Chapter 110
Harboring a God
The Arken Empire had to be superior to all else.
That was why even the imperial carriage was half again as large as ordinary carriages, its interior boasting cloudlike comfort.
A single journey in that carriage cost enough to run an entire village for a month.
And now, it had set out on a long road.
Its destination was an enormous dome in a remote location, like a colossal birdcage.
“We have arrived, Your Highness.”
The person who stepped down from the carriage was Olivia Arken.
As befitted the Flower of the Empire, she was breathtakingly beautiful.
When she entered the dome, she found not the dryness of winter, but the lush greenery of spring.
“I will take your coat.”
“No. I’ll keep it on. It may be cold, after all.”
“It is part of the dress code established by His Grace the Grand Duke. Please cooperate.”
Olivia removed her thick coat and followed the path.
She passed flower beds where rare blossoms from across the continent had been lovingly cultivated, eventually reaching an artificial lake at the far end.
At the edge of the grounds stood a table overlooking the water.
“Oh, welcome, Your Highness.”
An elderly man with white hair and liver spots stood perfectly straight as he greeted her, sharply contrasting with the brilliant spring garden around him.
He was Grand Duke Waldemar Golt, one of the Arken Empire’s greatest nobles.
Olivia smoothly put on her mask and smiled.
“It is an honor to meet you, Grand Duke Golt. As expected of one of the Empire’s most distinguished houses, you enjoy your leisure in a truly splendid place.”
“Ha ha, you flatter me. The scenery is beautiful, and what is a place like this for if not drinking while enjoying the water? Please, have a seat.”
Waldemar personally pulled out her chair.
As Olivia sat down, his hand brushed lightly against her shoulder.
“Cough, cough.”
Olivia leaned forward as she coughed.
Then she smiled and spoke lightly.
“Perhaps because I came such a long way, my throat is terribly dry.”
“My goodness. What were they doing inside, failing to offer you tea? Let me pour you something.”
Waldemar walked over to the drink table himself.
“What kind of alcohol would you like?”
“Alcohol? I’m afraid that would be rather difficult...”
Olivia hesitated, her eyes glistening faintly.
“I’m not very good with alcohol.”
“Then why not take this opportunity to learn?”
“I’m not sure. I worry about such things. They say a woman who enjoys alcohol is a temptress, don’t they? I would hate to become such a woman.”
“You should call her a wise lady who knows how to enjoy refinement alongside a gentleman.”
“I fear I may never become such a wise lady in this lifetime.”
Waldemar pressed the matter persistently, but Olivia refused to the end.
With no other choice, he offered her warm tea instead.
Yet Olivia merely pretended to sip it without actually drinking.
She did not touch a single drink or morsel of food Waldemar had prepared.
She was like a doll.
Though she smiled, her eyes never met Waldemar’s, and there was no life in them.
Such aloof behavior might have offended him, yet Waldemar’s crescent-shaped eyes remained fixed upon her with obvious pleasure.
His sticky lips parted as he let out a sigh of admiration.
“Stella was around this age as well.”
Olivia froze.
For a brief instant, her face stiffened.
“She was so beautiful at that age too, but Your Highness only grows more beautiful with each passing year.”
Olivia hid her mouth behind her fan and smiled with her eyes.
“Ho ho. My mother was once called a beauty capable of toppling nations. With golden blood and peerless beauty combined, is it not only natural that I should be beautiful?”
“Ha ha! Quite right!”
The old grand duke laughed as he subtly reached out his hand.
“I hear that despite being of marriageable age, you still have no man.”
Olivia picked up her teacup.
“Yes. It seems I have yet to find one.”
“Do not search too far away. The person meant to be your companion may be closer than you think.”
“My, is that so?”
“What do age or appearance matter? A man who treasures you, a man with power—you must seize such a man by any means necessary.”
“I shall take your advice to heart. I will be sure to look for one.”
They were speaking, yet the conversation went nowhere.
Both Olivia and Waldemar understood that perfectly well.
She wanted him to grow tired of her and give up, but Waldemar was not so easily discouraged.
