Chapter 97

The name “Hebrew Bishop” is both unfamiliar and familiar to the
nobility, but once connected to the Prince, everyone immediately remembers!

Before the Prince left the capital, a major event took place: the esteemed
Hebrew Bishop was ordered by the King to baptize Prince Oss, who was still a
prince at the time.

Religious fervor was not particularly strong throughout the kingdom of Lecy.
When King Yarlin was born, he was baptized because the previous king’s faith
was still pure. However, by the time Yarlin was raising the next generation,
baptism had become less important, so Randes’s baptism was delayed until he was
twelve years old.

In Lecy, where religious power was not particularly strong overall, the
Hebrew Bishop was a highly respected archbishop. His noble conduct was an
important pillar supporting religious power in the capital.

The Hebrew Bishop agreed to baptize Randes, and Randes agreed to be
baptized.

However, the day before the baptism, the Hebrew Bishop suddenly died in the Esburg
Church.

It was an accident. The King strongly condemned the rumors that the Hebrew
Bishop died because of Randes’s ill fortune. Although Randes claimed it was his
curse that killed the bishop, everyone knew it was just the rebellious prince
venting his anger at his unfortunate fate.

“It was an accident,” the old king, weak and frail, confessed to
his numerous sins throughout his life. He was not devout, but in his weakened
state, close to death, he suddenly wanted to rely on religion. “Randes is
a righteous and cruel child, do you understand? His righteousness is cruel. He
killed the Hebrew Bishop, I know it. He must have had his reasons, but he
wouldn’t tell me. Oh God, I wish I could erase all my son’s sins, and also
Sharman’s. He didn’t do it on purpose, I know. Poor child, his mediocrity, his
brother’s disability, jealousy, everything harmed him. It’s all my fault. I
don’t know how to raise my children…”

The King, rambling and confused, confessed all his secrets to the new
bishop, someone his son trusted and valued greatly.

Facing the accusations from the monks upstairs, Randes showed no expression.
He was unflustered, still tightly protecting the priest behind him.

“Who are you?” Randes shouted, “What exactly do you want? Let
go of Sharman.”

Undoubtedly, Randes always despised and disdained Sharman’s cowardice and
incompetence, but when Sharman had a gun pointed at his head, Randes still took
up the responsibility of a brother. As a leader, he would never let his likes
and dislikes dictate what should be done. Instead, he judged what was right and
wrong objectively.

Achill’s purpose for this trip was not to kill.

As the priest said, killing the King or a prince or noble would be
satisfying, but it would have minimal impact.

The King was gravely ill. Killing him would waste bullets and might cost
Achill his life. That would be foolish.

He wanted all the nobles to know that the revolutionary party’s power was
stronger than they imagined. He wanted these nobles, living comfortable lives
in the capital, to see that the world was no longer the old one they knew. He
wanted to make them fear, tremble, and be restless day and night.

“Who am I?” Achill sneered coldly. “I am a member of the
revolutionary party you all are so eager to capture.”

The term “revolutionary party” caused whispers among the nobles,
just like the Hebrew Bishop’s name. They were afraid, but they couldn’t stop
their curiosity.

The terror of the revolutionary party was all in the rumors. Rumors said
many people had died on the front lines, all because of the revolutionary
party. Rumors said the revolutionary party had assassinated a feudal lord.
There were countless rumors about the revolutionary party, but it was the first
time many had seen a member of the revolutionary party. He fit their
imagination perfectly, menacingly holding a gun to someone’s head.

“You killed the Hebrew Bishop. Such a traitor to God is indeed
laughable and unbelievable that the future of Lecy rests in the hands of an
executioner like you—”

The hiding nobles whispered to each other. Randes kept a stern face and did
not refute the accusations against him.

“You nobles, enjoy all the world’s pleasures because of your noble
birth, but you lack the noble character to match what you have,” Achill,
with one arm tightly around Sharman’s neck, continued. Sharman, in pain,
thought to himself how convincingly this man was acting. “You will be
punished, not by us, but by God!”

Randes frowned, unconcerned about his own reputation but annoyed by the
situation upstairs. He held a gun, unsure how he had infiltrated the palace and
whether there were others like him inside. He was worried about the potential
chaos his actions might cause.

“Bang!”

Achill fired several shots downstairs, indifferent to who he hit or
killed—there were no innocents here.

Amidst the screams, Achill retreated with Sharman in tow.

Sharman involuntarily trembled again at the sound of gunfire. As Achill led
him into the shadows, Sharman whispered, “Easy, you’re acting like this is
real.”

Achill ignored him, urging, “Hurry, show me the way out.”

This was the task the priest entrusted to Sharman. Sharman was very familiar
with the palace’s secret passages, but he was now frightened because he hadn’t
expected someone to take the act so seriously and actually shoot downstairs.

They ran out through the palace’s secret tunnels, where a prepared carriage
awaited them.

The carriage driver was a strong old man. “Hey, Achill—”

“Bernard—”

Achill greeted him warmly, then tossed Sharman to Bernard. “Take
over.”

Randes didn’t run fast; he wore specially made boots that were difficult to
walk in. He had never cared so much about his appearance before, especially not
on a day like today, which had turned out unexpectedly.

Few knew about the secret tunnels in the palace apart from the royal family
members, including the captain of the guards. Randes had been away from the
palace for many years, and his memories were not clear. When they chased them
out of the palace, they found that the fugitives had already fled.

“Randes…”

The captain of the guards looked angrily and helplessly at the Prince.

The Prince had long discarded the mask on his face during the run, revealing
old scars reddened either from running or anger.

