30 Years After Reincarnating, It Turns Out This World Was A Rofan?!-Chapter 206: Everyone Has a Plan (4)

...Today, getting a newspaper was a nightmare.

Everywhere he went, they were completely sold out.

‘Not that I don’t understand why.’

Right now, there wasn’t a single person in the kingdom who wouldn’t want to get their hands on today’s paper.

This was the kind of event that no one could ignore.

And of course, Ihan had his own reasons.

Not because he was dying for some cheap dopamine rush, but because—

As someone directly involved in this mess—

He needed to see how it was being spun.

This wasn’t just damage control.

This was cutting off the entire head of the beast.

“—No, actually. ‘Beheading’ is the more accurate term.”

Rustle.

Ihan flipped through the pages, scanning the headlines.

What he saw was almost admirable in its sheer audacity.

[A Radical Coup? Pope Berhen and Cardinal Dateo Dead.]

[The Extremists’ Crimes—Their Plot Against the Academy and Galahad?]

[Royal Family Outraged! ‘A Reckoning Awaits the Temple!’ What Will the Kingdom Do?]

The kingdom had flipped overnight.

Even the phrase “the entire nation was turned upside down” wasn’t enough to describe it.

For the next few weeks, the entire south would be buzzing.

There wouldn’t be a single quiet day.

But even in the filthiest, murkiest waters—

Flowers still managed to bloom.

Even as the entire nation raged against the Holy Order, one particular figure was being painted as a hero.

[The Bold Decision of Cardinal Michael.]

[A Saint in the Making? Cardinal Michael’s Unwavering Crusade Against the Heretics!]

[A Holy War or a Massacre?]

[Cardinal Michael, Weeping: ‘Those I killed were once my mentors, my fathers, my brothers.’]

Cardinal Michael.

A priest well past ninety, yet still sharp and commanding.

The longest-serving Cardinal in the Holy Order.

The leader of the Moderate Faction.

And now—

The man who personally executed the heads of the Radical Faction.

All while weeping.

A perfect image.

A grieving saint, forced to wield his blade against corrupt sinners.

Of course—

That wasn’t what truly stood out.

It was the sheer brutality.

Beheading their leaders and mounting their heads on spikes was already barbaric.

But that wasn’t enough.

Their bodies were burned to ash.

A grotesque spectacle.

But, of course—

‘And yet, it was all perfectly reasonable.’

It sounded absurd, but the so-called Radical Faction was genuinely riddled with crimes beyond redemption.

Even the most devout believers, those who would usually defend the Temple no matter what, had been forced to grimace.

Because when they dug deeper...

They found decades worth of atrocities.

And among them—

One particular crime that sealed their fate.

The slave trade.

A practice that the War God had personally abolished generations ago.

That alone was enough.

Because now—

Not a single one of the hundreds executed could be called innocent.

Every last one of them had committed crimes that warranted death.

Which made Michael’s actions seem...

Righteous.

A knight of faith, cleansing the corruption within.

A living legend of justice.

And the people?

Of course, they adored him for it.

[The Bold Decision of Galahad.]

[Galahad: The True Heroes of the Kingdom?]

[While Galahad Moved for Justice, What Did the Royal Family Do?]

Then, of course, there were the other papers.

The ones stoking division.

Praising Galahad while subtly criticizing the royal family.

Classic.

“These journalists must have a death wish.”

It was like they wanted to provoke the monarchy.

Ihan let out a dry chuckle.

If his dear royal sister saw this—

“—So, you’re reading filth now.”

Rip!

...Yeah.

She’d probably tear it to shreds.

Sure enough—

A silver-haired woman appeared beside him, snatching the paper from his hands and ripping it to pieces.

Ihan blinked.

“...I was still reading that.”

“What reason do you have to sully your eyes with such garbage? Toss it. It is filled with nothing but lies and propaganda.”

“Hmmm.”

Ihan scratched his cheek.

Her words were sharper than usual.

And her eyes—

Cold.

Irritated.

She was absolutely fuming.

“And what brings Your Highness to such a humble place?”

His voice was casual, but his eyes narrowed slightly.

A crown princess coming here herself?

What was she so eager to see?

“Hmph. Your tone is as rude as ever. If I grace you with my presence, you should be weeping with joy.”

“Ah, yes, of course.”

“...Insolent fool.”

Smack!

Her fan snapped open—flames of irritation flickering at its edges.

Unfortunately—

Crackle.

It wasn’t his head that burned.

It was her wrist.

“Your wrist just snapped. You okay with that?”

“Hmph. Seems this stealth body still needs more refinement.”

“...You’ve got some wild hobbies, huh.”

Fortunately—

She wasn’t here in person.

But still—

‘This woman really has way too many tricks up her sleeve.’

A small, reluctant note of admiration slipped into his thoughts.

***

“The Temple... Those vermin pulled the most vermin-like stunt imaginable—no, even maggots would be ashamed to be compared to them—!”

“Ahem.”

Ihan raised an eyebrow.

Isis, of all people, spitting venom like this?

She had never been one for crude insults, but the fact that she used the word “vermin” three times in a single breath?

That wasn’t just anger.

That was seething fury.

“As crude as it may be, it was undoubtedly effective,” Isis continued, exhaling sharply. “That absurd Saintess Plan of theirs—by pinning everything on the Radical Faction, not only did they cleanse themselves of blame, but they executed such an extreme punishment that no one could even rebuke them for it. And to make it worse, they gave Galahad a share of the credit, creating a flimsy yet undeniable connection between them. To Galahad, it must be infuriating. But to the people?”

