TBR CH61

The silver doors of the Vatican slid open silently, and the usually solemn building seemed less unwelcoming on this day.

Edwin fastened the top button of his clerical robe. The light-colored fabric was adorned with pure gold buttons, intricately carved with rose patterns.

Tal thought it looked quite nice—he had never seen the bishop wear this outfit before. It was specially designed for the Vatican’s charity banquet.

Outside the White Tower, devout people filed in, sharing grace with gratitude under the divine radiance. Meanwhile, a luxurious carriage drawn by four black horses carried the most esteemed King and Prince Angelo as they made their way to the church.

Inside the carriage, the nominal ruler of the palace, the great King, huddled in a corner, sensing something terrifying lurking within. Prince Angelo covered the pulse on his left wrist with his right hand, clearly perceiving the presence of a devil by his side.

The current Archbishop was extremely dangerous. No matter what, he had to ensure his own safety with Sata’s help.

At the same time, he hesitated over whether he should play all his cards.

Inside the White Tower…

The demon sat obediently in a chair, oblivious to the gravity of the situation. He had never concerned himself with such matters. Edwin hadn’t hidden things from him, but neither had he deliberately explained the current stakes. Edwin’s slender fingers ran through Tal’s hair as he meticulously planned the events of the day, though his hands remained steady.

Tal’s hair was soft, slightly cool to the touch, like the finest silk.

With focused, almost reverent care, the bishop tied a ribbon into his hair. A crimson gemstone shimmered against the demon’s jet-black strands. His movements were practiced, and Tal only felt a faint tickle.

Once finished, Edwin held his breath as he admired his handiwork.

A demon entirely his own.

He turned the chair around, looking at Tal just as he did every time before leaving:

“Edwin, you should go,” Tal said softly. “See you tonight.”

This was not a gamble with absolute certainty of victory, but Edwin knew he would not fail. A shiver ran through him as burning desire surged from the depths of his veins, as if he had already plucked the sweetest fruit.

Tonight, the one standing here would be him alone.

The bishop savored these last moments of tenderness. For some reason, on this day brimming with danger, he longed to stay with Tal a little longer, just a little more. And so, it was nearly time—he had to leave now. Edwin’s fingers lingered reluctantly before withdrawing from Tal’s hair. He leaned down, and the demon, lounging in the chair, flashed a lazy smile.

“Want a hug?”

Tal said cheerfully, then spread his arms.

The embrace was snug and warm, the scent of roses from the demon lightly clinging to the bishop’s robes. Edwin’s pale gray eyes softened in the hug, as though his very soul had found its place.

Before parting, he was gifted a sweet, lingering kiss as a farewell.

“Wait for me to return.”

The bishop murmured, then suddenly felt the exchange was too cliché—as if the demon and he were already a familiar pair.

He fell silent for a moment, both awkward and expectant.

Tal looked at him, blinking with a hint of mischief—sometimes, it felt as though the demon was indulging him.

There was no more time.

“Sure,” the demon curled his lips. “I’ll wait for you, dear bishop.”

Edwin had already pushed open the door. Three layers of protective magic shielded the demon behind him, sacred power woven into formidable defenses—yet all to guard a lowly, weak demon. Like a dragon hoarding its most precious treasure.

The last color he saw was the unique, bright pomegranate-red of Tal’s eyes.

The door locked. As he descended the steps to the end of the White Tower, that red still burned before Edwin’s eyes. The bishop felt a twinge of shame for how much he cared for Tal, but he found nothing wrong with it.

However, as the bishop’s footsteps carried him away from the sanctuary of the White Tower toward the grand stage already set, the meaning of red shifted.

Red was also the color of power.

The scepter Edwin possessed was adorned with a massive pigeon-blood ruby, yet the royal crown bore an even larger gem—said to be priceless, coveted even by dragons in distant lands.

Red was also the color of blood.

The path to the highest throne was paved with sacrifices. Edwin, too, had once been pierced by thorns, his offerings of blood spilled before the seat of power.

Having come this far, the bishop thought, no matter the cost, he would finally seize everything he desired.

Power, fame, wealth, strength.

Ambition lay hidden beneath the pale gray snow, now melting to reveal all.

