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Translated By Arcane Translations
Translator: Lord Fourth
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On the fourth floor of the Papal Office there was a windowless room. The only light came from a single candle.
A long piece of parchment lay on the table in the center of the room. Despite being sent to the punishment room for the first time in ten years, it was exactly as Ophelia remembered.
“…Fuck.”
“I’ll ring the bell when it’s time for your meal.”
The knight who escorted her said. He spoke as if this was a routine procedure, then left without another word.
The usual Ophelia would have called him back and yelled at him for his rudeness. But that would only prolong her stay here.
“…Sigh.”
Ophelia sat down at the table. Her task was simple. Copy the scriptures onto the parchment. But if it were that easy, the young Ophelia wouldn’t have been so terrified of this place.
She looked at the empty inkwell beside the parchment and bit her lip.
“…Hmph.”
She picked up the quill and pressed the tip against her skin. She closed her eyes and pierced her skin.
Crimson blood dripped into the inkwell.
She filled it with just enough blood, then began writing. The blood would clot quickly, so she would have to cut herself repeatedly to finish copying the scriptures.
“….”
She had a month. A month to fill this long piece of parchment. She would have to cut herself dozens, if not hundreds, of times.
The thought made her feel faint, but she persevered.
“Elliot, you bastard.”
She muttered, gritting her teeth. How much she had hated this room as a child.
After the Mark of the Heavenly God appeared on her body, Ophelia had been adopted by the Pope and given his surname. Every day since then had been a living hell.
Everything in the educational institution felt like a shackle. And whenever she complained, she was sent here.
The first time she was sent to the punishment room, she was seven years old.
No matter how much she cried, how much she hurt herself, the heavy iron door wouldn’t open. Only after she finished copying the scriptures was she released.
Her arms were covered in cuts, but no one cared. They weren’t supposed to.
After several more visits to the punishment room, Ophelia learned to behave in front of the Pope. She became a perfect actress, playing the role of the ideal Saintess.
But now… she was being punished for a knight?
“If it weren’t for the Hero’s Mark…”
She clicked her tongue. The Hero’s Mark. She hadn’t expected it to appear on Elliot. The Saintess’s escort knight, the hero. It was unprecedented. But she didn’t feel entirely… displeased.
Why? Ophelia couldn’t define this feeling.
Emily’s words flashed through her mind, and she quickly pressed the quill against her skin again, distracting herself. The pain made her gasp.
She wiped the sweat from her brow and continued writing. The scriptures…
“Follow the will of the great Heavenly God… that is the only… blessing…”
She muttered, writing, then shook her head. She couldn’t focus. Ophelia gripped the quill tightly.
This feeling… it was too complex to be described as simply “sadness.”
But unlike before, she didn’t feel the same overwhelming despair. That was probably because of the geas. That clueless knight’s foolish vow to set her free.
A foolish vow that now, with him being the hero, seemed… possible.
Ophelia imagined Elliot, who wasn’t here.
“Why am I like this?”
She slapped her lips, startled by the smile that tugged at the corners of her mouth. She was confused. Her cheek still stung.
It must be because of the slap from the Pope, she thought.
She didn’t want to delve into these feelings. She was afraid she wouldn’t be able to turn back.
Just as she was about to continue writing…
“You can’t go in there!”
“I have to.”
“It’s His Holiness’s order!”
“Then this is God’s order. My instincts are telling me there’s a heretical ritual taking place inside.”
“What?! This is a sacred place! Even a Holy Knight can’t…!”
The heavy iron door of the punishment room was torn apart like paper. A blond man in tarnished armor stood there.
Elliot, the knight Ophelia resented so much. He was holding the knight who had escorted her here by the scruff of his neck.
“Look at this. Does this look like something that should be happening in the Holy City? A prayer written in blood? What is this, the Demon King’s castle?”
“Sir Elliot, even if you… His Holiness ordered…”
“Yeah, I get it. I’ll take responsibility. From now on, I’ll be in charge of the Saintess’s punishment. I’m her Disciplinary Officer, after all. Any objections?”
He spoke with a menacing glare. The knight, realizing he was outmatched, quickly submitted. Elliot released him, and the knight scrambled out of the room. Elliot turned his attention to Ophelia.
“Ophelia.”
“….”
“Are you practicing dark magic in solitary confinement now?”
“Elliot.”
Ophelia started to speak, then her hand trembled.
“Are you… insane?”
The curse slipped out before she could stop it. She had taken the blame, but he had ruined everything.
