Sikar Blake could tell whose voice it was. It was the High Priest’s voice.

“Ah, the High Priest. I can’t touch the High Priest’s body, so I’ll have to look into Roen’s memories instead. Fortunately, Reidox didn’t reveal to Jeremi Iker and Roen that I can read memories. That shows how tight-lipped the Marquis really is.”

Vika Lamberst growled and fidgeted with his wrist, still held by Sikar.

“To forcibly invade memories like this is so underhanded.”

“Even if I couldn’t read your memories, I’d have threatened to break our contract unless you told me. Don’t feel wronged. I’ll keep my promise. After all, you only need to break the pact with me, right?”

“I want your ability too. Since I uncovered such high-level information, you should be able to give me something of equal value.”

“That’s your greed. And even wishing to satisfy your greed is, in itself, my own greed.”

Seeing that Sikar clearly had no intention of sharing, Vika also had no desire to easily grant his request.

“Then I won’t help you willingly either.”

“Then I just won’t break the pact for you.”

“You—you really want us to die together?”

“It means you must uphold your promise, made when we forged the pact, to obey me until the very end.”

Vika glared sulkily at Sikar and grumbled.

“This is exactly why you shouldn’t make promises with humans.”

“You keep forgetting—you’re half human too, Vika.”

Vika didn’t want to speak anymore. He turned his head away and refused to even glance at Sikar.

Only after confirming that Yura Blake had fallen asleep did Sikar finally leave.

Even though Sikar was close to Roen, grabbing a priest’s hand so casually wasn’t easy. After much deliberation, he suddenly seized Roen’s hand and pleaded.

“Roen. I beg you—please attend Hersia’s wedding. Just say something encouraging to help my wife settle in comfortably. That’s all I ask. Will you grant my request?”

Though surprised, Roen and Jeremi Iker knew Sikar was in a desperate situation and didn’t suspect any ulterior motive.

Roen looked at Sikar with pitiful eyes, as if gazing at someone utterly wretched, and said gently,

“I’ll do my best to comfort the Duchess’s heart.”

“Thank you, Roen.”

Of course, he was worried about Yura, but right now, Sikar’s priority was reviving Valije—the one meant to take his place in death.

According to the information Sikar gleaned from Roen, the High Priest’s chamber wasn’t as secluded as he’d imagined, making it unlikely any secret could be hidden there.

Thus, even after examining Roen’s memories, he still couldn’t determine where the crucial item was located.

“No time, and nothing’s working.”

“The perfect hiding place for something truly important is precisely where no one would ever think to look.”

“Where no one would ever think to look?”

“If you’re curious, promise to share your ability with me. Then I’ll…”

But Sikar was far cleverer than Vika gave him credit for.

Sikar immediately descended to the Grand Temple’s central hall.

Hundreds, even thousands of people passed through here daily.

At its center stood a grand fountain and statues symbolizing various deities.

Far too many people came and went for anything important to be hidden here.

Yet Sikar instinctively felt the ancient resurrection tome must be here.

But where? Where on earth could it be?

“Vika. If you were hiding it, where would you put it?”

“Don’t ask me anymore. I won’t answer you.”

Stepping into the central hall only made everything feel even more hopeless.

It would be faster to read the High Priest’s memories—but touching the High Priest’s body was no simple task.

He had to find some way—any way—to make physical contact with the High Priest.

Just then, a voice from outside called out,

“Free Thanksgiving seeds being distributed! Don’t miss out—come and get yours!”

That’s when a brilliant idea struck him.

On Thanksgiving, many priests left the temple to serve at nearby farms.

That was when he needed to sustain a severe enough injury to require the High Priest’s personal healing.

There was no other way to make contact with the High Priest.

Hearing this plan, Vika stared at Sikar as if witnessing the craziest man alive.

“Seems like all the world’s mad schemes belong to Dukes.”

“You should call it a stroke of genius, Vika.”

“Have you thought beyond this? You’re not seriously planning to die, are you?”

“I am prepared to die. And if you refuse to follow me, I’m ready to drag you down with me anytime.”

In other words: if you don’t want to die with me, better help me well.

So Vika cut to the chase.

“Fine. I get it. What do you need me to do?”

“There’s a place in the temple’s basement where monsters are imprisoned. Release just one Chimera. With your skills, after putting the priests to sleep, you can easily manage it.”

“What if you end up as ashes instead of just getting wounded by the Chimera?”