The bishop’s eyes darkened. When he entered the hall, all eyes turned to him—reverent and hushed. The young, handsome, yet high-ranking priest naturally took his place at the forefront of the banquet, standing beside the aging Pope, his sharpness all the more striking.

The royal carriage arrived at the palace gates—right on time.

–

The moment Angelo stepped into the hall, unease gripped him. This feeling was not unfounded; on the contrary, he knew its source all too well—the incense burning in the hall.

“Does the incense intrigue you?”

His destined nemesis, Bishop Edwin, personally greeted him and the Emperor at the entrance. Every gesture was flawless, every courtesy observed, as though merely noting his attention and offering an explanation:

“This is incense blessed by the divine, extremely rare, with the power to ward off evil. Given the longstanding friendship between the Vatican and the royal family, its use today is most fitting. Many nobles have inquired about it before Your Highness.”

Ward off evil. Edwin phrased it mildly, but in truth, this was one of the Church’s tools for hunting demons.

It couldn’t kill a devil, but without a doubt, it weakened their power. Beings who wielded dark forces would suffer greatly under its influence.

Angelo recognized the tactic—it was the same method he had once used in his own palace to provoke Edwin’s bloodline.

An unmissable occasion. An inescapable scent.

…Turnabout was fair play.

A shadow passed over the prince’s clear blue eyes. He thought venomously:

Did Edwin truly believe a mere human could challenge a devil? This was nothing more than petty incense—a foolish, stubborn resistance that would be crushed beneath the overwhelming might of a high-ranking demon.

If a lord demon could be so easily affected by the Church’s common exorcism methods, how could devils reign so freely in their own domains?

He was right.

Unfortunately—or rather, inevitably—things weren’t so simple.

Edwin knew the incense alone wasn’t enough. His goal lay elsewhere.

He had mixed something else into the incense—ingredients complex and difficult to prepare. The most crucial component was the blood of a devil.

Blood had always been the finest medium. On this continent, intelligent beings had used it for curses for millennia. Even separated from its host, it retained a connection.

Bound by the contract, Angelo felt Sata stirring unusually.

The bishop watched the prince closely, noting the faint tremble in his left hand and the sweat beading at his temples.

High-ranking demons could achieve this—shadowing their contractors inseparably. Tal had admitted his limitations from the start: he couldn’t perform possession magic.

Edwin felt a slight pang of regret as he imagined the demon by his side, inseparable from him, savoring a twisted sweetness in the fantasy.

However, the bishop would never allow him to take such risks in this setting. He was far too fragile, too in need of Edwin’s protection.

Angelo tried to steady his heartbeat while silently demanding an explanation from Sata about what had gone wrong.

After a few seconds, the devil’s low, gravelly voice scraped against the prince’s eardrums, rough as tar:

“Your bishop has my blood in his possession. I’d best stay away from this incense.”

“You mean you’re leaving?”  

A sense of foreboding gripped the prince as he clamped his right hand over the pulse point of his left wrist, gripping it tightly. But his devil, of course, had no intention of humoring him.  

“Just outside.”  

Sata tried to muster patience for the human bound to him by contract, but the incense burned and itched, driving him to flee. Devils were not known for their temperance.  

“Look, he’s using this incense against me precisely because he knows you’d keep me close, refusing to let me leave. But isn’t that exactly what he wants? Relax—I won’t go far. And his tricks won’t work on a mere human anyway.”  

Angelo hesitated.  

He couldn’t afford to appear panicked. Outwardly, he merely nodded along to Edwin’s introduction before escorting his useless younger brother to their gilded chairs.  

Meanwhile, his silent conversation with the demon continued.  

“…We had an agreement…”  

Sata, lurking in the prince’s shadow, lifted his gaze toward Bishop Edwin on the dais. His eyes, like smoldering embers, seared the bishop’s silhouette into ash, leaving only an outline.  

Within the gray silhouette, the devil saw exactly what he wanted:  

The demonic seed born of his power still pulsed unmistakably within Edwin. Its inky contours felt familiar.  

“Why worry?”  

He sneered at the prince.  

“No human can rid themselves of a devil’s seed. And your dear archbishop still hasn’t realized what caused his previous… lapses in control. When I detonate that seed, you’ll get exactly what you desire.”  

