A bishop’s bedroom was quite different from the closet she had been given, but One was not surprised that those with more power found themselves worthy of more qualitative lodging than those beneath them.

Even though she had not initially cared about her room, since she would rarely spend any time in it, when she found that each bishop had a walk-in closet that was twice as big, she was slightly offended.

Apart from that, the bishop had an entire wall lined with shelves that carried enough books for a small library and would spend his nights in a bed that would not fit into One’s own room even if you broke it in half.

Moonlight spilled through expansive windows, casting pools of light across the hardwood floor and illuminating the space with a soft glow. Only Nanna’s pale blue reached the ground today, as Sin was covered in clouds.

One stepped away from the tall and elegant windows and pulled the white curtains that lined them shut. She would have liked a room like this, but installing a false bishop was probably impossible for her master. They do live a fine life, she mused as she strolled through the room.

As she passed the shelves, she dragged a finger across a row of books, until one of them captured her attention. It was leatherbound, with a black spine into which a pentagram had been carved. She drew it from its place–Exorcisms and Spirits Part 5: The Corrupt and Demons–its body was worn, but well-preserved for the most part. She flipped past the initial pages, her gaze skimming, but not truly engaging before she landed on a page whose headline made her smirk in anticipation.

The Fallen Seventy-Two.

The first principal spirit is a King ruling the East, called –.

She frowned at the word hidden by thick lines of ink. She stifled an annoyed grunt before slamming the book shut and shoving it back into the shelf.

I’m a fool. He wouldn’t be so careless to keep a copy of a book that would make his tempering void untouched. One was touched by annoyance, but was forced to calm herself when she was interrupted by the jingling of keys, muffled by a few inches of wood.

A subtle creak of wood betrayed movement on the other side of the door–the moment she had been waiting for had arrived. She remained where she stood and waited as she heard the key slide into the lock. There was a click and the door swung open. Light from the hallway beyond spilled into the room around the shadow of a man. He entered, his body slightly slouched forward and his steps dragging over the floor. He closed the door behind him with a soft thud and took off the white cap on the top of his head, casting it carelessly onto a stool placed to the right of the door. A deep sigh escaped him as he moved across the room, exhaustion palpable in his every step.

One started to move, matching her own steps with that of the bishop so that the little noise she made would not be noticed. At the room’s far end waited an old wooden desk. The bishop pulled back the chair, its backrest and seat were covered in what seemed to be black leather pads filled with a soft, bending material. It groaned softly beneath the human’s weight–a sound that reflected the aura around the bishop oddly well. By the time he was seated, One stood behind him, watching.

The human looked up, his eyes on the door for a couple of seconds before his hand went to one of the desk’s many drawers. He slid it open and extracted a stack of papers, revealing a bottle nestled beneath. He placed it on the polished wooden surface of his desk and retrieved a glass from the same drawer. The cork came free with a soft pop, and he poured a deep red liquid that carried the smell of violet, blended with cherry. Wine. The expensive kind, One determined.

When the human finished pouring he set the bottle down again and gave the glass in his hands a few swirls. One leaned in, her hand slipping over the bishop’s as he startled, but before he could make so much as a squeak, she pressed a finger against the back of his head, her nail becoming longer, sharper and the cause of his quick death. And as life left the bishop, One stole the glass from his hand and set it down on the table.

With surgical precision, she pulled out her nail, making it return to normal before holding the bishop’s head to keep him from falling and making any noise. She dragged him out of the chair and set him down on the ground. The wound was too small to leak large amounts of blood or brain matter, but One knew that she would have to clean this up as quickly as possible.

She stripped him of his clothes, folded them and set them down on the bed. Returning to the corpse, she turned the chair and sat down, taking the glass of wine and giving it a few gentle swirls. She brought it to her lips, and… it was fantastic. After taking a sip, she looked down at the dead man. She looked at his blonde hair, old age having given him a few streaks of gray and a pale face with dark circles under his eyes.

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

“Now what to do with you?”

Like any proper holy temple of Shamut, the temple One had been summoned into had a crypt. It was located on the east side of the garden and was subject to regular cleanings to keep up appearances, but Shamut was very strict in his teachings when it came to the rest of the dead, so the resting spirits may not be disturbed under any circumstance.

Luckily, One would be fine even after committing one or two sins on holy ground, so under the guise of night, she dragged a bag all the way from the bishop chambers, through the main thoroughfare and gardens to the crypt, pried open one of the oldest tombs she could find and tossed the bag inside. When she had disposed of the body, she left the crypts and, on her way back to her quarters, decided to take a brief rest on one of the benches in the garden square.

