MCFPM 50

chapter 50

The Pope, Winfir, was in an extremely foul mood.

He frowned as he watched the young child of the Baskalia family sitting restlessly in the carriage. The child was the younger sister of Aeonian, whom he had sponsored and raised. Perhaps because she was still so young, everything about the North seemed endlessly fascinating to her.

Unable to stand it any longer, the Pope scolded her.

“Florencia, stop being so frivolous.”
“Ah… yes, Your Holiness. I’m sorry.”

Florencia straightened her posture at once and bowed her head. Normally, he might have followed that with a kind reminder not to repeat it, but today he simply didn’t have the patience.

The Pope looked out at the city before him — it was far better maintained than the rumors had suggested. Even in the bright daylight, he could feel a strange flow of magic emanating from the streetlights.

‘Magic is evenly supplying energy to the street lamps… Are they channeling it from Mount Lavre?’

Even before entering the city, he had noticed the drawbridge — old in appearance, but its magical security systems were anything but primitive. Every guard carried their own magical tool, and there was even a detection system for unauthorized weapons or magic items.

They hadn’t yet reached the level of hiring a mage capable of casting a full-city barrier, but still, this was impressive.

…So as Aeonian’s uncle, should he be pleased about the North’s reconstruction?
The Pope bit his lip hard.

‘How could he possibly have married the Duke of Chartreuse—without my permission?’

He rubbed his temples furiously where Florencia couldn’t see. His chest felt so tight that he ended up muttering to himself.

“He stayed a long time in the ducal castle when he was little… Did he fall for her back then?”
“Pardon?”
“I wasn’t speaking to you.”

He sighed and glanced at the citizens watching the passing carriage. Workers carrying birch logs into a building billowing with smoke and steam shot him wary looks — as if to remind him that they were watching him. It seemed Aeonian was well supported even among the local populace.

He had thought he had “educated” Aeonian well enough. He had made it abundantly clear that he had no intention of destroying the Baskalia family, that he cared for his nephew.

And yet none of it had worked. After all the ideological training and moral guidance he’d instilled — this was the result?

‘The Duke of Chartreuse and Aeonian… What on earth did those two do together?’

Well, whatever it was — whether they conspired together or one seduced the other — it didn’t matter. After today, this rebellion that had marred his pride and honor would end.

The Pope glanced down at the silver ring on his left hand.

The Mouth of Truth.

A sacred relic that functioned as a “lie detector.”

The more he used it, the faster his divine power drained. It wasn’t suitable for large discussions or debates with many speakers, but it could detect lies from whoever he was talking to.

Aeonian, he thought grimly, whatever your schemes are, I’ll expose them all.

If you truly intend to defy me and draw your sword against me…

Then I’ll make this wedding a bloody one.

With that resolve, the Pope passed through the gardens and entered the inner fortress where the Duke resided. The high spires, the clock-like stained glass, and the sharp Gothic arches stood out strikingly.

As he stepped out of the carriage with Florencia, he saw a familiar face.

“…My nephew.”

Aeonian Baskalia smiled faintly — the same beautiful smile his mother once had.

The Pope clenched his teeth discreetly.

The traitor who had abandoned his arranged marriage and chosen the Duke of Chartreuse as his partner. The cursed son of Luphelis Baskalia…

The Duke herself was not present. Whether it was out of shame for what she had done, or out of fear of facing him, the Pope couldn’t tell — but it was ridiculous all the same. He was just about to ask Aeonian about the Duke’s whereabouts when—

“Uncle!”

Aeonian ran straight toward him and threw himself into his arms.

Startled, the Pope instinctively caught him. He realized, with a shock, that his once small nephew now stood a head taller than himself — and for a moment, words failed him as that familiar face filled his vision.

“Why did you come so late?”

The Pope let out a strained laugh.

“…Nephew, I received your wedding invitation only a week ago. Do you have any idea how hard I worked to make time for this?”
“Ah, I see… I should’ve sent it earlier.”

Aeonian clasped his uncle’s hand tightly, his tone sincere yet calm, and the holy knights behind them exchanged uneasy glances.

The Pope cast a glance at the Northern knights who had accompanied Aeonian. He almost laughed at the absurdity of it — but when he realized his holy knights might not even win in a direct clash, he steeled his expression again.

Fine. If you want to keep pretending we’re still ‘the affectionate uncle and nephew,’ that’s just as well for me.

He squeezed Aeonian’s hand.

