Unveiled Malice
‘A cold, of all things!’
Perhaps it was the toll of days spent in anxious tension, but the moment the Purification Ceremony incident concluded, Canna collapsed. For three full days.
Only after those three days had passed did she finally rise from her sickbed.
“Sister, are you all right?”
“I’m fine.”
“Truly? No discomfort anywhere?”
“None at all.”
The instant Canna stood, Kallen appeared as though he had been waiting.
His expression was grim. He fixed Claude with a distinctly displeased glare.
“How exactly did you perform your guard duty that you allowed my sister’s face to grow so gaunt?”
“Kallen, stop. Sir Claude performed admirably!”
The gauntness came from having been so mentally drained that she could barely eat. Throughout her cold, she had taken nothing but porridge.
“Without Sir Claude, it would have been far worse. I survived thanks to him. He was utterly dependable!”
“...Is that so?”
“Yes, it is.”
For some reason, those words seemed to twist Kallen’s mood.
“Duchess, you really should have permitted me to slice out half of Lady Rachel’s tongue. I did mention needing proof of my excellent guard duty.”
Claude delivered the remark with a sly grin, as if it were a joke.
It was a joke. Probably.
Probably…?
“I worried a great deal, sister.”
Kallen let out a sigh. He rubbed at his eyes with both hands and murmured in a low, exhausted voice.
“Truly, I couldn’t sleep a single wink for days…”
His voice was hoarse and ragged. The claim of sleeplessness did not sound like mere exaggeration.
“You didn’t sleep at all?”
“No. I am truly relieved you are safe.”
Kallen gazed at her intently.
His safe sister. Canna, smiling.
Simply drinking in the sight made him feel as though he could breathe again.
She had grown thinner, yet Canna remained beautiful. When a healthy peach bloom returned to her cheeks, Kallen felt profound relief settle deep in his chest.
Canna smiled at him.
“Thank you for worrying about me, Kallen.”
It was unpleasant. Deeply so.
‘Do I look like a child to him? Excessive concern becomes offensive.’
He was neither her brother nor her lover—why did he torment himself with worry to such an extent?
The mere thought that Kallen had lost sleep over her sent a shiver of revulsion down her spine.
‘Ugh. Even knowing he was thinking about me irritates me.’
Still, she had to endure it.
She was the one who had shaped him into this. And for now, this particular attitude of his remained useful.
‘Yes. This incident resolved smoothly thanks to Kallen.’
Hadn’t he assigned Claude to her? Without Claude, she could not have unraveled events so cleanly. In that sense, Canna felt genuine gratitude toward the knight.
Perhaps that was why the sincerity absent when she looked at Kallen now overflowed into her smile.
“I am truly grateful to you as well, Sir Claude.”
Claude scratched his golden hair with an awkward laugh.
“It was nothing. I merely performed my duty.”
“Still, you endured so much. You were caught in the rain countless times…”
Why was she only thinking of this now?
‘He was hanging outside the window in the pouring rain more than once or twice.’
She had worked him relentlessly yet never once checked on his well-being.
Canna clicked her tongue at her own indifference. She settled onto the sofa beside him and extended her hand.
“Your arm.”
“Pardon?”
“Give me your arm.”
Claude looked startled. It was an expression rarely seen on the man who usually traded only jokes, but Canna ignored it and pressed her demand.
“I may not look it, but I am a physician. I wish to examine your condition, so hand over your arm. Immediately.”
Her tone was so resolute that Claude unconsciously offered his wrist. When Canna herself rolled up his sleeve, he startled again.
“Duchess?”
“Your pulse is somewhat faster than average. Did you catch it from me? Any cold symptoms? Headache? Stuffy nose…?”
“No, I am perfectly fine. Thank you.”
Cold sweat beaded down Claude’s back.
Was she imagining it? It felt as though a terrifying wave of displeasure was rolling off Kallen from behind…
“Come here as well, Kallen.”
Since examining only Claude would be unfair, Canna reluctantly summoned him too.
Kallen approached at once, as if he had been waiting, and sat beside her. He spoke with deliberate ease.
“You appear to have a slight fever, sister.”
“Do I?”
“Yes. Please confirm it yourself.”
“Come closer.”
When Canna reached out, Kallen obediently bowed his head and offered his forehead. The gesture resembled a beast willingly submitting its collar, and Claude, watching, felt an odd twist in his stomach.
That was Sir Kallen?
The Kallen he knew was the one who had faced Rachel—cold, arrogant, occasionally brutal, offering only the barest courtesy.
He was even frigid toward his own mother, the Duchess of Addis…
“Strange. You don’t seem feverish at all.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes.”
Kallen’s lips curved in a faint, one-sided smile.
“Then it must have been my mistake.”
“Better that it was.”
Even toward Lucy, the younger sister he treated with the most leniency, he did not behave this way.
‘Has Sir Kallen been possessed by some spirit?’
This was the first time Claude had witnessed Kallen Addis display such obsessive attachment toward anyone.
‘I heard their relationship was poor in the past, yet now they look like the most devoted siblings.’
Come to think of it, there was a saying that time heals all wounds.
