It was the first time Herzel appeared wearing the ceremonial robes of a priestess.
She didn’t look anything like someone who had once stood guard with a blade, hiding Percival behind her back. She now looked like a trustworthy priestess through and through.
“P–Priestess Herzel… you’re alive?”
The previously quiet interrogation chamber stirred with sudden unrest.
Among the senior clergy who had been around for a long time, many recognized her.
“H–How can this be? I was told she died along with her husband…!”
Merlin was visibly shocked by Herzel’s unexpected appearance and opened her mouth in disbelief.
But she wasn’t the only one surprised.
“Herzel…? Gawain’s wife, that Herzel?”
Sentere’s single eye widened in astonishment.
It was the first time he, who had always been stoic and stern, showed such a variety of expressions.
Striding forward, Herzel gave Merlin a proper bow.
It wasn’t an act of respect, but rather something closer to mocking her appearance.
“High Priestess, it’s been a while. I haven’t seen you since that day.”
“How dare you…”
Merlin clenched her teeth, but Herzel turned her body away from her.
Turning her back on Merlin, Herzel smiled brightly and greeted Morgana with dignity. With genuine respect, she bowed her head and kissed the back of Morgana’s hand.
It was the highest show of courtesy a priestess could offer.
“Thank you for giving me the chance to explain, Lady Morgana. May the honor and glory of the goddess Coventina be with you.”
Compared to her earlier greeting, Merlin bit her lips hard in humiliation.
“So what if Herzel shows up now? Nothing changes. She gave up on interpreting the ancient text, too.”
“What are you talking about?”
Herzel frowned as if baffled and looked at Merlin as if she were pathetic.
The look of contempt one would give a bug.
“I only said it was difficult to interpret at the time.”
It was a calm lie, but Nimue, who stood nearby, backed her up.
“That’s true. I remember it as well.”
Herzel’s very presence was a shock to the temple.
The priestess who was said to have died with her husband had clearly returned alive.
And she had come in response to the call of the wielder of the Holy Sword.
Standing atop the coliseum, she spread her arms toward the observing priests and asked,
“Do you know why I had to flee, declared dead by the temple?”
Her clear voice rang throughout the vast interrogation chamber.
“Because the High Priestess, who does not know the ancient tongue, wanted a slave to interpret the ancient texts in her place, someone who would abandon their family and everything else.”
All the priests who had previously worked to interpret the ancient texts had died.
There had been three. But no one was unaware of this.
Yet Nimue remained indifferent, as though she had known all along that Herzel was still alive.
Herzel shouted once more, “I, Herzel, who was once in charge of interpreting the ancient texts, now testify that Lady Morgana’s scrolls are true.”
Without even waiting for Merlin’s rebuttal, Sentere’s thunderous voice rang out heavily.
“Two witnesses have confirmed it. I will now deliver the Inquisitor’s judgment.”
“Wait—no! She’s lying right now!”
Merlin cried out in frustration, but Sentere’s single eye flashed toward her.
“Do you know why the Inquisitor hasn’t been present at the temple until now?”
Until now, the temple had wielded unchecked authority.
With a High Priestess believed to possess unmatched foresight and divine power, the faith gathered around her was formidable.
Even when Sentere made clear and sound judgments, all had turned a blind eye.
That was also why Sir Gawain was remembered—because of the reason he left the temple.
“What meaning is there in an Inquisitor’s judgment, when no one believes it?”
There had been countless innocent victims who were labeled heretics and put to death.
Each time, Sentere had voiced his opposition, but in a place where everyone else gave their consent, he couldn’t strip away the blind faith in the High Priestess.
Sir Gawain’s inquisition had been the same.
“This knight is not guilty. How can a knight leaving the temple be considered heresy?”
“Stand aside, Inquisitor Sentere. If you continue to forget your role, you too could be exiled.”
He had been powerless before those blinded.
Sentere lost one of his eyes in the clash between himself, who tried to protect Gawain, and the temple knights who ruthlessly dragged him away.
Because he was not a god, humans—being shallow—naturally came to view those who opposed them with suspicion.
