The Kingmaker System
Chapter 248 - 247. Snooping Around (3)

Chapter 248: 247. Snooping Around (3)

The blueprints of the Temple lay sprawled across my desk, illuminated by the soft, flickering candlelight. Every curve and line had been meticulously drawn, detailing the intricate layout of the holy grounds. But something was missing.

I leaned closer, tracing the familiar routes with my fingers. The grand sanctum, the prayer halls, the meditation chambers—they were all accounted for. Yet, the spaces I knew existed—the underground dungeon, the hidden passage connected to the High Priest’s office, and the sealed room with the mana-cancelling door—were glaringly absent. It wasn’t an oversight. It was deliberate.

A sense of unease settled in my chest. The more I studied these plans, the more I realized the extent of the deception. Whoever had designed these blueprints intended to keep the most crucial parts of the Temple hidden. The sealed door in the dungeon, so similar to the one in the passageway, felt like a second lock protecting the same dark secret.

Lyall was already investigating the Temple’s dealings in the black market, chasing down leads that could shed light on the child’s origins. His task was dangerous, but he was relentless. My job, however, was to unravel the mystery from within. Every day spent in this place was another move in a silent war.

I sighed, leaning back in my chair. There was so much to do and so little time. The Dragon’s remnants awaited me, their power pulsing beneath the surface, calling out for recognition. But first, I had to navigate the politics of this place—and that included a meeting with the Pope tomorrow.

I didn’t trust him. The very thought of sitting across from the man who had fabricated a story about finding the child at the Holy Place made my skin crawl. He hadn’t met with Ace, nor had Lyall seen him directly. This encounter would be a calculated game, one I had no intention of losing.

My eyes drifted to the window, the night sky a vast expanse of darkness dotted with stars. The quiet was almost comforting, save for the weight of the task ahead. I closed the blueprints, extinguished the candle, and let the darkness embrace the room.

Tomorrow would be another battle.

The next day dawned bright and warm, the sun casting a golden hue over the Temple’s gardens. The air was fragrant with the scent of blooming flowers, and a gentle breeze rustled through the trees. It was almost serene, a stark contrast to the storm brewing beneath the surface.

I sat beneath the shade of a large oak tree, a theology book resting on my lap. The words blurred as my mind wandered, thoughts consumed by the upcoming meeting. Somewhere nearby, the child played among the flowers, his laughter soft and light.

He crouched beside a patch of vibrant blooms, carefully examining each petal as if committing their beauty to memory. A butterfly landed on his hand, and his eyes widened in wonder. For a moment, he was just a child, free from the burdens of this world.

I couldn’t help but smile at the sight. But the smile faded as reality set in. He was only five, far younger than I had initially thought. A child this young shouldn’t have to endure what he had. The weight of his circumstances pressed heavily on my mind.

"Are you all right?" his voice, small and hesitant, broke through my thoughts.

I looked up to find him standing before me, concern etched into his delicate features.

"Yes," I assured him, though the lie tasted bitter on my tongue.

He seemed unconvinced but didn’t press further. Instead, he crouched down, his gaze thoughtful. "Are you going to meet the Pope tomorrow?"

I nodded. His expression shifted, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face before he quickly looked away.

"What’s wrong?" I asked gently.

He shook his head, silent.

"Do you not like the Pope?" I probed further.

Again, he shook his head, lips pressed into a thin line.

I reached out, ruffling his soft hair. "It’s okay. I’m strong enough to handle him, you know."

A small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, but it didn’t reach his eyes. The shadows lingered there, deep and haunting.

Wanting to lift his spirits, I gestured toward the flowers. "Do you want to see something nice?"

His eyes lit up with curiosity as he nodded eagerly.

I set the book aside and began plucking a few flowers, weaving them together with practiced ease. His gaze never left my hands, fascinated by the intricate movements. When I finished, I placed the flower crown gently on his head.

"A flower crown!" he exclaimed, his grin wide and genuine.

"Yes, just for you," I said, smiling at his excitement.

His cheeks flushed pink as he touched the crown carefully. "I... I want to make one for you too!" he declared with determination.

I chuckled, watching as he clumsily picked flowers and attempted to mimic my actions. His little fingers fumbled but didn’t give up. When he finally finished, he held up a rather crude-looking wreath, beaming with pride.

"I made it!" he announced, eyes shining.

"It’s perfect," I said, bowing my head so he could place it on me.

"You look so beautiful," he whispered, cheeks turning an even deeper shade of pink.

"Thank you," I replied, ruffling his hair again. "And you look very cute."

He giggled, a sound so pure it momentarily chased away the heaviness in my chest. We sat together in companionable silence, the world around us forgotten. For now, this moment was ours.