It was not like she needed it, and since she had made sure some of the nuns saw her going into her room to sleep and locking the door, no one would suspect her to break curfew.

She met Aurelio’s marbled eyes, stony accusation in them as if he were about to scold her.

“I wonder what you would have said to my actions today,” she said, leaning on her hands. “Although, knowing you, you would just have prayed for me.” She scoffed softly at the cold saint, his white surface basked in the light of Nanna, the pale-blue moon. She never would have thought she would feel bad for trivial things like sacrilege or blasphemy or whatever humans called it when their holy rules were broken, but in front of Aurelio, she had always tried to move within these rules. To now be forced to break them under his watchful eye. Truly, only a saint could make a being like myself feel a thing such as shame.

One found herself lost in pleasant thought when a small wind brushed past her, and a slight fluctuation of mana appeared to her right. Following the sensation, she found a man standing next to her. He had blond hair, old age having given him a few streaks of gray, and a pale face with dark circles under his eyes. He wore a white robe with golden sleeves without any stains. Without acknowledging his presence, One looked away, settling on Aurelio’s statue again.

Beside her, she heard a scoff. “Can’t say I blame you, even dead the fool looks better than this one,” the man to her side said, patting his chest.

“I heard rumors that you are supposed to be the quiet type,” One said matter-of-factly.

“Yeah? I heard rumors this one liked to stick his hands where they didn't belong. There was a particular emphasis on nuns and their skirts,” the man chimed, a low chuckle following. “What do you say, One, willing to help me act out this role?” As the question left his mouth, he drew closer and extended a hand toward One, which she promptly grabbed with enough force to break it. If it were a real hand, that is.

“It’s Ophelia,” she corrected, eyeing him dispassionately. “You should remember that, Five.”

Five smiled. “Right, right,” he said, twisting his arm and waving his hand under her grip, “pleasure to meet you, Ophelia, Sister of the Holy Order of the Sun God,” he added with a mocking smirk. “I am Bishop… Pablo, Paulo? No, Petro.”

“It’s Piero,” One said, finally letting go of his wrist.

“Really? I could have sworn it was Petro,” he rubbed his wrist in an act of false pain.

And that solved the question of how her master was going to hide the assassination of a bishop. He just replaced him with a look-alike. Or rather, a shapeshifting spirit president. Choosing Five for that is certainly a choice, but then again, most of the others are worse than him.

“And why are you here?” she asked. “Bishop Piero is supposed to be sleeping in his quarters right now.”

Five shrugged, raising an eyebrow at her. “If you wanna play the blame-game, then isn’t it your fault that he is no longer sleeping there?” He scoffed when One did not react to that. “I was on my way there, but I sensed you in the garden and came to have a chat. I don’t know about you, but I haven’t talked to any of the others since our summoning, so I saw this as an opportunity.”

“Talking right now is… dangerous. A single nun spotting us might ruin our master’s plan, and I have no interest in being thrown into the lake,” One said, her voice stern.

“‘Master’, eh? I didn’t think a great king such as yourself would accept someone like that guy. Especially after what he has done to us,” Five said, a frown on his face and his tone hostile.

“You have ascended?” One asked, redirecting the conversation. Talking about their master behind his back might backfire, at least in an open space like this.

Five grunted his confirmation. They both knew that such things could not be hidden from another spirit and Five probably already knew that One had ascended, too. As little as she had interacted with Five in the past, he was not known for his stupidity–unlike some others. And if he had ascended, then he would be aware of the true issue with this absurd system they had been forced into.

“I’m working on it,” One said, her eyes drawn to one of the garden’s entrances and a weak light crawling up on grass and flowers. . “Let’s talk another time, leave, someone’s coming,” she said, her voice lowered.

Five was clearly displeased, scowling at the distant light. He clearly thought that there was still room for argument, so One put a hand on his shoulder as she got to her feet and turned the two of them invisible. “Leave. Now,” she said in a mildly authoritative tone. Five’s shoulder disappeared from under her hand, and his presence began retreating away.

One, too, had intended to silently slip away and return to the nun quarters, but there was something about the torchbearer that made her hold off on that. Hair that seemed to become one with the light of the fire as a gentle wind fanned it, sending the strands of fire swaying gently. It was, without a doubt, the saint-blooded paladin.