Only Romeo and Mary couldn’t fully relax.
They still had official business to prepare for: the royal audience they’d been ordered to attend.
Rome made his way back to the Alfonso family mansion in the city’s central district—a place he hadn’t returned to in quite a while. Earlier, he’d deliberately bought his own house out on the outskirts, specifically so no one could tie his adventurer reputation to the idea that he was “living off his family’s influence.”
The moment he reached the gate, the guards on duty saluted and offered to escort him inside.
Even though it wasn’t necessary in the slightest.
Rome still remembered every corridor in his own home.
The mansion was too large to be called a house.
So large that most of its space wasn’t meant for living—it was empty space, lavishly arranged to an almost absurd degree. Statues. Artworks. Decorative weapons. Servants. Armed guards.
Everything was in place, as if the entire estate had been designed not for ordinary life, but for broadcasting status.
Even so…
…it was still too big.
Rome had once joked about it himself:
“On a bad day, if I ever get diarrhea, I’d probably end up dropping it in the hallway before I even reach the bathroom.”
Because by noble tradition, toilets weren’t conveniently attached to bedrooms the way they were in normal people’s homes.
Inside, the atmosphere was cool and lush. Trees of all sizes had been planted with orderly precision across different sections of the grounds. Even the mansion gate alone was wide enough for an entire caravan procession to roll through—and it took four people just to open the two giant doors.
For Rome, a light push would probably be enough…
…but for ordinary people, it would be anything but easy.
Inside the mansion, thick carpets ran the full length of the corridors. Massive chandeliers hung at intervals—so huge that even if someone wanted to haul them into a guild hall, the first problem would be simple: they wouldn’t even fit through the door.
Everything was luxurious, spotless, and far too quiet.
So quiet that even Rome’s own footsteps felt too loud for this place.
And the moment he walked deeper into the mansion, a voice rang out at once.
“Romeo… you’re home, my dear?”
A woman’s voice—early forties, give or take—called from deeper inside. A moment later, a figure moved toward him with the kind of speed that didn’t allow anyone the chance to stop her.
She was tall and dignified. Her manner was simple, yet sharp—like someone raised on the concept of family before she ever learned what adolescence was. Though she was well into her forties, her skin and features looked easily twenty years younger. A fitted, dark-blue noble dress made her presence feel even calmer, even more commanding.
And she wasn’t alone.
Two female attendants walked at her sides in complete silence, like shadows that had learned to breathe.
Romeo stopped and bowed his head, the etiquette embedded so deeply it might as well have been carved into bone.
“Mother. You still look as strong as ever.”
She was Anna Alfonso—Romeo’s biological mother. The woman who rushed straight toward her youngest son the second she saw his face… even though, in truth, they’d been living in the same capital all this time.
Romeo simply chose not to return.
He wanted to live like a real adventurer—so no one could say he’d taken a shortcut paved by his family name.
Anna didn’t care about those reasons in the slightest.
She stepped in and hugged him tightly, then kissed his cheek with open affection, as if the boy she remembered was still right there in front of her—not the Rank S adventurer whose name was spoken in guild halls with serious voices.
She pulled back just a little and scanned him from head to toe.
Thoroughly.
Thoroughly like a mother.
And thoroughly like a noble, at the exact same time.
His clothes and gear were still pristine—neat, crisp, flawless. No scrapes. No damage. Not even a speck of travel dust that should have clung to him.
“You look strong too. Well-dressed, no wrinkles, no scars, no injuries… I’m truly relieved.”
Romeo offered a small, polished smile—one that looked like it had been prepared long before he ever stepped through the gate.
“Oh, Mother… I’ve been on plenty of adventures as well. It’s just that I haven’t really run into enemies that strong. Honestly, adventuring isn’t as frightening as you imagine.”
It sounded confident—exactly the kind of answer that suited his image, and suited a son of House Alfonso.
But that immaculate, flawless condition wasn’t only luck.
Beyond Romeo’s own meticulous habits—and the fact that the monsters he’d faced hadn’t been brutal enough to ruin his appearance—there was one more reason he returned home looking perfect.
A reason named Valda.
Before coming back, he’d asked her to take care of a few things—so he could step back into the family’s territory with an even cleaner image than before.
“But I can’t help worrying,”
Anna said softly.
“And you came back today… because of the royal audience, right?”
Romeo paused for the briefest moment, then answered in the firmest voice he could manage.
