Two weeks had passed since Caron and his group departed from the capital. They had chosen a route that passed through the Pajar Sultanate to enter the northeastern region of the Holy Kingdom. There were alternative paths through the Southern Kingdom or the Southern Great Forest, but those areas were currently heavily occupied by the Holy Kingdom's military forces, making them far too dangerous. In contrast, the region bordering the Pajar Sultanate was relatively quiet. Fanatical theocracy or not, the Holy Kingdom was still a land where people lived. Naturally, that meant there were smugglers and illegal immigration brokers operating under the surface. Ganem Ali, a smuggling broker of the Pajar Sultanate, rubbed his hands together and bowed obsequiously toward the young man in front of him. He begged, "Hehe, Young Master... Please, just spare my life. I-I'll do my utmost, I swear!" His face was swollen and bruised—a clear sign that he had been on the receiving end of some serious violence. Ganem Ali was the most well-known broker in Resa, the southernmost city of the Pajar Sultanate. Whether it was sneaking people into the Holy Kingdom or smuggling them out, he was the man to go to. His organization alone boasted several hundred members. In short, he was a major player in Resa's underworld—a man who ruled the city's nights. But all of that meant nothing to the young man standing before him, who asked, "Did you say your name was Garnet?" "It's Ganem, Young Master!" Ganem answered. "Right, Garnet. Come massage my shoulders," the young man commanded. "Y-Yes, of course," Ganem replied, then obediently began to massage the young man's shoulders. He had good reason to be so docile—this young man had single-handedly stormed and taken over his base of operations. Though there had been three others behind the young man, none of them had lifted a finger. He alone had neutralized the hideout's defenses. In other words, he was an overwhelmingly powerful individual. And Ganem, more than anyone, knew better than to get on the bad side of such people. "Garnet," the young man said again. He'd even gone so far as to casually change the name Ganem's own parents had given him. This young man was a truly ruthless fellow. Still, Ganem kept his true feelings buried and forced a wide smile, then said, "Yes, Young Master! Just say the word." "Here. Read this," the young man said. "Huh? What is this...?" Ganem asked. He reluctantly took the piece of paper handed to him, his expression twisted with reluctance. But the moment he read its contents, the smile vanished from his face. "Ganem Ali. Loyal servant of the Sultanate who works for its glory. We require your assistance. Mobilize your organization in full to help the bearer of this letter and his companions enter the Holy Kingdom. This task is of utmost importance, one that holds the fate of the Sultanate itself. We place our trust in you." Below that message was the signature of Prince Samir. These people had been sent from somewhere far, far above Ganem's reach. The moment he finished reading the letter, Ganem's face crumpled. He turned to the young man and began to complain, "If you had this kind of letter, you should've shown it right away! My men got beaten up for nothing!" "They were the ones who threw the first punch," the young man replied coolly. "I was trying to resolve things peacefully." "That was because you barged into our hideout without a word!" Ganem protested. "No need to worry. Your men are just unconscious. They'll be fine," the young man said. "Then what about my face...?" Ganem asked. "Well, you're the one who threw a dagger at my face out of nowhere. That thing was poisoned, by the way. What if I had been poisoned, hmm?" the young man asked in return. This hideout had actually been recommended by Prince Samir himself. It was, in fact, an office run by the royal intelligence agency of the Pajar Sultanate. Its primary mission was to help spies infiltrate the Southern Kingdom and the Holy Kingdom. Smuggling and illegal immigration were merely convenient covers. All the smuggling and illegal entries that took place here were sanctioned by the Sultanate's royal family. It was essentially a front—a business designed to create royal slush funds. What set this place apart from the borderland brokers to the west was that single, critical detail: Its royal approval. "We need to get into the Holy Kingdom. If you know of a good way, I'd appreciate a recommendation. Ah, and my name is Caron Leston," the young man said. The disguised young man's introduction made Ganem's eyes go wide as an exclamation slipped from his lips. "...Caron Leston?!" He