“The priests will soon prepare the holy water, right?”

Natasha asked, trying to move her lips as little as possible, mindful of the surrounding priests.

Sieghart checked the time and nodded.

“There’s something I’ve been wanting to tell you all along.”

Sieghart seemed tense, as if anticipating how shocking her words might be.

Natasha carefully handed over a pin she had been hiding in her dress sleeve.

“Before drinking the holy water, make sure to use this pin.”

It was a small pin that could be hidden in the palm. The man examined the plain pin, then turned his gaze to her. His mouth remained tightly shut.

Accustomed to unusual requests, Natasha immediately explained.

“It’s for precaution. Many will view Your Excellency, who has taken the throne over the imperial family, unfavorably. There may be attempts to ruin the auspicious day.”

Two pairs of red eyes met.

Sieghart, unusually breaking eye contact first, clenched his hand.

“Thank you for your concern.”

His actions were stiff despite his words. Yet his gratitude didn’t seem insincere. Perhaps Natasha’s advice didn’t fully resonate, or he was struggling to grasp the sudden precaution.

It was surprising that he accepted this so easily, when he usually aggressively questioned things he didn’t understand.

Was death ultimately the weakness of a man who seemed impenetrable?

Soon after, priests approached to announce it was time for the sacred ceremony. Natasha was to join him on the platform for the final rite.

The two donned veils atop their heads upon reaching the platform. This was to avoid exposure to anything else while drinking the sacred water.

The rare holy water aiding immortality was held in the hands of today’s protagonist.

Natasha’s chalice contained wine imbued with the priests’ long prayers.

The pope’s prayer concluded. The final procedure of the coronation was about to begin.

She lowered her head and glanced sideways. Sieghart, meeting her gaze, blinked slowly. Three times, signaling the chalice was fine.

‘Is it going smoothly this time?’

It was puzzling. Kyle, who should be targeting both Natasha and Sieghart, was unexpectedly compliant. Was Kyle’s plan for today included in the future she had changed?

‘That’s fortunate.’

It was fortunate, regardless of the reason. Even if Sieghart had detected poison, avoiding the worst-case scenario was one thing, but ruining the sacred coronation would be no different.

Being able to successfully conclude the coronation was a great stroke of luck.

Reassured, Natasha fixed her gaze on the chalice again.

Eternal power, eternal grace, eternal beauty. She prayed for these things, insignificant before death yet immeasurably important to humans, as she raised the chalice to her lips.

“…!”

The hand holding the cup began to tremble.

Something surged up. An unfamiliar sensation of strength draining from her entire body followed.

No, thinking back, it was a pain she had felt once before.

It had hurt this much when she had snatched Sieghart’s chalice and drunk the holy water.

Natasha’s world alternated between turning black and returning to reality. The increasingly blurry world suddenly tilted, soon to be engulfed in darkness.

Through her muffled ears came a series of shocked voices.

‘It hurts…’

Her insides felt as if they were on fire. Gasping from the unbearable pain in her stomach, hot masses kept flowing from her mouth.

‘Am I dying like this?’

Her eyes opened very slightly. A familiar person invaded her small oval-shaped world.

It was Sieghart, that man.

The sight of him rushing over with an even more devastated expression than she had ever seen before seemed so surreal, it was like watching an illusion.

When light burst into her vision, long immersed in darkness, she couldn’t open her eyes. Only after a while did her sight properly clear.

This eerily calm place was markedly different from the chaotic temple.

Natasha followed the beam of light before her. The seemingly endless path finally came to an end.

‘A door?’

A massive door like a wall greeted her.

Natasha pondered what might exist beyond the door. They were rather abstract notions.

Peace? Relief? Happiness?

…Or perhaps, finally death?

There was no time to find answers to these enigmatic questions. Unable to resist her curiosity, Natasha grasped the doorknob.

Even if peace had finally come to a life of deprivation, she had no great attachment to this existence. There was some regret for unfulfilled goals, but it was insignificant as dust.

