The intruder’s eyes curved gently as she smiled. Then, her black ceremonial robes fluttered gracefully as she performed a respectful bow.

“Please forgive my somewhat impolite appearance. I am honored to greet Her Majesty the noble Queen of the Vinchester Kingdom. I am Ayleth Rodeline, the Sacred Scripture of the Language Order.”

“...Sacred Scripture?”

“Yes, that is correct.”

Murmurs erupted here and there.

“S-Sacred Scripture?”

“Oh my, the one from Ragneif...!”

“The saint who wields the Divine Descent!”

The news of the turbulent Ragneif Magic Republic had already spread throughout the Serentra continent.

A mysterious figure who brings as many rumors as the Magic Tower itself was none other than the Sacred Scripture. No one could have failed to hear of her.

The one who serves a new god, the sole two Rank 9 Transcendents in this world, and the savior who singlehandedly exterminated Moriel, the 166th ranked demon lord.

Few would easily believe such an extraordinary being stood before them. It was natural that doubtful glances followed.

But Ayleth allowed no doubt about her identity.

“Perhaps you need to see with your own eyes to believe.”

“What do you intend...?”

Marchioness Lecandro had no chance to intervene.

“Divine Descent.”

Her body, directly linked to divine sanctity, changed colors—golden eyes that swallowed sun and moon, and silver hair.

Her feet hovered in midair, as if separating herself from the earth, while her flowing silver hair spread like a pair of wings.

The power she showed upon first appearance was only a taste. The overwhelming aura filled the banquet hall as if one dared not even breathe.

All present, understanding the situation, had their doubts dispelled.

Before them was the Sacred Scripture.

The divine prophet and proxy, a transcendent beyond human power.

“You have deceived me.”

She was no mere astrologer’s assistant. Yet, the magnitude before her was too great for feelings of betrayal and despair.

It took extraordinary mental strength just to overcome instinctive awe and carry on a conversation.

“You, the head of Ragneif, why do you interfere in the affairs of the Vinchester royal family? This crosses a diplomatic line. I suggest you withdraw immediately.”

“Please do not treat me so coldly, Your Majesty. Am I not worthy of coming to congratulate a long-time client on their birthday?”

“A client?”

“You must have received a letter bearing the black seal.”

“What?”

The decisive evidence that revealed Hadeil’s atrocities to the world. The intention behind mentioning it now was...

“I am that informant, Your Majesty.”

“...!”

Confusion swirled in the queen’s eyes. As if to reassure, Ayleth continued.

“Do not worry about the authenticity of the evidence. It is all truth seen through God’s omniscience, by my own eyes. Of course, Your Majesty would have completed cross-verification.”

“...Why do you aid me?”

“Oh, Your Majesty.”

Ayleth kindly corrected the misunderstanding.

“I do not aid Your Majesty.”

“Then whom?”

“I aid Prince Reminic.”

“...!”

The royal taboo was uttered. Queen Raviosa and Ligares reacted instantly.

As if struck by an {N•o•v•e•l•i•g•h•t} arrow to the heart, both convulsed. Their faces drained of color, lips barely moving.

The queen barely regained composure but could not easily recover her lost calm.

“Did you just say... Reminic?”

“Yes.”

“Reminic...?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

Normally, no one would dare utter that name lightly. But the one before her...

“You must have heard.”

“...”

“Reminic Shuhail Vinchester will return.”

“...!”

The Sacred Scripture.

Words like an ancient epic prophecy, carrying divine language that pierced the brain, not just the ears.

“Reminic, my son...”

“...”

“...will return?”

The queen exhaled deeply. Conflicting emotions tugged at her inside.

How many lowly frauds had tried to shake her using that name? Her long-trained mind whispered.

Will this time be any different? No, this time is no different. Therefore, any who dare use that name shall be thoroughly punished.

Yet beneath her deliberately cruel demeanor was a heart unwilling to be wounded at its weak spot.

In truth, she believed and hoped more than anyone for Reminic’s return. Especially now, as the one who mentioned him had been granted divine authority.

Could she trust? Even if she later realized she was deceived and fell into despair, could she not trust this now?

