CHAPTER 40: FEMALE POPE’S DESIRE

By the time Losiya stepped out of the room again, she had already shed her delicate nightgown, exchanging it for the familiar comfort of her usual inner garments. Within the confines of the estate, she favored darker-colored underlayers—deep blues and charcoal grays that blended seamlessly into the shadows of the corridors. Her loose trousers, tailored for ease of movement, whispered softly against her legs as she walked.

Her gait was imposing, carrying the quiet authority of The Countess. Her posture remained upright, shoulders squared and chin slightly lifted, as though even in private moments, she refused to yield to weariness. Yet, despite her regal bearing, there was no mistaking the faint, jagged lines marring the pale skin of her neck—claw marks, stark and unhealed, a silent testament to something violent, something raw.

"Is your neck okay?" Catherine asked with concern.

Losiya didn’t understand why Catherine’s gaze was directed at her neck until she realized the marks were left from Julian’s resistance the night before, a moment when she had accidentally scratched herself.

"Got scratched by the cat in the back garden, it’s nothing," Losiya replied with a nonchalant smile.

Catherine believed her without question and didn’t inquire further.

But Myris kept staring at Losiya for quite a while. Catherine, though generally straightforward in her assumptions, didn’t notice anything strange—but Myris could tell those were definitely not cat scratches.

Feigning indifference, Myris softly asked, "That boy who was just in the room?"

"He’s there to warm my bed," Losiya replied with a teasing smile toward Myris.

"Oh."

Myris nodded without changing expression and didn’t press further.

However, Losiya kept watching Myris out of the corner of her eye, only looking away once she was sure Myris hadn’t taken any particular interest in Julian.

The three of them walked to Losiya’s usual study. Losiya drew the curtains open and first pulled out a chair for Catherine before sitting in the main seat herself.

This quiet little gesture didn’t move Myris at all. She casually pulled out the chair next to Catherine and sat down.

"Do you have anything important you’d like to say first?" Losiya asked, turning toward Myris.

Myris shook her head, signaling Losiya could go first.

"Alright then, let me ask first—are you in a hurry to take Tania away?"

"No hurry," Myris replied, shaking her head.

Losiya, confused, picked up the documents on the table and asked casually, "Then why are you rushing like this? Even breaking into the dungeon at night. With your connection to Aunt, you could’ve just waited for me to finish processing Tania through regular channels, then I’d hand her over directly."

Myris didn’t answer. Instead, she simply closed her visible right eye.

That kind of refusal made Losiya chuckle a bit. After thinking for a moment, she asked, "You’re a noble Saintess of the Church, and just for Tania you came personally?"

"Of course not. This is just something I’m doing along the way."

"Then what exactly did you come here for?" Losiya asked with curiosity.

Myris’s visible eye stared silently at her, exuding a faint sense of mockery.

Losiya didn’t feel insulted at all. On the contrary, she continued, "How about this—satisfy my curiosity, and I’ll hand Tania over to you directly. No additional paperwork or trouble."

Good thing Desmond wasn’t present to overhear this conversation—such a dismissive tone would have surely infuriated any of those nouveau riche nobles.

"Your mother never told you that curiosity killed the cat?" Myris sighed.

From an ordinary person, that line would sound like a joke. But from this Saintess, it carried a certain weight—one that was hard to ignore.

"No helping it. A cat is always curious," Losiya replied with a smile.

Catherine, on the side, wore a slightly worried expression, though she didn’t say anything.

Myris frowned slightly, then relaxed and spoke softly. "The Holy See is looking for someone."

Losiya’s movements paused slightly. Catherine’s expression instinctively showed reverence and awe.

The Radiant Continent had many emperors and kings, but only one Holy See—represented by the Pope of the Holy Light Church, Her Eminence Sylvia, the world’s spokesperson for the goddess Farad.

The one person Losiya truly respected and feared deep down was not Grand Duke Kelden or Roland Emperor—it was the Pope of the Holy Light Church.

Compared to the vague, divine presence of the goddess Farad, the Pope’s tangible power was something everyone on the Radiant Continent understood clearly.

No one knew what holy Mark Sylvia possessed. She had long reached the realm of the Holy Domain in magic. And Losiya knew that before becoming Pope, Sylvia had been the youngest head of the sacred Odshu Vanke family in its entire history.

No one even understood how she had inherited her family’s leadership at such a young age.

In terms of control over the continent, none of her papal predecessors had ever reached Sylvia’s level. Previously, there had always been some tension between royal and divine authority. But now, emperors could only kneel and perform obeisance in her presence.

There was no special reason for this—only one that mattered: she was simply too powerful. Every previous Pope had entered the Holy Realm only through inherited rituals and had obvious shortcomings. For many eras, the strongest person on the continent was not the Pope. Their authority relied mostly on the Church’s military force.

Sylvia, however, was a natural-born in the Holy Realm, without any visible weaknesses. Combined with the Church’s already powerful knight and mage orders, she could truly be said to be unbeatable.

That résumé alone was terrifying enough. Losiya was already far ahead of her peers in capability, but when compared to Sylvia, she felt like they weren’t even the same species.

And now the Pope Sylvia wanted to find someone?

Losiya, who had originally only been mildly curious, was now completely shaken.

Myris knew that if she didn’t satisfy Losiya’s curiosity, the woman would keep pestering her relentlessly. So she spoke plainly: "Her Eminence is searching for a Holy Son."

A Holy Son?

Catherine and Losiya exchanged glances, both showing confusion.

It was a vague term—Holy Son referred to a child blessed by the divine. Myris, as the "Judicator," was one such figure.

In theory, a newly born Holy Son could not yet be identified as male or female.

Such news, if spread, would shake the entire continent. It would cause an uproar. And Myris had actually said it out loud?

Losiya looked at Myris’s nonchalant face and couldn’t help but suspect that this had all been a trap from the beginning.

"I see. Then may I take that woman with me now?" Myris asked.

Losiya nodded her agreement. At this point, she was preoccupied with something else—something so serious that she couldn’t concentrate on responding to Myris anymore.

That idea in her head grew more and more horrifying.

Julian’s holy Mark—was it the strongest upper-tier holy Mark ever recorded? Or was it the unprecedented "Life"?

And her own right eye—it served as a chilling reminder. Legends said Holy Sons were born with physical traits distinct from ordinary humans. What was once dismissed as part of Julian’s deceptive tricks...

Now that he had awakened the upper-tier holy Mark—it was no trick anymore.