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The Pope took his seat.

Following him, the Emperor of the Britannian Empire settled into his place.

The Emperor’s intense gaze lingered on me for a moment.

I gave a slight nod. He averted his eyes as if it were nothing.

Well, it makes sense that he wouldn’t easily remember.

The Emperor had regained the appearance of his younger days—the perfect predator.

Completely different from when I met him in the imperial palace.

“Ah, these are the ones to face the witch trial.”

The Pope introduced us with a serene tone.

And so, we faced him.

The master of Holy Constantine, the spiritual father of all believers of the Deus Church—

Pope Daios II.

Even in the game, meeting him was next to impossible.

Thus, there was no clear understanding of his character, personality, or abilities.

Merely an image of “benevolence” widely spread among players.

Such was his existence.

A noble figure shrouded in mystery.

Countless rumors surrounded him.

That he was incredibly handsome.

That he looked like a teenage boy.

That he was an overwhelmingly mystical and awe-inspiring presence.

Or even that he might secretly be an elf.

And now, facing him directly, I realized.

No player had ever truly seen the Pope.

Only the perception of “benevolence” was genuine.

At a glance, he had a benevolent demeanor.

No—calling it “benevolent” was generous. He almost looked… approachable.

If the Emperor was the embodiment of a rigid and ferocious beast, the Pope felt like a kindly next-door neighbor.

He had a slightly plump and warm appearance. Honestly, if it weren’t for the endlessly divine aura of his priestly robes, I’d think, “Oh, someone just moved in next door. They seem quite nice”, if I met him in an elevator.

In short, he looked less like a Pope and more like someone’s amiable neighbor.

“…”

Of course, saying such a thing out loud would instantly lead to a charge of blasphemy.

Then again, does it matter?

I’m already in custody.

Standing on trial for witchcraft means I’m already as guilty as one can be in the eyes of the church.

The Pope and the Emperor murmured to one another.

To be precise—they conversed normally, but we couldn’t hear them.

The recently activated magical barrier surrounding the seats of the accused must have been the cause.

However, judging from the Pope’s lip movements, he seemed to be mentioning holding the witch trial or conducting the saint evaluation afterward.

After finishing their discussion, the Pope—

—Step

—approached us.

Only as the distance shortened did I feel it fully.

Despite his kind appearance, this man was unmistakably the Pope.

The immense divine energy emanating from him was overwhelming, enough to make me flinch involuntarily.

Yet, the expressions of those seated beside me remained unchanged.

‘… Is it just me?’

The sheer presence was enough to catch me off guard.

The Pope stopped about three meters away.

Standing beyond the transparent veil, he addressed me—or rather, us, the accused.

“Religion, by nature, is a profoundly sacred thing. It exists because people believe blindly in the divine. That’s why spiritual guidance is so important. Ordinary people are like lost lambs, needing to be led down the righteous path.”

The Pope’s voice was gentle yet solemn.

“That is the blind faith of the lambs. But at times, there are those who deceive these lambs and lead them astray. We call such individuals heretics. Among them, those whose sins are especially grave are branded witches. They are the ones we must ceaselessly purify.”

Hehe-.

He chuckled softly, as though he were a kind elder.

But his words, in stark contrast to his smile, were resolute and grim.

Above all, that so-called “purification” was just a euphemism—it meant execution by fire. And not an ordinary burning, but one where the victim was slowly burned alive over thirteen days.

At this point, I could somewhat understand where the pure madness of Oscar stemmed from. Spending time in a Vatican led by someone like this would inevitably drive anyone down that path.

“You must each carry great sins for Oscar to have brought you here. Let us find out what sins you’ve committed…”

“I have done no wrong!”

The middle-aged man spoke up.

It seemed his tongue had loosened—or perhaps his magic seal had been lifted.

The Pope stood before him with a benevolent smile.

“You claim to be without sin?”

“That’s right! I am innocent!”

A brief silence followed.

The Pope’s eyes seemed to scan him deeply.

“You truly believe that to be the case.”

“Y-yes! Wait… how did you…?”

The middle-aged man, who had been adamantly protesting, was startled by the Pope’s resolute statement.

‘Could he be reading thoughts?’

There were rumors about the Pope. Among them, that lying was impossible in his presence.

I had heard this not only in the game but also since coming to this world.

However, I shook my head.

