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Chapter 19
Robert nervously brushed back his long bangs.
Memories he had struggled to forget for so long began to press down on him.
“Even there, of all places, the Kadir faith….”
Before the Defria faith was established as the official state religion, countless religions coexisted in the Rotandus Empire.
Among them, the most prosperous was the worship of Kadir, the god of wisdom.
Because it aligned so well with the conservative traditions of the empire, the Kadir faith spread easily among the people of Rotandus.
Its priests and devout followers bore tattoos in the very center of their foreheads—the eyes of an owl, symbol of wisdom.
Those marked with the tattoo carried themselves with utmost propriety wherever they went.
The Kadir faith warned against indulgence and unearned fortune.
Its central teaching was: “As you sow, so shall you reap.”
Over time, what began as simple guidelines turned increasingly authoritarian.
Rules dictated clothing and even what foods should be eaten on particular days of the week.
Followers competed in strict adherence, and those who failed were shunned.
It was during this period of growing discontent that rebellion erupted in the empire.
With the change of regime came a new state religion, and all others began to lose their place.
The temples of Defria glittered with gold year-round. Its pope indulged in extravagance greater than the emperor himself.
True to the goddess of fortune, sudden luck was considered of greater value than effort.
Even the monthly offerings were decided by rolling two sixteen-sided dice.
Before random fortune, nobles and commoners were equal—an exact opposite to Kadir’s doctrine.
The people cheered for the new faith. And then, persecution began.
Strangely, the persecution was directed almost entirely at the Kadir faith.
It was as if every trace of Kadir’s existence had to be erased.
All temples of Kadir were torn down and replaced with temples of Defria—even those in the smallest villages.
The pope declared Kadir’s religion a cult of frauds, claiming its rigid doctrines were invented merely to extract donations.
In those days, the Great Temple of Kadir housed the Flame of Wisdom—a fire that never wavered, never extinguished.
The pope exploited it.
Before the masses, he extinguished the flame. Some high priests of Kadir knew the flame he snuffed out was a fake.
But they were already captured and had no way to prove it.
Soon after, the true Flame of Wisdom disappeared without a trace.
The pope didn’t stop there. He fabricated evidence, cleverly arranged.
Disillusioned, many Kadir followers converted to Defria.
Yet, some clung to their faith.
But no place welcomed the remnants of Kadir. The persecution dragged on for years.
Time passed.
So completely that people forgot other religions had ever existed.
Only the damning records remained, branding the Kadir faith a fraudulent cult.
The owl tattoo, once the symbol of wisdom, became a mark of misfortune.
No one believed in Kadir’s existence anymore.
Thus the few believers who survived hid their marks with hoods or long bangs.
Most wandered without settling, or formed small hidden villages deep in the mountains.
Some of the younger generation, rejecting their family faith, seared or cut the tattoos from their foreheads.
Robert was one of them.
His family had long served as priests in Kadir’s temples.
Despite brutal persecution, their lineage had survived.
But Robert’s childhood was a bleak one, weighed down by that legacy.
He denied the existence of Kadir’s god. To him, the god had brought nothing but misery.
If there truly were a god, his family would never have lived so wretchedly.
Yet, even after tearing his tattoo and abandoning his house, the doctrines etched into his bones since the womb hounded him relentlessly.
Whenever he caught himself behaving like a follower, he wanted to kill himself.
Then he met Zeppelin.
After leaving his family, Robert had worked as an informant.
He happened to be investigating the long string of disappearances among puppet masters.
Most clues pointed toward the Devonshire estate. When he attempted to approach it, the hounds caught him.
But Zeppelin valued Robert’s skill at gathering information more than he resented his trespass.
He spared Robert’s life—on the condition that he become one of his hounds.
Robert had no choice. Zeppelin had already taken his family hostage.
He hid Robert’s captured family somewhere and, like rewards, occasionally handed him censored letters and photographs.
Even if he had abandoned them, blood ties were not so easily severed.
In the end, Robert submitted to Zeppelin.
Years passed.
Robert became the oldest hound of the estate.
Then Alicia arrived. Most hounds were assigned to tame her.
