CHAPTER 67: QUEEN OF CHURCH

"The Papal Palace." Losiya murmured inwardly as she gazed into the distance, where dozens of white spires pierced the sky.

After entering the Holy City as part of the Roland Empire’s diplomatic mission, Losiya suddenly caught the scent of flowers around her.

On both sides of the road stood veiled women holding flower pots, occasionally tossing petals into the air. Somewhere, an orchestra was playing the holiest melodies of the Church using ancient instruments. The grand, moving harmonies filled the air.

Most of the people nearby were captivated by this romantic and majestic scene. Losiya’s eyes, too, were drawn in—but not by the flower girls or the music.

Instead, her gaze locked onto the massive door carved with a cross motif, entwined with the emblem of a Guardian Archangel.

That place was the Papal Palace—the seat of the Pope, the spokesperson of the gods in the mortal realm.

According to standard protocol, the various embassies would now take turns presenting themselves before the Holy See to receive blessings and kind words from the Pope.

Following the orderly procession, Losiya walked steadily through the grand entrance of the Papal Palace.

Inside the main hall, everything was lined with white marble—from walls to floors. Scarlet banners hung from the ceiling, bearing the insignia of the Church, exuding a sacred and solemn aura.

The murals depicted scenes familiar to every cathedral: Farad the Creator dividing the land and bestowing titles to noble houses.

A beautiful depiction of the goddess Farad hung prominently in the center, surrounded by a crowd of devotees to whom she granted the right and authority to survive on the mortal plane.

Along the two side walls were portraits of every past Pope.

To Losiya’s eyes, they weren’t necessarily beautiful women—some were plain or even unattractive—but they all had one striking similarity: not a single one bore a warm smile or a face of pity or compassion for mankind.

Finally reaching the end of the hall, she faced a half-covered grand door.

Passing through it, she would lay eyes on the most powerful and influential person on the continent: the Pope of the Holy Light Church—Sylvia.

At this moment, even Losiya couldn’t help but breathe a little quicker. Excitement surged uncontrollably to her head.

As she stepped deeper into the hall, the sounds of pipe organs grew louder and more intense, like a rising tide. Fueled by her heightened emotions, Losiya moved ahead of Grand Duchess Vironica, her footsteps bold as she entered the grand door.

Yet, no one around her found Losiya’s behavior abrupt or disrespectful. They all recognized the girl—beautiful as blooming flowers and sharp as a blade.

In this world, nobles were granted privileges, and Losiya, a rare talent among talents from a distinguished family, inspired both admiration and deference. People stepped aside for her.

Clad in black high-heeled boots, her cloak billowing behind her, the scarlet lining of her inner garments became visible—dazzling to the eye, commanding respect.

Vironica silently followed behind her daughter, saying nothing.

Those paying attention noticed that the banner beside Losiya didn’t bear the emblem of the Roland Empire, nor of the Duchy of Kelden. It was the crest of House Lily, the domain of Countess Losiya herself.

Some shrewd individuals immediately suspected the Grand Duke of Kelden was beginning to formally groom his daughter—and with no small ambitions at that.

As Losiya finally passed through the door, she lifted her chin slightly and looked toward the central position in the hall.

At the same moment, a strange sensation struck her chest, as if her heart had been seized. Her eyes widened instantly, and cold sweat broke out all over her body.

She couldn’t help but lower her head. Her pride was utterly crushed—shattered beneath this presence.

Once at her designated position, Losiya slowly steadied herself. Placing both hands over her chest, she offered the most formal greeting:

"By Farad’s grace, Your Holiness. I am Losiya Kelden of Lily Territory, from the Sakura Roland Empire."

She had originally wanted to see for herself what the current Pope looked like. But now that the moment had come, she didn’t even have the courage to look up.

"I do recall your name," the voice replied at last—light, yet brimming with authority.

"So it’s you, the little girl from back then. It’s been many years... I didn’t expect you to have grown this much."

"Thank you for your concern, Your Holiness."

"Lift your head."

Upon hearing those words, Losiya cautiously raised her head. As her gaze shifted upward, she looked upon the woman seated at the very center of the Papal Palace.

In that instant, Losiya’s eyes, mind, and even soul were seized by the presence before her.

The woman wore the highest-ranking platinum ceremonial robes of the Church. Her expression was lazy, her eyes indifferent, her face serene and aloof—so much so that Losiya instinctively associated her with the goddess Farad as described in the Scriptures.

In her heart, not even a shred of defiance rose. The woman before her was, without a doubt, the most beautiful person she had ever seen.

Looking down at her from above, Sylvia gave off the feeling of a lazy lion sizing up a harmless white rabbit.

Then, a new thought suddenly rose within Losiya—one she immediately rejected.

No, not quite right.

Because in that moment, she remembered Julian—his gentle smile, drawn from the depths of his soul, his dreamy, perfect face smiling just for her.

That warmth spread through her limbs, touching her deeply—moving her, and stirring her heart.

The turmoil that had risen in her just moments before suddenly calmed.

After all, for Losiya, not even the Pope—let alone the goddess Farad herself—could ever surpass the faint, genuine smile Julian had once shown her.

Her pride returned to her once more. Now, facing the most powerful transcendental being on the continent, Losiya composed herself. Her expression turned serious and calm. The anxiety and fear from before were cast aside.

Only after leaving the hall did she realize—she had actually held a normal, courteous conversation with the Pope, just as she would with anyone else.

As Losiya exited the chamber, Sylvia—who had shown no smile until now—suddenly curved her lips ever so slightly.

She turned back and teased the person behind her: "Myris, it seems you’ve underestimated her quite a bit."

Had Losiya still been present, she would’ve been shocked to see the familiar figure of Myris stepping out from behind the Pope.

Still wearing her hair cut across her forehead to hide her left eye, Myris curled her lips with a mixture of disdain and disbelief.

In Myris’s assessment, Losiya had talent, yes—but was someone who relied too much on instinct, reckless and unrestrained.

And yet, under the Pope’s deliberately overwhelming presence, Losiya—who wasn’t even a transcendental of the Holy Realm—wasn’t crushed. On the contrary, she had exchanged words with the Pope as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

As always, Myris thought, what a pity that the Holy Mark doesn’t allow mind-reading. Otherwise, if she had known where that burst of courage had come from, she would have likely fallen into a long, stunned silence.