“Yes. After not attending for several years… because I claimed ah because I was busy taking quests to protect people… this year I have to participate. Otherwise it won’t look good.”
The answer sounded flawless, like a line rehearsed in advance.
But his manner carried a tiny hint of awkwardness—something only someone close to him would catch.
Still, Anna didn’t make an issue of it.
She knew her son far too well. And among her three sons, Romeo was the hardest to please. Besides, he’d made his wishes clear since childhood—he wanted to be an adventurer, rather than inherit the duty of becoming the King’s personal guard, like his father and his two older brothers.
Anna let out a quiet sigh, as if surrendering to her son’s silent stubbornness. Yet her eyes softened all the same.
“Alright, then. Go wash up a bit. And have you eaten yet? I’ll tell the chef. Go change your clothes first, dear.”
Romeo bowed politely.
“Yes, Mother. I’ll go rest for a moment.”
With that, he turned and went up the stairs, following the carpeted corridor where every step was swallowed by silence.
All that remained was the faint, gentle fragrance from the lamps.
On the other side of the capital—also in the heart of Vanir—
A massive cathedral was, in every sense, operating at maximum strain. The moment word spread that someone was about to return, a ripple of urgency ran through the entire building like a shockwave.
Palace-guard officers moved briskly in every direction. Priests and sisters handled even the smallest details with almost absurd seriousness—even though, on an ordinary day, everything here was already so immaculate there was barely anything to criticize in the first place.
This was Santa Maria—the central cathedral of the Church.
A place where the faithful came to pray, confess, offer praise, and ask for blessings. It served as both a sanctuary for the heart and a stage for the kingdom’s most important rituals—including sacred ceremonies for the royal family.
In terms of sheer size, it was the second-largest structure in the city—surpassed only by the royal palace.
Originally, the cathedral’s design was never meant to be extravagantly huge or wastefully ornate. But a resolution from a joint council—between the Church and the city’s knights in years past—had reached one clear conclusion:
It needed to be large enough to hold a great many people.
Not as a display of grandeur—
but so it could become a refuge, should war ever come… or if an emergency ever struck.
Because of that decision, Santa Maria maintained exceptionally strict security. Guards were stationed throughout, not unlike the palace itself. The structure was thick, firm, and unyielding—built from the combined expertise of the era’s top architects and engineers, then brought to life by the finest craftsmen of their time.
And it wasn’t just a church.
This was the Church’s headquarters. Schedules, ceremonies, festivals, and doctrine—everything was discussed and decided within these walls.
All of it under the authority of the current Archbishop—
Saint Simmon of Alf.
On normal days, the cathedral was calm, spotless, and steady—like stone that had stood for generations.
But today…
That calm had been replaced by disciplined, hurried readiness—like everyone was preparing to receive someone whose name alone could make the city’s holiness shift in response.
Before long, eight guards escorted a young woman through the cathedral’s front doors.
The Church’s preparations still weren’t fully complete, but even so… the place had already been immaculate from the start. As if immaculate order was simply this cathedral’s default state—and what they were doing now was only polishing it into something even more perfect.
The guard formation moved with strict discipline.
Two guards in front, silently clearing the path. Two on the left and two on the right, maintaining distance with the kind of precision that felt measured by ruler. Two more behind, sealing the formation as if to ensure nothing could slip in.
Every eye in the grand hall fixed itself on the center.
The woman walking within that circle looked “proper”—
…but proper wasn’t enough to describe her.
Her footsteps were so calm and composed it felt like watching a goddess descend from heaven—despite the fact that her feet were very clearly stepping on the cathedral’s carpeted floor. Her face was serene. Her eyes didn’t dodge, and they didn’t challenge. She wore the faintest smile—polite enough to put people at ease, yet restrained enough that no one dared take her lightly.
Mary Rose Bernadette.
Ace’s party healer. One of the rarest things in the modern era: a Rank S support-type adventurer.
And today, her name was being carried into the very heart of the Church—into its central cathedral—
escorted by eight guards,
as if her presence was no longer the ordinary arrival of an adventurer.
“Welcome back, Lady Archbishop-elect.”
A deep, gentle voice echoed through the hall—formal, but courteous. A tall elderly man stepped forward to greet her with dignified grace. He was a half-elf, dressed in flawless ceremonial attire, so perfectly neat it felt as if the cathedral’s entire sense of order had taken human form.
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He was Simmon—the current Archbishop—
and he bore the title of Saint.