The words eased Angelo’s tension slightly.  

But the reassurance couldn’t dispel the unease coiling in his gut.  

Sata, meanwhile, could no longer endure the torment of the incense. The demon dissolved into a streak of black shadow, slipping away unnoticed—a speed beyond human perception. Not even Edwin could detect it.  

Yet the bishop’s gaze remained fixed on their corner, heavy with implication.  

As if the devil were still there.  

Angelo quickly regained his composure. He lifted innocent blue eyes toward Edwin and smiled like a guileless child.  

He, too, believed victory was his.  

–

The charity banquet’s spread was lavish.  

Rosemary-stuffed roast chicken, red wine, bread slathered with foie gras—every indulgence of high society. The prince made sure every dish he touched had been sampled by others first. Edwin couldn’t possibly tamper with them all.  

And how could he harm an ordinary human here, anyway?  

The bishop wasn’t foolish enough to poison him in public.  

Angelo soon weaponized Sata’s absence. He began to suspect Edwin’s preparations had been solely for the devil—rendering the bishop’s schemes useless now.  

He indulged freely, savoring each dish only after others had tasted them.  

Until the bishop himself came to propose a toast.  

This was the final act of the banquet. The earlier calm had been an illusion—Edwin was running out of opportunities.  

The perfect moment.  

Two glasses of red wine glittered identically under the chandeliers, like blood.  

—Choose one, and condemn the other. But refusal isn’t an option.  

Angelo wasn’t that stupid.  

He accepted the glass Edwin offered, then turned and pressed it into the king’s trembling hands.  

Not improper, was it?  

Edwin watched, his smile brittle. The king stared at the wine as if it were poison, too terrified to let it touch his lips.  

“Your Majesty,”  

the bishop said softly, “don’t fret. It’s an excellent vintage.”  

The king hesitated, still unwilling to drink.  

Angelo regretted his move.  

So this had been a misstep. Edwin hadn’t tampered with the wine at all. A high-ranking bishop wouldn’t resort to such obvious tactics.  

But now, refusing a second glass would be suspicious. Whether Edwin had poisoned it or not, the scrutiny alone would be damaging.  

The Church and the Crown. The Crown and the Church.  

With that in mind, Angelo abandoned decorum—his mercurial reputation could withstand minor breaches. He reclaimed the glass from the king.  

“Dear brother,” he crooned, “you seem queasy. Perhaps I should take this instead.”  

The king, dazed and pliant, obeyed. He resembled no monarch—just a puppet of power.  

Edwin lowered his eyes, masking the scorn flickering in their gray depths.  

Their king hadn’t always been this withered. The old monarch had chosen him for his gentle nature and competence.  

But after ascending the throne, he’d grown increasingly forgetful, sluggish—reduced to this.  

And whose doing that was needed no explanation.  

Angelo snatched the glass back. The wine was his again. After a perfunctory clink of glasses, he downed it in one go. The liquid was rich, smooth, utterly normal.  

No poison.  

The prince congratulated himself for flawlessly neutralizing the most obvious trap.  

What followed were speeches, with guests spaced far apart—Angelo could control the distance.  

Best of all, they’d move outdoors, free of the incense. His devil would return to guard him.  

He caught the flicker of frustration in Edwin’s eyes and thrilled at it. The bishop tightened his grip on his own glass, then pretended to refill the king’s cup instead of drinking.  

Perhaps the real threat had been in Edwin’s glass all along.  

Angelo mused.  

Then Edwin turned away.

In an instant, the feigned frustration drained from the bishop’s face like receding tidewater. His expression turned icy, eyes gleaming with ruthless resolve.  

He released his grip on the wineglass. Obsessing over which cup held the trap was meaningless.  

After all, the answer lay in his palm.  

Edwin’s fingers curled slightly. A silver cross—small enough to pass for a ring’s ornament amidst the banquet’s opulence—nestled against his skin.  

Hollow now, waiting to be filled.  

But not always so.  

A demonic seed, severed from its source, would instinctively seek the most familiar vessel—one saturated with the contract-bound power of a lord demon.  

The seed craved a host. Edwin understood its nature, perhaps better than any devil, after countless nights buried in forbidden tomes.  

His own blood remained pure. He held the wine in his mouth, refusing to swallow, leaving the seed no path of return.  

