Chapter 183: A Minor Commotion (2)

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She didn’t actually stab him.

Just before the blade could pierce the skin, she stopped. The wind pressure had grazed the flesh, leaving a scratch, but nothing more.

Raphael gasped for breath, his eyes wide with tension, fear, and dread toward an incomprehensible being. Sugar stared at him intently.

‘He’s timid. No confidence in combat. Normally, he should’ve had his wand aimed at the door before we even entered.’

Come to think of it, aside from ordinary magical energy, she couldn’t sense anything else—none of the acrid aura typical of cult members or any shadow-manipulation techniques.

‘Still, he must have some connection to the cult. A bottom-tier lackey?’

And that “Madame Olivier” was suspicious too. What was her purpose in letting them into the casino? What was happening to the protagonists of those trendy romance stories lately?

“First… tell me what I want. Where are the contracts traded in the last month?”

“S-so you’re finally talking! You’re after the contracts! Who sent you? Elay Workshop? Scent Haysia? To go this far out of petty jealousy—!”

Competitors’ names, perhaps?

Sugar clicked her tongue.

“The contracts aren’t the priority right now. How can you be this clueless?”

“I’ll never yield—!”

“You. We’ve confirmed your ties to the Shadow Cult. It’s strange you don’t recognize me.”

Raphael’s eyes widened.

Then narrowed just as quickly.

“Are you from the Church of the Saint?!”

“…Close enough.”

“Judging by your demeanor, you’re no Inquisitor. A knight, then? Listen, for your own sake—you’d better not lay a hand on me.”

“Why?”

“There are powerful figures backing me!”

“Ah, sure.”

Her unblinking response made Raphael break into a cold sweat.

“So. What do these ‘powerful figures’ plan to do through you?”

“P-power! Hey, knight. Don’t you need money? An amount beyond comparison to a holy knight’s paltry salary! Turn a blind eye, and I’ll pay you anything! The cult promised to take me in. If I just secure the position of Apostle, I’ll…!”

Sugar and Riley both scowled.

They had already tied Raphael to a chair and were rummaging through documents.

With Song of Silence changing hands tomorrow, arresting him now would unnecessarily complicate ownership. The contracts had to be found quickly.

Then came his absurd rambling. A sigh escaped her.

“You’re babbling like a desperate man…”

“Exactly! I can’t be captured—”

“But if you know about the Apostle position, you’re basically advertising for us to arrest you. And aiming for that seat? You’re a high-risk individual.”

Raphael shut his mouth.

After a long pause, he spoke again.

“……Money. I’ll give you as much as you want… Even this casino building. Just… please…”

Sugar ignored him, sifting through papers. Riley handed her a few sheets.

“Surprisingly systematic. His drug synthesis skills are undeniable.”

It was a manual for crafting Saint’s Water. He had analyzed the theoretical properties of Song of Silence, concluded it was a likely ingredient, and planned to test it.

Not because he was certain of its use or had another purpose—just pure personal research, hypothesis, and execution.

And it turned out he was right.

“A bit of a mad scientist, huh.”

“P-please, put that down. It’s important…”

“Ah. Got it. Mr. Raphael. You’re not skilled in magic, are you?”

“…!”

“But as compensation—or perhaps in spite of it—your talent for potions and perfumes is exceptional. Your blending sense, synthesis skills… a model for alchemy-focused mages.”

A normal mage would grab their wand in a crisis. Basic instinct. Yet he tried to flee first—odd, she’d thought.

When she pointed it out, Raphael sighed and admitted:

“Yes. I can… identify every note in a single drop of perfume. My synthesis skills are top-tier.”

“Wow.”

“But magic… Damn it…!”

His gritted teeth betrayed deep-seated inferiority.

“That’s why I need to be an Apostle! Those with ‘special senses’… with that, my talents could soar! I’d gain recognition, wealth, honor!”

“At this point, it’s just pitiful.”

Sugar and Riley exchanged glances and shook their heads.