“Inform the sheriff,” the Prince unbuttoned his formal attire,
“lock down the entire city, continue the pursuit. They might escape
through the alleys. Brune, can I trust you?”

“Of course, Your Highness. You can always trust me.”

Brune hastily led the guards to search for the trace of the revolutionary
party and the Crown Prince. The Prince did not go with them; he stayed behind
to clean up the mess.

The ball had turned into a farce. Some nobles were injured, but fortunately,
no one was fatally wounded. Palace physicians came to treat the injured, and
people panicked in fear. The ballroom echoed with sobbing and crying.

Taking advantage of the chaos, the priest left the ballroom and returned to
his temporary residence.

He let down the hem of his skirt, took a deep breath, kicked off his dancing
shoes, and collapsed onto the sofa. He bounced lightly on the fluffy sofa, a
smile of unusual satisfaction on his face.

Tonight’s ball was even more worth attending than he had imagined.

Achill had a terrible memory. He could only remember so little, and he
wasn’t good at stirring people’s hearts. The priest shook his head with a sigh,
unable to stop smiling.

The feeling of manipulating everything from behind was still so wonderful.
He sensed every bit of chaos in the ballroom clearly, knowing that the storm he
could encounter was right in front of him. He seemed drunk, closing his eyes
and immersing himself in the purest joy that a natural person could experience,
a smile of satisfaction on his lips, though subtle.

It wasn’t until late at night that the Prince “handled”
everything.

The gazes of suspicion and astonishment projected by the departing nobles
were all ignored by the Prince. The monks upstairs were taken care of and
questioned one by one by the Prince, confirming that the revolutionary party
had infiltrated the Colby district.

Kober district? How could it be that?

Something fleeting flashed through the Prince’s mind.

“Because there aren’t enough people today, so… I didn’t expect the
revolutionary party to mix in…” Bunier felt very sorry, thinking of what
the revolutionary party had shouted. He was a devout believer and boldly said,
“Is what he said true?”

The Prince looked at him, and Bunier didn’t avoid it.

“Yes, it’s true.”

The prince admitted it and without any embarrassment.

Bunier’s face immediately turned pale. He clasped his hands together and
drew a cross on his chest, stepping back half a step, looking at the Prince
with a fearful and accusing gaze.

The prince also ignored it. He didn’t think he needed to explain this to
anyone, and he had already admitted that he had indeed “caused” the
death of the bishop, although he would prefer to call it an execution.

The lively and joyous palace regained its quietness in the late night,
shrouded in a strange shadow. The guards stared wide-eyed, vigilant—any slight
movement would send them reaching for their guns.

A revolutionary party had brazenly infiltrated the palace, a truly shocking
development for such a prestigious place.

But what was even more chilling were the words uttered by that
revolutionary.

Rumors had long circulated that the bishop had met a violent end due to
ominous reasons involving the Prince. Yet, rumors aside, facing actual
accusations was another matter entirely.

Years ago, due to those rumors, the Prince had been sent away to Oss. Now,
old wounds have reopened at a critical moment. Oh, everyone knew that the
Prince was poised to replace the Crown Prince, who had been abducted by the
revolutionary party—

Hearts raced with confusion and anxiety. Tonight, the capital slept
fitfully.

The Prince pushed open the door, the room was pitch black. He lit a candle
and saw the priest reclining on the sofa.

The priest hadn’t undressed, only removed his mask and kicked off his
dancing shoes. His feet lazily rested on the sofa’s armrest, and his slender
frame stretched out. Tousled golden hair framed his face, a rose adorning his
temple, almost falling. His eyes were closed, seemingly asleep, a faint smile
lingering on his lips.

Approaching with the candle, the Prince gazed at the priest’s face. He bent
to place the candle down, its flickering light casting shadows on the priest’s
features.

The Prince lifted the priest, placing him gently on the bed.

The black skirts spread across the bed as the priest turned over, his long
legs extending gracefully from the hem.

Not only had the priest boldly attended the ball in women’s clothing, but he
seemed to revel in it.

The Prince stroked the priest’s calf, feeling the smooth, cool texture of
silk stockings. He lifted the black skirt, revealing the black silk garter at
the priest’s thigh in the dim room.

Tonight wasn’t entirely a pleasant night, but for the Prince and the priest
alone, at least the first half of the night had been enjoyable. They danced and
kissed; he ardently confessed and refused to avoid. These were all inevitable
steps between lovers.

“…We went to Kober for a person’s funeral, and we often met Father
Anthony.”

“Because of a shortage of manpower, Father, I mean Father Eugene, no,
the bishop, he hoped we could have thirty monks participate together. I think
it was to show respect for your baptism, but some of the monks in the church
are studying in other cities, and it’s all just a coincidence.”

Coincidence?

The Prince lifted the black silk ribbon at the top of the silk stocking,
calmly thinking: Was there a possibility of coincidence with this person?

During the baptism ceremony in the morning, monks filled the King’s bedroom,
which looked solemn and crowded.

It didn’t matter. What mattered was that he didn’t believe the priest didn’t
know that there weren’t enough thirty people in the church to participate in
the ceremony.

Proposing an impossible and unnecessary request—what was the reason?

To show respect for his baptism?

Everyone could believe this, except him.

The Prince lightly lifted the edge of the silk stocking, rolled down the
entire stocking halfway to the middle of the thigh, and stopped. The edge of
the silk stocking tightened around the priest’s thigh, giving his originally
slender legs a hint of fleshiness.

The Prince flicked the silk stockings and said coldly, “My dear priest,
is it your turn to pretend to be asleep?”