In that fleeting moment when their glasses clinked, Pandora’s box had opened. The inky seed could only have slipped down the prince’s exposed throat, leaving no trace.  

Now, not even the lord demon knew the seed had changed hosts.  

Edwin’s lips quirked faintly.  

Now, the true performance could begin.  

And his next opponent was a genuine devil.  

Sata wandered aimlessly through the church, killing time.  

His first instinct had been to head straight for Edwin’s chambers—part of his mission.  

But the lord demon soon discovered, to his irritation, that the bishop had fortified his quarters with absurd vigilance. Three layers of holy wards, each blazing with radiant sigils, barred all dark forces. Even for a lord demon, breaching them would demand exhausting effort.  

The bishop had clearly prepared for this.  

Yet such extreme defenses only stoked curiosity. What was he hiding?  

The powerful devil paused, then activated a communication spell, relaying instructions to his counterpart.  

With that settled, Sata drifted elsewhere.  

The Vatican was vast and labyrinthine. Normally, even a lord demon would risk exposure by roaming freely. But tonight was the charity banquet—crowds of celebrating commoners thronged the periphery, providing ample cover. The Church’s strongest forces were concentrated in the main hall anyway.  

Then again, why fret?  

Devils feared gods, not humans. And the gods had long since turned away from mortal affairs.  

His employer was Prince Angelo, a noble born to privilege, standing at the pinnacle of human power. Their adversary? Just a human—or rather, a half-breed succubus.  

The term alone made Sata sneer.  

Edwin. What did he truly possess? Half-breeds were scorned precisely because they could never fully harness either race’s gifts.  

The bishop clung to his human identity because he knew the stolen power of false faith far surpassed anything a lowly half-demon could muster.  

Pitiful.  

The lord demon’s malice swelled. His seed still festered within Edwin, corrupting him ceaselessly.  

Soon, a mere snap of his fingers—  

The magic seed would detonate, flooding the bishop’s veins with demonic essence.  

Angelo had chosen the timing perfectly. Soon, Edwin would address the Grand Cathedral as the Church’s representative, before countless witnesses.  

This human who had once wounded him would be ruined, stripped of all power.  

The Vatican would become a laughingstock, its authority shattered.  

Then, his contract with Angelo would be fulfilled. The prince would ascend to humanity’s zenith, claiming everything. In return, Sata would receive a steady feast of fresh human souls—steeped in unwilling terror, a devil’s favorite vintage.  

Of course, a minor shadow loomed in the background.  

That “presence behind the bishop” had somehow helped Edwin overcome the last crisis. After careful consideration, Angelo deemed it a secondary threat—one that would collapse once the bishop fell.  

Sata pondered this as he drifted, until the moment arrived.  

His contract prevented him from straying too far from Angelo. Now, he sensed the prince’s summons, drawing him toward the plaza outside the chapel.  

No risk of getting lost.  

The crowd flowed that way.  

The banquet had ended. Satisfied guests and devout commoners gathered, murmuring prayers and exchanging blessings, eager to hear the bishop’s sermon.  

The speech itself mattered little—just the usual pious platitudes and benedictions. The Church’s bishop would wield his scepter to shower divine grace upon all present, a spectacle of fervor and loyalty. The radiance of his holy light would also, indisputably, reflect his power.  

Edwin showed no trace of nerves.  

He was about to take the stage, yet his demeanor remained serene, his faint smile identical to the one he wore during morning prayers. This was one of the rare occasions where even the prince and emperor stood among the masses—albeit closer to the front.  

The restless one was the prince. He glanced around like a novice at his first rite, his sky-blue eyes deceptively transparent yet sharply observant.  

Only when he felt the lord demon’s approach did his tension ease slightly.  

Simultaneously, ravenous ambition surged through Angelo’s heart. For the first time, victory felt within reach. His ever-disguising eyes finally betrayed their venomous core.  

From the front row, only Bishop Edwin could clearly see his expression.  

Whether unnoticed or long anticipated, the bishop remained unshaken.  

He began to speak, his voice like tempered steel, steady and calm:  

“It is my greatest honor to stand before you all, gathered here by your faith in the Light, as I convey our god’s will to our brothers and sisters…”