Only after three hours of advances and hollow conversation did he finally release her.
“Shall we bring today’s amusement to an end here?”
“Thanks to you, I believe I have enjoyed myself greatly.”
She did not even offer the polite lie that she wished she could stay longer.
After exchanging formal farewells, Olivia rose from her seat.
Waldemar quietly extended his hand.
Olivia looked down at it and tilted her head.
“What is the matter? Why are you suddenly holding out your hand?”
“Surely you know I am asking for a handshake.”
Of course she knew.
“Oh, I see. Very well.”
Olivia moved to take his hand.
“Now, now. It is proper etiquette to clasp bare hands when shaking hands.”
“As an unmarried woman of marriageable age, I find holding a man’s hand rather awkward and burdensome.”
“You did not touch any of the food or wine I prepared, and you only half-listened to what I said. Surely you can at least grant me the small request of taking my hand?”
It was a threat.
A threat telling her to grant his final request before he caused a scene before the emperor, claiming that she had insulted him.
Olivia realized that refusing any further would be unwise.
With no other choice, she removed her glove and took his hand for what should have been a brief handshake.
But it was not brief.
Whenever she tried to pull away, he tightened his grip.
For a dying old man, his grip was far too strong.
Her hand hurt so badly she nearly screamed.
“Would you please let go now?”
“Ha ha. It seems I held on too long. My apologies.”
Only then did Waldemar release her.
She gave him a slight nod and left the greenhouse.
Before stepping outside, she glanced at a ceramic flowerpot.
Its glazed surface was polished enough to serve as a mirror.
Grand Duke Waldemar Golt’s face was clearly reflected upon it.
His eyes curved into a lecherous smile as he greedily licked the hand that had held hers.
When Olivia returned to the carriage, she spoke to the knight who was about to close the door.
“Would you give me some perfume?”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
It was the rose perfume Olivia frequently used.
She opened the bottle and poured its entire contents over her right hand.
The slick oil ran along her skin and dripped onto the floor.
The carriage filled with the overpowering scent of roses.
Though the fragrance was nearly suffocating, Olivia paid it no mind.
With a white silk handkerchief embroidered in white thread, she wiped her hand again and again.
Grand Duke Golt’s face surfaced in her mind.
That greedy expression seemed to overlap with the face of the Great Demon Morax.
Filthy.
Rub, rub.
Filthy, filthy.
Scrub, scrub, scrub.
Filthy, filthy, filthy!
She wiped and wiped.
Eventually, her once jade-white hand turned bright red and began to sting.
Could she not simply peel away the skin?
She wanted to carve out every part that had touched Waldemar.
Grand Duke Golt...
The handkerchief crumpled in her grip.
There was a limit to how long she could wear her mask.
Her porcelain expression shattered, twisting with rage.
How dare you speak that name?
Stella Arken.
Her elder sister, eight years older than her, and a woman kinder than anyone else.
She possessed both beauty and talent, and even had an excellent fiancé chosen by her own hand.
When Olivia was young, Stella had been her role model.
But at some point, Stella changed.
It began on the day her engagement was broken.
Her fiancé had been arrested for treason and executed.
From that day onward, the once-brilliant and beautiful flower began to wither.
She grew thin and haggard.
In Olivia’s final memory of Stella, her hair, once like spun golden silk, had been cut short.
—Olivia.
A cracked voice.
—Isn’t the scenery of the Empire truly beautiful?
Her body hung precariously over the terrace railing.
Olivia looked at her with a troubled expression.
—Sister, it’s dangerous to stand there.
—Hehe. That is exactly why you must stay away from me, Olivia. Just for today, you must do as I say.
—Please come down, Sister.
—Stand right there and listen carefully to your sister. Olivia is a good girl, isn’t she?
—Yes, Sister...
Stella smiled.
There was no warmth in it.
Olivia did not whine or act spoiled.
—What flows through our veins?
Stella asked.
—Golden blood. I heard that our blood flows golden.