recognized Caron Leston as the most talked-about person on the continent—the grandson of the continent's strongest warrior, Halo Leston, and the young hero expected to someday inherit that title. Caron was in a league of his own. Caron's disguise had been so perfect that Ganem hadn't realized who he was. At the moment, Caron looked more like a rugged mercenary in his late twenties than a ducal heir. Get a grip, Ganem told himself, shaking his head quickly to clear away the distracting thoughts. He had no idea why the empire's rising star was traveling with a prince of the Pajar Sultanate—but one thing he did know was that relations between the two nations had been improving recently. And if he made a misstep here, it could very well turn into a diplomatic incident. For the sake of the Sultanate, he had to do his absolute best. "We'll take care of arranging the fastest possible route into the Holy Kingdom," Ganem said. "But it may take a little time." "Because of smuggling schedules?" Caron asked. "Oh, no, not that. The issue is... We need to obtain identification for all four of you. The Holy Kingdom is riddled with checkpoints. We'll need to create forged IDs, and those require a priest's help. Otherwise, they won't hold up under inspection." "Ah. I've heard about that," Caron said with a nod. The Holy Kingdom technically welcomed all who wished to enter. But the catch was, everyone had to go through a baptism ritual. Of course, that baptism cost a great deal of money. Officially, it was considered a voluntary donation—but in practice, it was anything but. And that wasn't the end of it, either. The Holy Kingdom was divided into administrative districts called "dioceses." To maintain one's identity status, one had to make regular donations to renew one's ID. Faith alone couldn't sustain a nation. The Holy Kingdom, under the guise of offerings, took quite a lot. Of course, some dioceses had merciful clergy who showed true compassion—but not every priest could be a living saint. After all, before they were priests, they were still human. What Ganem was referring to, clearly, was an official ID that could only be granted through divine power—a gift bestowed via donation. "So we need sacred energy, is that it?" Caron asked. "Yes. But unless you've got a priest of considerable power, it's nearly impossible. We do have a few blank Holy Kingdom IDs, but they won't work properly until they're imbued with sacred energy," Ganem explained. "Then that's not a problem," Caron said, then turned and called out casually, "Saintess? Time to earn your keep." At his call, a woman in a hooded robe stepped forward from behind the group. She let out a small sigh as she slowly pulled the hood back from her head. "Blessing forged IDs to enter the Holy Kingdom... I'm not sure how I feel about that," Saintess Seria said. "Then walk around shouting 'I'm the Saintess' and see how long it takes the inquisitors to drag you away and kill you," Caron said dryly. "...Ha. Fine," Seria replied with resignation. Ganem immediately recognized who she was—the exiled Saintess Seria. She, who had been banished from the Holy Kingdom, was now walking back into it with Caron Leston at her side. This mission might be far more serious than I thought, Ganem realized, his expression tightening with resolve. A single mistake could have disastrous consequences. For the future, and for the peace of the Sultanate—he had to give this his all. "Please wait a moment. I'll retrieve the IDs right away," Ganem said. "I'm counting on you. Oh, and here," Caron said as he pulled a small gold bar from inside his coat and handed it to Ganem. He continued, "Sorry about speaking so informally earlier. I'm still getting used to this place." Ganem quickly snatched the gold with both hands and said eagerly, "Oh no, Young Master! Speak to me however you like!" "Oh, and bring a bottle of liquor when you come back," Caron added. "I'll bring the finest we have!" Ganem answered. "Excellent," Caron replied. Ganem stepped out of the reception room and closed the door behind him. He turned to his man waiting just outside and gave a quiet order, "Start buying gold." "...Gold, sir?" his man asked. "That's right. Do it quietly without anyone knowing," Ganem instructed. A crisis could also bring opportunity. Ganem moved swiftly, not stopping for a moment. He couldn't afford to disappoint these guests. And so, the process of preparing Caron's group for entry into the Holy Kingdom moved quickly toward completion. The Holy Kingdom was just ahead. At the Inquisition Tribunal, nestled deep within the Holy Kingdom's Vatican... "Are you certain we shouldn't send a delegation