Chapter 12: Confession Magic(5)

On the road departing from Berryhill Prison,
the Princess’s mind was a whirlwind of complexity.

Derek Minster, the prime suspect.
From a family notorious for contract killings and loan sharking.

Moreover, he was overseeing the Saintess, capable of controlling monsters.
If an outcast like him was rallying prisoners for revenge, everything aligned.

That’s why she’d come to the prison and found the sword of the slain lord—a key piece of evidence of their collusion.

Yet, Derek claimed complete ignorance of the sword’s origin.
He hadn’t even killed the Holy See’s knights.

“Then who…?”

Riding her white steed, the Princess pondered deeply, a finger resting on her soft chin.

No matter how she racked her brain, no other culprit capable of controlling monsters emerged.
The only brainwashing mage who despised the Holy See was the Saintess.

“Let’s rethink this.”

Camillia hypothesized again that Derek and the Saintess were accomplices.

If the warden had merely turned a blind eye to the Saintess’s revenge against the Holy See, the true culprit could evade detection.
And if Anje, as thanks for his inaction, secretly gifted him the lord’s sword she’d taken…?

If this theory held, it explained how he escaped Confession Magic.
But even if true, many inconsistencies remained.

First, Derek’s recollection of his past lives.

His assassination techniques during their sparring were extraordinary.
Had he not warned her of his attacks, even she would’ve been helpless.

Moreover, he currently wished for the empire’s survival.
To that end, he’d become warden to leverage the Saintess and her uncle.

“I made a mistake…”

His claim of wanting the empire to survive was vague.
It might not stem from loyalty but from an ambition to seize it whole.

His coaching could be a ploy to curry favor.
Many had approached her for status before.

“Your Highness, are you alright? You look exhausted,” the White Cavalry captain asked with concern.

“I’m fine. Just tired from using Confession Magic after so long,” she replied with a faint smile, trying to shake off thoughts of a certain man.

No hasty conclusions. I’ll keep watching him.

She glanced back at Berryhill Prison.
The old building stood grimly beneath the snow-capped mountains.

The man in the second-floor warden’s office.
The way he looked at her proudly, despite letting himself fall during their sparring.

“…Annoying.”

For the first time, he’d sparked frustration in her.

“What did you say, Your Highness?”

“Nothing. Just feeling competitive for once.”

She’d heard the new warden was only twenty-one.
Two years her junior, yet he’d looked at her as if she were cute.

“He’s indeed… quite a cunning one. To stir Your Highness’s competitive spirit,” the captain said gravely, glancing at the prison.

He pledged solemnly, “Don’t worry. My knights and I will monitor him closely to uncover his sinister side.”

“No, I’ll handle his surveillance myself,” Camillia stopped the captain, who clenched his fist.

“He’s suspicious, so subtlety is key. As a mage, I’m better suited.”

“Ah, such profound intent.”

“Ahem… Let’s return. It’s nearly meeting time.”

“Understood.”

Camillia skillfully spurred her horse.
Returning to the Northern Palace, her thoughts lingered on the prison.

If Derek proved to be a truly upright loyalist,
he’d be the first man she’d met who genuinely cared for the empire’s safety.

“I hope this time it’s someone genuine.”

In the past, similar men had harbored dark motives.
Especially the handsome ones, whose intentions were often foul.

Because of those experiences, she resolved to scrutinize Derek Minster even more thoroughly.
With his haggard eyes, he was unmistakably a schemer’s archetype.

—

After the storm passed at Berryhill Prison,
two towering prisoners sat across from each other in the office.

While the warden and Clea stepped out to prepare drinks, they silently studied each other.

“…”

Anje disliked Elder Dark.
Politicians always prioritized their own gain over the people.

Dark felt the same.
To a man who valued principles and causes, religious groups seemed like fanatics.

Yet, they shared a trait:
Both were the best in their fields, with razor-sharp perception.

“Didn’t you notice something different about Derek just now?” the seasoned elder spoke first.

“I saw his jacket pocket. Not bad for a commoner,” Anje replied, her lithe form draped in a red dress.

The twenty-two-year-old Saintess praised the sixty-year-old politician.
Dark, unfazed by the younger woman’s words, showed the dignity of a powerbroker who respected strength regardless of age.

“Derek’s jacket is usually empty. But after the magic circle, there was a slight bulge.”

Anje nodded calmly.

“True. I found it odd and looked closely—faint mana emanated from it.”

“If its aura is detectable from afar, it’s a fine artifact. Maybe even better than the sword at his waist.”

Anje’s expression darkened at Dark’s pointed remark.
Her intense red eyes seemed ready to command the old man to end himself.

His implication was that the gift from the Princess outshone the one from her.

“No need to get heated. The Derek I know wouldn’t choose sides over a mere gift.”

