Chapter 122. Deception (2)
Hours before the limousine’s arrival.
In the chilly gloom of the abandoned factory, Antenor, the Saintess’s escort, sat pondering whether to put back on the uniform he’d discarded for comfort.
Silence cloaked the surroundings. Scanning the factory, he saw his subordinates lounging on chairs or abandoned machinery. After repeatedly checking the area, Antenor muttered, his eyes glinting sharply.
“How did it come to this?”
His gaunt face let out another low groan, the umpteenth time. A subordinate’s chuckle reached his ears.
“Been a while since you looked this rough.”
“What?”
“Getting outmaneuvered by that direct descendant before we even left the mining city, and now botching the plan to stall the negotiations. Even for you, Antenor, who’s walked the elite path, that’s gotta burn.”
“Fine, I’d suggest keeping quiet.”
He ground his teeth, snapping back irritably.
It hurt because it was true. By now, they should’ve leveraged the medical aid to secure a share of the mine’s magic stone mining rights through the negotiations.
But what was this fiasco?
“Enoch Elsyde…”
It was all that direct descendant’s fault.
He’d derailed every plan.
Antenor’s eyes flashed with anger as he gazed out at Pangaeon’s cityscape.
“There’s still a backup plan.”
“What’s that?”
“That Rank 10, Equistelle or something, cleared most of the city’s beasts, but the city’s already in disarray. We can use that.”
“What, planning some terrorism?”
“Not out of the question. The city’s guards can’t handle it alone. Even Rank 10s can’t stop every guerrilla strike.”
The subordinate sighed, shaking his head.
There were grumbles, but no real pushback. No one had foreseen this mess. Still, it wasn’t a dealbreaker.
“We’re all in this together, but it’s a pain. Good thing our Saintess is Amelia.”
“True.”
Antenor frowned, snorting. No need for the formalities of the Holy Residence.
“Probably busy in the bunker right now, healing people and shining as the people’s light.”
While everyone’s eyes were on the Saintess, they’d act. The rest went unsaid.
Antenor reviewed his thoughts.
Though appointed as her escorts, their limited public duties meant they rarely saw Amelia up close.
But with her ethereal beauty, inspiring universal admiration, loving all equally, and showing boundless compassion—that was the Saintess.
Amelia was exactly as the rumors described.
No wonder she was dubbed the “Order’s idol,” wildly popular among the empire’s people. Even Antenor, a self-professed pessimist, couldn’t dispute that.
And that made her ripe for exploitation.
“She’ll be furious if she finds out later. More city casualties.”
Antenor sneered.
“We’ll beg forgiveness like devout followers. A Saintess is the epitome of mercy and faith. If she weren’t, she wouldn’t be Saintess.”
In other words, a carefully nurtured hothouse flower.
“Saintess Amelia’s not just a healer; she’s renowned for mastering modern medicine. She’s sharp. Probably not naive about political stakes.”
The subordinate tapped his temple. But Antenor, arms crossed, shook his head.
“You’re missing it. I agree she’s no ordinary talent, but that’s the extent of it.”
“What do you mean?”
“Even as a brilliant, pious Saintess, she’s just a figurehead to draw the masses’ gaze. The smarter she is, the less she can defy the Order.”
“Excellence doesn’t equal political clout?”
“Spot on. Someone like her likely knows her place.”
Antenor bowed his head, grinning darkly.
“If she ever thought of challenging the Order’s directives, she’d have ditched the Saintess role long ago. The more rational she is, the more she’ll stay docile to cling to her position.”
“Harsh. Makes me wonder why she’d want to be Saintess.”
Antenor shrugged, slipping on the ivory escort uniform hanging on a crumbling wall.
“How should I know? Craving attention, maybe?”
Brushing dust off the uniform, he added.
“Same as Elsyde’s famed combat mages, Kazimieśi’s tournament sports stars, or Arpeggio’s exiled musicians.”
Of course, it was just a guess. Plenty of people yearned to be adored atop the masses.
The Saintess was likely no different.
It wouldn’t make sense otherwise.
“Everyone’s obsessed with validation, craving worship from the masses. Same deal.”
“Pretty cynical.”
“So what? The world’s full of crazier folks.”
Antenor added, stone-faced.
“The key is, she’s a revered Saintess but just a girl who doesn’t know how to wield her image. That works for us.”
He waved a hand.
Idly chatting while watching the factory was pointless. The solution was clear.
A cunning smile spread across his face, which he covered casually.
If Amelia wanted to play Saintess and bask in self-adulation, they’d lurk in her spotlight’s shadows, manipulating her.
‘Seizing real power in the Order is close.’
They’d keep profiting the Order.
In place of the vanished Pontiff, they’d build influence. Becoming the next de facto Pontiff wasn’t a fantasy.
“Get ready to move.”
“Got it.”
“And one thing.”
Rising, Antenor grimaced in distaste.
