled completely.
And then, a miracle happened.
He felt warmth where there should have been cold stone.
“…?”
Felix opened his eyes.
A man with pale skin was in his arms.
The man blinked his ashen eyelashes and looked up at Felix, their eyes meeting.
Felix gasped.
The man looked exactly like the statue.
“Who are you…?”
Felix asked, his voice barely a whisper.
“Tristan.”
The man smiled faintly and replied,
“I heard your prayer, and I’ve come to grant your wish.”