Dragon and Lizard

In a chamber of a church adorned with opulent yet refined ornamentation, two men faced one another.

Each wore a gentle smile, their countenances evoking the serenity and calm of a saint to those who beheld them.

Save for the elder of the two, who sat in the higher seat and was a year or two older, they were nearly indistinguishable.

"I have taken a long time to reach you.

But this journey ends today.

Please, allow me to speak as a young man—let me recount old tales, as a humble offering."

The younger man began to speak.

The elder listened in quiet attentiveness, as one who has walked the path before.

Arthur had not yet recovered from the loss of Spica’s departure, more than from the conclusion of his own wedding ceremony.

His betrothed meant nothing to him now; he wandered the castle, clinging only to memories of her.

Memories of Spica were scattered throughout the castle’s halls and chambers.

He walked on without pause until he stood before the royal family's private chamber.

Voices echoed from within.

He thought he heard Spica's name and strained his ears.

The voices that reached him were those of his father, the Emperor, and his mother—the Empress, his own grandmother.

"All of this is Jill's doing! I am no different than a nobleman whose pet dog has bitten him!

I have always favored Miss Spica far more than that Stella, whom the Empress promotes!"

They were speaking of Spica, as he had suspected.

He held his breath, listening in silence...

Beneath the truth of his beloved becoming the Virgin of the Barrier lay the machinations of a man within the royal secret service...

His father appeared to be rebuking his grandmother.

In turn, the Empress seemed to claim she had acted independently within the bounds of her own magical contract, asserting herself as the victim.

What a thing… In the end, it was the imperial family… my own family… who drove her to the edge…

I quietly push the door open.

For a moment, both of them startle, but as befits the nation’s highest rank, they compose themselves almost instantly.

“Is there something amiss, Arthur? To enter a place of state affairs without warning is rather impolite, would you not agree?”

My grandmother speaks with a hint of mockery, but I counter with a question.

“Is what you just said true? That the one who tormented Spica was not her own family?”

At first, she feigns ignorance, denying everything. I was eavesdropping—improper, undignified, she says. But I press on regardless. Eventually, my father intervenes. The Empress yields, and begins to explain.

Her name is Jill de Montmorinlay.

Her true name, Gilbert Baronne Marhassan.

She was of the fallen Marhassan baronial line.

A parade of things so unbelievable they made the ears doubt their own hearing…

She felt as though she might be consumed by fury.

She knew that the royal family protected those apostles who bore the arcane gift known as Giftei.

Yet, she did not know its true nature.

They had operated in secret as an organization where, through generations, the empress held true power…

Among them, Jill was a man of strong and valuable power, highly esteemed and frequently employed by the Empress Dowager.

It is said that the Lord had them engaged in activities akin to espionage, seeking out the gifted and the dissident.

Spica had also been reported as gifted, according to the activity report, which was why her grandmother had taken notice. Her lineage, sacred power, the color of her sacred power, and her education—all these qualities had been factors.

But for reasons unknown, the man in question pierced the magical covenant, betrayed the Empress Dowager, reported Stella to the Empress as queen, and secured her entry into Emmental.

The report made at that time had reached the Empress Dowager.

Stella, too, was gifted. I had heard a little of it, but knowing nothing of the nature of her power, I trembled.

Since her return, I had felt an unease in how the family treated Spica… I understood now why Spica sometimes wore a shadowed expression… I felt ashamed of my own ignorance…

I wished I could strike myself down for the loneliness I had felt then, believing it merely a child’s sorrow for the affection her elder sister now received.

It seemed the Empress Dowager had intended to use Stella’s power.

Given her rank as consort, and eventually as Grand Duchess, she likely believed it easy to bring her onto the diplomatic stage.

Father said the aim was to use her gift to secure treaties beneficial to the realm.

When betrayal was revealed, the man was recalled, then exiled to the provinces—but the situation did not improve.