But my thoughts drifted back to the tasks ahead. The hidden rooms, the sealed doors, and the truth I had yet to uncover. The child was at the center of it all, a key waiting to unlock a mystery far greater than either of us could comprehend.

If only it wasn’t for the dark spell then I might have finished everything but I couldn’t do anything about that dark spell which was etched on his tongue. My Patrons had cautioned me against it in the very beginning.

[Goddess of Wisdom advises you to not interfere with the dark spells.]

[Defender of Divine Glory says you still haven’t gathered enough power to cancel the dark spells.]

[Giver of Gifts explains that the dark spells are curses that need a very strong and knowledgeable mage to handle.]

[Goddess of Wisdom warns that if you act rashly, it might cost the child’s life.]

I couldn’t risk it. The child’s safety came first. Whatever darkness bound him, I would find a way to break it. But not yet. Not until I was sure.

"I’ll protect you," I promised softly, more to myself than to him.

And I would. No matter the cost.

I didn’t try to do anything because I knew I couldn’t bear to hurt the child. My blood reacted in a strange, almost instinctual way around him. It wasn’t just protective—it was as if something ancient within me stirred, recognizing him on a level beyond comprehension. The sensation was both comforting and unsettling. Why did I feel this way? What bond tied us together? These questions circled endlessly in my mind, unanswered.

The child, oblivious to my inner turmoil, held up the flower wreath he had crafted with tiny hands. It was uneven, petals slightly crumpled, but the pride in his eyes made it a treasure. His grin stretched wide as he took a hesitant step forward.

"I-I made it!" he announced, voice trembling with excitement and nervousness.

I couldn’t help but smile. "You did a wonderful job," I said softly, lowering my head so he could place it on me.

He hesitated for a moment, then gently settled the wreath atop my hair. His hands lingered briefly, as if afraid it might fall. When he finally pulled away, he blushed furiously.

"Y-You look so beautiful," he stammered, cheeks flushing pink.

I chuckled, the warmth of his sincerity chasing away the shadows in my heart. "Thank you. And you look quite cute yourself," I replied, tapping the flower crown on his head.

His shy smile deepened, and for a moment, we simply enjoyed the quiet joy of the garden. The playtime had been my decision—a break from the oppressive walls of the Temple and the pretense of constant prayer. I needed air, space to breathe and think. The child needed it too, though he probably didn’t realize how much.

As he busied himself with picking more flowers, my thoughts wandered. Memories of Isle Rosa surfaced unbidden. I, Rune, and Dad had once stumbled upon a beautiful clearing there, filled with wildflowers swaying in the breeze. It had been a day of laughter and peace, a fleeting respite from the weight of our responsibilities. Would we ever have the chance to return? To walk among those flowers again, as a family, without the looming threat of war?

I sighed softly, the ache of longing settling deep in my chest. Communication had been sparse since my arrival here. I hadn’t spoken to Dad or Rune in months, and even reaching Grandfather seemed impossible. The only tether I had to Sestia was Silas, and he was strictly only giving me the crucial information . He shared only what was absolutely necessary, leaving out anything that might cause worry or distraction. For that, I was grateful.

At least I could rest easy knowing that everything I had left behind was in good hands. Roan and Mrs. Jones were more than capable of managing the town, the businesses, and the people. I had entrusted them with everything, and they had proven their loyalty time and again. My absence wouldn’t destabilize the delicate balance we had worked so hard to maintain.

"You’re quiet," the child’s voice pulled me back to the present. He had paused in his flower gathering, watching me with those inquisitive eyes.

"Just thinking," I said with a small smile. "But I’m here now."

He nodded, satisfied, and returned to his task. His small hands worked diligently, creating another wreath with newfound determination. Despite the gravity of our situation, moments like these reminded me of the simple joys in life—the innocence of childhood, the beauty of nature, the fleeting peace found in the most unexpected places.

As I watched him, a thought struck me. The child wasn’t just a key to the lock I was yet to find; he was also a reminder of what I was fighting for. His future, his freedom, his right to experience a life beyond these walls. I would protect him, no matter what it took.

The child finished his second wreath and approached me again, holding it out with a sheepish grin. "I made another one... f-for you."

I took it gently, placing it over my head. "It’s perfect," I said, my voice thick with emotion.

His eyes sparkled with pride, and he beamed, his earlier shyness replaced by pure joy. Moments like this were rare, precious. And I would cherish them, for both our sakes.

"Let’s make more," he suggested eagerly, already turning back to the flowers.

"Lead the way," I replied, following him with a lighter heart.

There was still so much to uncover, so many battles ahead. But for now, in this garden, surrounded by flowers and laughter, I found a moment of peace.