“What are you getting at, Elder?”

“Just don’t use him for your religious games.”

“…”

Having passed his niece’s test, Derek’s value rose in Dark’s eyes.

“With the Princess gifting him, his standing in the empire will grow. He’s not suited for your fanatical revolution.”

The old lion spoke fearlessly to the red Saintess, fully aware of what happened to those who crossed her, yet maintaining his haughty demeanor.

“I’ve spared you because you’re still useful, Elder. Don’t test my patience.”

Anje delivered a chilling threat with a refined expression.

“And if I keep testing you? Kill me, and your revolution will never happen.”

Cross Dark, and his vast network of allies—knight commanders and agency heads—would mobilize.
Even Anje couldn’t brainwash them all at once.
But she wasn’t a docile prisoner either.

“Block my path, and I’ll make your beloved family tear each other apart.”

The office air turned frigid.
Both struck at each other’s Achilles’ heels—revolution and family.

The explosive tension was diffused only by the office door opening.

“Everyone’s behaving nicely. Quite a sight,” I said.

Clea, following behind, hesitated briefly.
As a former elite knight, she shivered at the lingering killing intent.

“Clea, tea for the Elder. Apple juice for Anje.”

As Clea set the drinks, I plopped into the head chair, smiling warmly at our ticking time bombs.

“The reason I called you is simple—a notice.”

Anje nibbled the straw in her apple juice with her fangs.
Dark sipped his tea with dignified poise.

“As you heard, the Princess’s army may conduct surprise inspections going forward.”

“I know. I’m exempt from scrutiny, so no worries,” Dark said calmly.

“Same here. Tell her to try raiding my cell,” Anje chimed in.

“Of course, I’m not worried about either of you. Just refrain from reckless actions for now.”

I smiled broadly, but my sinister eyes were dead serious.

“Especially personal vendettas. Don’t make me the scapegoat.”

“Well, didn’t you just earn the Princess’s favor? That’s a win,” Anje said softly, staring at me.

It’s your fault.
Killing them right when I was set to face the Holy See in the tournament…

She might’ve slipped me the sword to frame me as the culprit.
Since I’d be cleared anyway, she used me for her revenge.

Though it turned out to be a fine gift.
Plus, the Princess gave me her office address for future contact.

Gaining endgame gear and connections early in my regression is a great start, but…
Meeting Anje’s gaze, her red crescent-moon eyes curved beautifully.

As if she knew things would work out—or would’ve fixed them if they didn’t.

“Thanks to you, you got the sword and that dagger in your pocket.”

“This?” I asked.

“Yeah, suits your shady vibe.”

“No big deal. Just something I lucked into.”

I didn’t fully reveal the dagger, only showing its hilt from my uniform pocket.

“Derek, did the Princess give you that sword?” Anje asked, her red eyes wide with curiosity, like full moons.

“I’m curious too. Looks like a fine piece,” Dark added.

“Indeed, I haven’t seen that sword before,” Clea said, sorting ledgers nearby.

Under their persistent questions, I casually showed the dagger.

“No, just a family heirloom. I brought it when I left home.”

It’s the first Black Knight Commander’s, but no need to say that.
It’s a holy grail to the current Black Knights; if word got out, I’d be in trouble.

I don’t want more aggro outside the prison.

“I usually keep it in a special box and only carried it today.”

Anje’s wide eyes returned to crescent shapes, satisfied it was a pre-owned item.

“Knew it.”

But Dark, the eldest, remained expressionless.

“What’s wrong, Elder?”

“Nothing. Just looks like a fine sword.”

“It’s a family heirloom, so it’s decent, haha…”

“An outcast, yet your father gave you something nice.”

The second meeting wrapped up smoothly.
With the dagger discussion over, the prisoners returned to their cells.

Both seemed in high spirits on their way back.

“No way a blind power like the Princess would see the Prophet’s worth,” Anje laughed lightly, lying on her cell’s bed.
She spent a pleasant afternoon with her white crow perched on her finger.

Dark, back in his cell, was the same.
He smirked, despite the dagger not being the Princess’s gift.

Because he’d learned something better.

“The first Black Knight Commander’s dagger, held by the family’s outcast…”

The blonde elder lit a cigar, a habit he’d quit.
The ambition of his youth reignited.

“Not an outcast, but a secretly cherished son.”

The Minster earldom, famed for assassination, gave their youngest the holy grail dagger of Commander Lynn?

Dark realized Derek wasn’t just a purchased official but an ambitious contender for the family headship.

“Time to summon the earl and ask directly.”

He pulled out a quill and premium scroll.
With the cigar in his mouth, he began writing in elegant script.

A letter summoning the Minster patriarch and his sons to the prison.
It was addressed to the father who’d ignored his youngest and the brothers who’d tormented him.