Chapter 4

After he heard the door close, the smile on El’s face slowly faded. A chill set into his silver eyes.

“Pardon me, Your Holiness.” A holy knight in uniform entered the room.

El—or rather, Pope Elior Ra—gently removed his mask and cloak, which had been enchanted with illusion spells. His soft blue hair, the defining trait of the Pope of the Temple of the Sun, cascaded down his back. His pale and flawless face manifested a shocking, nearly godlike beauty, but his expression seemed almost inhumane as he radiated an eerie chill throughout the room.

The holy knight gulped. The very air felt frozen whenever he stood before the pope.

He looked around nervously before opening his mouth to try to break the tension. “Did you enjoy your meet— Agh!”

“Shush.”

In the blink of an eye, a stream of brilliant silver holy power wrapped around the knight’s neck like a lasso.

As the man sputtered, struggling to breathe, El yanked a cork from a bottle of red wine. “Don’t interrupt me while I’m reminiscing.”

El proceeded to chug the wine straight from the bottle. He looked like a madman. The knight finally understood why the lilac-eyed high priest at the temple had repeatedly warned him that Elior was insane.

After draining the bottle of wine, the pope wiped the blood-red droplets from his lips. “Give me the report.”

The knight gasped a response, finally free from the holy power’s stranglehold. “This morning, Mire collapsed while returning home after being out all night slaying beasts.”

“What?”

Seeing El’s face harden, the knight began to sweat bullets, fearing that these might truly be his final moments. “A-as you know... Mire is quite perceptive, so we had to observe her from a considerable distance. We didn’t see her collapse up close, but it definitely wasn’t due to injury! We took her to the hospital straight away!”

The knight seemed flustered as he hastily explained himself. In contrast, El blinked slowly. The knight found those calm silver eyes even more frightening than when they were filled with anger.

“So what was the reason for her collapse?”

The knight hesitated for a moment. He knew that lying would only make matters worse. Squeezing his eyes shut, he responeded, “The doctor said it was exhaustion—”

Bam!

The table in front of Elior broke to pieces. The knight jumped.

Ignoring the trembling man, the pope gritted his teeth. Why are you like this, Mire?!

Cassmire never accepted Elior’s help. He thought she’d take advantage of his helping hand at least once, but she never hesitated to turn him down when he went even slightly too far.

Her integrity was a quality that he loved, but it was working against him in this case. Giving her a bit of money, curing her wounds, and keeping watch on her from a distance was all he could possibly do for her. Even after finally becoming the pope, a position with authority that rivaled that of an emperor, he still felt terribly powerless.

He glanced at the holy knight with his cold silver eyes. He wanted to take his anger out on someone. His mind started to fill with thoughts of his wicked impulses.

“Nobody has the right to judge the importance of others. Everyone is precious in their own way.”

But every time he felt this way, Cassmire’s face would pop into his mind and erase his unholy thoughts. She was the only reason he could suppress such desires.

He let out a heavy sigh. “Get out.”

“Y-yes, sir!” The holy knight scurried out of the room, relieved that he had lived to see another day.

Now alone, El leaned against the wall, relaxing his muscles and running his hands across his face. “Why won’t you give me a chance, Mire?”

I’m finally in a position where I should be capable of anything, but I can do nothing for her. He felt miserable again. The deep pink sun had set on another incredibly long day. His goddess was gone, and now his days had become as dark as night.

“When will it end?” he murmured. The echo of his deep longing filled the empty room.

***

I’m exhausted. Dragging my heavy body back home from my meeting with El, I caught a glimpse of my reflection in a shop’s front window. My long, dark curly hair was sticking up all over the place. There were huge dark circles under my eyes, and my deep pink irises looked lifeless. The face staring back at me was clearly that of an overworked mercenary.

I look like a corpse. I tried rubbing some life into my ashen cheeks, but it was no use. I give up. Well, corpses are technically people too... I guess.

With no way to improve my appearance, I shifted my heavy feet to head to the other side of the alley. I suddenly detected the coppery scent of blood.

“Surround him!” a shrill voice rang out.

I stopped reflexively, scanning the alley for movement.

“Ugh...” a man groaned.

Armed men in black masks were circling a man on the ground. He seemed severely injured. It wasn’t hard to figure out what was happening—I was witnessing an assassination right before my eyes.

“Haha! You’re like a rat in a trap!” One man, who appeared to be the leader of the killers, cackled. His laugh sounded over-the-top and unnatural.

Is this how assassins operate these days? My jaw dropped open. I was shocked to hear such a ridiculous phrase said out loud.

“Who ordered you to do this?” the victim asked, clasping his wound as he glared at them. His eyes were stoic, not at all like those of someone on the verge of death.

I could tell right away that he was a nobleman. He may have been dressed like a commoner, but even his shabby clothes couldn’t hide his trained composure. Such dignified poise stood out even more in a dangerous situation like this.

Still, that’s a lot of people just to kill a single man. There were a total of eight assassins in the group. They all seemed to be trained killers, but the man didn’t have any kind of special energy about him.

He must be from a high-ranking family. Skilled assassins didn’t take low-paying jobs. The fact that whoever had hired them had sent eight people just to kill just one helpless man meant that he wasn’t just any ordinary citizen.

“Why should you care who sent us? You’re going to die anyway,” the leader sneered.

“Ah, of course... It must have been my dear mother. Who else would want me dead? I don’t even know why I asked.” The man chuckled then bit down on his bottom lip as if to stifle another groan. His laugh sounded so bitter that I had to frown.

I guess he’s from a broken family. My family was pretty broken too, but at least my mother had never tried to kill me. I felt pity for him as I watched him clutch his wounded side. It didn’t seem like the first time he had been in such a dire situation.

“Aren’t you the perceptive one? It’s a shame you won’t be able to put that good brain of yours to use any longer.” With another unnatural guffaw, the leader raised his sword and approached the man.

The victim closed his eyes in defeat as the sharp tip of the blade neared him.

My position in this situation was obvious. I secured the hood of my cloak and fished my mask from my sack. I just hope it doesn’t cause a headache down the road. Nothing good ever comes out of dealing with assassins... This could potentially land me in a lot of trouble.

No matter the consequences, I had to save this man. I was sure I’d make the same decision time and time again. I knew that if I walked away he would surely die.

“Life in itself is precious. Nobody ‘deserves’ to die. Remember that.”

The words of my mentor echoed in my head. Just as people didn’t need to justify living, one didn’t need to justify their decision to prevent a death. This man was still alive now, and I was the one who could save him. That was all there was to it.

I summoned a strong draft with my mana, whisking me from the shadows to comfortably land in front of the injured man.

“What the—! Wh-who are you?!” The leader stumbled back. The rest of the assassins raised their weapons at me, startled.

Who am I? Good question, I thought.

Out of the corner of my eye, I glanced at the man on the ground. His face was ashen from his injuries but his lips were still vibrant. Even though the word “beautiful” was usually used to describe women, it seemed to suit him best.

He looks like a princess in distress.

“I’m Prince Charming,” I blurted out nonchalantly. I suppose I read too many fairytales as a child, but it wasn’t my fault we didn’t own any other books. And since becoming a mercenary, when could I have found the time to read?