Within the grand cathedral of the Supreme Church's Aira Royal Court headquarters, lewd and muffled sounds echoed from deep inside the Archbishop's private chambers.
Ever since his little incident with Hel, the Archbishop had learned his lesson — from then on, no matter which woman he chose to indulge in, he would always do so within the safety of his own chambers. That way, he wouldn't have to worry about any reckless little brat barging in again.
This time was no exception. The Archbishop was currently "entertaining" a young maid, his pleasure further amplified by a rare concoction his subordinates had recently gifted him — the Water of Depravity, a potion crafted by lust-type mages to heighten desire.
It worked wonders, flooding him with uncontrollable impulses. The downside, however, was that the potion amplified all desires, not just lust. If one happened to be doing anything else while under its effects, it could dangerously magnify other urges as well. Moreover, it sharpened the user's clarity — but not intelligence — simply filling the mind with countless thoughts.
Just as the Archbishop was about to give in to his surging desires, a sudden loud knock jolted through the heavy doors.
A woman's anxious voice rang out:
"Your Excellency, urgent news from Lady Gale!"
"Get lost! Whatever it is, it can wait until I'm finished!" the Archbishop roared irritably.
But then something in her words registered. That name.
He frowned, calling back sharply,
"Who did you say the message was from?"
"Lady Gale — the Hurricane Witch, Lady Gale!"
"…Damn it!"
Cold sweat instantly drenched the Archbishop's body. The name alone was enough to crush any trace of lust left in him. He jumped from the bed, hastily threw on a robe, and rushed for the door.
Even among Saints, there were ranks — and the gap between him and a Saint-ranked Witch like Gale was like that between a mere insect and a dragon. The Hurricane Witch was infamous for her temper; if she were to get even slightly displeased with him, he'd be lucky to keep his bones intact.
"What does Lady Gale require of me?"
He flung open the door, revealing a familiar woman — the very same cleric who had once been caught in his scandal with Hel. One of his lovers. Her word carried weight.
"Lady Gale's escort was ambushed by Inquisition spies on her way back," the woman reported anxiously. "Though she repelled the attackers, her escort team suffered heavy casualties. She fears further ambushes and sent a message hawk requesting that you personally lead a reinforcement team to assist her."
"Personally?" The Archbishop hesitated. Normally, he wasn't allowed to leave the Royal Court without direct authorization unless it was an emergency. But this clearly qualified.
He nodded after a moment's thought.
"Inform all six-tier clerics to assemble at Wolf's Tail Plaza. Then, notify Lady Pain Demon as well — tell her of our operation. With her guarding the cathedral, there will be no issues."
"Yes, Your Excellency."
The woman hurried off, leaving the Archbishop alone.
Yet as his heart began to calm, unease slowly crept in. Something felt off.
If the Inquisition had truly ambushed Lady Gale, why only kill the guards and not capture the witches she was escorting? The Inquisition excelled at alchemy — they certainly had the means to contain witches. Why let such precious targets go?
Could it be… a trap?
He frowned deeply. No, impossible. The messenger hawk used for communication between Saints was bound by secret spells only their inner circle knew. There was no way it could've been compromised.
That meant only one thing — the ambush itself might be bait.
If the Inquisition went to such lengths, it wasn't merely to lure out him, a minor Archbishop. Their target had to be something — or someone — within the Royal Court.
"Cunning two-legged sheep," he muttered under his breath, using the church's usual slur for humans.
Then, a smirk curved his lips.
"You fools have no idea how terrifying Lady Pain Demon truly is."
After his brief internal drama, the Archbishop composed himself, donned his ceremonial robes and armor, and strode toward Wolf's Tail Plaza with renewed confidence.
When he arrived, five fully armed clerics were already waiting. He nodded in satisfaction.
"Lady Gale requires our assistance," he announced solemnly. "We march at full speed, but maintain half your reserves — I don't want anyone collapsing before we arrive."
With that, he took the lead and shot into the darkening sky.
Hours passed as the group raced through the night, finally slowing as exhaustion crept in and the sky turned black.
"We'll camp here," the Archbishop ordered.
They cleared a patch of grassland, lit a bonfire, and began roasting their rations. The smell of burning wood mixed with cooking meat filled the air.
Naturally, the Archbishop didn't bother with such menial tasks — his lover took care of everything, personally seasoning his meal.
When she handed him the freshly grilled meat, he accepted it with feigned modesty, pretending not to indulge too openly before subordinates. A few bites later, as the others quietly tended their own food, he felt the silence grow awkward.
Clearing his throat, he finally spoke,
"This mission came suddenly. The enemy's true goal is likely the Royal Court, but they may still come for us. Stay vigilant — none of you are to let your guard down."