MPBAGS Chapter 103

The man had his hands clasped as if in prayer with his eyes closed, but around him, incongruously, were scattered pieces of dismembered corpses. There were five heads but seven arms and more than thirteen legs. She hadn't arrived that late, so how many had died in the meantime?

"Lord Azrael."

When Saraka called to him, his peacefully closed eyes flashed open wide. Azrael Astaroth was not a member of the order led by Gabriel, but someone Bishop Marik employed as a personal guard. Azrael reproached Saraka.

"You're late, Saraka. I was bored, so I was playing with the palace servants for a while."

"Bishop Marik seems to have found the lost item, so I was a bit late confirming its authenticity."

By Bishop Marik's lost item, she naturally meant Gabriel.

When Azrael blew a breath, the room that had looked like a serial murder scene was cleanly tidied up. If not for the scent of blood floating in the air, one wouldn't have been able to detect the gruesome murders that had taken place in the room.

"Saraka is really devoted to someone who's practically dying."

Azrael replied sarcastically without feeling, then got up and embraced Saraka. Reaching out to untie her scarf, he revealed the lower face marked with vivid burn scars. Azrael didn't stop there but took Saraka's hand and removed her gloves as well. Like the face she kept hidden, beneath the gloves were hideous burn marks as if melted by fire. Azrael slowly traced Saraka's scars.

"What's so good about the person who made these scars?"

Saraka's burns were deliberately created by Bishop Marik. However, Saraka had never once resented Bishop Marik. She had been raised that way. Knowing that sarcasm was useless, Azrael soon changed the subject.

"So, did you try the holy water?"

"Yes. Holy water didn't work on Evangeline Rohanson. She didn't seem to be a demon. Unbelievable as it is, perhaps she just has a cursed constitution?"

"Do you really think that thing is human?"

Azrael asked as if it were nonsense. Could one dare call a being that made demons submit and want to bow their heads, human?

Saraka took out a bottle of holy water from her apron, moistened it on her hand, then splashed water at Azrael. The skin where the water hit melted and burned away in the shape of the droplets.

"I made her drink it directly and even splashed holy water drops, but there was no change. If she were a demon, even one drop would have melted her flesh like yours, Lord Azrael."

"Could you not experiment on me since it's hard to recover?"

Azrael guessed why Saraka was being contrary. Probably because she was expressing displeasure with him for badmouthing Bishop Marik, whom she respected to the point of wanting to become one with her.

The flesh slowly regenerated and returned to its original form at a much slower pace than before. Azrael was suffering from prolonged starvation. Even this was only possible because he had eaten heartily during the heretic massacre that occurred 20 years ago.

"Then what is she?"

Could she really be a god? That couldn't be... Azrael recalled the pure white divine form that had caused turmoil with just a glimpse.

"Saraka. Are you really okay with framing Evangeline Rohanson as the culprit?"

"It's precisely because it's Evangeline Rohanson that it has meaning."

Saraka nodded without hesitation. Azrael wanted to exclude Evangeline, whom he judged he couldn't control, but Saraka thought the opposite.

All of this was to recreate the heretic massacre that had taken place during the most brilliant period of temple prosperity, just as Bishop Marik had done in the past.

Bishop Marik had taught Saraka while burning her hands that direct experience was most important. Just having the same scars wouldn't make her become that person. Only after Saraka vividly experienced the heretic massacre that Bishop Marik most longed for and reminisced about could she truly become her.

If it was a being that demons followed and holy water didn't affect, wasn't it perfect for believers to unite against?

Azrael suddenly buried his head in Saraka's nape and inhaled. Mixed with the sweet, sweet human scent came a nauseating fragrance. Though Evangeline Rohanson's identity couldn't be determined, fortunately the other side could be quickly identified.

"This is Flauros'."

Judging by how the scent had rubbed off, he had definitely snuck into the banquet hall. It seemed he had brushed past Saraka while moving around. Flauros seemed to have caught Azrael's scent and followed it here too.

Azrael urged Saraka to hurry and change clothes, suppressing his nausea. Saraka took off her maid's uniform for the squeamish knight.

"Will there be complications with the plan?"

"Not at all. Deceiving Flauros is very easy. Apart from having good eyesight, he's nothing special."

Though it was really just a matter of bad compatibility. Azrael blew a breath of air. By now, all the lights in the banquet hall would have gone out. They could hear humans bustling about in confusion, but naturally, the most flustered would be Flaures. Having taken away his vision, he'd be flailing about helplessly.

Such an amusing sight couldn't be missed.

Azrael, who had vanished in a flash from Saraka, materialized once more on the chandelier of the banquet hall, which was now bathed in darkness and filled with confused murmuring. Looking down, he saw Flauros with his angelic face scrunched up and his hands covering his nose.

Azrael and Flauros seemed incompatible, as they found each other's scent particularly revolting. With his vision already taken away and his sense of smell not functioning properly either, Flauros couldn't be in his right mind, yet even in that state, he sensed Azrael's presence and lunged at him.

Azrael began acting as bait, drawing Flauros's attention to himself. While buying time, a girl dressed beautifully in a gown began to move.

Right now, inside the banquet hall, there was only one person besides Azrael who could see clearly in the darkness. The one Saraka had personally chosen, believing her to be most suitable for killing the Crown Prince—one of the Crown Prince's twin daughters.

Watching the princess seize the moment of chaos to plunge a blade into her father's heart, Azrael hoisted the Crown Prince's body onto the chandelier by his collar, displaying the corpse conspicuously as a gruesome centerpiece for all to see.

As Saraka had requested, he drew a modified summoning circle on the floor—the kind sorcerers use to summon demons. He deliberately changed the shape slightly because if everyone in the banquet hall were to summon demons, it would exceed the temple's manageable limits.

The summoning circle employed cunning tricks to bewitch humans into summoning demons, and even this similar form was enough to incite those who witnessed it.

"It's ready."

Azrael, having finished the stage production as requested, suddenly appeared before Saraka. It was just after Saraka had changed into the clothes Azrael had prepared for her.

She wore black garments with every button fastened, then pulled on a veil. From head to toe, everything was bound in cloth, leaving only her hands visible—hands that appeared aged. Even her lower face, briefly revealed when enjoying tea or refreshments, bore burn scars, so naturally everyone would assume Saraka was Bishop Marik.

Saraka called to Azrael in a voice she had refined her entire life to be indistinguishable from Bishop Marik's.

"Lord Astaroth, shall we go now?"

"Yes, Bishop."

From Saraka came the dignified voice of a middle-aged woman. The tone, word choice, mannerisms, habits—everything was identical to Bishop Marik. It was perfect mimicry that even a demon would admire. It truly seemed as if Bishop Marik herself had possessed her. Azrael marveled quietly.