She wanted to believe. She wanted so badly to believe.

Pulled in opposite directions by extreme impulses, the queen wanted to scream. Her mind was on the verge of tearing in two.

Meanwhile, Ligares was a bit more honest than his mother.

“Is it true?”

“...”

“Your brother... Reminic, is he alive?”

“...”

“Answer me, Sacred Scripture! Is Reminic really coming back?”

The desperate questioning seemed more pitiful than threatening. Watching her beg for an answer, the Sacred Scripture spoke.

“Prince Reminic...”

Her tone grew somewhat cold.

“...is already here.”

“...!”

At that moment, Queen Raviosa too became honest.

“Your Majesty!”

“Queen!”

As the queen hastily tried to rise from the throne but lost balance, Ligares and Marchioness Lecandro steadied her.

But the queen struggled fiercely as if support was restraint and ran toward the center of the banquet hall.

“Where, where is my son... Reminic... Reminic...!”

“...”

“Reminic, where are you? Come quickly, your mother is calling... please!”

She wandered frantically among the attendees as if mad. A grieving mother needed no dignity.

The bizarrely quiet banquet echoed only with hurried footsteps and desperate cries, like a theatrical scene unfolding.

“Ah!”

The queen stumbled and fell. Just as the nobles, like an audience, rushed to help her.

“Gasp.”

“Ugh.”

Suddenly, an unexplainable energy pressed on everyone’s lungs in the hall.

Unlike the Sacred Scripture, it was a terrifying, despairing force.

Then came the sound—heavy, deliberate footsteps echoing through the space.

Perhaps due to the overwhelming presence, the sound felt deafening.

The nobles, caught in their shadows, could not move a muscle, their eyes darting anxiously. All eyes converged.

There, deviating from the noble ranks, walked a black-haired youth toward the banquet’s center.

Sensing something, the queen suddenly lifted her head, and their gazes locked. And then—

“...!”

Queen Raviosa’s pale eyes widened as if torn apart.

“You are...”

Despite the wait, no further words came.

The youth slowly spoke. Words the queen had heard once before echoed in her ears.

“Even if I reappear...”

“...”

“Will you recognize me?”

“...”

The queen froze.

✠

This couldn’t be happening.

It must not happen.

It can’t be...

“No, no... no...!”

Covering her ears desperately, the queen cried out as if screaming.

Fortunately, there was proof to support her. The youth before her had different hair and eye color.

“That’s impossible! My son, Reminic, looks like the king and me...”

“Platinum hair and blue eyes, you say?”

“...!”

“Is it because the hair and eye colors differ that you deny?”

“...”

“You neither recognize nor accept me.”

“...”

The more she struggled, the deeper she sank into despair.

To avoid becoming the worst mother, the queen searched her memories. But no matter how hard she tried, nothing was more important than hair and eye color.

She had long since forgotten her son’s face.

The youth spoke as if understanding the queen’s foolishness.

“I have changed. My life has been difficult, and my colors have dulled somewhat.”

“...”

“So it’s natural you cannot recognize my face. That is why...”

“...”

“I intend to show you direct evidence.”

“What...!”

Before the queen, Reid dramatically cut his own left palm on the shards of a broken wine glass nearby.

Watching the drops of blood fall onto the carpet, the queen fell into deep confusion.

Who was this wounded person?

Was he the youth she cruelly tried to kill in anger? Or was he the son she would not regret losing even if she took his heart?

She could not tell.

Fortunately or unfortunately, the time for the answer to awaken her ignorance was near.

“Excuse me.”

Lowering his posture with unparalleled politeness as when he quietly escaped from prison that day, Reid reached for the simple necklace around the queen’s neck.

The white teardrop pendant disappeared into his clenched, bloodied fist as if squeezing out its essence.

“What color will it glow?”

“...”

“Shall we find out?”

Of course, the queen’s trembling lips could not utter a sound. Resigned, Reid revealed the answer.

“Reach out your hand.”

Though trembling, the queen stretched out both hands as if under a spell.

Her hands, held out carefully like a precious offering, felt drops of blood drip onto them as the pendant fell with a soft tap.

“A gift, Your Majesty.”