Her eyes narrowed.

“They’ll think, ‘Is Galahad finally warming up to the Temple?’”

She scoffed.

“All this from merely wiping out a few hundred insects. What a profitable trade.”

“...Are you even considering them people at this point?”

“I did my own investigations.”

Her tone was ice-cold.

“The crimes committed by those priests? Murdering their own followers. Fraud. Kidnapping. Torture. Tell me, Ihan. What would you call such creatures?”

“...Con artists?”

“...What exactly is your personal grudge against magicians?”

Ihan sighed, but he couldn’t argue.

These bastards had earned their deaths.

They weren’t even worth calling human.

“If anyone deserved sympathy, it would be the Pope and the dead Cardinals,” Isis muttered, crossing her arms. “They led the Radical Faction, yes. But in the end, they were mere embezzlers, common criminals at best.”

“That’s still a crime, isn’t it?”

“Under kingdom law? That’s a mere forty years of forced labor.”

“......”

...Honestly?

Dying might’ve been merciful.

“And to make matters worse?” Isis pressed on. “The Moderates—Cardinal Michael’s faction—came out clean. The only thing that could be held against Michael is some backdoor funding, but that’s nothing in comparison. There’s no real leverage against them.”

“Wow.”

It wasn’t intentional, but the word slipped out.

Ihan had dealt with powerful factions before—knightly orders, sultans, even the damn Magic Tower.

But the Temple?

They were on another level entirely.

“At least they lost a lot of power, right?” Ihan asked. “The Holy Knights were wrecked, key priests were wiped out—that’s gotta sting.”

“Oh, undoubtedly.”

She leaned in.

“But what they gained was far greater than what they lost.”

“And that would be?”

“Trust.”

“??”

“They proved they are a pure institution.”

Her voice dripped with irony.

“They executed their own brothers and sisters. They purged their own knights. To the world, they have demonstrated that they are capable of cleansing their own filth.”

Her lips curled into a bitter smile.

“And that, Ihan, is priceless.”

“...Is that really such a big deal?”

“Oh, it is.”

Her gaze sharpened.

“Right now, people may be disappointed by the heresy within the Temple. But give it time. That disappointment will turn into admiration. And eventually? Reverence. Because, in the name of the Light, the Temple executed its own priests, Cardinals, and even the Pope himself.”

A deep breath.

“And with that, the Temple has gained something even money can’t buy.”

“Faith.”

A shiver crawled down Ihan’s spine.

Faith.

The one thing that could never be bought.

That could only be earned.

And the Temple—

Had just secured an inexhaustible supply.

“Within a year—no, six months,” Isis declared, “they’ll have recovered everything they lost. And from then on? The Temple will be untouchable. Any move against them will be seen as an attack against the faith of the entire south.”

Ihan exhaled.

“...Isis?”

She turned to him.

“We lost.”

“...What?”

“The royal family, me, Galahad, Lionel—every faction that opposed the Temple. We all lost.”

A bitter laugh.

“Everything we built, undone overnight.”

Her fingers tightened around her fan.

“I want to see the face of the bastard who orchestrated this. I want to—”

Her voice wavered.

A deep, smoldering rage boiled beneath the surface.

And then—

Snap.

Her fan shattered in her grip.

A rare sight.

This chapt𝒆r is updated by frёewebηovel.cѳm.

She was always composed.

Even when furious, her anger was always measured.

But this?

This was the first time Ihan had seen her lose control.

“That bad, huh?”

“Beyond infuriating.”

Her voice was low.

“The Temple was cornered. We had them. And now? Not only did they escape, but they turned the tables. The only comfort in this mess is that it wasn’t just me—Galahad and Lionel got screwed over, too.”

“...You’re a terrible person.”

“I know.”

Despite himself, Ihan was impressed.

Three of the strongest forces in the south had all been played.

Their strategies, their preparations—

Rendered completely worthless.

“Everyone has a plan,” Ihan muttered. “But sometimes, the world just doesn’t give a damn.”

The Temple.

They weren’t just a bunch of insane zealots.

They had a strategist.

A real one.

And someone capable of playing all three factions at once.

But—

The next morning, Ihan realized—

He wasn’t the only one who got screwed over.

“It seems this pitiful old man will be the next Pope.”

“...What.”

The only old man Ihan respected—Raphael—sighed, rubbing his temples.

“And the Temple will likely send you a token of gratitude as well.”

“...A what now?”

“A pardon. An indulgence, to be precise.”

A small smirk.

“One of only twenty ever granted in the history of the kingdom. A mark of honor within the Temple.”

“!?”

“If you accept it, you will be placed firmly in the public eye.”

Raphael tilted his head.

“And I assume... that is the last thing you would want.”

“...”

For once—

Ihan couldn’t hold back.

“...Son of a bitch.”

He rarely cursed in front of elders.

But this?

This was too much.

Some unknown strategist had played him, too.

He was just another piece on their board.

“...Motherfucker.”

A laugh bubbled up in his chest.

Not from amusement.

Not from rage.

But from the sheer, hilarious humiliation of it all.

He hadn’t even stepped into the ring—

And he had already been knocked out.

For the first time in a long, long while—

Ihan truly understood.

Not everything in this world can be solved with fists.

There really was a reason they said—

“The pen is mightier than the sword.”