She had wanted power.
"Hah, hah, hah—"
Near the heart of the Hidden Sanctuary.
Running at full speed toward her destination... Second Princess Laila thought about the journey that had brought her here — to this point.
...She was certain.
Their generation of the royal family — something had been broken from the very start.
Their father had been saddled with the ill-fitting role of "King," and the burden of it consumed him entirely. He never managed to carve out a single moment for his family. Even now, she could barely recall his face in any clear detail.
Her older siblings had fared much the same. Their sister had been shipped off to marry into another kingdom before she'd even come of age — half-forced, half-fleeing of her own volition. Their brother, as First Prince and the strongest candidate for the throne, had been crushed under that weight since childhood, unable to think of anything beyond it, always wearing a tired expression.
And Laila? She hadn't even been permitted the effort of striving as the second candidate.
Because by the time she'd become aware of the world, it was already—
So very, impossibly gifted, and special from the very moment of his birth—
her younger brother—
had taken everything from her.
She was never given a single moment alone with her father. And her siblings — she barely had the chance to see them either, each for their own reasons.
Everyone around them had directed all their attention toward Aster, the future king. Almost no one truly saw her.
With a single exception — her mother.
For her, her mother had been her entire world.
She believed her mother, Orthesia, had shown her a measure of love when she was young. Looking back now, she couldn't be sure whether it was the right kind of love... but still. Even when her young eyes caught the strained, distorted expression her mother sometimes wore — an expression that only grew more frequent as Laila grew — even then.
There had been a time when she was raised with love, with hope. That was what she wanted to believe. It was all she could believe.
But...
It broke when she was five. The moment Laila awakened to her Bloodline Magic.
The magic she was granted—
Spirit Veil.
It certainly wasn't what anyone would call overwhelmingly powerful, but as a Bloodline Magic bestowed upon a member of the royal family, it was well within acceptable range.
"With this, Mother will surely praise me!" Full of that hope, Laila ran desperately through the Royal Palace to reach her mother and proudly reported her Bloodline Magic. Seeing her like that—
Her mother said:
"Hoh. —
So it's only the one.
"
Cold.
Terribly, cruelly cold were her eyes.
Eyes that made everything she had ever seen, every shred of love she had ever felt, seem like a complete illusion. Eyes that harbored not a single flicker of warmth—eyes that seemed to drain all the heat from her body just by looking into them.
After that, her mother never again looked at her the way she once had.
They still shared meals together and exchanged a few words, just as before. But all of it was purely mechanical—not a single conversation held any warmth or life.
Truly, all of her mother's previous behavior had been nothing but a whim. It was more than enough to convince her that it had all been an illusion—
—and yet, she couldn't give up.
Because that was all she had. That was all she could cling to, all she could reach for.
...She wanted her mother to go back to the way she used to be, someday.
Clinging to that single hope, she continued to work hard for her mother's sake.
Around that time, Mother shed her role as a "decorative Pope" and threw herself into the power struggles within the Church with renewed vigor. She began demanding that I act as the Church's rightful successor, so I obliged. I listened to my mother and continued to meet her expectations.
Ultimately, as far as she was concerned... the Church's standing, the kingdom's future, the war of succession for the throne — none of it mattered.
All Laila wanted was — just one more time. To see that smile her mother once had, that expression, directed at her one final time.
That was her only wish.
No matter how much she was scorned within the Church, she studied desperately.
When she asked, again and again, her mother refused to tell her what she wanted — so she patiently drew out what she could, trying to piece together an understanding from fragments of information.
Even the one younger sister she had grown close to — it seemed Mother hated that girl, so naturally she began keeping her distance.
As she lived that way, something gradually became clear.
It seemed... for reasons she couldn't comprehend, Mother wished for her to possess multiple Bloodline Magic abilities. She was not content with just
Spirit veil
alone.
In her mother's eyes when she looked at her... Laila caught glimpses of something else entirely — the shadow of someone else, someone who surely carried multiple Bloodline Magic, superimposed over her own image.