There was the unrealized wish of a ‘child’, but even that was closer to fulfilling a role of continuing the Charliee lineage. It was a selfish desire born from guilt of being the sole survivor.

If she were to follow her family, she would no longer have to suffer such devastating emotions. She even felt somewhat relieved.

Creak.

She squeezed her body through the open door. As she advanced further, a bright light enveloped her.

That place was,

‘Ah….’

That place was a long-forgotten paradise.

The limp body caused anxiety in the man.

He had seen dark red blood clots to the point of weariness. They had seeped countless times into skin and blades. What reason was there now to fear this liquid more familiar than water?

The priests who rushed over hurriedly checked the woman’s condition. Sieghart, who should have been examining his wife with equal urgency, was strangely calm. He had the look of one who had abandoned hope.

“The, the Duchess’s condition is…!”

The priest checking the Duchess’s pulse cried out. The voice trembling with fear vaguely hinted at the patient’s state.

Eyes as red as blood took in Natasha. The faint breath escaping between her scarlet lips seemed about to cease at any moment, and her sluggish body was gradually stiffening.

It had to be acknowledged.

She stood at the crossroads of life.

“Your Holiness, she is…”

The pope, who had been observing Natasha’s condition, shook his head sadly, seemingly unable to offer a solution.

The man felt a massive shock, as if something huge had struck his head. Even when a sharp blade had grazed his eye, he hadn’t felt such intense stimulation.

Yes, it was like when someone in their youth faced a terrible tragedy. And like when receiving news of the death of someone loved but necessarily ignored…

‘She’s dying?’

Sieghart frowned. The unbelievable fact was threatening him, approaching right before his eyes. For the first time, the woman with the face of a corpse made him feel resentful.

‘This woman is leaving me?’

He couldn’t possibly accept it. After coming this far by bargaining with his own life, he couldn’t lose her over something like this.

The man was neither weak nor foolish enough to repeat regret twice. He knew very well what to do next to avoid losing her.

Although he wasn’t sure if He would allow it again.

Embracing Natasha’s body as if about to crush it, he instinctively shifted his gaze. Something glinting beneath the chandelier at the center of the platform caught his attention.

Sieghart rose and walked unhesitatingly to the center of the platform. He stared intently at the sword embedded in the rock. It was the precious holy sword bestowed upon the Knight of Honor at the start of the coronation.

Gasp.

The onlookers inhaled sharply, as if clearly anticipating what would follow.

Just as a knight was selected once a century, the holy sword was bestowed only once a century. It was that rare and important, rightfully called a knight’s greatest pride and achievement.

Yet why was the man hesitating before such a precious thing? No matter how dear his wife was, exchanging a once-in-a-century opportunity would be foolish!

People were anxious about what would happen next.

However, as if confirming their worried predictions, the man reached for the sword. Grasping the handle and pulling it out, the finely honed blade emitted a rainbow-hued radiance.

“Your Holiness, please forgive my rudeness.”

“Duke Asthart, surely you’re not…!”

The pope had no chance to stop him. The knight holding the holy sword approached the rock where it had been embedded, wearing a faint smile. He stared blankly at the scarred hole, then, as if resolving himself, tightly embraced the woman in his arms.

After a moment, his hand rose. The blade that had been pointing skyward now plunged towards the rock.

The sword blessed by God maximized the knight’s abilities. According to records, there was a great legend that each time the holy sword was swung, it swept away the heads of enemy soldiers, and each time its blade struck the ground, the earth split.

Moreover, unlike swords that harm human life, the holy sword blessed by God had the special ability to save lives.

However, this crucial ability could only be used once, and when consumed, all blessings imbued in the holy sword would dissipate, leaving it no different from an ordinary sword.

“My revered God. My sole heaven, to whom offering all my bones, flesh, blood, and heart would not suffice. Though I am beyond apologetic, please.”

Sieghart finally brought the blade down onto the ground.

Bang! With a tremendous sound, the rock began to crumble. Firmly holding the shaking woman’s body, he continued speaking.

“Please, protect my moon…”

Then, a massive flash of light flickered above the two of them.