I Killed The Main Characters

Chapter 122: Cardinal Albrecht [2]

The plan was delicate—a spider's web with threads so thin, they'd disappear if someone looked too closely.

This wasn't just about getting my hands on a relic.

To secure what I truly needed, I'd set my sights on a ring—the only ring that could provide a bridge between myself and the Runic Talisman of Subjugation.

This ring, known as the Hexglyph Seal, wasn't just jewelry.

Stealing it wasn't just a matter of quick hands; no, that would be too obvious.

This was Saint Eldred Royal Cathedral after all.

Everyone, from the lowest cleric to the Archbishop himself, held a keen awareness of every relic's location and protection spells.

They'd sense immediately if a relic was taken by force.

Instead, I planned to make it look like an unfortunate, bloody accident—one with a perpetrator they'd never suspect.

The murder I'd planned was, admittedly, ambitious.

This was the cathedral, after all.

Death wasn't rare here, but it was usually cloaked in solemn rites and incense.

A scandalous murder was an altogether different story, and the Archbishop's death was bound to cause a storm.

It had to look as if one of his closest assistants—a man named Darien—had betrayed him.

Darien was an obvious choice, with the self-assuredness that would make him the perfect fall guy in the cathedral's eyes.

He was ambitious, often seen arguing with the Archbishop over minor details, and more than that, he had a history with other relics gone missing from under his watch.

An old scandal, whispered rather than documented, but in the heat of a murder investigation, that was more than enough to turn suspicion into certainty.

The entire setup hinged on three details: timing, proximity, and motive.

First, I had to time the Archbishop's last meal to coincide with my plan.

I knew from my brief time in his presence that he was a creature of habit, retiring to his quarters to read alone each night after his evening meal.

Slipping a rare herb—one known to cause intense hallucinations—in his wine was simple enough.

I'd acquired it during a quiet moment earlier that day from the academy's garden before being expelled, where it grew in a restricted section.

With just a few drops added, the Archbishop would start to feel his mind drift and reel, pulling him away from reality and making him less responsive to danger.

Timing, however, was nothing without proximity.

To frame Darien convincingly, I'd need to manipulate his movements as well.

Earlier that evening, I'd slipped an unsigned note under his door—a handwritten message warning that the Archbishop was angry over a recent report Darien had made.

A single line, written in a slightly nervous hand.

["Meet in the study at dusk to explain yourself, or face the consequences."]

The tense language would light a spark of fear in him, and anyone on the receiving end of a message like that would feel obliged to show up immediately.

And then there was motive.

This, I knew, would be the hardest piece to set in place.

For the entire day, I'd planted hints, letting "slip" around the cathedral staff that I'd overheard the Archbishop rebuke Darien.

Harsh words about mishandled documents, all small but believable details.

Of course, whilst waiting on my reports of the expulsion to be made and occasionally asking to use the restrooms and whatnot.

The Archbishop was a man of precision, and Darien's small, irritating flaws could easily appear like a string of offenses, sparking frustration between them.

It wouldn't take much to push the cathedral's suspicions in that direction.

Just enough rumor to make them question the loyalty of the Archbishop's assistant and begin whispering about it among themselves.

When dusk fell, I made my way to the dim hallway outside the Archbishop's chambers.

I'd timed it precisely.

I pressed myself into the shadows and waited.

Soon enough, a muffled argument seeped through the heavy wooden door.

I couldn't hear every word, but I caught enough—accusations, confusion, the Archbishop's voice thick and erratic, slurring out words that grew angrier by the second.

"Your Eminence..."

Darien began, his tone strained but respectful.

"We cannot ignore the growing unrest among the townsfolk..."

The Archbishop raised an eyebrow, not looking up from the tome he was thumbing through.

"The townsfolk?" he replied dismissively.

"Their faith wavers in every gust of wind, Darien.

Our purpose is to guide, not to bend with the whims of every common soul who thinks they know better than the doctrines laid before them." Discover more content at m,v l'e-NovelBin.net

Darien felt a spike of frustration but tempered his response, choosing his words carefully.

"Respectfully, Your Eminence, it's not only the townsfolk.

Some of our own clerics are questioning the allocation of resources—why funds are directed more towards relics and artifice than to aid for the poor.

They say the Church is losing touch with the people's needs."

At this, the Archbishop snapped his book shut and fixed Darien with a cold stare.

"The Church, Darien, does not exist to serve the people's every whim.

It exists to remind them of their place under the divine.

Resources spent on relics, on preserving holy artifacts, they serve a higher purpose than mere charity."

Darien took a sharp breath.

"And yet, Your Eminence, charity is what binds their hearts to the faith.

Without it, they turn elsewhere.

Even the nobles are voicing concerns—especially when they see the Church's coffers overflowing while the city suffers."

The Archbishop leaned back, his fingers steepled in thought as his gaze narrowed.

"Do not presume to teach me the politics of the Church, Darien.

I know well enough the sentiments of the nobles.

They are ambitious, always scheming, willing to turn to whatever god serves them best.

But the Church… the Church is a symbol.

It endures because it holds its ground, not because it yields to the weak."

"Perhaps," Darien replied cautiously, "but if the Church is to maintain its strength, it needs more than symbols.

The people… they need to see us as protectors, as guides they can trust, not overlords who hoard wealth and relics."

The Archbishop's lips twisted into a sneer.

"Is that what this is about, Darien?

You think we're losing favor because we uphold tradition, because we honor our relics?

Or could it be that you seek to challenge the Church's teachings to make a name for yourself?"

Darien's fists tightened, and he forced himself to remain calm.

"With respect, I am here because I care about the Church, Your Eminence.

If I've spoken out of turn, it is only out of concern for its future."

The Archbishop's gaze hardened.

"Concern," he echoed mockingly.

"You seem to have concern only for your own voice in these halls, Darien.

Watch yourself. I do not take kindly to those who seek to challenge their superiors.

Your dedication should be to our mission—not to your own ambitions."

---

I listened as their voices grew louder, the tension mounting, until finally, the door creaked open.

Darien emerged, visibly shaken, muttering something about retrieving the Archbishop's evening tea to soothe him.

This was my moment.

I slipped into the room, my footsteps silent on the polished floor, and slid the thin ceremonial dagger from my coat.

A weapon easily overlooked, yet distinct enough to be recognized as cathedral property.

The blade gleamed in the low light, and with one swift motion, I pressed it into the flesh of the Archbishop's side, beneath his ribcage.

A strangled cry escaped his lips before he slumped forward.

The blade was designed for ritual, not battle, so it wouldn't leave deep marks, but it was sharp enough to kill.

With the Archbishop's blood staining my hands, I quickly adjusted the scene, making it appear as though a struggle had taken place.

Then took the Hexglyph Seal from his finger, tucking it securely into my pocket.

I slipped back into the shadows of the hallway just as Darien returned, holding a tray with the tea, only to stumble upon the Archbishop's lifeless body sprawled across his desk.

The tea tray crashed to the floor as he stood, paralyzed in horror.

"No… no…" he stammered, stepping back, his gaze flickering between the bloodstains and the fallen dagger.

The frantic footsteps of the cathedral guards echoed down the corridor. I melded into the shadows of a hidden passageway, slipping away unseen.

By the time they discovered the scene, I was long gone, my prize securely in hand.

The chaos I'd left behind was all-consuming; Darien's reputation, the panic of the clergy, and the echo of the Archbishop's last words would make sure of that.