TPTR 33

Chapter 33

17. The Prophecy That Fell Upon the Rose (3)

A single priest stepped forward in their place.

“Thank you for your cooperation. Then please step as—”

“But you can’t even properly describe the suspect’s appearance.”

Instead of stepping aside, Chester strode forward, his low voice cutting through the air.

The priests and knights instinctively retreated a step.

Even the lights reflected from the carriages and the magical streetlamps seemed to scatter around him—no, as if they were being swallowed whole by the darkness he carried.

“And you haven’t even explained what circumstances led you here.”

“T-That is…!”

“Thanks to that, all these people have been inconvenienced, trapped inside their carriages. So who, exactly, should be held responsible for this?”

It felt as though the words Pay with your life were hanging unspoken in the air. Chester’s presence was that menacing.

Countless rebuttals surfaced, yet no one could breathe enough to speak. They could only swallow dryly.

Then, a new voice entered the stifling silence.

“The Duke, who holds command authority, has already confirmed the situation. Let’s end this here.”

“Lord Granat…!”

When Chester recognized the approaching man, he let out a short, humorless laugh.

No matter how unusual the situation had been, it was nothing more than a lower-class magical beast, swiftly subdued with minimal damage.

Normally, even when requested, those whose primary duty was purification wouldn’t bother to show up in force like this.

And someone who was effectively the Cardinal’s right hand—especially not.

Abel Granat. That ruthless pragmatist wouldn’t come running just to volunteer.

Chester recalled the girl standing beside Lucien, suppressing her presence like a mere ornament, barely even breathing.

She looked extremely accustomed to hiding.

“I will apologize on their behalf, Duke Rosanach. Their actions likely stemmed from religious devotion, so I hope you’ll be understanding.”

“……Of course, High Priest Granat.”

Chester bowed without resistance.

The neatly featured priest smiled like a painting. Beneath the bluish light, his silver hair gleamed coldly.

“We will cooperate fully so that you may conclude matters as swiftly as possible.”

“But, Lord Granat!”

“There’s clearly something they’re hiding—”

The High Priest raised a hand, silencing the objections, and shook his head.

“That can’t be. Not when someone so faithfully ‘proves’ themselves.”

Ha.

A hiss of bitter laughter slipped through Chester’s clenched lips.

I’ve never seen that expression before.

Watching everything unfold through the gap in the curtain, Lucien clenched her fist.

The face Chester wore now felt utterly unfamiliar.

Cold and hardened like lead, steeped in deep exhaustion and contempt.

It wasn’t rage—closer to disillusionment. A dry, hollow emotion, utterly devoid of heat.

“There’s no way Duke Rosanach would conceal a blasphemer.”

“……”

Despite the words sounding like support, Chester’s expression remained dark. Instead of replying, he bowed once more.

After the temple personnel withdrew, Lucien—who had been waiting anxiously—flung open the carriage door and jumped down before Lucas could stop her.

“Lucien!”

Chester hurriedly grabbed her.

Fortunately, perhaps from having done it several times before, she landed cleanly without stumbling.

Quietly reckless. Chester updated yet another detail about her in his mind.

“Are you all right? You look terrible.”

“I’m fine. I showed an unsightly side of myself.”

Lucien scrutinized his face again. He had already returned to his usual gentle demeanor.

“I expected it, but… they’re looking for Beatrice, right?”

She whispered.

“Is that what you think?”

Chester asked in return.

Lucien’s gaze flicked between Beatrice inside the carriage and Chester.

“They were mocking you—saying that the Duke of Rosanach would never hide a saintess. They thought they were being clever.”

People tend to make mistakes when they think they’ve got the upper hand.

Lucien clenched her teeth.

‘Proof’? ‘Devotion’? What an elegant way of telling someone to go to hell.

To be fair, Chester’s response hadn’t been all that different—but Lucien had a habit of remembering things however she pleased.

Still bristling, she glared in the direction the priests had left.