This was the Pope’s will. And in the Holy City, the Pope’s will was law. Elliot had directly defied him.
A Holy Knight doing such a thing… he would no longer be a Holy Knight.
“You idiot! Why did you come here?!”
“Well…”
“Are you out of your mind? No, you wouldn’t be doing this if you were sane. You’re just crazy!”
Ophelia clutched her head.
“You’re going to die!”
“You’ll resurrect me, won’t you?”
Elliot simply shrugged, a mischievous smile on his face. He pulled a chair over to the table and sat down.
“Anyway, stop doing this.”
He took the parchment Ophelia had been writing on and burned it with the candle. It was unusable now.
“…You really are crazy.”
“Not as crazy as you.”
“I-I’m not as crazy as you!”
“No, you’re just as foolish, in my opinion.”
“What did you just call me?!”
“Anyway…”
Elliot looked towards the door, as if to end the conversation.
There was a commotion outside. Of course, there would be. The fourth floor was restricted.
He had barged in without permission; the consequences would be severe.
“Ophelia, what will happen to me if I stay here?”
“You’ll be dragged away by the Pope, flogged, and stripped of your title.”
She had seen it happen before. Holy Knights who displeased the Pope were whipped and banished from the Holy City, penniless.
Sometimes, their tendons were cut to prevent them from wielding a sword again.
“That does sound… unpleasant.”
“What are you going to do…? Even I can’t protect you… Why did you even come here?”
“I thought you wouldn’t like being here.”
“You… idiot.”
“Am I wrong?”
“Even if you’re right! You shouldn’t have come here!”
Ophelia’s voice was almost a sob. Elliot hesitated for a moment, then grinned.
“Do you remember the promise I made?”
“What promise?”
“In the sky garden. The geas.”
The geas. The vow Elliot had made…
“To set you free.”
“That’s right.”
“Well… defeating the Demon King is pointless now that I’m the damn hero…”
“….”
“So… shall we run away? Together?”
Run away from the Holy City.
Ophelia flinched.
Run away? How? Where would they go? Wouldn’t they be pursued? Practical problems flooded her mind.
She wasn’t even sure if Elliot was serious. Ophelia bit her lip.
Should she be angry? She wanted to be, but she found herself hugging her knees.
“I don’t know.”
“Excuse me?”
“Do whatever you want, you crazy… bastard. You’d drag me along even if I refused…”
“….”
“I don’t know. You decide.”
Ophelia muttered, then glared at Elliot.
“But you’re responsible.”
“Responsible?”
“You started this. You’re responsible for my life.”
“…Hmm.”
She was essentially entrusting everything to him. Elliot narrowed his eyes, looking at Ophelia, who was pouting like a child.
They had spent three years together. He knew what she meant.
“Then let’s call it… a kidnapping.”
—
The day at the mage tower began early. Or rather, time held little meaning for mages.
An hour passed when a magically summoned weapon vanished.
A day passed when a magic potion changed color.
A week passed when a drawn magic circle faded.
That was a mage’s sense of time.
So, when the guest from a few months ago returned, it had been exactly three months by a mage’s reckoning, or rather, when a single magic circle had completely faded.
“Sir Elliot, and… the Saintess?”
Archmage Elderian Vallière stared at the two figures before him in surprise.
Elliot, in tattered robes, was carrying Ophelia on his back.
Ophelia, her face crimson, had buried her face in his shoulder, seemingly embarrassed by her undignified position.
“Um…”
Elderian was flustered. His monocle fell to the floor and shattered, but he didn’t even notice.
The Saintess of the Holy City and her escort knight had suddenly appeared at the mage tower. Before he could ask why, Elliot spoke.
“We’ll explain later. We need your help.”
It wasn’t a question. It was a declaration. And Elderian had no intention of turning away the Saintess.
“Please… come in…”
Elderian stepped aside. Elliot stepped into the mage tower, his dust-covered boots dirtying the pristine floor.
Elderian’s eyebrows twitched, but he didn’t say anything. He observed Elliot’s appearance. Worn clothes, a travel pack, and several gashes on his armor.
Had he been fighting? Against bandits? Or… someone else?
“…Hmm.”
There was no point in speculating. He would hear it from Elliot himself.
Elderian instructed a servant to escort them to a room.
He didn’t realize that this was the beginning of an incident that would shake the continent for years to come.
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Hi Lord Fourth here!
I’m still new to translating as this is my second novel to pick up, so if you find some mistakes or inconsistencies let me know about it on the dedicated channel on discord.
Now THAT is romantic 💘