In the cathedral within the Vatican in the holy city of Torra, Pope Helmut Helvine had been washing his face repeatedly since early in the morning before sunrise. He wasn’t the type to sleep much in the first place, but his attitude was rather unusual today.

Helmut repeatedly muttered curses while roughly washing his face over and over. He had been washing his face so much that his pale white face had turned red.

“Shit… damn it…”

Helmut looked at the reflection of his face on the water surface while washing his face. On the surface of the water was the reflection of the face of an old man whose face was filled with wrinkles. Although Helmut was told many times that he looked sly, he had no major complaints about the way he looked—he made sure those who were impudent enough to make such comments paid the price without anyone else knowing.

However, things were different this time.

“WHY! ISN’T! THE SMELL OF BLOOD! GOING AWAY!” Helmut shouted in rage.

A few days ago, the Saintess had been reciting the prophecies at the altar as usual. Because there was no special oracle that day, she had been spitting out prophecies which Helmut had made up. Then, the Saintess suddenly had a seizure and cut off her own tongue after saying that ‘she no longer wanted to lie.’ Helmut, who had been praying at the very front, was drenched in the blood that was pouring out of the Saintess’ mouth. Helmut had freaked out and stepped back immediately, but it was too late;...