“Since you don’t seem to know, let me enlighten you. Those ‘special senses’ aren’t gifts—they’re stolen. A greedy god takes their senses and tosses them a weird ability in return. You’ve misunderstood.”

“…What?”

“Your acute sense of smell? It won’t help. Your work will only get worse.”

“L-lies! That’s impossible!”

“Don’t believe me if you don’t want to. Why would I lie now? And even if you became a high-ranking heretic, what good would it do? Here’s some advice: stay far from the cult.”

“No way… But she said… She definitely…”

His incoherent muttering made Sugar perk up.

“‘She’? Was ‘she’ the one who recruited you? The one who mentioned the cult or Apostles?”

He wouldn’t have learned this on the streets. The cult was too secretive. Someone must have contacted him.

So when she pressed him, he clenched his mouth shut.

“Who is she? Talk.”

“…”

“You were blabbering just fine earlier.”

“…”

“Not gonna speak?”

“…I’d rather die than tell you.”

“Is it Madame Olivier?”

“…”

He shut his eyes, lips sealed, body trembling.

“I’ve got a knife right now.”

“…”

“Just answer ‘yes’ or ‘no.’ That’s all.”

Still, he refused to speak. Even if the man was inept at magic, he was still a mage. He’d likely realized Sugar had ways to detect lies.

“Wonder how many fingers you’ll lose before you talk.”

With that eerie remark, Sugar stepped behind him and drove the knife into the back of his hand. This time, for real. The cold blade split flesh, hot blood welling up.

Yet Raphael only gritted out a stifled groan, teeth clenched. His body shook with pain, tears leaking, but he endured silently—nothing like the terrified screams from before. This was sheer, stubborn resolve.

Sugar clicked her tongue and yanked the knife free. She wiped the blood on the curtains and pocketed it.

Beside her, Riley asked:

“Not gonna keep going?”

“No.”

“Want me to?”

“Forget it. The professionals will interrogate him anyway.”

She stuffed a wad of paper into Raphael’s mouth to prevent spells or suicide, then turned back to searching for the contracts. Her expression was thick with irritation.

Given the circumstances, Olivier was likely the one who introduced him to the cult. A suspicious woman.

But the love story that had set the port city abuzz—the man’s ironclad refusal to speak—whatever the circumstances, his feelings for her were undoubtedly real.

Tch.

What was so special about her? What was so great about love? Anyone could see he’d been used.

Women who toyed with hearts, men stupidly bewitched into guarding some hollow loyalty—all of it was infuriating.

“Found it. Let’s go.”

After frantically shuffling through papers, she finally spotted it: the transfer contract for Song of Silence, bearing Praline’s name. No mistake.

Tucking it away, she left Raphael behind and strode out of the office.

The building was still in chaos. They stepped over unconscious guards in silence. All that was left was to report this. Explain everything to Ian and Leon.

The thought of the mission being complete made Sugar exhale heavily. Riley spoke up beside her, voice low:

“That man… I doubt he’ll talk even in interrogation.”

“…”

“They’ll have to break his mind before he spills anything.”

“Is he an idiot? Why suffer? He’s going to prison either way—might as well talk and make it easier. He knows he was played.”

“Men are like that. I’d do the same.”

“What?”

“If it were a secret involving you.”

“…”

“Even if they cut off my limbs, I’d never speak.”

The casualness of his words was unsettling. She frowned, refusing to look at him.

“…That’s not romantic at all. And I’d do the same, you know?”

Are you stupid?—she nearly snapped, but Riley just smiled and held out his right hand.

“…”

Sugar hesitated, then reached out.

What she fumblingly grabbed wasn’t his sleeve, but his warm hand.

The moment their fingers intertwined, her body relaxed. The warmth melted her stiff expression, though it also annoyed her.

This friend who reduced her to this. Who cherished her. Yet never reacted to her that way. Who gave her alternating hope and disappointment.