“How can they say things like that—!”

“They’re not wrong. It’s the truth.”

At his calm reply, Lucien suddenly leaned in until her face was right in front of his.

“Just because something’s true doesn’t mean it’s right to say it!”

“……”

Her unwavering gaze matched her firm voice as it locked onto his.

Chester absently touched his throat, which felt strangely tight.

Just like before, when a worry he hadn’t anticipated had struck him sideways—something unfamiliar welled up from deep within, making it difficult for his voice to come easily.

“You don’t trust prophecies.”

“Should I?”

For the first time, the expression that usually resembled a stone statue shifted—something between a smile and self-mockery.

“Most people do.”

Lucien couldn’t agree.

Until a prophecy was fulfilled, it was nothing more than an unprovable proposition.

And only once it came true could one tell whether it had been truth or falsehood.

To deny it was to fight an endless battle against a possibility that might—or might not—arrive someday.

She couldn’t say that aloud; it would be blasphemy.

Suddenly, she realized this conversation felt exactly like one she’d had long ago.

“You’re not telling me not to, at least.”
“Should I?”
“Most people would.”

Chester was thinking of the same moment.

Then and now, in the darkness of night, only Lucien shone like starlight.

“Thank you for helping us, even though it must’ve been uncomfortable. Back at the Imperial Palace too.”

Strictly speaking, it was Beatrice who had benefited more—but as the one who’d provided the bridge across the narrow plank, Lucien felt at least a little responsible.

“Now that I think about it, you said you’d grant me a request back then.”

At his words, she nodded. One request—or two or three, if necessary.

“May I see your hand?”

“My hand?”

At this point, no matter how random Chester sounded, Lucien wasn’t easily surprised anymore.

She naturally placed her hand atop the one he extended, as if being escorted.

“Not the right one. Your left.”

Why bother?

Puzzled, she offered the other hand. He took it carefully, examining it intently as though appraising a gemstone, then released it.

“That’s all?”

“Yes. That’s enough.”

Before Lucien could ask what he was plotting, Chester smoothly changed the subject.

“By the way, where were you headed?”

“To my family estate. I have three days off starting tomorrow.”

As he helped her back into the carriage, Chester paused for a moment.

Even he seemed puzzled by his own reaction, shaking his head slightly.

“I see. Travel safely.”

Seeing the carriage finally preparing to depart, Beatrice hurriedly jumped down.

“Teacher, I’ll be going now.”

She wanted to put as much distance as possible between herself and Lucien—before the temple noticed her.

Watching the strange, unsettling pairing of Chester and Beatrice, Lucien offered an awkward farewell.

Once the carriage was rolling again, Lucas—who had been observing her with his chin propped on his hand—spoke up.

“…Hey, are those rumors about you and His Grace actually false?”

“Shut up.”

“If the family finds out, you won’t be going back to work like you want.”

Lucien scoffed at her impudent younger brother.

“With how many people asking me to introduce them to my little brother, should I start setting you up?”

Lucas straightened his posture and placed both hands neatly on his knees.

“I didn’t see anything, Sister.”

“Sounds like you did see something.”

“What are you talking about? We were just delayed because there were too many people waiting for the portal today, right?”

That temper of his. Lucas ground his teeth inwardly. For all he knew, the Duke might’ve threatened him too.

Chester’s gaze, which had followed the departing carriage, cooled as it shifted back to Beatrice.

“If there was a way to get here, there’ll be a way back too. Ethan—make sure she returns safely. Shake off any tails.”

His emotionless blue eyes brushed past her.

As Chester turned away, the man he’d commanded quietly took position behind Beatrice.

She realized this was her only chance.

“Um—wait! Please, just a moment!”

“…Do you still have business with me?”

“I know you won’t believe me. But there’s something Your Grace absolutely must know—”

Chester stopped dead.

As he turned back, a deep shadow fell across his face.

“So what?
You see the future too?”