12 O'Clock Marionette

Chapter 27

“If you’re going to use me as an excuse, shouldn’t you at least have the decency to let me know?”

Cruello really has no sense of ethics.

I had to keep a straight face, but I couldn't help the slight twitch at the corner of my eye.@@@@

"Even as his lover, it seems the duke still gives you a headache."

"...Yes, that’s right."

I wanted to deny it. To reject it outright. To get angry.

But I had to endure.

The Crown Prince smiled faintly.

"I will send your reward money to the Count’s estate."

"Thank you, Your Highness!"

"You look much better now. Is there anything else you wish for? If it’s a small favor, I can grant it within my authority."

I don’t need it, really. I’m fine.

But ignoring the situation flowing so conveniently in my favor would be foolish.

Half resigned, I spoke up.

"In that case, I would like permission to access the Imperial Library."

The Crown Prince’s attendant guided me there.

Even though this was what I wanted, I couldn’t say I felt particularly pleased. Still, thinking about the reward money helped me maintain my composure.

Just focus on saving money!

The moment I clenched my fist with determination, the attendant stopped.

"This is the entrance. I will provide you with an entry pass—please show it to the guards."

"Understood. Thank you."

The attendant bowed politely before turning away.

After presenting my pass to the guards, I stepped inside.

I spotted a few librarians and approached one.

"I'm sorry, but the scholar in charge of the Theology section is away at the moment."

"In that case, could you just tell me where the ancient theology books are located?"

"I’ll guide you."

The bookshelves were vast, thick, and expansive.

Compared to the Bonetti family’s library, this collection was incomparably richer, both in volume and quality.

Even at a glance, I could see that many of these books were written in divine script.

Not exactly great news for me.

"Ancient Gods, 500 Years," Volume 13, wasn’t it?

I searched the shelves for the title mentioned by the Recanon priest.

It didn’t take long to find.

"Got it."

The book was incredibly thick, but it contained only three sections.

Among them, only one name stood out to me—the one in the middle.

"The Name of Justice, Recanon."

I turned to that part and skimmed through.

[Section 3-2: The Sacrifice of Saint Moromoro]

The content was exactly as I had seen in the puppet theater.

A saint of Pebula had sacrificed offerings to elevate their god’s status, resulting in a conflict with the Recanon Church.

And in that process, Moromoro had died.

It was all written in refined, scholarly language.

"This is a compiled folktale. However, it cannot be dismissed as entirely unreliable. For example, several pieces of evidence suggest... (omitted)."

"...Just say it’s unreliable."

Reading it in print made me feel even worse.

I had never heard this story before, never even imagined it.

It could be a complete fabrication, or, on the contrary, a disgraceful history my ancestors deliberately erased.

"You can’t judge everything from just one book."

I sighed and flipped through the remaining pages.

There didn’t seem to be any other references to Pebula...

Then, suddenly, something fell from between the shelves with a soft thud.

"Huh?"

It was an old, weathered piece of paper.

What had been wedged in there?

I took a closer look.

[A Prophecy of Hormeia]

"The being was a woman, a man, an old one, a child, an angel, a demon, a human, and a monster."

"The being came in all forms, scattering the deepest of sins."

"The countless lights could not bring themselves to condemn it, for behind it loomed an even greater light."

"The prophet Hormeia declared: Mankind shall know peace for 900 years, and in that time, sin shall brush against their garments only from the shadows."

"Disciple Telga asked his master: Then what will happen after those 900 years?"

"Hormeia answered:"

"Then..."

"...the radiant light shall embrace the world."

A voice suddenly echoed behind me.

Startled, I turned my head.

"That’s a historical document I placed there. Supposedly, this prophecy was made around that time period. Scholars have dismissed it as worthless, but seeing it tucked into a folktale like this makes it seem oddly convincing, doesn’t it?"

"Huh?"

"I should introduce myself first. Greetings, Lady Siora Bonetti."

A man with a pleasant smile addressed me.

He had long hair that reached his waist and wore glasses.

Aside from his striking red eyes, everything about him screamed "scholar."

Inside the White Desert carriage.

I abandoned all pretense of formality and dignity, sinking comfortably into the seat.

Ah, this is nice.

"Did you confirm what you needed to?"

"......."

"You have a way of answering with just your expressions, darling."

Yeah, I confirmed it.

I heard the blasphemous accusations against my god directly.

I muttered darkly, "I can’t believe everything just from one book."

"You don’t need to believe it."

"What?"

"You received an immense amount of divine power from that god. Doesn’t that mean your beliefs align with what that faith stands for?"

So I’m the ideal follower of Pebula?

That’s... true.

"If you judged it as immoral, your ancestors would have thought the same."

"Oh."

"And history is always written by the victors. That’s just how Recanon saw Pebula."

"Wow, since when are you so logical?"

"I’ve always been logical."

"Why are you being so nice with your words?"

"Because I need to be adored right now."

Cruello smirked, his eyes curving like a crescent moon.

Watching him, I suddenly remembered something I had momentarily forgotten.

"Right, the librarian in the theology section—he’s from White Desert."

"Eden."

"Yeah. The guy who was taken hostage at the temple—it was him."

"I know."

"He coughed up blood and collapsed just a little while ago."

"That’s nothing new. You don’t need to worry about it."

He didn’t even pretend to care.

As a child, he had followed Eden closely—at least, that’s what I’d heard—but maybe he had learned too much as he grew up.

It felt strange, but I preferred this over blind trust.

"Enough boring topics. I think I’ve given you plenty of time to think about it, haven’t I?"

"People who rush others aren’t attractive."

"That’s a problem for me, then."

Feigning seriousness, he tapped his chin with his index finger.

Honestly, I had just been delaying my answer because I was too preoccupied with the whole ‘Pebula is an evil god’ revelation.

But Cruello’s proposal? It was exactly what I needed to do anyway.

It was suspicious how easy he was making this for me, but even if this was a trap, I had no choice but to jump in.

So I answered without hesitation.

"Pebula doesn’t need to be revived."

Cruello stopped moving.

He didn’t react dramatically, but his eyes widened ever so slightly, betraying his surprise.

"Because of the sacrifices?"

"No."

That part was still uncertain.

Was Recanon’s record a distortion, or had there really been a mad saint who did such things?

If I couldn’t know for sure, I had to judge by other standards.

Watching Recanon’s decline had given me a lot to think about.

As the old gods faded from memory, our faith withdrew into hiding.

Maybe it was to protect our sacred dignity.

Maybe it was because people started calling us an evil faith, and we ran.

Whatever the reason, we abandoned people.

And after all that, we were supposed to use the power we had preserved to barter for influence among the ruling elite?

It didn’t sit right.

To put it bluntly, it was cowardly and unnatural.

I wasn’t sure if this was the right choice, but if I followed Cruello’s logic, then my decision must be correct.

"I’m just going to let things happen naturally."

"If you leave it alone, it’ll disappear entirely. Do you have another way to preserve its divine status?"

"Hmm, I do. But also, I don’t. It won’t matter once I die anyway."

I had to accept it.

Just like all living things eventually die, every story must come to an end.

Cruello gazed at me with a perplexed expression, as if he couldn’t comprehend my words.

The shadows beneath his lashes seemed darker than usual.

"...You really are different from Recanon."

"I have to be different."

Recanon was a god of discipline and restraint.

Its teachings had to be practiced in order to have meaning. It naturally demanded a more active, aggressive approach.

"So, does that mean you’re rejecting my proposal?"

"I’m accepting it."

"What?"

"I also thought about my compensation."

I nodded firmly and declared,

"Pay me in cash."