Mary stopped before him, composed, then returned a smile as politely as she possibly could.
“You don’t have to be so formal,”
she said gently.
“You’re a Saint… an Archbishop. You shouldn’t lower yourself to welcome someone like me.”
Simmon shook his head slightly. His smile wasn’t victorious—it was the smile of someone who had grown used to speaking plain truth.
“I can’t do that. In truth, I’m only acting in this role… while waiting for you to formally assume the position.”
Mary sighed silently to herself, then replied in a tone that stayed polite—but was clear enough to leave no room for misunderstanding.
“I told you already. I won’t accept the position. Traveling as an adventurer… lets me help more people than staying here ever could.”
The words sounded right. They sounded noble. They sounded like exactly what someone of faith—someone who truly wanted to help others—should say.
But inside Mary’s mind, there was another sentence she did not speak out loud.
If it weren’t for tomorrow’s royal audience… I would never sleep here again.
No matter how grand, beautiful, or holy this cathedral was, it still had a “back side” that made her skin crawl.
Because beyond the cathedral’s splendor lay a massive cemetery.
A cemetery used as the family burial ground for royalty and nobles—
and not only that, there was also a separate public burial section for ordinary citizens.
To put it bluntly…
This place was basically a concentrated hotspot for horror.
An atmosphere like this was practically begging for a ghost to show up one day—whether anyone meant to invite one or not. And even though Mary had lived here since childhood…
…and had never seen a single ghost even once…
…the feeling still wouldn’t go away.
Simmon maintained the same gentle, courteous tone—as if every word had been weighed in advance, measured precisely so it wouldn’t be too heavy, and wouldn’t be too light.
“Your outlook is so virtuous that an ordinary man like myself can hardly even comprehend it,”
he said warmly.
“Traveling from place to place to bring aid to others… truly becomes a blessing for all who receive your kindness. That’s why I say I cannot compare to you at all.”
Praise flowed from him so smoothly it nearly became a kind of hymn—something that made the listener want to smile back without even realizing it.
Only then did he calmly transition to what he actually wanted to ask.
“And today, you’ve come to make preparations for tomorrow’s royal audience, yes?”
Mary nodded with proper composure, her expression unchanged.
“Yes. I’ve come to prepare to attend as a representative of the Church… and as someone of House Bernadette.”
Simmon dipped his head slightly in respectful acknowledgment, then opened his hand in an inviting gesture—almost as if welcoming the homeowner back into her own house.
“Then please, make yourself comfortable. We have everything prepared. No matter how many years pass… this place will always be your home.”
Mary returned a smile.
“Thank you very much. After running I mean!! After traveling for so many years, this must truly be important if Lord Alfonso came to notify me personally.”
She corrected herself mid-air in a fluster—about as suspicious as Romeo’s earlier slip, except Mary was noticeably less smooth about it.
But in this cathedral, no one was interested in pointing out such things. Everyone here believed that anything Mary said was “right” by default.
Simmon kept his polite smile. He didn’t object. He didn’t disrupt the atmosphere.
“In that case, if you need anything at all, you may call for me at any time, Lady Archbishop-elect.”
Not long after, Mary departed with the guards still escorting her in the same disciplined formation, heading toward her old living quarters on the cathedral’s third floor—the very same room that had been kept ready for her, as if she had never left.
Romeo’s night of luxury in House Alfonso…
and Mary’s night of strict formality within Santa Maria…
both passed without incident—
until the dawn of the next day arrived.
A new morning in Vanir arrived the way the capital always did—quiet, courteous, and perfectly on time, as if punctuality itself were part of the city’s tradition.
Romeo set out for the royal palace by carriage, as custom demanded.
Even though, honestly… if he was being blunt, he could’ve just walked there in fifteen minutes.
But a royal audience wasn’t about convenience.
It was about honor, appearance, and what the people of the capital liked to call propriety.
The carriage was luxurious and absurdly comfortable—so far beyond the caravan he’d ridden earlier that it wasn’t even a fair comparison. Its wheels rolled smoothly along the road before gliding through the palace gates with dignified ease.
House Alfonso was one of the greatest noble families in the kingdom—
a lineage that had served as both sword and shield to the King for generations, dating all the way back to Francis Alfonso, the family’s first founder.
In the present day, that duty belonged to the current head of the house:
Duke Marshall Francis Alfonso—Captain of the King’s personal guard.