In Fantasy X Academy, three abilities were deemed impossible:

Instantaneous casting.

Prophecy.

The ability to read another’s mind.

These were unshakable rules of truth.

Thus, no magic existed that could read another’s thoughts.

Yet, the Pope’s actions seemed to defy even this fundamental truth.

“I only ran an orphanage! During that time, there was an outbreak of plague…”

“You caused the plague, didn’t you?”

“No, I didn—”

“Lies. Hmm. The records here mention thirty children… but there were more. Seventy? Seventy-three. Yes, all girls.”

“W-what…!”

The middle-aged man was stumbling headlong into ruin under the Pope’s words.

I sighed as I watched the scene.

‘Damn it, what kind of ability is that?’

It appeared as though the moment the man answered a question, the Pope could see the truth behind his words.

If that were the case, this was a nightmare.

I had several secrets I absolutely needed to protect.

That I was someone who had transmigrated, and that I knew the future.

If either of these were discovered, it would be the end for me.

I wouldn’t die peacefully.

I’d end up dragged to Oscar’s butcher shop, peeled apart layer by layer until I revealed everything I knew.

I needed to figure out the Pope’s ability.

How was he replicating the “impossible” act of reading thoughts?

Perhaps he was finding clues or hints from his opponent.

I observed closely. My skill in observation, sharpened from analyzing Lipenstein before, allowed me to catch finer details.

“…That’s not it! I only ever—”

“R*pe, and even offering victims as sacrifices. Are you also connected to the Bloodstone Cult?”

Following the Pope’s gaze, I looked at the middle-aged man.

His eyes and the corners of his lips were trembling ever so slightly.

“N-Never!”

“You are.”

The pattern repeated.

I had begun to uncover the secret behind the Pope’s ability.

While I wasn’t entirely certain of the mechanism…

‘The key is the trembling.’

Whenever his opponent trembled, the Pope discerned the truth.

When they didn’t, he either accepted it as truth or provoked another reaction.

And so, the middle-aged man—no, the S-ranked wanted criminal, serial murderer, r*pist, and operative of the Bloodstone Cult, Thiebaud Brome—was declared a witch.

The three-minute process was undoubtedly a performance.

After all, the Pope’s time was far too precious to spend on dealing with mere criminals.

In other words.

This was a subtle display of his abilities for the Emperor.

“What do you think? This is how I determine sinners.”

“Quite merciful. If it were up to me, I wouldn’t have exchanged a word and would’ve gutted him immediately.”

“It’s been a while, so my head aches from the effort. Hahaha.”

The Pope, smiling warmly, gestured lightly toward the middle-aged man.

“Your sins shall be purified.”

“W-wait a moment… I, I am…!”

“To the stake.”

“W-wait…! Y-you filthy bastards! We Bloodstone will—”

His mouth shut abruptly.

And just like that, he disappeared.

A sudden silence descended upon the chamber.

“Hehehe.”

Only the Pope’s relaxed chuckle disrupted the quiet.

Through the glass wall on one side, a small flame began to flicker gently.

It was distant and not clearly visible, but the flame swayed as though alive.

“May your soul be cleansed as well.”

A short prayer from the Pope.

His gaze then shifted to the next person.

“Oscar seems to harbor a profound hatred for you.”

The Pope’s voice carried a tinge of pity.

But the sympathy wasn’t directed at me.

It was for the widow seated to my left.

She stammered out a reply to his words.

“I-I don’t understand w-what you mean.”

A brief shadow of sorrow crossed the Pope’s face.

Though it was quickly replaced by his benevolent expression, the moment wasn’t subtle enough to miss.

Was there some history between them?

One thing was clear: the woman, who appeared to be a widow, did not have an ordinary past.

Why had she, once a saint, fallen from her position?

Why had she been exiled to the outskirts, only to return to the Vatican as an accused witch?

I couldn’t say.

Still, I needed her.

If it came down to it, I was prepared to try to save her, even if she was accused of being a witch.Nôv(el)B\\jnn

“It would be better if you forgot again.”

It seemed such measures wouldn’t be necessary, however.

The Pope simply placed his hand gently on her head.

“Be at peace, free from the pain of memory.”

A brief, radiant light flashed.

The woman’s body slumped, her strength drained.

“Ariane.”

The Pope’s solemn voice echoed in the chamber.

Her unconscious form bore an uncanny resemblance to one of the heroines I knew.