“Don’t doubt me. You’re probably the only one in the dark about this. I’m just warning you—afraid you’ll sink too deep and end up trapped between duty and heart.”
Seeing Kroso’s face pale, Toma slung an arm around his shoulder and murmured gentle reassurance.
Kroso was genuinely stunned. If Toma spoke true, an utterly uncrossable chasm truly lay between him and the Archangel.
But the thing was… he and the Archangel had already…
No wonder she’d resolved to die right then. She must have known all along it was impossible—hence that crushing despair.
Wait…
No!
If the Archangel belongs to the Rhine Family, why did she wear such a troubled expression when I warned her about the Church elders?
Could it be… she also disapproves of her family’s methods?
Yes!
It has to be!
With the Archangel’s holiness and kindness, how could she not resent the brutal rule within her own house?
She still stands firmly with the common folk. Kroso absolutely would not abandon her over mere status!
In an instant, his mind conjured the image: a gentle young lady, standing alone against her powerful clan, punished harshly for her dissent. Kroso’s fists clenched tight.
“Thanks for the warning, Toma. I’ve made up my mind.”
Taking a slow breath, Kroso regained his calm and gave Toma’s shoulder a light, grateful pat.
“Huh? Already moved on? When my family forced me to break up with my first love, I hid and cried for hours. You really are… someone who lets go just like that—a total career-driven guy.”
Watching Kroso shake off heartbreak so fast, Toma gaped in disbelief.
“No. After I help the Empire eradicate the Church, I’ll claim the Archangel for myself. Then no one can keep us apart, right?”
A faint smile on his lips, Kroso murmured this softly and turned toward the main hall of the Imperial Ceremonial Airship.
Having made his decision, a wave of drowsiness washed over him. Time to rest.
This was conserving energy. From now on, he’d need to give two hundred percent to grow stronger.
“Huh?”
Toma froze, unsure he’d heard right.
By the time he snapped back, Kroso’s figure was nearly gone down the VIP passage.
“Hey! You jerk! Seriously giving up on being my brother-in-law? My family’s loaded!”
Of course he wouldn’t shout that aloud. Instead, Toma called out in a tone only they’d understand.
“I’ll tell your sister once we reach the Holy City. Once Kroso sets his heart on someone, he never turns back. For her, I’ll defy anything!”
Kroso’s voice rang out clearly before his silhouette vanished completely into the passage.
“…”
Speechless, Toma shook his head hard—afraid it was a hallucination.
But the scene stayed unchanged. A faint dizziness crept in. He finally accepted it: Kroso was dead serious.
But…
Counting from the Arcane Spire’s founding, the Church had ruled humanity for millennia. How could anyone eradicate it so quickly?
Merely holding their ground was the Empire’s highest hope—that alone showed how dire things were.
Was this guy planning to stay single forever?
Staring blankly at where Kroso disappeared, Toma didn’t know what expression to wear.
—————————
Night fell. The Imperial Ceremonial Airship welcomed the Archangel aboard and prepared to depart.
Few nobles or generals accompanied her to the Holy City. Chernost City stood on the front lines against the Abyssal army, guarded by the entire Seventh Imperial Legion. Unless under special orders, all remained.
Still, the airship’s cargo holds brimmed with tributes destined for the Imperial Royal Family and the Church.
Inside her exclusive suite atop the main hall, Sylvia had already settled in to rest.
The airship’s lavish exterior left her unmoved—she’d seen it in the original story. Reality merely added finer details.
But the suite’s interior? Its overwhelming opulence stunned her deeply.
How to describe it?
Simplest example: a casual wave toward the table summoned intricate magical arrays into the air. With a thought, teas and snacks materialized—no servants needed.
This wasn’t mere material luxury. Outside the Arcane Spire, no power would dare display such precious magic openly for guest amusement.
Like crafting disposable wine glasses from nuclear warheads in the modern age—utterly unthinkable.
Yet after a moment’s marvel, Sylvia’s interest faded.
With her status, such luxuries would be routine. No need to gawk.
Smoothly, she retrieved the “Sleeping Potion” she’d perfected that day from her Storage Pouch and began the next phase.
First: location.
The parlor suited perfectly. Both the master seat beneath her and the guest chairs beside the tea table were spacious, comfortable—ideal for various arrangements.
Second: beverage.
Uncertain of Kroso’s preference, she chose the red wine commonly served at Imperial banquets.
From the floating array, she summoned a full bottle and two crystal glasses, arranging them neatly on the table.
Final step. Sylvia’s tongue nervously moistened her lips. Carefully, she lifted the “Sleeping Potion” resting beside the table and poured it into one glass.
Truly colorless and odorless. Even filled with wine, both glasses looked identical.
All set. Next: summon the Hero.
Slowly raising her right hand, Sylvia felt her heartbeat quicken—strangely, unmistakably.