She had her guess as to the reason why.
— Sara von Hartmann. A once-in-several-generations anomaly of Dual aptitude. And one of those powers
Spirit veil
was the very same.
Mother must have known about this girl's existence. That was surely why she had grown so cold toward her — a daughter who could only ever be an inferior copy.
From the moment she thought that, she came to despise Sara.
No — it wasn't just Sara. From around that time, anyone who possessed more power than her, anyone who was more blessed, became an object of her jealousy without exception. Even Liliana — the one relative who was clearly, undeniably inferior to her — she drew a line, deciding she must hate her too after witnessing her recent accomplishments.
...She wanted power.
Nevertheless, "Dual aptitude" was something innate. From the moment she was born with only one Bloodline Magic, it had been decided—she could never reach that pinnacle.
But she couldn't bring herself to accept that.
So Laila sought power to compensate. Willing to use any means necessary, she leveraged her authority as a princess and her position as the daughter of the Church's most powerful figure to scour every last scrap of information she could find.
—And she found it.
A method that only the Church knew about—a cheat. The sole means of obtaining extraordinary magical power after birth.
It was at the very moment she reached that discovery that a request came from Archbishop Gregorio.
"Shall we make a deal, Princess Laila?"
Somehow, he must have caught wind that Laila had been searching for "that."
"You see, we're willing to let you remain—if you'll do as we say. The Pope—and even the throne—"
As always, he was all smiles and friendliness. But there was something slightly off about his grin.
"We'll give you what you're looking for. Better yet... we'll even throw our full support behind your claim to the throne. So cooperate with us. To start—help us set a trap for the Third Princess's faction when they come before long."
There was no reason to refuse.
…But.
Naturally, Laila wasn't a fool. She couldn't for a moment believe those archbishops would simply honor their word. It was easy to imagine that nine times out of ten, they'd either renege on the deal or dispose of her the instant they granted her the power.
So what Laila came up with—
was to deceive both of them.
.
Guide the Third Princess's faction to the designated location and arrange a battlefield overwhelmingly favorable to Archbishop Gregorio.
Conversely, that would be the one moment she could slip from Gregorio's sight. Not just Gregorio—all the remaining archbishops would be too busy repelling the intruders to notice her.
The moment to betray them, the moment to act—that was then. Let the Archbishop's faction and the Third Princess's faction tear each other apart, and in that instant, she would seize what she was after.
The archbishops don't know. They probably assume Laila doesn't know either.
The true nature of the "power" Laila seeks. It—
In the Hidden Cathedral.
At its deepest level.
It lies there.
...is where it lies.
Laila had obtained that information. Through documents and connections that only she could access.
She would exploit the gap in that knowledge—their awareness stretched thin repelling the intruders. By knowing a place they could never know about, and striking at a moment when they couldn't act, she would achieve her objective.
That was the full scope of the plan Laila had been plotting from the very moment she was approached.
——And.
The moment it would all go right. Was just around the corner.
"...I'm here."
Following the route she'd been promised, repeatedly infiltrating with the magical tools she'd quietly acquired—the ones favored by Church insiders—Laila had at last reached the deepest depths of the Hidden Cathedral.
At its center, enshrined as if it were some object of worship, sat the very thing she had been seeking.
"..."
In shape, it was close to a celestial globe.
A deep blue sphere floating in the air, with numerous rings of light whirling busily around it like satellites.
And above all else, what stood out most was the divine, overwhelmingly immense magic power radiating from that celestial globe.
"So this is..."
With ragged breath, Laila whispered.
This was the true identity of the "power" she had been seeking — something that made it possible to wield nothing less than "the power of God," a force beyond the reach of any acquired, half-baked Bloodline Magic.
Its name was—
"—
Ancient magical tool
: Estia Magna.
The same... extraordinary... magical tool as the 'Skaldrogia' Archbishop Johan wielded..."
That's right.