By then, Stella’s poison had already spread throughout the Emmental family…

It was unfortunate that I only realized it shortly after my fiancé was designated by imperial decree.

And she—Spica—petitioned the Empress Dowager to volunteer as the Virgin of the Barrier.

The Empress Dowager, seeing the advantage in placing Spica—burdened by guilt and remorse, yet imbued with strong sacred power—as a human sacrifice, promised to support the decision…

I apologized to my father for having consented to the engagement, accepting the Empress’s proposal as a formality.

Then I was asked whether I would continue my engagement with Stella.

The answer is no. I replied without delay, and immediately was questioned about Stella’s future disposition.

She would be declared dead of illness six months hence.

It is said she will be announced as having been condemned for crimes against the Imperial family.

In truth, she is said to be working under the secret agency managed by the Empress, utilizing her power for the sake of national interest.

I asked about the man’s current state, but the answer was unsatisfactory.

It has been decided that, as part of his repentance, Stella will be entrusted to him. Yet, as part of this matter, all command over the gifted individuals he had previously held will be transferred to the Empress, and his authority—along with his magical covenant—will likewise be handed over to her. The Empress Mother spoke, eyes averted, her voice bitter with regret.

The punishment, in effect, amounts to nothing…

What he has done is betrayal toward the Empress Mother, but not toward the Imperial Family. In truth, it was Stella who disrupted the Emmental house…

He carried out his duties faithfully, yet followed his own desires.

So it seems the Empress Dowager is quite enamored with Spica—she came in great excitement, reporting that Spica had entered her service as if a new god had descended.

To the Empress Dowager, the stripping of her authority… that must be a profound humiliation.

It is as though a pet dog had bitten her hand and kicked sand in her face. Worse still, having all her capable instruments taken from her by the opposing Empress—her rival wife—is clearly a deep wound to her pride. In my view, she has only herself to blame.

And this is no better for me…

The Empress is not my true mother.

Though she appears friendly on the surface, she does not hold me or my mother in high regard.

There are surely many reasons—family tensions, marital discord, and the like…

For my part, I have an exceptionally capable Crown Prince—my elder brother—whose future is secure. Yet that does not make the matter so easily dismissed. That is the trouble.

I cannot believe I am thought ill of, nor do I think I could extract information from such a position.

Though I have no attachment to the station of prince—my elder brother holds that future securely—it grieves me deeply that I lack the strength to relinquish such power so easily, after hearing these words.

As expected, the Empress feigned ignorance.

Before the privilege of rank, I am powerless.

Even though I am but a lowly servant of the Dragon's sigil, I am reminded that I am no more than a petty lizard.

Yet after pressing her several times, I reached a secret agreement: in exchange for information, I would carry out the Empress’s desires.

As part of this, I led the Sacred Knights on a campaign against the traitors.

Even without such a secret pact, I would have volunteered for this duty to protect the kingdom, and thus Spica. It was no burden at all—rather, it felt like an unexpected boon.

From the Empress’s perspective, she may have considered it a fortunate outcome that her son remained unharmed, and perhaps even hoped I would die or suffer grievous injury—then relinquish my claim to the throne altogether.

I slew bandits whose origins were unclear—neither local raiders nor foreign spies—every single day in the frontier lands.

And every night, I soothed the ache in her heart, filling the silence of her loneliness.

After each campaign, the only information I uncovered was about him.

Only that he now lived under a different name, dispatched on a foreign mission.

Her elder sister, once my betrothed, had also changed her name and her name in the records, and was already gone with that man, beyond the kingdom’s borders.

Yet there was another gain. I wrested from my father the reward for eliminating a traitor.

It was something I had longed for with every fiber of my being.

With that reward, I made a pact with the Earl of Emmental—something that could easily be read as a secret agreement.

This, of course, must remain hidden until she awakens…

It was her family who pulled me back from the shallow reverie in which I had been drifting…

A report had been sent to the royal court regarding the disclosure of inheritance rights.