Really, you—

“I hate you, Riley…”

“I hate you too.”

The immediate reply to her whining made her huff.

Then, the lantern in her other hand cast the two in a red glow.

“…”

“…”

Still, they pretended not to notice, walking forward hand in hand.

Their palms grew damp with sweat.

***************

So this is how it ends. Pathetically.

His whole life, he’d been scorned as a mage’s disgrace. Even as an adult, his magic was childlike—the disdain from family and peers was inevitable.

Starting a perfume business brought him fame and recognition, but it never erased his inferiority.

Then he met her. That smile that could drown a man.

Olivier, who approached him during his darkest hour of failed product development, offering comfort.

Love at first sight. His relentless pursuit began.

Even her having a husband didn’t matter.

He chased and chased.

And then, that infamous final proposal. He gifted her his masterpiece, crafted just for her—only for her to shyly confess, “Actually, I have a secret…”

“Actually… I don’t belong to the Church of the Saint. The world calls it heresy. Will you still love me?”

It didn’t matter. If anything, it set his heart ablaze. A forbidden love. He felt like the protagonist of a romance story, intoxicated by the fantasy.

A man who accepted a woman’s secrets, a woman who accepted a man’s flaws—a relationship where they embraced each other’s imperfections.

‘No matter who you are… I’ll make you happy, no matter what.’

‘Oh my… How gallant…’

And so, they became entwined. The tale spread through Zenrock City (though omitting the heresy confession), and Raphael became the star of a famed love story.

Olivier, now his special someone, occasionally spoke of the cult. To him, it felt like proof of her trust, swelling his heart with pride.

Then, one day—

‘There are beings called Apostles. They guide the faithful with senses blessed by a higher power.’

When he heard those words, he knew.

If he could become one, his talents would expand—and with them, his ability to make her happy.

So he begged to be accepted into the cult. The process dragged on… until now.

Now. This very moment.

‘All I wanted was to make you happy…’

In the silent office, bound to the chair, Raphael lamented inwardly. The commotion outside meant he’d be hauled to interrogation soon.

As he hung his head, the door creaked open. He braced for his captors—only to freeze.

‘Olivier…?’

There she stood, in her usual emerald dress. A songbird.

“Raphael.”

Her voice, too, was just as always.

His eyes reddened.

She strode forward, freeing him from the ropes and gag.

“Olivier! Ah, my love…!”

“You’ve suffered, Raphael.”

“No time! You must flee—the Inquisition will storm in any moment! I didn’t speak of you. You can still escape!”

“No. I’m not running.”

“Olivier…!”

“This is our chance.”

Her tone was eerily calm, as if she held a trump card.

“Wait… Don’t tell me—?”

“Yes. I’ve come to ‘accept’ you.”

His eyes widened.

“Then… the cult will save me?”

Silently, Olivier extended her hand. A smile brimming with benevolence.

At that, all the doubts planted by the strange white-haired woman vanished.

“Come with us.”

“Olivier…”

“You’ll live a new life.”

They embraced tightly.

“Raphael. You know I never lie.”

“I know… I know how sincere you are…”

“I’m truly grateful to you. Thank you for following me.”

“No… I’m the one who should thank you…”

“Hehe…”

The lovers shared their gratitude—then their lips.

I’ll abandon everything for you. Even so, we can start anew. As long as I’m with her, I’ll survive. Content with this bittersweet ending, Raphael closed his eyes.

——Then.

Something shot from Olivier’s mouth into his body.

“Ghk—! Wh…at…?”

An unfathomable intrusion. His throat sealed shut.

“What’s… this…? Gah—!”

Clutching his chest, he collapsed noisily.

His vision darkened, his mind frayed. As terror gripped him, a faint memory surfaced—

“Here’s some advice: stay far from the cult.”

Gasping, Raphael twisted his neck to look up at her.

Her smile hadn’t changed.

Agony lanced through his chest. He tried to speak, but only choked gurgles escaped.