Zeppelin, however, sent Robert and only a few others to watch Rebecca.
After Rebecca’s fall on the stairs, even those few were gone. Now Robert alone was left to monitor her.
In truth, his task was more to keep an eye on Canna than Rebecca, who was already tamed.
Young hounds always needed an experienced one.
From what Robert had observed, Canna was not truly Zeppelin’s creature.
For reasons unknown, she seemed more loyal to Rebecca.
That suspicion became certainty the moment Robert saw Canna leap from a second-story window, clutching Rebecca in her arms.
Rebecca was tall for a woman, yet Canna landed lightly, unshaken, even while holding her.
Robert let out an involuntary whistle of admiration.
“The Count’s eye for talent is not to be dismissed.”
He immediately followed after them.
For the moment, thoughts of gods and family vanished from his mind.
His instincts told him Rebecca was plotting something.
But even if he uncovered it, he had no intention of reporting to Zeppelin.
He had witnessed from the beginning how Zeppelin married Rebecca.
It wasn’t love. It was obsession—possession.
That was why Robert always pitied her, sometimes even overlooking her mistakes.
But his interest in her was not born of pity alone.
To him, Rebecca embodied Kadir’s doctrine.
She never spoke recklessly, never indulged in luxury, lived humbly.
And she was so beautiful, even angels would be jealous.
Had the Kadir faith still flourished, Rebecca would have been revered as a saint simply for being herself.
So to see her suffering Zeppelin’s cruelty made her look like a saint in the clutches of a devil.
For a long time, Robert had yearned to save her.
Whether that desire came from misplaced chivalry, or from Kadir’s teaching never to ignore the suffering of others, he did not know.
Whatever the cause, Robert believed it was his duty to stop her from doing anything foolish.
“Good evening, my lady.”
From behind a tree, Robert emerged.
Rebecca widened her eyes in surprise, then narrowed them again.
A sudden gust of wind lifted Robert’s bangs.
Rebecca noticed the deep scar cutting across the center of his forehead and smiled faintly.
During her long confinement, she had revisited many old memories.
Among them surfaced the image of Robert’s family.
After his modest funeral, they had come knocking at the estate’s iron gates.
“How could you do this! He had only just been released from the island! And now you say Robert is dead—and even the funeral is over? Robert could ride before he could even walk! Reinvestigate this! If not, we will take this injustice to the Emperor himself!”
The gatekeepers silenced them swiftly and dragged them away.
But Rebecca had seen them clearly.
Robert’s family wore black clothes with white collars, and in the center of their foreheads was the owl’s eye tattoo.
As a child, Rebecca had once traveled with her father and visited a Kadir village.
They had told her stories of their god and their history.
Looking now at Robert’s scar, she recalled that history of persecution.
Zeppelin always preyed on people’s weaknesses. A family devoted to the goddess of Kadir would have been perfect prey.
Rebecca’s lips curved faintly.
Robert gazed at her blankly, dizzy from the mingled lilac scent and her smile.
“Robert Crowley. Were you eavesdropping?”
“Eavesdropping? Hardly. Pure coincidence. The moonlight is so fine tonight—I merely came for a walk.”
“How loyal you are, to still be working on my behalf even at this hour.”
“I was only strolling in the garden, my lady. Not work, just a moment’s rest.”
“Crowley, I am no fool. I know every servant in this house is watching me.”
Robert blinked wide-eyed at her. Yet there was no rebuke in her tone.
He tilted his head in puzzlement.
Surely this was a dangerous situation for her.
If he told the Count she had sneaked out, Canna might be whipped—or worse.
But Rebecca did not plead with him to stay silent. Instead, she squared her shoulders and looked up at him proudly.
Though she sat while he stood, Robert felt as if she were gazing down on him.
Seeing his startled expression, Rebecca spoke.
“Don’t be so alarmed. I don’t mean to rebuke you. You are only doing what you were told to do.”
Robert asked, dazed,
“Th-then…?”
Rebecca lifted her head toward the bright moon.
Her pale nape gleamed dazzlingly in the light.
