The tension between them grew sharper by the second.
Though Emperor Denken and Archbishop Daniel stood separated by the mana projection—each in their own location—the air between their words was charged with hostility, as if they might burst into physical combat at any mont.
After a brief silence, Daniel gave an unexpected answer.
"What if I said… I did it for justice? Would you believe ?"
"…Heh. Heh-heh… Hahahahaha!"
Denken burst into wild, almost maniacal laughter, as if he had just heard the funniest joke in the world.
Then suddenly, he thrust a finger toward Daniel's figure on the projection, his voice full of scorn.
"Justice? What a gloriously decorated word!"
"You people of the Church have never changed—not since the old days. How many loyal followers have you tricked into dying in the na of your so-called justice? A hundred? A thousand? Ten thousand?"
Daniel didn't flinch. He t the Emperor's accusation with calm detachnt.
"I've given my answer. Whether you believe it or not is your business."
"…Fine. I believe you."
The sudden change in tone caught Daniel off guard. His brows knit in confusion.
But before he could speak, Denken pulled a folded docunt from within his robes.
It looked like a standard maintenance report—nothing significant at first glance—but upon closer inspection, the emblem printed at the top showed it belonged to a magic train operated by the Church.
Such a docunt shouldn't have been in the hands of a forr emperor.
And yet… here it was.
Daniel's pupils narrowed sharply.
He recognized that train imdiately.
It was the very sa train Alan and his sister had taken when they traveled from Snowguard City to the Imperial Capital.
And what had happened on that journey… remained carved into Daniel's mory to this day.
A black-robed woman—whose presence hinted at King Magus-level strength—and the imnse magical power she had unleashed. Just rembering it sent a chill down his spine.
Honestly, ever since joining the Church, Daniel had rarely known fear.
But after that incident, he had lived each day on edge. Even in the Capital, just glimpsing Alan from afar occasionally gave him cold sweats.
"I have a question," Denken said coldly. "This report claims the damage to the train was caused by a minor quarrel between passengers and staff."
"But according to my own investigation, the staff that day barely interacted with passengers. So what dispute could there have possibly been?"
"Instead," Denken continued, voice growing darker, "another report caught my interest."
With hands clasped behind his back, he leaned forward slightly toward the projection, a mocking smirk curling his lips.
"It states that on that very day, a bishop from your Church had a confrontation with a young man traveling from Snowguard City to the Capital."
"That young man's na… was Alan."
"And the bishop in question? He died under mysterious circumstances. Let guess—Alan killed him, didn't he… Archbishop Daniel?"
Daniel fell silent.
He rembered giving strict orders to bury that event. It was to be classified as a top-secret incident within the Church.
But now it was clear: the royal family's spies had not only infiltrated the capital… they'd even burrowed into the Church itself.
Seeing Daniel's reaction, Denken pressed on, his voice dripping with venomous curiosity.
"I'm dying to know, Daniel… what kind of 'accident' could a bumpkin from Snowguard possibly cause that would be enough to kill a battle-hardened bishop?"
"Tell honestly—who is the one backing Alan from the shadows? This ti… don't even think about dodging the question."
"…I don't know."
Daniel's answer was identical to Old Gayle's earlier.
But Denken, his patience worn thin, wasn't having it.
"Tell ," he snarled, "or I'll mobilize every resource I have to uproot every last trace of your Church's presence within the Kingdom."
"Don't doubt , Daniel. I have the power—and the will—to do it."
"Your Majesty…"
Daniel's expression was conflicted. Still, he understood Denken's mood well enough.
Alan's background was far from noble. Compared to the ancient aristocratic lineages of the Capital, he was little more than a naless commoner.
And yet… just because he'd received tutelage from a mysterious woman, he had transford—within a shockingly short ti—into one of the Empire's most famous figures.
But the truth was, Denken's attitude toward Alan wasn't one of hostility.
It was curiosity. Intense curiosity.
What Denked desired wasn't vengeance.
It was the thod.
The secret behind nurturing a nobody into a prodigy.
If the royal family could grasp that thod—if they could mass-produce talents like Alan—it would revolutionize their military and magical foundations.
Barton Kingdom? Kent? Even the ever-ambitious NK Kingdom lurking in the western frontier would no longer pose a serious threat.
Denken had even considered using Rosalia—the third princess—as bait.
But after all this ti, not even the faintest spark of romance had arisen between her and Alan.
That plan, it seed, had already failed.
"…I'm sorry, Your Majesty," Daniel finally said, voice soft but resolute. "I can't tell you."
"I owe you many things. But this… this I must keep secret."
His voice was laced with a quiet sorrow—not for himself, but for the countless innocent believers under the Church's care. He could not risk them suffering for his choices.
"…Can't?" Denken echoed, his voice low.
Then, a bitter laugh escaped his lips.
"So it's not that you don't know… but that you can't tell . I see."
With a tired sigh, he deactivated the mana projection.
He knew Daniel wouldn't give him what he wanted.
But that last exchange had revealed enough.
There was soone behind Alan. A real person, cloaked in shadow.
And that was all Denken needed to hear.
Because until this mont, he had carried a terrifying suspicion…
That Alan might have done it all on his own.
That all his rapid progress had been the result of sheer self-discipline and natural talent.
And if that were true—if the Kingdom's decades of educational infrastructure couldn't match one self-taught countryside magus—it would be the greatest humiliation the royal family had ever suffered.
But now?
Now he could rest easier.
Daniel's silence had proven that Alan had help.
He had a teacher. A guide. A secret benefactor.
And that ant… Alan was replicable.
Standing by the window, Emperor Denken—veteran of a hundred battles, forr sovereign of the Plantagenet Kingdom—gazed up at the pale silver moon.
His thoughts spiraled endlessly.
As one who had stood at the summit of power, his worries were far greater than those of the common folk.
Especially now, in an era of growing unrest, where every kingdom stirred restlessly beneath the surface.
He had to consider far more than ever before.
But while the forr emperor struggled with strategic calculations and geopolitical concerns...
Alan, at that very mont, had sunk his full consciousness deep into the First Layer of Hell.
Above a seething lake of molten lava, where the air shimred with scorching heat, he sat cross-legged in midair.
Threads of radiant mana drifted around him like ethereal fireflies.
He was absorbing the Origin Mana harvested from the bodies of the attackers he had defeated earlier.
With these resources, Alan's condition swiftly returned to its absolute peak.
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