to the empire, Your Holiness?" Archbishop Pisaro asked. He was the right hand of the Holy Kingdom's true power, Saint Elijah. "Now is not the time to concern ourselves with the empire," Elijah replied calmly. "...We've lost contact with Archbishop Atrach, who was stationed there," Pisaro reported. "It seems the heretics have taken him. But he has already fulfilled his mission. It's of no concern," Elijah said. He took a careful sip of the tea set before him—a fragrant herbal blend native to the southern provinces of the Holy Kingdom. The area, which bordered a Great Forest, produced herbs with a unique and rich aroma. "The new emperor has only just ascended the throne. He'll be too preoccupied with domestic matters to look outward. There will be no better time than now to wage a holy war," Elijah explained. "You truly intend to begin a crusade?" Pisaro asked uncertainly. "I cannot ignore this opportunity to spread the will of the Light," Elijah answered. It had always been his unwavering goal to expand the Holy Kingdom and to spread the divine will of the Light across the entire continent. "The strength of our kingdom must grow if we are to stand against the Demon Kings. Remember this, Archbishop. The lives of countless believers rest upon our shoulders," Elijah said. "...Yes, Your Holiness," Pisaro responded with a bow. But Elijah's eyes suddenly narrowed, displeasure flashing across his face as he looked at the Archbishop and asked, "Have we heard anything of the Saintess Seria?" Saintess Seria, beloved by the people of the Holy Kingdom and favored above all by the Pope himself, had vanished. "If we wish to force His Holiness to abdicate, bringing Saintess Seria back is the only way," Elijah added. The Pope was in seclusion with the Laurelian Paladins, confined to his chambers under the pretext of reflection. Forcing him from his position wasn't an option. Though the Order of Truth now held most of the actual power in the Holy Kingdom, many members of the clergy still refused to side with them. In such a divided climate, removing the Pope by force would split the nation in two—an outcome they couldn't afford, not on the eve of a crusade. Pisaro slowly shook his head and replied, "All contact with the deployed inquisitors has been lost." "We still don't know where she's hiding, then," Elijah muttered. "We continue to gather intelligence, but it appears someone powerful is sheltering her," Pisaro said. "Are you suggesting the Saintess has taken refuge in the Pajar Sultanate?" Elijah asked. "It's not a possibility we can completely dismiss," Pisaro answered. "If she's allied herself with heretics, that alone is more than enough grounds to judge her as a heretic herself," Elijah said. If Seria could be discredited and erased from the Holy Kingdom, it would be easy to sway the people's hearts. If they learned that the revered and beloved Saintess had consorted with unbelievers, they would feel deeply betrayed. And that betrayal would fuel the flames Elijah so desired. "Continue dispatching inquisitors. She may already have crossed into the empire. In particular... Keep your eyes on the Ducal Family of Leston. They're more than capable of baring their fangs at the Holy Kingdom," Elijah instructed. A face came to Elijah's mind—one he had once encountered: Caron Leston. Caron was a madman who wielded a blade that was practically a demonic sword, and he'd cut down a paladin without hesitation. He was a blasphemer, and worse yet, a man who had inspired fear even in Elijah himself. "Track Caron Leston. Do not lose sight of him," Elijah added. He was convinced that Caron Leston would become the Holy Kingdom's greatest threat. After all, Caron was a man who knew nothing of reverence for the divine. And the stronger the Holy Kingdom grew, the more likely he would be to challenge it. "By now, the empire and the other nations must have begun to suspect our plans. Seal the borders completely. Gather the faithful. For the glorious Light," Elijah said. "For the glorious Light," Pisaro echoed, bowing before leaving the chamber. Left alone, Elijah leaned back in his chair. He whispered, "All will unfold according to the will of the Light." He closed his eyes and repeated the words again and again. Even if the path ahead was twisted, the ending, he believed, would be nothing short of radiant. But Elijah didn't know. He had no idea that the very Saintess he feared had entered the Holy Kingdom only moments ago—alongside Caron himself. The bomb had already been smuggled inside. And it wouldn't take long for Elijah to realize it. Three days later, a shocking report arrived from the outskirts of the Holy Kingdom.