—Hehe, innocent Olivia. I wish you could preserve that innocence forever... but it is time for you to wake from your dream.
Stella’s body tilted.
—Please make certain of it with your own two eyes.
Then she threw herself over the edge.
Young Olivia thought wings might suddenly sprout from her sister’s back and turn her into an angel.
But there was no angel.
All she saw was her sister’s body smashed against the ground below.
It looked as though a flower had bloomed.
Her short yellow hair formed the center of the blossom.
Red petals spread outward in full bloom.
A flower that had finally attained freedom...
Olivia watched it bloom until a servant rushed over and covered her eyes.
Stella had been the worst sister.
She had shown her young sister a cruelty that could never be forgotten.
And yet, it had also been her final act of kindness—revealing the truth and the fate far crueler than anything else that awaited those born into the Arken bloodline.
Through the servant Stella had favored most, Olivia eventually learned the secret behind her death.
The cause had been Grand Duke Golt.
He had desired Stella from the time she was still young and had wanted to possess her.
That obsession led him to frame her fiancé and have him brutally executed.
Then he sent her a message.
To obtain her, he would destroy everything she loved.
The emperor had cooperated with him.
Even the First and Second Princes, blinded by power, had tried to sell their own sister in exchange for overwhelming political influence.
That was the fate of those called the Flowers of the Empire.
Innocence was a luxury no imperial princess could afford.
My sister, who died because of you...
How dare he speak her name with that filthy mouth?
How dare he?
Olivia swallowed down the urge to scream hysterically.
Even if no one was watching, there were always ears listening.
No one could ever be allowed to glimpse what lay behind her mask of innocence.
This is the only weapon I possess.
She would wear the mask every man adored.
And by wearing it, she would make them her hands and feet.
But that was not enough.
Controlling men still meant being unable to escape them.
She wanted to spread her wings and fly freely in the truest sense.
There was only one path she had found to make that possible.
“A saintess.”
She would become a devout follower of Alte and rise to a position comparable to that of the pope.
That was the only means by which she could resist the cursed destiny carried in her blood.
The possibility existed because Olivia possessed divine power.
The story known to the public was that she had attained enlightenment through her understanding of Alte’s doctrines and had been blessed with holiness.
But history was always embellished.
In truth, Olivia’s awakening had begun with tragedy.
On the day she witnessed Stella’s death, Olivia felt something turning deep within her chest.
She had been too innocent to understand it at the time, but as she grew older, she learned how to define it.
A Red Circle had been turning inside her body.
To attain the status of saintess, I need at least the Fifth Revelation.
In the terms of mages, she needed to reach the Fifth Circle.
Olivia had currently attained only the Third Revelation.
She was at the level of a traveling village missionary capable of simple healing and light magic.
Enlightenment could not be attained alone.
She needed someone’s guidance.
But she could not rely on the leader of the faith.
For now, that man was still in league with the emperor.
That was why she needed the help of the Holy Emperor of Odograsa, the Holy Nation.
He was a true saint who had shattered her belief that all men were the same.
Olivia had sought his counsel, and he had answered:
—To have God dwell within you does not merely mean remaining inside a cathedral. You must feel and accept that He is always watching you and standing behind you.
Upon hearing that, Olivia had thought:
There are enough men like that around me to fill an entire wagon. Were they gods too?
Perhaps they were.
Goddamned idiots.
Because that sarcastic thought came first, accepting the existence of God became even more difficult.
She cautiously requested further advice.
The Holy Emperor replied:
—It is difficult because you are trying merely to believe in God. Try loving Him instead, Your Highness. Then you too will be able to hear His calling.
He said that such love arose from observing the commandments.
Olivia had sworn vengeance upon her blood relatives and spent years living according to Alte’s laws.
Yet her mana circuits had not moved in the slightest.
She heard no divine calling.
That was only natural.
What she felt could not truly be called love.
Love...
What was love?
They said it would come if she loved, but she did not understand the emotion itself.
They said one could feel it through another’s gaze, but every gaze directed at Olivia always stopped at her chest before reaching her eyes.