This position was not the same as Gunnar, who commanded the palace knights. The Duke Marshall’s role was to protect the King directly and receive royal commands from His Majesty alone.
When the carriage stopped, Romeo stepped down with a grace so practiced it looked like he’d trained for this exact moment.
His outfit had been chosen with meticulous care in the style of a high noble—immaculate from collar to shoe-tip. And what made people nearby turn to look wasn’t only the image he carried…
…it was the faint fragrance that drifted out with him.
A perfume he’d blended himself, using the concentrated essence he’d picked up in Oakspell. The scent spread softly—never intrusive—yet distinct enough that anyone standing close would reflexively pause…
…then glance back, almost on instinct.
Romeo didn’t treat it like a big deal.
He simply kept walking as if this were normal life—then entered the palace, with two escort guards leading the way.
Not long after, another carriage procession rolled in.
But this one wasn’t an ordinary carriage meant to zip around at the passenger’s convenience. It moved noticeably slower, with a deliberate rhythm that made it feel less like transportation… and more like an official procession.
Escort guards marched around it in disciplined formation. The cadence of their steps and the spacing between them were so precise it was obvious they’d rehearsed it countless times. Even the four horses pulling the carriage were different from common draft horses—imposing, elegant, powerfully built, and so steady it felt like they understood exactly what duty they were carrying out.
When the carriage came to a full stop, the door opened with perfect formality.
And the one who stepped down was Lady Archbishop-elect Mary Rose Bernadette.
House Bernadette was noble, yes—but compared to House Alfonso, it didn’t come close in terms of influence or political weight. The current head of House Bernadette held the title of Earl, overseeing the King’s private treasury—not the national treasury and state budget handled by ordinary ministers.
But what made this procession special wasn’t the family crest stamped on the carriage.
It was the person inside it.
Mary wore the Church’s ceremonial white—clean, immaculate, so orderly that it looked as if the world’s chaos couldn’t reach her even if it tried. Her dignity didn’t come from jewelry or luxury, but from stillness… and the faith she carried with her.
A sacred aura spread out in a wide circle. Those who caught sight of her instinctively paused, then turned to look. Some lowered their voices. Some hurried out of the way. Some simply stood there, watching—like they were seeing something that wasn’t meant to be encountered so often.
Then Mary walked into the palace.
Not under the protection of the palace guards—
but under the escort of Church soldiers who had accompanied her from the very beginning.
Inside the palace’s noble reception hall, the atmosphere was lively in that distinctly aristocratic way—like everyone here had time to spare.
Nobles, high society, and even some members of the royal family stood in small groups, exchanging pleasantries and casual updates as usual, while they waited for the King to arrive.
Romeo had barely stepped inside when he spotted Mary not far away. He headed straight toward her almost immediately. By court protocol, Mary’s Church escort was stopped at the entrance and made to wait outside the hall.
“You’re early,”
Romeo said first.
“I thought there’d be more ceremony than that.”
Mary let out a sigh—clearly not bothering to maintain a flawless holy image in front of someone she knew.
“How could it not take forever? Just getting out was a hassle. And then there was that procession crawling along at a snail’s pace. If I’d been allowed to walk, I would’ve arrived faster.”
Romeo gave a small smile, like he fully understood she was complaining with genuine sincerity.
Mary swept her gaze across the hall, then lowered her voice slightly.
“By the way… do you have any idea what this is about? There are a lot of high-ranking nobles here. And the security looks stricter than usual.”
Romeo shook his head.
“I don’t know either. But if this turns out to be nothing but a fancy social gathering… I’m not coming back for another three or four years.”
Their conversation was perfectly normal for them—
but not for everyone else in the hall.
More and more eyes began to drift their way, no longer just by accident. Whispers started to circulate like a soft current of wind.
“Isn’t that House Alfonso? I heard he became an adventurer.”
“What? I thought the Alfonsos only worked inside the palace.”
“Who’s he talking to?”
“That’s the Archbishop-elect…”
“They’re close?”
“I heard they’re in the same adventuring party.”
“What? Then that party must be stacked with elites, right?”
“I heard she refused the position because she wanted to travel and help people.”
“As expected of top families House Alfonso, and the Archbishop-elect choosing to go out and protect people.”
“So it’s not just the royal family they’re protecting…”
“That makes common folk feel a lot safer, doesn’t it…”
The murmurs continued for a while longer—
until they were cut off, sharply and decisively, by a soldier’s announcement.