“The Saintess is seventeen this year. Grown quite lovely. Don’t you think it’s time for a legitimate heir to secure the Order’s legacy?”
“…Ha. Can’t argue there.”
An escort leaning against a broken doorframe, looking out, signaled him.
“Limousine outside, boss.”
“Limousine?”
“The Saintess. Her personal car.”
They’d half-expected she might come. They’d leaked sightings to ensure it.
Saving the effort of searching brought a smirk to Antenor’s lips. He adjusted his uniform’s collar.
“What’s the scout’s report? Is she alone? The direct descendant?”
The subordinate shook his head.
“Rooftop lookout’s quiet. If something was up, he’d have radioed. Want to check?”
“No need. Prep. No signal means she’s alone.”
They’d heard city guard rumors that Enoch and his squad were at the mine.
The plague doctor mask they’d met there was a black mage beyond Rank 10.
Even now, thinking of him sent shivers down Antenor’s spine, but exploiting such a monstrously powerful figure was, by his own reckoning, a sharp move.
No matter how strong Enoch’s follower family was, it was just one person. They couldn’t have resolved that chaos, uncovered the truth, and be guarding the Saintess here already.
He approached the railing, peering at the factory’s ground floor.
A radiant blonde Saintess crossed the dark interior, glowing like a beacon. Watching Amelia, Antenor’s lips curled.
“Let’s go welcome our Saintess.”
***
Step.
Footsteps echoed through the factory.
“Well, Saintess. To visit a place like this.”
A monotone voice rang from the factory’s dark end, and Amelia halted.
Antenor emerged from the shadows. Clad in the ivory uniform of the Saintess’s escorts, his eyes gleamed fiercely.
Multiple footsteps sounded, but only Antenor stepped forward. The other silhouettes froze in the factory’s darkness.
Sunlight streamed through the warehouse’s large doorframe, illuminating them like a stage.
“It must’ve been perilous to come here. Seems Enoch Elsyde, the direct descendant, didn’t join you.”
Standing before her, the slit-eyed man sighed heavily, feigning concern.
A blatant jab at me.
“Despite being your chosen escort, he’s absent during this city crisis. Utterly reckless.”
“…Is that so?”
“My failure, Saintess.”
Unprompted, he sighed deeply, crossing his arms with a sour look.
“Enoch Elsyde ordered me to investigate the mine area. For your safety, he said.”
“…”
“But as you see, beasts struck the city, and we couldn’t complete the investigation, forced to flee here and monitor things. Had that not happened, unlike Enoch, we’d have stayed by your side.”
Antenor placed a hand on his chest, bowing formally.
“We should resume serving you. With your permission, we’ll return to primary escort duties at once.”
“…Service duties, you say.”
Amelia murmured softly.
Not “protection,” but “service.” His audacious intent to meddle in the negotiations prompted a quiet response.
“But I still have Enoch. Coming here without an escort was my choice.”
“Escorting the Saintess isn’t optional; it’s a duty. You know that, Amelia.”
“Who abandoned that duty first?”
Antenor’s brow creased, irked by her words.
“What did you say?”
“I came here for one reason: to hear your account.”
Leaning on her staff, Amelia gazed at Antenor. Opening her eyes, she spoke clearly.
“Subdue the other escorts.”
Her voice echoed solemnly in the warehouse. Feeling a chill, Antenor chuckled darkly.
“What are you talking about? Subdue my men?”
His lips twisted, baring malice.
“The threat of mine beasts hasn’t fully vanished. For now, we must escort you from here.”
Signaling his waiting escorts, he sneered.
“Perhaps even the negotiations…”
“Not talking to you, escort captain.”
“What?”
Sensing something amiss, Antenor froze, turning sharply.
No escorts responded.
Only the drip of water from the ceiling into puddles of melted snow echoed hollowly.
“What… Where is everyone?”
“Asking something odd. Where, you say?”
At that moment, noon sunlight poured through a hole in the factory’s ceiling.
In the lit spot, a wolf-eared girl with sharp red eyes stood atop the fallen escorts.
“These guys?”
Sirocco glanced at an escort under her barefoot, grinning provocatively.
“Total losers.”
“What… What?!”
Antenor’s face contorted. Furious, he aimed his magical gear at Sirocco.
“How dare a mere beast-kin—!!”
He meant to continue, but a crisp thwack flipped his eyes back.
“…?”
Staggering, frothing, he collapsed forward, face-planting beside the Saintess’s staff, out cold.
Looking back, I stood expressionlessly, gripping a long staff—one of the escorts’, by its markings.
“Subdued.”
I said calmly, lifting the gear, relishing the satisfying impact. It’d been ages since I’d used this move.
Physical suppression magic.
Ignoring Amelia’s curious glance, I stroked the staff expressionlessly.
Ah, that cool, solid feel.
Time to be Mage Enoch again.