I immediately raised my hand as witness. It was customary for an imperial representative to attend when the succession of a great fiefdom was disclosed.

Above all, I felt it my duty to bear witness to matters concerning her kin—on her behalf.

I never imagined, in that moment, that such a tragedy would unfold…

I had heard that Spica was very likely the true daughter, but to learn that it was indeed so filled me with both surprise and quiet understanding.

The air she carried, the way she moved—these were strikingly similar to those of her siblings and the other ladies of the house.

I had once laughed, long ago, at the thought that she came from a blood-related vassal family. But now, the truth was clear: she truly was family.

She had once laughed, long ago, at the thought that she came from a blood-related vassal family. But now, the truth was clear: she truly was family. I was lost in sentiment, and my reaction came too late.

Fret struck the lady… I was shielded by the steward and Cain, helpless and consumed by powerlessness. I should have slain him at once, perhaps. But my hand was forbidden. Above all, I, who held claim to the throne, could not act rashly…

In that moment, Fret took Alex’s eyes and swallowed them… Those were Spica’s eyes…

I had known since the campaign that he harbored affection for Spica. Since I had shown him her Sacred Stone, I had felt hostility in his gaze…

I had not known whether it was the regard of a brother or a man. But now, from his words, I knew it was the latter.

Most of all, I could not help but pity him.

A friend who had clung desperately to his own desires, refusing to acknowledge anything else…

Stop it… Spica never wished for such a thing, did she?

She never wished for her family to be wounded in this manner…

She did not wish, not even for a single moment, for the family she loved so dearly to be torn apart like this.

Even I, who share no blood with her, could understand that clearly enough…

And so, despite breaking precedent, I reached out to him with words of pity.

Royalty must never break a promise.

A promise is equivalent to a vow made through blood.

The Empress wears a ring set with the Sacred Stone of the First Emperor—this is a form of covenant, and once worn, it cannot be removed until abdication.

And because this is forbidden to the Empress, it becomes an unbridgeable difference in rank.

And thus, the promise itself becomes a binding vow.

And the higher one's place in the imperial succession, the stronger its effect.

Even I, ranked fifth in line, must exercise great care.

This time, I was spared punishment—fortunate that it was merely custom, not a formal vow, that had been broken.

Yet why did the oath activate this time…? The imperial bloodline is passed down by blood, a tradition long abandoned and forgotten among commoners.

That mark upon his brow—like that of a divine punisher… Does he too hold claim to the succession? No, that cannot be…

Doubt swirled within me.

Later, Fret was captured. The act of drawing steel in the presence of nobility sealed his fate—exile to a distant island was decided.

There is no changing this. It is the judgment of the realm.

I made certain to support the Emmental family as best I could, so that Spica, once awakened, would not suffer further sorrow.

A royal physician was dispatched to attend to the lady and Alex.

Thanks to this effort, both survived, though the cost was great.

The lady would never walk again, and Alex would never regain sight in one eye…

Worst of all, the lady’s mind had shattered. She trembled at shadows, screamed when her sons visited…

She was no longer the mind of a sane person…

What would she have done… perhaps she would have stayed awake, holding her mother’s hand, whispering gently, “It is all right, Mother,” again and again…

But such a thing was beyond me.

In the end, the only thing I could do was show her beloved mother how to preserve her heart, so that she might live as a human being.

Even so, a price had to be paid. I proposed borrowing a person from the Gifted Institute under the Empress’s command. The proposal was accepted, and I received one who possessed the gift to alter human memory.

I shudder at the thought of one who bears such a dreadful gift—but his power, too, is bound by Spica’s influence, restrained from use within the realm, unable to be wielded at will.

The price I offered was my refusal to marry during my reign as prince.

I introduced him to the Emmental family as a special mage.

Her mother has forgotten even her existence—but I believe her heart remains preserved.

I hear the lady still favors the garments Spica designed, and the tea they once enjoyed together.