Could the passage of years have washed away their old resentments?
‘…I wonder.’
Claude studied Canna closely. The face she turned toward Kallen with a bright smile was flawlessly lovely.
‘I heard the Duchess endured a truly harrowing childhood…’
Yet she had forgiven it all?
‘As expected, her heart is far too soft.’
No matter how often he thought it, she was kind to a fault. Her heart was like silk; it made him worry.
‘I chose well in accepting this guard position.’
She was genuinely good. And rather fascinating. That was what Claude was thinking when—
The door burst open without so much as a knock. Canna turned her head and froze.
“…Ah. Father.”
Alexandro Addis was striding into the room.
The High Priest was frantically packing his belongings.
‘Priests from the Great Temple are coming!’
It seemed Orsini had sent a telegram regarding the Black Fog incident.
Not only that—Duke Alexandro Addis and Duke Sylvien Valentino were both heading to Pailon Island.
Or perhaps they had already arrived.
‘Damn it all. My little reign as king is finished!’
The Black Fog on this island behaved like a mutation, erupting like fireworks in every direction before vanishing again.
Ordinary knights were useless against it. Worse, they became liabilities.
Contact with the fog caused infection, and once infected… they had to be killed.
Therefore, only those immune to the fog—those possessing holy power—were required. The vaunted descendants of the ancient holy knights and sacred priests.
‘Yes, I am useless! Because I possess no holy power!’
That bastard Orsini seemed to believe he was deliberately withholding it, but he was mistaken.
He had never possessed holy power to begin with.
‘After the disgrace I showed, regaining my former authority will be difficult.’
He had been kidnapped by thugs and force-fed rye bread until he nearly burst. He had not even had the luxury of hunting down the perpetrators.
‘Still, that hallucination was extraordinary.’
It had shown him a god.
The sensation of standing before divinity, the ecstasy that still made his entire body feel swollen with rapture—it remained vivid.
It had felt remarkably similar to the first time he beheld the Holy Spirit.
‘…Yes. It was much like seeing the Holy Spirit.’
The Holy Spirit.
The High Priest recalled that exalted being for the first time in years.
He had only seen him from afar, yet the Holy Spirit was the most beautiful existence among all the humans he had ever known—no, could such a being even be called human?
No entity in this world possessed such splendor.
His skin was lustrous as pearl, his hair flowed with the brilliance of melted moonlight. Those deep eyes that seemed to harbor secrets, the thick lashes, and even the tear mole beneath his right eye…
“Where are you going?”
He had been fleeing the village like a thief when the voice stopped him. The High Priest flinched and spun around.
“Sir Jerome?”
“High Priest, where are you rushing off to at this late hour?”
Why was Sir Jerome here?
The High Priest forgot his escape and simply stared. As far as he knew, Jerome had been imprisoned alongside Rachel.
Yes, he had heard the man was locked away.
“Why are you here, Sir Jerome?”
“Well. How could I be here, I wonder?”
Jerome smiled.
“But High Priest, wasn’t I the one who asked first?”
“...”
“Where exactly are you headed in the dead of night?”
The High Priest took an involuntary step backward.
“W-what of Lady Rachel? How could you leave her alone?”
“Ah. You mean the young lady?”
Jerome chuckled darkly as he drew closer.
For some reason, that laughter sounded utterly foreign. This was the loyal knight he had known for years.
“Y-yes. Aren’t you Lady Rachel’s devoted guard? Shouldn’t you be at her side especially now?”
“Hasn’t attending her all this time been sufficient?”
His heart hammered wildly. The High Priest scanned his surroundings without thinking.
A dark night. A deserted alley. Not a soul in sight.
Why did that realization fill him with such despair?
“What kind of talk is that, Sir Jerome? No matter what crimes she committed, Lady Rachel has been connected to you for a long time, has she not?”
“Exactly. Do you know how exhausting it was to cater to that bitch’s every whim?”
Thud!
The High Priest’s back struck the end of the alley. Jerome approached with the leisurely gait of a hyena driving its prey into a corner.
“Still, there were benefits.”
“W-what are you…?”
“Thanks to that girl, I received excellent materials every single year.”
“What?”
“The corpses of worthless humans make for splendid ingredients, you see.”
What was he hearing?
The High Priest swallowed hard. Sweat poured down his palms.
“W-what is this? You cannot mean to harm me? I am the High Priest!”
“High Priest.”
Jerome repeated the title as he advanced, his voice hollow as an empty husk.
“A pig without a drop of holy power.”
“…!”
“What High Priest?”
At that moment, the moon—previously devoured by black clouds—emerged. Its faint light illuminated Jerome’s face…!
“Haaahk!”
The High Priest crumpled to the ground.
“Y-you… you, it can’t be!”
“Ah, you saw. Well, it doesn’t matter. I was going to kill you anyway.”
Jerome covered his eyes, then opened them again.
This time they had returned to their usual brown. Not the black the High Priest had glimpsed.
“You… it can’t be…!”
“Shh. Quiet now.”
Jerome pressed a finger to his lips.
“Do not carelessly speak that word.”
Then he smiled.
“There are some very frightening people on this island at the moment.”