The ballroom felt like a canvas painted in tension and disbelief. Murmurs rippled through the gathering, but the undercurrent of unease was palpable. Every noble present had one pressing question circling their minds: What is going on?

Few had the answer, and those who did wore guarded expressions, their thoughts spiraling into memories they dared not share.

Vestian Holdstaffen’s eyes remained fixed on Alex’s back as they ascended to the first floor. His mind, however, drifted far from the opulent chamber. Memories surged, vivid and cold, dragging him two years into the past.

………

Two years ago.

It was the time when Vestian and Thomas were captured by Alex, sent to prison, and ruthlessly thrown into the cells by Alenia.

The air in the underground prison had been suffocating. The stone walls seemed to close in, trapping Vestian and Thomas in unrelenting silence. Days passed with no sunlight, no warmth, and no respite. Each morning, a guard would shove through a stale loaf of bread and a tin cup of water—sustenance that barely kept them alive.

Vestian had spent those days wrestling with despair.

‘What about me?’ When Thomas was dragged out of their shared cell on the third day, Vestian had clung to the hope that he would be next. He wasn’t.

“What? Why?! I am the candidate for the papacy!” he had shouted after the retreating guards, his voice cracking with desperation. But the only response he received was the cold echo of his own words.

By the fourth day, realization had struck him with chilling clarity. His father—the pope—had abandoned him.

‘The son of the church’s leader, discarded like a tool no longer needed.’ he would scuff at himself for being all arrogant before.

His father’s disdain had always been subtle, veiled under formalities and expectations. He always knew it was there, but this betrayal was final and undeniable.

Vestian’s hope had extinguished, and he resigned himself to the darkness.

“I’m going to die alone, aren’t I?”

This was the only question he kept murmuring as if talking to the ghosts of those trapped here before him.

But then, a glimmer of light cut through the cell as the door creaked open. Squinting against the brightness, he expected another guard. Instead, a calm, confident voice spoke.

“Do you want a chance at living again?”

The figure who stood before him wasn’t a guard or even a church official—it was Alex Drakathor. The sight of him, standing like a devil in the guise of a savior, struck Vestian speechless. He nodded numbly, the words failing him.

But Alex had then asked another question, “Are you willing to dedicate your life to me?”

The answer again was a numb nod, as all Vestian wanted at that time was to leave that cell and survive—that was all he wanted.

The following days were a blur of negotiations. Vestian learned that Alex had used him and Thomas, who wasn’t really sent back even though he was taken out of the prison earlier, instead shifted to another—something Alex did to put pressure on him—as a bargaining chip in a high-stakes deal with the pope himself.

The terms were deceptively simple: “Have the church relinquish a portion of its influence over the Drakathor Empire; in return, Vestian and Thomas would be released unharmed.”

The first proposal had been rejected outright. It was the second offer that forced the pope’s hand: a veiled threat to reveal Vestian’s secret. Dark magic—hypnosis—coursed through his veins, a forbidden art capable of shattering the church’s reputation if exposed.

Reluctantly, the pope agreed. Vestian and Thomas were released, the only ones knowing about them being captured in the first place being very few.

They had returned to their positions and started doing the duties they were supposed to. Thomas didn’t talk to Vestian—something Vestian had expected from the moment he was released—but everything else remained the same.

Their absence was covered up by saying that the investigation took longer than expected and the church, finding itself responsible for not being stricter on its members, had relinquished a portion of its influence in return.

Things, however, seemed to have started turning the worse as Vestian soon found assassins sent by his father after him. He realized the reason pretty soon, as that was a course of action the pope had taken to erase the root of all evidence. The biggest problem was that Thomas wasn’t protecting him anymore.

It was then that Alex approached Vestian again; this time, there was Thomas next to him, walking with his head bowed in a subservient manner.

It was the day that Vestain realized that he was never free. From the moment he was let out of the prison, he was always dancing within Alex’s palm.

He didn’t even try to resist since he knew that he didn’t have anywhere to go anyway. His home—the church—was already against him. His father was trying to kill him.

It was clear that the god had abandoned him, so the only way for him to survive was by making a deal with the devil, which he did.

Soon, the devil used his means to stop the assassination attempts and gave him orders that he had to follow through.

………..

Vestian’s thoughts were yanked back to the present as the skeptical voice of one of the dukes of the empire cut through the air.

“Is that true, Pope Vestian?”

Blinking rapidly, Vestian realized every eye in the room was on him. Panic swelled in his chest. He had been so lost in his memories that he had no idea what the question was.

He hadn’t even realized that he was already on the first floor, and the higher nobility of the empire and the emperor himself were now standing in front of him.

“Huh?” He blurted out, earning frowns from the gathered nobles. It was involuntary. He didn’t have any idea of what was going on, so that was all he could do.

He could already feel both Alex and Vanessa’s sharp eyes on his body, almost piercing a hole in him, terrifying him.

It was then that Thomas—the only person who could relate with him and was in the same boat—leaned in and whispered, “They’re asking if Alex really saved your life during a trip.”

Relief and dread warred within him.

This was a story Alex had told him to remember—the story they were telling everyone for this impossible friendship happening.

But not wanting to foil things more than he had, Vestian quickly straightened his posture, forcing a smile. “Yes, if not for Alex, I would’ve lost my life that day. Especially since Thomas wasn’t there to save me.”

The moment his words finished, Alex’s hand landed on Vestian’s shoulder in what appeared to be a friendly gesture, but the weight of his grip sent a chill down Vestian’s spine. “See? As I said, we’re friends.”

“Y-Yes,” Vestian stammered unconsciously, but as he felt the tightened grip on his shoulder, he forced a smile again, knowing the consequences of messing up here. “It was at that time that I realized that instead of being each other’s enemies, wasn’t it better for the church and the empire to be friends?”

Smiling, Alex leaned closer, still smiling as his voice dropped to a whisper that only Vestian could hear. “Act natural. Ask to speak to me in private—now.”

The threat in his tone was subtle but unmistakable. And Vetsian, unable to stop his gaze from quivering, subtly nodded, trying not to think about it right now. Turning to Emperor Maurice, he spoke, “Your Majesty, if you’ll excuse me, there are matters I wish to discuss with my friend in private.”

Maurice’s gaze lingered for a moment, sharp and probing, shifting between Alex and Vestian before he nodded. “Of course.”

With that, Alex, Vanessa, Vestian, and Thomas moved to a compartment similar to the one the student council members were seated in.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep