Chapter 20: Angelica Must Die
The next Holy Maiden?
Angelica’s eyes widened, her breath catching in her throat. A flicker of excitement, of ambition rekindled, sparked in her eyes. She had thought escaping Loseweisse’s clutches was a miracle in itself. Now, the prospect of reclaiming her former glory, of ascending to the coveted position of Holy Maiden, was almost too much to bear.
Ever since she had joined the Holy See as a young girl, she had dedicated her life to becoming the Holy Maiden, only to have her dreams shattered, her world turned upside down.
She had believed that the title, once so close, was forever beyond her reach.
A surge of excitement, of longing for a future she had thought lost, coursed through her veins.
But then, a wave of doubt washed over her, extinguishing the initial euphoria.
Was she truly excited?
She wasn’t sure.
She had expected to be overjoyed, to jump for joy, but the feeling was fleeting, quickly replaced by a strange sense of detachment.
The title of Holy Maiden no longer held the same allure.
The only aspect that truly appealed to her was the prospect of being with Qin Chu, of becoming his wife, their union legitimized by her elevated status.
She knew she owed everything to him.
If he hadn’t chosen her, would Pope Augustus have intervened, preventing Loseweisse from harming her? No.
If he hadn’t chosen her, would the Pope have offered to clear her name, to reinstate her as the next Holy Maiden? No.
Everything she had now, she owed to Qin Chu. The Pope’s promises were merely a means to an end, a way to control her, to influence the Hero, to further the Church’s agenda.
She was no longer a naive girl, blindly following orders. She understood the game, the subtle manipulations, the power dynamics at play.
He might have chosen her for her body, for her maid status, but at least he treated her like a human being. To the Pope, she was a tool, nothing more.
Her life had changed because of Qin Chu’s choice.
She scoffed inwardly, but her expression remained carefully neutral. She couldn’t afford to antagonize the Pope, not yet, not while she was still under his control.
“I understand, Your Holiness,” she said, her voice carefully modulated.
Pope Augustus, pleased with her response, nodded. “Good. Serve the Hero well, Angelica. The Church will not forget your loyalty.”
He watched her depart, his eyes narrowing, a flicker of malice hidden beneath his benevolent facade.
He could see through her feigned obedience. She hadn’t truly submitted.
But he wouldn’t act now. The Hero was still new to their world. Creating unnecessary complications at this stage would be foolish. He had summoned Angelica back to the Church. If she died here, under his roof, the Hero would surely be suspicious, regardless of the circumstances.
Back in her chambers, Loseweisse sat before her vanity, the shattered mirror reflecting her distorted image.
She massaged her cheeks, trying to compose herself, to erase the traces of anger and frustration that marred her usually serene features. As the Holy Maiden, she had to maintain an image of grace and composure. Her earlier outburst had been unbecoming.
A knock on the door startled her. “Enter,” she said, her voice regaining its usual melodic tone.
She knew who it was.
Pope Augustus entered, his gaze sweeping across the room, taking in the shattered remnants of her rage.
“Loseweisse,” he said, his voice quiet, his expression unreadable. “Were you trying to kill Angelica?”
He was irritated. This new Hero, with his unpredictable actions and unconventional desires, had disrupted his carefully laid plans. He had been forced to lower himself, to engage in damage control.
“Of course not, Your Holiness,” Loseweisse replied, her smile sweet and innocent. “I would never do such a thing, not within the Church’s hallowed halls.”
Her tone, however, lacked the usual deference she displayed towards him in public.
The Pope, as if accustomed to her dual nature, ignored her subtle disrespect.
“Good,” he said, his gaze fixed on her. “Angelica cannot die… not yet.”
“If Qin Chu had chosen you after her death, then it wouldn’t matter. But as it stands, her demise would likely alienate him, pushing him into the arms of Saint Monique or Wadsworth. Those two vultures are just waiting for an opportunity to exploit him.”
Loseweisse glanced at her fingernails, their sharp edges glinting in the lamplight. Her fingers twitched, her murderous urge difficult to suppress, even now.
“Don’t blame me,” she said, her voice barely a whisper.
“Angelica must die,” the Pope continued, his voice taking on a colder, more calculating tone.
“She hates the Church, Loseweisse. She will never truly be on our side. But we must eliminate her without implicating ourselves. Understand?”
Loseweisse’s eyes gleamed, her lips curving into a predatory smile. She stood, her movements graceful and fluid, her voice soft and sweet. “As you command, Your Holiness. I understand.”
“You are my godfather,” she added, her gaze meeting his. “I wouldn’t be the Holy Maiden without your support. I am eternally grateful for your guidance. How could I possibly blame you?”
Her words were honeyed poison, her smile a mask hiding a venomous heart.
The Pope frowned, a flicker of unease crossing his face.
He chose to ignore her veiled threat. “Get some rest, Loseweisse. You have that tea party tomorrow, hosted by the Duke’s daughter. I trust you will be well-rested and presentable. We must maintain the Church’s image.”
He turned to leave, but as he reached the door, his benevolent facade crumbled, his face twisting into a grotesque mask of hatred, his eyes burning with a crimson fire.
Loseweisse, you wretched creature…
His thoughts drifted back to a time long past.
The Holy See worshipped the Goddess of Holy Light.
But they also paid homage to other deities: the Sun God, the God of War, the Elemental Gods…
The Pope was the supreme authority, his position unchallenged.
Below him were two unique roles: the Holy Son and the Holy Maiden.
Only the most pure and beautiful youths were chosen for these positions, their presence a symbol of the Church’s divine mandate.
They were meant to serve the gods.
At least, that was the official explanation. In reality, the Church had never sacrificed a Holy Son or Holy Maiden. Their “service” consisted of kneeling before the statues, offering prayers on designated holy days.
And the Church didn’t forbid marriage.
Though some chose to remain celibate, their devotion to the gods overriding their earthly desires, most eventually succumbed to the natural urge to procreate.
Even the Holy Son and Holy Maiden, once they reached a certain age, were free to pursue marriage and family life.
Pope Augustus, in his youth, had been the Holy Son.
The Holy Maiden during his tenure was… Lose Phyllis.
Their shared status, their constant proximity as they learned the intricacies of courtly etiquette, had fostered a bond between them, a quiet affection that blossomed into love.
Neither of them could pinpoint the exact moment their feelings shifted, when their friendship transformed into something deeper, more profound.
Even he, the future Pope, had been young and foolish once.
They loved each other, but they honored their vows, maintaining their purity, their physical intimacy postponed until their service to the gods was complete.
The stolen glances, the shared smiles, the unspoken promises… it was enough, for now.
The annual day of service arrived, their final duty as the Holy Son and Holy Maiden.
They stood before the temple, their fingers intertwined, their hearts filled with hope. Tonight, their service would end. They would announce their love to the world…
And then, they would marry.
With dreams of a happy future, they entered the temple.
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