“The ‘partner’ you spoke of — it’s the Duke of Chartreuse, isn’t it?”
“Yes. I suppose it must surprise you.”
“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
“Ah…”

Pressed slightly, Aeonian rolled his eyes, looking nervous — like a child caught after breaking something fragile.

Not so different from how he’s always been… the Pope thought — though it could easily be an act.

He spoke again, his tone like that of a strict parent scolding a wayward child.

“Did you not trust me? Or did you decide, the moment you reached the altar, that it wasn’t right? Honestly, you’ve never caused this kind of trouble before. What were you thinking? Did I not even cross your mind?”
“Were you worried about me?”
“…What?”

The question had come from his own mouth — but Aeonian’s bold counter-question caught him off guard. The young man smiled sweetly as he held his uncle’s hand tighter.

“You asked my reason, so I’ll answer.”
“Yes, so—”
“I love her.”

The Pope — and even the holy knights — froze.

“I love her.”
“…Whom?”
“Are you really going to pretend not to know?”

Aeonian laughed softly, playfully, then lowered his head just slightly after glancing at the knights.

And in a voice quiet and almost shy, he added—

“I mean, that I love the Duke of Chartreuse.”

The jewel on the Pope’s ring glowed bright blue.

It was the truth.

The Pope followed Aeonian’s lead into the drawing room. Florencia, who had been distracted by the enchanted messenger birds fluttering overhead, was left to the care of the knights.

Once the servants had served tea and the others had departed—

“…Nephew.”

The Pope clasped his hands together and crossed his legs, his tone sharp as a knife.

“I’m not joking right now.”
“Yes, I know that, Uncle.”
“Then you know how absurd it sounds — love?”

He laughed — a short, bitter bark — and waved a hand dismissively. Aeonian immediately countered, unruffled.

“What’s so absurd about love? For wolfkin, love is everything, isn’t it?”

Not an incorrect statement.

If love is the reason, that explains all his recklessness. Wolves lose their reason when it comes to their chosen mates.

But in the end, outcomes mattered more than reasons. The Pope had been publicly humiliated, and only repayment would satisfy him.

“Still—”

He was about to slam the table when—

“And didn’t you do the same, Uncle?”

Aeonian’s clear voice sliced through the air.

The words he had once taught his nephew — during years of “education” and “moral instruction” — came back to haunt him.

“You loved my mother, didn’t you? You brought her back from being Duchess Baskalia to being a Saint again.”

The Pope’s hand scratched the edge of the table involuntarily.

That was an old, old story. Once dismissed as rumor, now accepted as truth.

‘The two Baskalia brothers loved the same woman.’

And though that woman — the Saint — had first chosen the elder brother, she later divorced him and returned to the Church to be with the younger, the cleric.

The Pope had never bothered to deny the rumor. Trying to refute it would only make gossipers shout louder. After becoming the First Servant of God, he’d stopped caring altogether.

“And that’s why I decided to marry Sherylrot. I remembered all the lessons you taught me yourself, Uncle — everything you said was right.”

So this was how that “education” came back to bite him.

“Love is something you fight for, isn’t it?”

Those innocent words made the Pope’s cheek twitch.

…What on earth have I raised?

He had come here to find a flaw — something to discredit Aeonian.

But what if Aeonian had been warped because of his teaching?

“You’ve loved her since childhood?”
“Perhaps a little. Not as deeply as now.”
“What about during your academy years?”
“I ignored it — or rather, I didn’t recognize it then.”
“But later, when you were about to marry another woman, you realized your true feelings?”
“Yes. I’ve loved her for a very long time — far longer than I ever admitted.”
“…”

The ring on his finger kept glowing blue.

The Mouth of Truth never lied. And Aeonian had no idea what kind of shock his words were causing.

For a moment, the Pope regretted ever “educating” him — but quickly regained composure.

“…Don’t you want to become Duke Baskalia?”
“No.”

The Pope blinked.

So becoming Duke wasn’t his goal?

The relic shone a bright, honest blue again.

“Then why deceive everyone with a false fiancée?”
“Excuse me? A false fiancée?”
“The Duke’s supposed betrothed.”

He’d heard from Archbishop Feliceri that the Duke once had a birdkin fiancée.

“….”

Aeonian finally closed his mouth, lips tightening in a guilty little line. The Pope smirked inwardly.

Now he had him cornered — there was no escaping a direct question like this.

Then—

“I took her from him.”
“…What?”

The ring flared blue once more.

It was the truth.