Even the man who called himself the head of the Alte faith had been the same.
Because of those stares, she was sometimes confused whether “loving with one’s heart” meant loving the heart—or simply loving breasts.
Love is nothing more than a tumor formed from lust.
Every man carried one of those tumors.
All that accumulated within her was disgust, so she had assumed she would never understand love.
But recently, even that belief had begun to crumble.
Ferda Valdrova.
His image suddenly surfaced in her mind.
A tall man with gray hair and blue eyes as deep as a lake.
A cynical expression and decisive actions.
Some of that is because he has power supporting him, but...
He possessed the ability to act.
The people around him were exceptional, and he had both character and reputation.
As word spread that the Far East had become comparatively safe, young people from across the Empire had begun traveling there in search of work.
That was not something that could be achieved merely by borrowing someone else’s authority.
More importantly...
Not once had his eyes ever shown lust.
At first, she had been curious.
She wondered how long he could maintain that demeanor.
She had done things that would have unsettled even married men and knights devoted to strict moral codes.
Yet his heart had never wavered.
That annoyed her.
It made her feel like a fool for believing all men were the same.
No.
She really was the fool.
Ferda was currently working to transform the Far East into a second capital.
Meanwhile, Olivia alone had failed to fulfill her promise to become a saintess and lend him her strength.
How am I any different from those empty-headed noble ladies with flowers growing in their minds?
It was something Olivia could not tolerate.
She had remained standing in the same place, unable to help him in any meaningful way.
They were supposed to be allies standing on equal footing, yet he had already moved far ahead of her.
Men really are all the same after all.
At least in the way they somehow managed to irritate her.
The frustration inside her seemed to jab repeatedly at her skull.
Hoping to change her mood, she looked out the carriage window.
A blue sky stretched above the barren winter earth.
Amid scenery that barely registered in her vision, a single distant point caught her eye with unusual clarity.
“Stop.”
At her command, the carriage came to a halt.
Thinking she might have been mistaken, Olivia stepped outside and looked again.
Perhaps her eyes had deceived her.
But after examining the figure closely, she realized they had not.
That man...
It was Ferda Valdrova.
The person beside him was likely Valdrova’s maid.
Why is he here?
Searching through the map in her mind, Olivia remembered that the Rosnova estate was nearby.
Had he stopped by his former home before sitting there?
She took a step toward him, intending at least to offer a greeting.
But her feet would go no farther.
Looking again, Ferda appeared unbearably weighed down.
He seemed powerless, nothing like the man who always stood with his back straight and wore a cold expression.
A weak side...
Olivia despised such things.
To her, revealing pain was the same as exposing weakness.
In the world of nobles, weakness was like a blood-soaked chunk of meat.
The piranhas of high society would immediately tear into the wound.
She had no need for anyone incapable of bearing the weight of nobility.
“...How pitiful.”
Olivia startled at her own words.
Had she truly just called him pitiful?
Did she genuinely feel sympathy for that man?
Perhaps she was mistaken.
Yet instead of sighing in contempt at his pathetic state, her chest began to ache.
Why?
Olivia carefully turned over this unfamiliar emotion in her mind, searching for its meaning.
What did she want from that man?
The thought frightened even her, but she did not let go of the sensation.
Without realizing it, she raised both hands to her chest and folded them together.
Her gaze remained fixed upon him, and she allowed her emotions to lead her.
She imagined licking away his tears and tasting his sorrow.
The feeling inside her continued to swell.
Before long, the hands resting upon her chest had fully clasped together.
As though she were praying.
“If I...”
For the first time, Olivia felt it.
If I could become that man’s support...
It was not contempt for weakness.
It was compassion.
At that moment—
“Ah.”
A strange sensation began within her body.
The greatest reason she had been unable to become a saintess—
The thing that had stopped moving no matter how fervently she deceived herself into believing she was devout—
It was moving.
This was undoubtedly the love for God that the Holy Emperor had spoken of.
And at last, Olivia understood.
“Ferda...”
He was the god she had to harbor within her heart.