Alex says, “Perhaps my one eye was always meant to be without a border—but now, with Spica at my side as my right eye, I must walk through life for both of us. To live only for myself would be a profanation of her memory.”

His words and music have always stirred the soul—but since Spica took up her duty, he has made no new works public.

What kind of work will he leave behind, now?

His works will become history.

To write down one’s sins in full, to etch that shame into the future—what courage it must take…

I cannot imitate such atonement.

The ignorant around me spoke ill of the Emmental family without restraint, spreading rumors with cruel tongues.

Indeed, I could not speak of the true victims—men who had suffered at the hands of one man. So I silenced them outwardly, saying only, “Those who speak ill of a family that has produced a saint, who seek shelter in the protection of the barrier, are surely not to be found in this empire.”

Yet even so, their words did not reach my ears…

I wish they would not speak ill of those she loved. But Count Emmental speaks, with a distant sort of understanding, “Our actions are true. To endure such reproach may be one form of penance. I only hope that Spica herself is spared such scorn.”

And at that time, the Count consulted me regarding the treatment of a single criminal.

The man was said to be the one who abducted Spica...

I was entrusted by the Count with the man’s disposition.

I decided to send him first to the mine site under my direct jurisdiction, there to be kept under watch.

It was a place of intense miasma, a harsh terrain no one could enter without holy power or magical artifacts.

I visited him regularly, attended to his condition, and took care that he should not die.

Even if he were the root cause, Spica would surely not rejoice if he perished...

That was my thought.

Half a year after the Foundation Festival, Stella’s death was announced.

Rumors circulated in the streets that she had been cursed by those who tormented the Saintess.

The truth was a purge ordered by the Imperial Court, though only a few knew of it.

Yet now, her elder sister would be remembered not as a great sinner, but as a noble lady who died of illness just before her wedding.

Soon after, numerous marriage proposals came to me, yet I declined them all. Though I had promised the Empress, my heart could not accept such matters.

When I said I was still grieving the loss of my fiancé, most withdrew. I hesitated to invoke Stella’s name—something I would not have spoken aloud even in thought—but perhaps this small transgression could be forgiven.

Not long after, the Emmental family underwent a change of succession.

With it, the former lord declared he would return to his domain, accompanied by his wife.

“Let the stain and scorn of our house fall upon me,” he said. “The future of Emmental shall be judged by the conduct of its new head.” With that, he departed, leaving behind a clear distinction: he and we were no longer one.

I confess, it is envious to think of her being by his side… yet it cannot be a joyous thing for him, surely.

Cain, the eldest son, also left the Emmental lineage to found a new household of his own.

Cain had sinned more deeply against his own wife than he had against Spica.

He said he wished to live henceforth in service to family and the weak.

Yet, at the same time, he spoke of wanting to uncover the truth about his sisters.

I once again pleaded with the Empress, praying that his wish might be granted.

The cost this time was surrendering one of the direct-controlled estates to his elder brother.

Since the birth of the heir to the imperial line, our brothers’ positions in succession have fallen. A demotion to commoner status may soon follow. This, perhaps, is why he wishes to secure greater inheritance for his son.

I gave it willingly. If that is all it takes, I would give it a hundred times over…

Because Cain continued to deliver results, the Empress made no further demands.

Cain also secretly provided information.

If discovered, he would face true peril this time…

Perhaps, in his own way, he has reached the truth…

Yet I do not question it.

He is said to be pouring his heart and soul into developing magical artifacts for those with physical impairments, and those that counter the abilities of the gifted.

Our father is greatly pleased—his ennoblement may be near.

The Empress, my grandmother, has withdrawn in form, retreating to a detached estate within the direct domain. This is the work of the Empress consort. She has driven out her political rivals, securing, in effect, her victory.

When the matter of the Emmental family had settled to a degree, I departed abroad under the pretense of broadening my horizons.

They will likely regard it as the whim of a foolish prince.

It matters not.

Alone, without attendants, I pursued that man. With scant information…

I traveled from land to land.

