Khalid closed his eyes and searched his memory for Arcilla Evelan’s appearance. The child’s round ears, flawless skin, curved forehead, and overall facial shape did take after her. And those eyes… The child’s eyes were so bright and clear that he’d found himself getting sucked into them the moment he had met her gaze.

“No,” Khalid repeated, “Arcilla Evelan probably intended to raise the child herself. But she wouldn’t have known that conceiving a devil’s child would unquestionably kill a saint who received such great power directly from El-Halla.”

Levius sighed. “If only she’d been open with us.”

“It would have been difficult for her to trust a demon,” Khalid said, massaging his forehead. He now had a general idea of how things had gone to create the current situation. The problem now was how to handle it.

“Um, what would you like to do about it then, my lord?”

“Hmm. For now, it would be best to keep her in the house and watch her.”

To be honest, she was suspicious. When he had touched her, pretending to stroke her hair, he hadn’t felt an ounce of neraphim power. But who knew? You could never be too sure when it came to the neraphim’s traps. The humans’ wars may have kept the situation from being noticed, but the devils and the neraphim were currently a hair’s breadth away from war themselves.

“In the meantime, I have instructed Young Master Abel not to attend the victory party. He seemed quite pleased to hear it.”

“Good.”

“And what about you, my lord...?” Levius asked tentatively.

“Whatever the neraphim are up to, I’ll have to put a stop to it.”

The moon, which had been shining brightly in the sky, was suddenly momentarily clouded as Khalid’s body turned into a black haze that shot menacingly off into the sky.

Only the echo of Khalid’s voice was left behind with his aide.

* * *

The space was white, its floors and pillars made from only the purest of white marble. The high ceiling was painted with an image of El-Halla that the greatest artist of the time had supposedly put their life on the line to create, and the silver-plated stone of the altar gleamed in the light. Flames flickered erratically in the silver candlesticks surrounding the room, reflecting the tense atmosphere.

This extravagant place was the grandest of all the temples of El-Halla, located in the capital. There, in the middle of the holy room where one could hear the nephilim answer their prayers, kneeled a trembling noble.

“You’ve lost the child, sir?”

“I-I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

“That was possibly our only chance to be rid of Abel Durndevre. That simpleton wouldn’t have thought to suspect a drink offered to him by a fellow demon.”

“I s-sincerely apologize. I’m terribly sorry. I will take care of it. Please...”

The noble, Count Evelan, shook pitifully. He looked like a rabbit facing its death—a plump rabbit, too slow to outrun the hunt. Surrounding him in a circle were masked figures sitting in phantomlike, translucent chairs. Despite their masks, their displeasure was clear.

“Did you not brainwash it properly?”

“You were told to trample the demon spawn’s confidence so it couldn’t even dream of running away!”

“Ruining the entire plan because he couldn’t control one child. Tsk. How could such an idiot exist?”

“If we can’t eliminate that lunatic Abel Durndevre, our whole plan falls apart!”

The masked figures were all neraphim. They lamented and raged, but when the man who’d spoken using honorifics silently raised his hand, they all went quiet. He sat in the seat of honor among the neraphim, and while the others’ masks were all a plain white, his was decorated with silver. It indicated that he was special, and the most powerful of them all.

Count Evelan was now quaking like a leaf. “J-just one. Please give me one more chance!”

“A chance, you say...”

“I’ll do anything. I-I, I can do anything!” Cold sweat rolled off the folds of his fat neck. Count Evelan was currently seized by an immense fear.

When his younger sister had been chosen as a daughter of God, receiving an unimaginable amount of holy power, he’d thought his moment had come. A house that produced a daughter of God was granted unimaginable power by the holy order. The House of Evelan was but a lowly noble family with nothing to offer, but that had all changed in an instant when he began to use Arcilla’s status for his own ends. His only goal was to become a cardinal, and behind closed doors, he did whatever it cost to get there.

But when his sister went missing only to come back pregnant, he felt like his world was ending, all the more when he found out that what was born was the spawn of a demon.

But on the night Arcilla died, he heard the voice of the neraphim. He was given an order: The child would be useful someday, so lock it away. Do not kill it, but do not allow it to escape either, and do not show it any affection.

He’d been faithful to his commands, and the child had finally grown enough for their chance to come—if only this had gone well, he wouldn’t have feared or wanted for anything in this world! Perhaps he could even have aimed for the head of the church. The glorious stairs, the path to success had all been laid out before him...

“No.”

But the lights went out, and he was yanked backstage. The count dared to raise his head and look up at the man through narrowed eyes.

“You are worthless now, sir.”

When his eyes met the gaze behind the silver mask, he felt a chill go through him as if he were standing in front of a guillotine. A shudder ran up the count’s spine, and his hair stood on end in an instinctual terror. What… What was that thing?

“Please leave. A new child of God will soon descend on this world.”

Bang!

With a simple wave from the man’s hand, the door behind the count slammed open, and the count was hurled out by an invisible force.

“Acchh...!”

Knocked silly by the impact, the count lost his last chance to beg. Face pale, he stretched his hand out toward the door closing in front of him. “No. Nooooo!”

The door slammed shut. He was now “denied” by the neraphim.

“Count Evelan, what on earth is going on?”

The high-ranking priests who’d been waiting for him outside approached him in surprise, then stopped in their tracks with a gasp, their faces turning ashen.

“He’s been Denied!”

“Count Evelan has been Denied!”

Denial was a punishment given by the holy neraphim to their corrupted followers. Once Denied, that person was branded a traitor and stripped of all blessings from El-Halla. Branded with a horseshoe-shaped imprint in the middle of his forehead, Count Evelan wailed like he’d lost everything, but not a single soul comforted him.

“Hurry, get him out of here!”

“Send him out before someone sees. A traitor, how unspeakable!”

On the contrary, they all sneered at him. It served him right. What an arrogant prick he’d been, flaunting that his house had produced God’s ninth daughter.

“Ah, Count. Take off that cape before you leave.”

“That’s right. You can’t possibly wear something so precious anymore.”

Following the priests’ orders, the holy knights ripped off the cape barely hanging around Count Evelan’s fleshy shoulders. Then the count was, quite literally, kicked out.

“Don’t even think about showing your face around here again!”

Bang!

Another door slammed shut in his face: this time, the entrance to the temple itself. The count stared blankly at the tightly sealed door, looked up at the night sky, then vacantly trudged along.

“Home, let’s go home.”

At least his carriage was still there. The count hauled himself into it. Resting his back against the plush sofa made him feel slightly better. What do I do from now on? He had plenty of wealth piled up. Should he start a business with it? Or should he make Marianne remarry?

The rumors of his denial would spread by tomorrow. He had to act before then. The count bit his nails and nervously scanned outside. Only then did he notice...

“Hey, look here. This isn’t the way home!”

The carriage was taking a strange path. By the time he realized it, it was already traveling down an unfamiliar road.

Flustered, the count flung open the window connecting to the box seat, then asked, “Who... Who are you? Who—? Gaaahk!”

Somewhere in the capital’s outskirts, where houses were sparse, the count’s scream echoed far and wide.

But not a single soul came out to investigate.