This was one of the "unfathomable powers" the Church had kept hidden — a power that surpassed even Bloodline Magic, the Church's most closely guarded secret. One half of the two extraordinary magical tools currently in the Church's possession.
The other ancient magical tool — Skaldrogia — had been wielded by Johan, the most powerful of the Archbishops, enabling a practically cheating ability: "precognition."
—
then
,
Laila too
should be able
to do the same
.
That was it.
This was what Laila had conceived — a scheme to obtain power on par with what she called "dual aptitude."
"Now... now...!"
No one would ever make a fool of her again. No one would ever look down on her again.
The hardships bearing down on her, the difficulties — she would gain whatever power she could to overcome them.
And her mother too. Someday, things would be like they once were.
"Mother... someday..."
Whether it was because the moment her wish would come true was now within reach, or because the magic power of Estia Magna was washing over her—
With a faint, dreamlike sway to her steps, yet with a will of iron, Laila reached out toward the celestial globe—
"—Stop."
But.
In that instant, a voice cut through.
Laila spun toward the source of it, as though repelled by an invisible force.
Perhaps, in her current state, she might have reached out regardless of a minor interruption.
...But that voice. That voice alone was something Laila absolutely could not ignore, no matter what.
After all.
"...Why..."
The person standing there was someone who should not have been able to exist in this place.
At the same time... she was the very person Laila burned for above all others.
And so Laila called out that name, her voice trembling.
"Why... are you here, Mother...!?"
Receiving her daughter's voice — a confused, terrified jumble of emotions—
Laila's mother, Pope Ortesia, fixed those same dark, dim eyes upon her without a change.
◆
"I'll say it one more time — stop. Step away from that magical tool right now. ...It's not something someone like you should be touching."
Another warning aimed at Laila, who stood frozen on the spot, trembling. To the ear, the words might have passed for a mother's concern for her daughter, but there was not the slightest trace of that warmth in Ortesia's voice.
Whether Laila sensed that, or whether her confusion had simply reached its breaking point —
"Why...?"
Like something broken, Laila could do nothing but repeat her question. Ortesia let out a sigh, then replied in a flat, dispassionate tone.
"Recovering the —
magical tool
is the mission I was given. 'Let no one touch it, and hand it over to our Boss in pristine condition' — that's what Laplace told me in that insufferable tone of hers."
"Boss... Laplace...!? Mother, what do you — no way, but, that can't be..."
The words she had just heard, and what they implied. Added to that was the knowledge she carried of the 'organization' threatening the kingdom.
These pieces connected, and the worst possible scenario crystallized in Laila's mind.
...But she could never accept that. And yet, if it were true, she had no idea what to say. Her confusion reached its peak, driven forward by the compulsive need to open her mouth —
"— M-Mother!"
What she offered was something akin to a plea born of denial. There was simply no other path available to her.
"Mother, this — this magical tool is something incredible!"
"Yes, I know."
"With this magical tool, anyone — even me! — could wield power as magnificent as Archbishop Johan's!"
"...? And your point is?"
Ortesia tilted her head, as though wondering what on earth Laila was talking about. Perhaps she should have caught on by now — but she was far too shaken to notice.
She says it. Her mother's guess.
"Mother... you can't stand the fact that I'm an inferior version of Sara von Hartmann, can you...? She has the same magic as me, and she has dual aptitude!
That's why — that's why, if I just had this magical tool! I'll be able to wield two Bloodline Magics in practice — no, I'll be able to do even more than that! I won't have to be looked down on as defective anymore! The succession war would go in my favor, that's why...!"
That's why — once more. That smile from that day.
That alone, Laila couldn't manage to put into words no matter how hard she tried, and after that she lowered her head, pleading.
"...Ah, I see. So that's what you were thinking."
Those words, spoken by Pope Ortesia.
"...Ahaha"
—
Mocking
laughter.
"Haha, ahahahahaha... fufu, what even is that, how funny. Ah, it's been so long since something made me laugh this hard."
...She had wanted to see that smile once more.
But — this, this kind of thing, this kind of laughter.