I do not know his current name, nor his appearance, yet I pressed forward with desperate resolve. In time, I narrowed the suspects to several individuals, but still, no certainty remains.

After decades had passed, I ceased my search for the man abroad.

That man would surely wish to go to Spica.

From the gathered information, it is easy to deduce that he possesses such a depraved nature.

I could not allow such a man near Spica.

And then, decades more flowed by. I was no longer a prince.

If one were to speak in title, I would be the holy knight of the High Saintess—Spica.

I waited thus, endlessly…

for the day when my enemy would reveal himself…

to make him repent the sin of tormenting Spica…

“And so, at last, I have come to you, Archbishop Jill. I did not expect you would return under your true name.”

Jill ran a finger along his pale, elongated beard, as though indifferent.

“And so, have you come today to speak of that matter?”

Arthur shook his head.

“No. Today, I have come to make a wager with you.”

Placing a fine bottle of wine, a small vial containing purple liquid, and two ornate goblets upon the table, he said,

"I love the High Priestess Spica with all my heart. And she loves me in return. Even after decades, this feeling and truth remain unchanged."

Jill’s brow twitched slightly, his composure faltering.

"You, too, hold the High Priestess in reverence, do you not?

Then prove it.

If your devotion reaches the divine, nothing is impossible. You need only ask the gods to confirm it."

He poured the wine into two elaborately decorated goblets.

Then, he added the same amount of liquid from the small vial into both goblets.

"This is the poison of belladonna root.

If you truly walk as a righteous servant of the divine, with a pure heart and pure intent, you shall not die.

I shall ask the gods of the truth of my love for the High Priestess, and of her heart being mine."

You shall be questioned by the High Priestess as to whether your devotion has reached her. Is that acceptable?

Saying this, he lifts the goblet.

To Jill, the poison of Belladonna had long since been overcome. It caused her no discomfort at all.

She had never liked this man who had prowled around the High Priestess and even spoken of betrothal.

Worse still, this man who had settled in her domain by wielding power…

If this gamble were to end in death, she would be pleased to see this irritating man alone perish.

"Very well. My angel cannot fail to feel my affection.

Is it truly proper for Your Grace to make such a wager?"

Arthur nods, as if there were no issue.

Then the two raise their goblets.

By the gods of this world, I swear: my love and devotion shall remain with the High Saint Spica Luciana, and her heart shall be mine. If this be true, grant me blessing; if false, grant me death.

To the gods of this world, I inquire: my love and devotion shall reach the High Saint Spica, and her heart shall be mine. If this be true, grant me blessing; if false, grant me death.

And the two clink their goblets together, draining them to the last drop.

Their gazes meet.

Arthur begins to cough—

Jill, with a smile unnatural for a saint, smirks at Arthur, triumphant.

Arthur does not look away from Jill.

“The wager is mine, then…”

Even as the thought crosses Jill’s mind, her vision tilts.

Foolish… impossible… I… is my love not reaching her…?

Jill is stunned by the sudden change within herself.

"Cardinal Jill. You have lost.

Your feelings have not reached her.

She does not know you. She does not know what you have done for her.

Your love was nothing but self-delusion, a one-sided imposition.

Die without her knowing you, without her acknowledging you, without ever speaking to her.

And pray, repent in the land of the dead."

Cardinal Jill heard these words, face pressed into the desk.

And then, life faded from her eyes.

The mark of the Divine Punisher rose upon her brow.

She knew well that Spica would not rejoice at such vengeance—she would only grieve.

Yet Arthur had acted for her sake.

After the incident with Fret, Arthur had begun investigating the Divine Punisher.

He had studied forbidden texts in the castle, the mysteries of the church, and all that could be found about the Divine Punishers of other lands—nearly everything possible.

And the answer she had arrived at was "Oath."

The elder taught her that a vow made to the divine, ordinarily unremarkable, could reach the gods depending on its conditions...