Due to his frequent objections that repeatedly overturned judgments, Sentere had already become an isolated figure in the temple.
The reason he still held the hollow title of Inquisitor was simple, “If I hadn’t held on, something even worse would have happened.”
It now seemed that the price of his endurance was finally starting to show its value.
Ironically, in the temple he had returned to, the priests and knights who had once relentlessly hounded Gawain were nowhere to be found.
Most had likely walked the same silent path as Gawain, without anyone ever knowing.
“For slandering the wielder of the Holy Sword and driving a loyal priestess to her death, you shall be judged.”
A silence so deep that even the sound of breathing could be heard fell over the room.
Sentere’s voice scraped the air like heavy iron.
“Merlin is to be imprisoned in the temple’s underground solitary cell and sentenced to death.”
Solitary confinement. A room reserved only for the most heinous criminals—no one had ever returned from it. That was where Merlin was to be sent.
As the temple knights grabbed both of her arms, she began to struggle.
“What even is a priest? Bowing their heads at others’ feet, unable to make proper judgments—who are they to judge me?”
As Merlin was dragged away, Morgana casually stepped up beside her.
As she passed by, Morgana leaned in and whispered into her ear with a light smile.
“Sorry, Merlin. The truth is, I can read the ancient language.”
“…What?”
“I knew from the beginning that the ancient texts weren’t fake.”
Merlin, in complete shock, couldn’t say a word and was dragged away.
Herzel finally took a breath, as if releasing her lingering regrets, while Nimue remained with her head bowed.
Morgana clapped her hands and asked cheerfully, “Now that the High Priestess position is vacant, and since I have the authority, should I make a recommendation?”
No one responded to her unusually upbeat tone.
But Morgana continued as if she didn’t care at all.
“I would like to nominate Saint Nimue as the new High Priestess!”
💫
There was a rumor circulating recently in the Kingdom of Britain.
“Merlin has fallen.”
The details were unclear, and no one knew exactly where the rumor had started, but it was a story that had reached everyone on the continent, including high society.
The royal palace of Britain was no exception.
Whenever two or more people gathered, it was always the same conversation.
Even the maids cleaning the halls whispered, “Did you hear? They say Lady Merlin made a pact with a demon.”
“No, I heard she killed a priestess.”
“What? I heard she dabbled in dark magic.”
The palace knights joined in as well.
“Then what happens to the oracle? It’s always been accurate until now.”
“Right. Did she fall after giving the prophecy?”
“From what I’ve heard out of Avalon, it seems to be true…”
Even the nobles were discussing the same topic.
“Then what happens to Princess Guinevere?”
Someone speaking with the Marquis of Orne sipped from their teacup instead of answering.
Inside the reception room of House Orne, a baron seated alone, somewhat pitifully, cautiously began to speak.
“Well, I tried to bring it up with Princess Guinevere, but the moment I even mentioned it, she became furious. What could I do?”
“If the prophecy was a lie caused by Merlin’s corruption, then there’s no reason she must marry Lady Morgana, is there?”
“Exactly. But the princess insists that she absolutely must go through with the marriage, so…”
The Marquis of Orne lightly stroked his mustache.
No matter how one looked at it, this was an opportunity.
Guinevere’s status so far had essentially been built by the temple.
If Merlin had not prophesied that the one who pulled the sword from the stone would marry Guinevere, the heiress of the continent…
“She would’ve been just an ordinary princess.”
People wouldn’t have believed in or followed her the way they do now.
While the Marquis of Orne quietly organized his thoughts, the clock ticked on.
The princess was a clever woman.
Not someone to be taken lightly—there was a good chance she had already made other plans.
Especially the absurd reason of marriage being used to delay time—everything about it had been suspicious.
While he was still deep in thought, knock, knock. A knock came at the door of the reception room.
Soon, a maid came in to deliver a message.
“Marquis, the young master has returned.”
“Oh, really? Let him in.”
As he brightened and rose from his seat, the door opened, revealing his son, now noticeably grown.
“Father, I’ve returned.”
His son, who had gone as both a knight escort and Mordred’s swordsmanship mentor at the academy, had finally returned.
Which meant—Mordred had returned as well.
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