CHAPTER 518: ’A MESSAGE FROM THE GODS.’

Surprisingly, the king and queen—Aurelius and Isidora—didn’t so much as flinch.

Their heads remained bowed, their posture unbroken, their silence unnerving.

It was not they who reacted.

It was the s-called ’Supreme Hierophant’.

Serapion raised his head slowly, that ever-serene smile still carved across his lips. His gaze fixed upon Heinz, calm yet unyielding, a priest cloaked in the authority of gods themselves.

"Your Majesty," he began, his voice carrying with startling clarity through the hushed ballroom, "as the head of the Sanctus Regnum Church, I come to deliver truth. King Aurelius and Queen Isidora... are not the parents of Alexandria."

The words struck like a whip.

Florian’s breath caught in his throat. Gasps rippled through the crowd, nobles leaning toward each other in frantic whispers.

’What...?’ His feet moved before his mind could catch up—he stepped forward, his brows furrowing deeply.

"What... does that mean exactly?" Florian asked aloud, his voice sharper than intended.

The Hierophant’s gaze shifted to him, eyes narrowing in gentle acknowledgment. "The day her parents learned of her atrocities, they made their choice. A choice of repentance."

"Repentance?" Florian’s voice slipped, confused, almost incredulous.

Serapion inclined his head in a solemn nod, though that unsettling smile never faded. "Yes. Repentance. I regret speaking of this matter during what should be a joyous celebration. And yet..." His tone softened, though his words pierced deeper.

"...I hope it grants Your Highness a measure of comfort, as one who suffered under her brutality—brutality our kingdom does not, and will never, stand for."

The crowd erupted again, whispers flooding the air like a rising tide.

"What is he saying?"

"Repent... with their lives?"

"Impossible—!"

Heinz tilted his head, his smirk cruelly curious. "Go on. Now, I am curious."

Serapion bowed ever so slightly, then straightened, his smile growing wider, edged with an almost holy fervor.

"That girl’s parents—yes, the former king and queen of Sanctus Regnum..." He emphasized the word former, letting it hang heavy in the air. "...took it upon themselves to surrender their bodies to the gods, as repentance for bringing such a demon into the world."

He let the silence stretch, then spoke the words that fell like a guillotine:

"In other words, they are dead."

The hall broke into chaos. Gasps. Shouts. Disbelieving cries.

"Did they... kill themselves?"

"So these people... they aren’t even the original king and queen?"

"By the gods... how horrifying."

Fans snapped shut, nobles clutched pearls and jewels as though the sanctity of their own families was now in question.

Florian’s eyes widened, his stomach twisting.

It was horrifying indeed.

’So... Alexandria’s parents are gone too? And their kingdom just... replaced them like pieces on a board? Just like that?’

Alexandria had left scars on him—scars that still burned when he thought of what she had done, the traumas she had forced upon him.

But this... for her parents to pay with their lives as well? To be erased in the name of repentance?

Horror clawed at him. A kingdom blessed by gods, guided by prophecy, executing judgment on its own bloodline.

Heinz, however, seemed delighted. His chuckle was low, cruel, echoing across the stunned silence.

"I respect how you handle matters in your kingdom," he drawled. "And here I thought I was about to slaughter another one today."

Florian’s jaw tightened, a single thought blazing across his mind:

’Seriously?’

The tension was thick enough to choke on.

Whispers still fluttered like frightened birds through the ballroom, wings beating against the gilded silence, when Serapion’s shoulders lifted in the faintest tremor.

And then—he laughed.

Not loud, not mocking. A soft, measured laugh, low enough to prickle at the skin yet deliberate enough to be heard by all.

It echoed strangely through the hall, sinking beneath marble arches and chandeliers, carrying a weight that unsettled more than it soothed.

His smile stretched wider, serene and terrifying all at once—the smile of a man who believed every word from his lips was sanctified by heaven itself.

"Your Majesty," Serapion said smoothly, bowing his head with practiced grace, "there will be no slaughtering here tonight."

The words alone silenced a dozen murmurs.

He straightened, hands clasped at his chest as though speaking from a pulpit. "I anticipated your reaction long before I came. That is precisely why I arrived not only with the new king and queen, but also with tidings of celebration."

His gaze shifted, gliding like a blade across the room until it settled first on Florian, then on Heinz. "And, of course, to present a gift... for both His Majesty, and His Highness, Prince Florian."

The ballroom stirred again, louder this time, the tide of whispers swelling into audible speculation.

"A gift?"

"What kind of gift would Sanctus Regnum bring?"

"With such a convoy... this cannot be simple."

Florian’s chest tightened, the knot of horror within him refusing to loosen.

Yet despite himself, his mind wandered, unable to ignore the display—the endless ranks of white-armored knights, the gleaming priests with their staves of light, the suffocating grandeur of their procession.

’What kind of gift requires all this? What are they hiding behind this spectacle?’

On the throne, Heinz’s smirk remained, sharp and dangerous, his posture relaxed but his presence dominating. Slowly, deliberately, he leaned forward, his voice clear, low, and commanding.

"What gift is this?"

For the first time, Serapion’s smile shifted. It did not vanish, but it bent—quieter now, cloaked in mystery, as though he relished the game more than the answer.

"It is... a gift I cannot yet give."

The crowd rippled with confusion. Fans fluttered, jeweled hands clutched pearls and amulets, voices hissed in disbelief.

Florian’s brows drew together, unease burning sharper in his veins. His heart kicked against his ribs, quickening. ’A gift they can’t give yet? What does that even mean?’

Heinz’s eyes narrowed, though the gleam of amusement never left them. He leaned back into his throne with a soft chuckle, his smirk cutting through the uncertainty like a blade.

"Oh? And why not? You pique my interest further. That only makes me... more curious now."

Serapion bowed low once more, his movements deliberate, his robes spilling like waves of ivory and gold across the marble floor. His voice dropped, resonant yet gentle, the tone of a preacher addressing sinners and kings alike.

"My apologies, Your Majesty. My apologies, Your Highness." He dipped his head first to Heinz, then to Florian, his expression serene—unsettlingly so.

The patience of a man certain his truth could not be questioned.

"I cannot reveal the gift tonight, because..."

He lingered. The silence pressed in on all sides, oppressive, heavy. Nobles leaned forward, breaths held, hearts thrumming as though waiting for judgment itself.

Even the torches seemed to flicker slower, as if straining to hear.

"...because, for the reason that..."

His eyes lifted, glinting with a fire not entirely of this world. A fire that seemed to burn from behind the calm of his gaze, sharp with holy conviction.

"It is a message from the gods."