If the question posed to the divine and the oath itself were true and righteous, the gods would bestow blessing. But if they were false or mistaken, one would be punished as a deceitful unworthy soul before the divine presence.

The condition was simple: to use a sacred relic connected to the divine and swear an oath before the gods. That was all. If one desired a result, the gods themselves might arrange it accordingly.

Famous examples include the Coronation Ceremony of the Emperor and the covenant of the Virgin of the Barrier.

In both cases, it is said that falsehood in the oath would invoke divine punishment.

The Coronation Ceremony relies on the bloodline of the divine heirs; the covenant scroll is a gift bestowed by the gods.

It is upon such relics that the oath takes root.

To speak the vow aloud is merely to make it known to others; the oath still holds true even if spoken only in the heart.

The correctness of this method had been tested many times by the one who abducted Spica.

Attempts were made using my blood as a conduit, or the goddess statue from the church, each trial building upon the last.

This time, Arthur had used not some uncertain relic of legend, but Spica’s Sacred Stone.

The small Sacred Stone Spica had crafted in childhood and given to her brothers was set into the goblet.

Alex had been entrusted with crafting the goblet.

That stone was now a remnant left behind by a divine presence at the world’s edge. It was upon that stone that the vow was made.

I regret deeply that Spica was drawn into such vengeance…

Yet I knew I must end this man’s life without fail…

My heart remains unlightened, but at least this will lessen the threat to Spica in this world…

I wish for her to awaken into a world where she may feel safe.

Arthur, having accomplished it alone, stood before the corpse, raising the goblet, yet consumed by emptiness.

Upon that pitiful corpse…

Because of this one, Spica and I were sundered.

Yet it is true that life was saved by Spica, thanks to this one’s actions…

Upon Spica’s sacrifice…

The door to the antechamber was knocked upon, and a woman entered.

A woman with severe burns across her face. She served Jill, and her age was not so different from Arthur’s.

She bowed deeply before Arthur.

“Thank you. Now I may finally depart.”

Arthur gave no reply.

He felt no emotion toward the woman who had once been his betrothed.

She had changed, unlike men. She lamented her past deeds. She regretted them.

In her later years, she had used her power for the sake of the nation, for Spica’s sake.

He truly hated her. Yet she, too, was merely a pawn moved by this corpse, a wretched soul whose life had been shattered.

To the woman granted the chance to meet Spica, Arthur did nothing.

She who was not even granted the right to end her life through a magical contract with a man now stands free.

She is free to decide what comes next…

A few days later, news came of a cardinal’s excommunication. It was said that despite his high station, he had long engaged in countless unsavory deeds behind the scenes.

Few know he died by divine punishment.

So cold… a chill so deep it threatens to steal consciousness.

Her eyelids will not obey.

Her body will not respond… as though bound by unseen chains.

Jill concentrates her will, striving once more to open her eyes.

When her vision clears after remaining closed for a time, she sees endless frozen earth.

A grotesque land where human heads sprout from the ground at irregular intervals.

Her own body lies buried within the frozen soil.

No wonder she cannot move… but why has she come to this state…

Still hazy in her awareness, a voice calls to her from the man.

“Ah, newcomer. What sin brought you to Cocytus?”

The man who called himself Judah spoke as if he had already judged her.

This was the farthest edge of the otherworld, where souls bearing the gravest sins—those who betrayed gods or those who served them—came to rest.

The lowest layer of Hell. A graveyard for souls denied even rebirth.

That cannot be… I devoted my entire life for my angel…

My love was not enough—there is no other explanation.

But if what the man says is true, I shall never see my angel again… my soul shall never return… my angel could not possibly have fallen so low…

Jill felt despair.

The first despair she would know in this endless hell.

Thank you for reading.

I apologize for the delayed update due to various circumstances.

My sincerest apologies.

The main arc of this story will conclude in two more episodes—perhaps three.

I would be grateful if you would accompany me to the very end.

The chill has grown sudden; please take care of yourselves.