“There’s also a metal ball in the temple used to gag the Chimera’s mouth. Just hold out until the High Priest arrives with it. That’s all you need to do.”

“Every time you get hurt, my heart drops like a stone! Do you have any idea how awful that feels?!”

“Then you’d better hurry if you want to break our pact.”

“I’m going insane.”

Since refusing would only mean dying together anyway, Vika had no choice but to help Sikar’s plan—even if it felt like cutting off his own flesh.

As Sikar said, the temple’s basement held not only the Chimera but many other sealed monsters.

No one visiting the Grand Temple had ever been insane enough to deliberately unseal these creatures.

Even Vika, who rarely flinched at anything, felt doubtful after seeing the sealed monsters below—but thinking of Sikar, he realized surviving a madman meant he’d have to go mad himself.

Thanksgiving Day.

Most high-ranking priests were away from the temple, traveling to bless nearby villages.

Sikar had already stuffed his pockets with enough healing potions to ensure his survival.

Watching him, Vika thought he was truly insane.

“Guess having a family makes a madman like you feel perfectly natural doing crazy things.”

“You probably wouldn’t understand me even if you came back from the dead.”

“I don’t even want to understand you.”

“We’re ready. Let’s go.”

Following Sikar, Vika wished the Chimera would just kill him—yet remembering their fates were bound, he pitied himself for having to pray desperately, “Please, don’t die.”

After reaching the basement, Vika put the guards to sleep one by one.

“Even though they’re guards, they all have divine power—so I can’t keep them asleep long. We must move quickly.”

Sikar nodded and lifted the box containing the sealed Chimera.

The sturdy iron box seemed utterly unopenable—but having already learned how to open such boxes from priests’ memories, it posed no difficulty.

Everything went smoothly until they carried the small box back out of the basement.

Sikar released the monster in a spot visible from the High Priest’s chamber window.

From inside the small box, the Chimera emerged, half-asleep, then bared its savage fangs upon seeing Sikar. Its goat head shook toward Vika, while its serpent tail flicked out its tongue as if seeking another prey.

“Grrr!!!”

Sikar smiled, fingers brushing the healing potion in his pocket.

“Don’t die!”

Vika slapped his own forehead and charged toward the Chimera alongside Sikar.

He couldn’t die—but he needed injuries severe enough to warrant the High Priest’s healing.

Thus, Sikar had to endure the Chimera’s attacks until the High Priest arrived, somehow sustaining major wounds.

Seeing the Chimera’s forepaw swing toward his face, he reflexively dodged.

He had to preserve enough strength to fight the Chimera until the High Priest came—if he died before then, everything would be lost.

But the Chimera wouldn’t consider his circumstances. Like showing the price of disturbing a sleeping lion’s whiskers, it launched again at Sikar, claws bared.

“Grrrr!!”

With a thunderous roar that threatened to rupture eardrums, the Chimera’s claws slashed through the air once more.

Its sharp foreclaws flew straight for Sikar’s neck.

“Dodge, you idiot! A hit there kills you!”

Fearing Sikar might suffer a fatal wound, Vika rushed forward and plunged his dagger into the Chimera’s waist, shouting.

“I’m just calculating where to take a hit that’ll hurt less—don’t interfere pointlessly!”

Vika yanked the dagger back out, scowling.

“I told you! If you die, I’ll kill you myself! If you’re going to die, die alone—I won’t go with you!”

As Vika said, attempting a fatal wound might result in instant death. Sikar frowned, struggling to narrow the gap of that precarious balance.

“Stop making a fuss, Vika.”

He might have figured out a way to sustain an appropriately fatal wound after a few more tries—but the Grand Temple’s priests weren’t going to ignore this commotion.

If priests arrived, he’d be protected before sustaining a fatal wound—and then the entire plan would fail.

Sikar’s heart raced. So, steeling himself to die, he threw his body toward the Chimera’s claws.

The Chimera’s claws raked across Sikar’s abdomen. He clutched his stomach, feeling pain intense enough to kill.

Vika screamed in horror—but Sikar only smiled.

‘I did it.’

Sikar’s mind held only two thoughts: I succeeded, and I must endure here.

This level of injury would force the High Priest to intervene and save him.

Even as he watched his own flesh tear open, Sikar laughed.

The pain was excruciating—but he had to endure. The moment he lost consciousness, everything would turn to dust.

Even if he passed out, it had to be after reading the High Priest’s memories.

The pain grew so severe he wished to faint—but Sikar endured with all his strength.

Thinking only of returning his father to Kian Blake.