“Everyone please pay your respects. His Majesty, King Odinir the Thirteenth Erald Ragnard Odinir.”
The moment the announcement ended, every conversation in the hall stopped at once—as if someone had ordered the entire room to stop breathing.
The noble reception hall fell into perfect silence. Everyone moved into a respectful posture immediately. The center aisle was cleared in orderly precision.
And then King Odinir entered through the central doors, walking straight toward the throne—escorted by seven members of his personal guard who followed close behind, tight and gapless.
The instant King Odinir seated himself upon the throne, he began to speak without preamble.
“Honestly, today was supposed to be a simple social gathering.”
At just that first sentence, Romeo’s expression shifted immediately. He didn’t show it blatantly, but it was readable enough—an unmistakable flicker of irritation, like someone thinking, So I came all this way for that?
The King continued in a calm, even tone.
“But an urgent matter has come in… so I wanted to inform all of you.”
The atmosphere in the hall grew even quieter on its own, as if everyone stopped breathing together.
“We have received confirmation that… a new Demon Lord has been born.”
At those words, a wave of commotion surged through the sealed room like a spark thrown into dry tinder—whispers, gasps, and sudden movement rippling across the hall.
Romeo—who had still carried a trace of annoyance in his eyes a moment ago—changed instantly. He turned to Mary without needing any cue, as if both of them had arrived at the same conclusion at the exact same time.
The King didn’t stop there.
“Not only that it was born many years ago. We do not know its exact age. But a reliable source reports that it is fully matured. Which means it has existed for more than fifty years, without question.”
The hall fractured into louder chaos. People turned to those nearest them, speaking all at once until it was impossible to tell who was saying what—voices colliding like waves that refused to settle.
But the King raised one hand slightly, as if commanding the tide to drop.
“Everyone, remain calm. We have not received news that they have begun moving yet. But I want all of you to be prepared.”
His voice stayed steady.
“This intelligence came from our agent embedded in Alf. The Kingdom of Alf has begun preparations as well. As for us… if an emergency occurs, we have already prepared contingency measures and evacuation plans for the populace. But we do not wish to announce this formally yet so as to prevent panic over something that has not happened.”
The words evacuating the populace hit the hall like a slap of cold reality. Faces shifted—stunned, pale, suddenly unable to hide what they felt.
And of course… not everyone could stay calm.
“Stay calm?!”
a voice snapped from among the nobility, bitter and scornful enough to make several people flinch. From his attire and bearing, he appeared to be royalty as well.
The atmosphere teetered on the edge of eruption—
THUD!!!
A shield struck the floor once.
The sound echoed through the entire hall like a shockwave. Every last murmur died instantly—like someone had slammed a lid down on a boiling pot.
The one holding the shield was no ordinary soldier.
The Duke Marshall—head of House Alfonso, and Romeo’s father—stepped forward by half a pace, as if dragging everyone’s senses back into place. His gaze was sharp as a blade still sheathed… yet ready to cut at any moment.
He stared straight at the man.
“Lord Stern. Even if you are of royal blood if you speak against His Majesty again, I will not be lenient… and I will perform my duty.”
His voice was loud and clear. Not an empty threat—an announced intent.
In a single heartbeat, the entire hall understood: this wasn’t merely a warning.
The aura of a high-ranking warrior radiating off him made the message unmistakable—he would act, against anyone, without caring whose face it was.
King Odinir concluded in the same steady tone as before, as if he had just delivered ordinary administrative news—rather than something that had nearly stopped the room’s breathing.
“That is all I wished to announce. If you still wish to socialize, you may go to the lower reception hall. Food and drink have been prepared. As for me, I must excuse myself there are further matters to discuss.”
He began to turn away—
but stopped, as if remembering something. Then he continued, his voice a touch clearer.
“Romeo Francis Alfonso, and Lady Archbishop-elect Mary Rose Bernadette the two of you will follow me for a meeting.”
With that, he didn’t wait for anyone’s reaction. He walked out of the hall at once, leaving behind a silence that hung in the air like dust that hadn’t settled yet.
Romeo and Mary met each other’s eyes for only a fraction of a second. No questions. No wasted words.
As they moved to follow, the Duke Marshall caught Romeo’s gaze briefly—one look that didn’t need translation.
A short signal: You may proceed.
Then Romeo and Mary stepped after the King along the path he’d taken, while the entire hall continued to stare—like they were watching the next scene of a story no one dared interrupt with a single loud sound.