It was absolutely, decidedly not what she wanted. And being forced to recognize that with absolute certainty because it was her own mother — Laila stood there, dumbfounded —
"...Not even close."
Ortesia, still wearing that mocking, thin smile, spat the words out.
"...No way."
"Well, yes, I suppose. When you were small, I did hold just a tiny bit of hope. It might have been the slimmest of possibilities, but you do share her blood after all,
Maybe
you'd turn out just like her."
"──That maybe you could."
"──But it was impossible. I felt it more strongly with every year you grew, and the moment I learned of your Bloodline Magic, I was certain."
With that, Ortesia—
…finished, without so much as the faintest trace of a thin smile, her voice flat and detached.
"It's impossible. It truly is. Because no matter how miraculously you grow, no matter how hard you try—even if you changed your face, changed your personality, borrowed the power of a Magical tool──"
She declared.
"You──
could never become
Roselia,
could you?"
"────Eh"
…………She couldn't…
……understand.
Her mother, standing there, telling her the painfully obvious—that she "could not become someone else." And on top of that, demanding something of her that went so far beyond the realm of impossibility that even calling it an impossible task didn't begin to cover it. No matter how she struggled, she couldn't seem to wrap her head around it.
And then, the name that had been spoken.
For a moment, she hadn't known who was being talked about. But her knowledge as a member of the royal family had, just barely, led her to the person who matched.
"Why…"
she demanded, her voice trembling.
"Why… of all things… does the name of the 'Sky Witch' come up──!?"
"Don't call her by that name."
But in that moment.
Orthecia approached with an expression Lila had never seen before, seized her by the throat, and lifted her off the ground with one hand. In a voice so guttural it was terrifying, she spoke in broken, staccato words.
"Roselia. Roselia Kirsch von Yustia.
The Crown's greatest masterpiece. Not the pathetic drivel those fools in the Church spout — a child beloved by God in the truest sense of the word. No — God Himself. My star! My sky!"
...She had been mistaken.
"Ha. — There's only the one, isn't there."
That remark. That lingering gaze that followed. She had understood it pointed to someone with dual aptitude other than herself. And she had been utterly convinced it referred to Sara, who shared the same magic and bore the same dual aptitude.
...But.
It had been a perfect misunderstanding. What Orthecia had been gazing at was something far more distant. A far more fatal, hopeless phantom.
"She was never supposed to be dragged down to anyone's level! But those incompetent brothers and that vulgar Church dragged her down and she vanished somewhere!"
Crunch.
As if giving voice to the seething passion she had kept locked away inside, she tightened her grip on the girl's throat with one hand.
"M-Moth... er... it... hurts..."
"That's why I'm going to bring her back. With my own hands — the her from that day!
For that, nothing else matters. Let them destroy the country, let them kill however many they like — I couldn't care less!
If she
won't raise her to be what she should be, then you're worthless too!"
"...From the very beginning, my goal was only one thing. Because everything else is—"
"—nothing worth caring about."
Those words, spoken when Lilliana and the others had been granted an audience with Orthecia, came flooding back.
……To think I'd come to understand the true meaning of those words only now.
"Fortunately, my work was completed the moment I handed over the Estia Magna. Now, just as they told me, I don't have to keep up this sickening role as Pope. —Because everything is going to be destroyed anyway.
So I will—
completely
take the reborn kingdom, and the information they'll give me as payment! This time, I will absolutely go and welcome Roselia! Yes, as long as that child is here, I need nothing else! Ahahahahahahaha…!!"
……In that instant.
In her fading consciousness, Lilliana finally grasped the meaning of the affection that had been directed at her that day—and became convinced that it would never return.
At the same time, Pope Orthecia—
—one of the executives of the "Organization," a monster chasing after the phantom of a witch who once shone in the Royal Capital, let out a laugh so wild it resembled a newborn's cry.
Pope Orthecia is one of the executives, and someone connected to Rose's master.
The tangled threads of fate and their positions will become clearer from here on. I hope you'll keep reading in future chapters!