Abel froze.
“Being twisted into that form and living for who knows how many years,” Julius said softly, “perhaps death was actually a mercy for her.”
Abel remained silent.
“Regardless,” Julius patted his shoulder, “you succeeded. The divine disasters should no longer occur.”
“In theory, yes,” Abel said. “But I can’t guarantee it.”
“That’s enough.” Julius smiled. “Next, we need to deal with another matter.”
Abel looked at him, a bad premonition rising in his heart.
“What matter?”
“Those women.” Julius’s smile turned teasing. “Did you think they would let you off just because you ‘saved the world’?”
Abel: “…”
“Also,” Julius continued, “the king and the pope have already prepared a victory banquet in your honor. Your reputation right now is at its peak.”
Abel’s head started hurting again.
“Big brother, what do you think I should do?”
Julius looked at him with gentle yet profound eyes.
“I told you before—I have a way. You just need to trust me!”
Three days later, in the royal capital.
A grand victory banquet was held at the royal palace.
Crystal chandeliers sparkled brilliantly. Long tables were laden with exquisite delicacies.
Nobles dressed in luxurious attire chatted in small groups. The air was thick with the scents of perfume, fine wine, and ostentatious socializing.
But there was only one true protagonist tonight.
Abel stood in the center of the hall, surrounded by a crowd.
He wore the formal attire Julius had prepared for him, maintaining a proper smile on his face. In his mind, however, he was thinking about his brother’s “plan.”
“Lord Abel!” King Beint III’s voice rang out.
The crowd parted automatically, creating a path.
His Majesty the King approached personally, followed by His Holiness the Pope.
The two most powerful figures on the continent both wore smiles as they looked at Abel, their eyes treating him like a priceless treasure.
“Our hero!” The king opened his arms and gave him a hug. “You have saved the entire world!”
The pope also stepped forward, placing his aged hand gently on Abel’s head.
“My child, the God of Chronos will forever remember your achievements. You are the true savior.”
Abel humbly lowered his head. “Your Majesty, Your Holiness, you flatter me. I merely did what needed to be done.”
“What needed to be done?” The king laughed. “Only a true hero would say such words!”
He turned to the crowd and raised his voice:
“Everyone! From this day forward, Abel Noct shall be granted the title of hereditary Duke of the kingdom. His territory will be expanded threefold, and he will enjoy tax exemption privileges! Additionally, he will serve as the kingdom’s Chief Knight Commander, leading all knight orders!”
The nobles erupted in gasps.
This reward was extremely generous.
The pope also spoke:
“The Church will not forget the hero’s contributions either. From today onward, Lord Abel shall be honored with the title of ‘Holy Knight Commander,’ ranking above the cardinals and possessing the authority to mobilize all armed forces of the Church!”
Another wave of exclamations swept through the hall.
Either one of these rewards would be enough to elevate an ordinary person to the heights of power. Together, they granted nearly unparalleled influence.
Yet there was no joy on Abel’s face.
He could tell that the king’s smile was insincere, and calculation lurked in the pope’s eyes.
They weren’t rewarding him.
They were putting him on the spot, setting him up to be roasted over the fire.
Concentrating so much power in one person would inevitably attract countless jealousy and hostility. Eventually, he would either become their puppet or be attacked by the mob.
A perfect case of killing with excessive praise.
Abel sneered inwardly but kept his expression neutral.
“Thank you, Your Majesty. Thank you, Your Holiness. I am unworthy of such great favor.”
“You are more than worthy!” The king waved his hand grandly. “Tonight, let us drink to our hearts’ content!”
Music began to play, and the banquet continued.
Abel held his wine glass, dealing with the endless stream of toasts and flattery. His gaze swept across the crowd, spotting many familiar faces—
Prim stood not far away in a gorgeous court dress, watching him from a distance without approaching.
Her expression was complicated—worry, guilt, and a trace of… reluctance.
Aiko stood beside Sephilia, wearing the white robes of a saintess. She kept stealing glances at him before quickly looking away.
Ingrid stood in a corner by herself, drinking. The wound on her chest hadn’t fully healed, and her face was still pale.
Yet her honey-gold eyes followed his figure the entire time, as if pondering something.
Aruma mingled with the crowd, eating large chunks of meat and drinking heavily. She occasionally bragged to the knights beside her, “I fought alongside Abel before!”
Elfi stood a short distance behind him, watching over him as always.
As for Siglika… that strange maid hadn’t come.
She was apparently ill and bedridden.
Abel withdrew his gaze and sighed softly in his heart.
Would his brother’s plan really have to go this far?
At that moment, his body suddenly stiffened.
His face turned deathly pale in an instant, and cold sweat broke out on his forehead.
“Lord Abel?” The people beside him asked in surprise. “What’s wrong?”
Abel didn’t answer.
He clutched his chest, his body swaying. Then—he violently coughed up a mouthful of blood.
The blood splattered onto the floor, a shocking sight.
“Abel!”
Shocked cries filled the hall.
Sephilia was the first to rush over, supporting his faltering body.
Holy light glowed from her palm as she channeled divine arts into him. Her expression changed drastically.
“This is…” Her voice trembled. “Divine erosion?!”
“What?!” King Beint III stood up in shock. “Didn’t the divine disasters already end?”
“The disasters have ended, but…” Sephilia’s face was grave. “Lord Abel came into direct contact with that existence. His body has been completely polluted.”
Abel coughed up another mouthful of blood, his face as white as paper.
Aiko rushed over, grabbing his hand as tears poured from her eyes.
“Lord Abel! You… you…”
Prim also ran over, standing there dazedly with trembling lips, unable to speak.
Ingrid watched the scene from outside the crowd, her eyes filled with complex emotions.
Sephilia desperately cast healing spells, but the light entering Abel’s body disappeared like a stone sinking into the sea, having no effect.
“It’s not working…” She lowered her hands in despair. “Mortal healing cannot save him.”
The pope stepped forward and placed his aged hand on Abel’s forehead. After a moment of silence, he shook his head.
“The divine erosion has reached his soul. He… doesn’t have much time left.”
The entire hall fell into dead silence.
Abel leaned weakly against Sephilia, smiling faintly.
“I’m sorry… for making everyone worry…”
“Don’t speak!” Aiko cried. “There must be a way! There has to be!”
Abel shook his head and looked toward Julius.
Julius stood not far away, his face full of shock and sorrow.
But deep in those blue eyes, a glint of light flashed—something only Abel could understand.
The plan had succeeded.