"So... uh... I’m guessing you’re not here just to greet me. I hope I’m wrong, though..."

"You are not wrong," Ilya replied flatly.

Damn! I’d been summoned this early in the morning?

"We would like you to follow us to the great hall," Ilya said, adjusting her glasses again.

"Sure, but I just got up..." I said, hoping she’d give me some time to at least fix my bed hair.

"Rest assured, we are not taking you to look for your potential fiancee."

Haha. Very funny, Ilya. Very funny.

"Follow me," she said, walking forward without giving me a chance for further dialogue.

Kael simply followed her like she was fed up with this entire chore.

Had she ever had a pleasant expression on her face? Funny, I couldn’t even remember a time like that, even in my past life. Perhaps I hadn’t minded it then since I’d had a similar expression myself back then.

I noticed Selka still standing there without moving.

"Is it just me, or are my friends summoned too?" I asked, remembering the time when Cass had said they’d torture them to get answers out of me in Voidmirror.

"Yes, they are summoned to the great hall too," Ilya confirmed.

My fingers tingled in the air, ready to call Blood Raven.

"Are you planning to interrogate them?" My voice came out a bit rougher than I’d intended.

"What do you take Her Grace for?" Ilya sounded genuinely offended.

I see. They weren’t taking them to a torture chamber.

I relaxed my hand.

"What are the summons for?" I asked as we reached the staircase leading down to the first floor.

"You will know when we get there," Ilya said curtly, cutting off all hopes for further conversation.

That’s damn rude!

The doors to the great hall stood tall before us, with two guards stationed at the entrance. Their armor gleamed in the morning light.

How do these guys even pee?

Just then, Kael took out a pocket knife.

My instincts flared immediately. I caught her hand mid-motion, stepping toward her and placing my foot between hers.

Her expression remained completely calm despite her dominant hand being in my grip.

She twirled the pocket knife in her hand effortlessly, changing the pointed edge’s position toward my wrist.

I pushed her arm as I pulled my own back, cashing in on the momentum of her resistance.

"You’re pretty good with short-span tactics," she said, sighing. "I’ll invite you to a duel later."

For some reason, that invitation felt less like a compliment and more like an excuse to beat the shit out of me. I’d respectfully decline when the time came.

"Now stay still," she commanded.

Her dark blue aura pulsed in her brown eyes, and my stance stiffened involuntarily.

The guards positioned themselves behind me, ready to jump me at a moment’s notice.

"Um... you can’t expect someone to stay calm with a knife pointed at them, can you?" I asked, trying to smile hesitantly.

If Kael wanted to kill me, I’d already be dead. And she had her twin ex-scissors strapped to her back if she really wanted to finish the job. So I was guessing she didn’t want to hurt me... right?

Her knife moved quickly over my fabric, making several precise cuts.

"This should be fine," Ilya said, inspecting the cuts on my clothes.

Did they have some weird fetish for beggar-like outfits now? Because I probably looked exactly like that: Bed head and torn clothes combined.

Ilya turned to the guards and nodded before I could inquire about this barbaric display of their supposed supremacy.

The high wooden doors creaked open slowly.

I saw the inside, standing stunned.

What had been an empty gallery yesterday was now filled with people from various sectors. They all had stern faces as they looked at the new figures entering the great hall: me, Ilya, and Kael.

Judging by their elaborate dresses and jewelry, they were all high-class. Must be Sinclair nobles.

"Go stand with them," Ilya said, gesturing toward a small crowd of around ten people near the steps leading up to the dais.

They looked like they’d die if they ran for ten minutes straight.

Their clothes were torn and rugged, and more than anything... jailers surrounded them, keeping them corralled like animals.

I could tell immediately, they were prisoners here.

I walked toward them, and immediately one of the jailers shoved me roughly into the crowd.

I looked up at the broad-shouldered guy who’d just pushed me.

I remembered your face, big guy.

Cass sat on the dais with her usual calm and stern demeanor. Her face looked like a porcelain doll, beautiful and utterly unreadable.

Flanking her on the right stood an old man. I recognized him immediately: Eldrin, the duchy’s prime minister.

To her left stood Dorion.

That son of a bitch.

But that wasn’t the real issue.

Straight across from us stood armed men, heavily armed men in full battle gear.

Armed men in the great hall meant only one thing: among them was a very powerful man.

Someone important enough to warrant that kind of protection.

I recognized the emblem on their armor immediately.

The SBV. That damn eagle.

Leading the armed men stood a bald man with a holy book in his hand. His black attire, a long, continuous robe that extended down to his ankles, paired with black boot, was decorated with golden embroidery near his neck area. A golden cross hung prominently on his chest.

His outfit alone suggested he was a priest. Not just any priest, though.

A priest who could bear a golden cross.

They were rare. The silver cross was the common attire for most priests. The fact that he wore a golden one immediately made him the person of highest importance in this hall after Cass.

The highest of the priesthood. The Saint.

It wasn’t just Saints who could bear the golden cross. Even some important positions beneath them were allowed to wear one too. Except they didn’t command a private armed security detail, much less have permission to bring them into the Duchess’s great hall.

He was definitely a Saint.

But... what was he doing here?

[You are fucked, Rune. He’s a Saytan.]

Don’t tell me...

A Saint was here to avenge a branch head like Amir? No way!

[Yeah, that’s less likely. But Dorion’s smirk is making me second-guess it.]

I looked at Dorion. That son of a bitch was smirking at me, his eyes glinting with satisfaction.

Dude! We’d just met yesterday in this life, and you already hated me that much?

As I thought... me and Saytans naturally didn’t go well together.

[Well, if push comes to shove, you still have the AP card.]

’Yeah, but I don’t want to make an enemy out of Sinclair AND a Saint-level SBV officer in one single morning with a bed head! Is that too much to ask?’

Just as I was arguing with Nexar, the doors above creaked open slowly.

I looked up behind me and found Sera, Lydia, and Merin being brought in by Selka.

Sera’s and Lydia’s eyes immediately found mine. They were filled with worry, but they didn’t act out of impulse. Selka must have assured her that nothing bad would happen here.

I hoped Selka hadn’t just spat out those words but actually meant them.

Then, after the doors opened a few more times and the gallery filled completely, Ilya stepped forward and announced clearly:

"That’s all the staff and prisoners from the castle. I appreciate the patience of our esteemed nobles and guests. Please do proceed."

She gave a respectful bow and moved back a step.

Then, finally, the Saint spoke.

His voice was smooth, practiced, the kind of voice that commanded attention effortlessly.

"Thank you for arranging all this on such short notice," he said, his tone dripping with false humility. "I wouldn’t want to waste any more time of our most beloved child of God, Her Grace the Duchess Cassandra Sinclair."

He paused, letting his words hang in the air.

"Please, let this humble servant of God speak for Him in this great hall."