When the Saintess Arrives, No King Exist

Droolte, no, Hos never thought there would be such a day, or rather, he never thought there could be such a day in this form.

Now he sits at the main table in the hall of a manor villa, amid guests of rank baron and count, exchanging smiles and pleasantries.

Candlelight flickers on the stone walls of the long hall, casting ambiguous and mysterious glows on everyone's faces.

"Mr. Hos, please don't be restrained, all this food is for you, even if you are a devil."

A corpulent nobleman proposed a toast to Hos, even if Hos, who might be elected devil emperor the next day, had to stand up, numbly raise his glass in return.

Sitting back at the table, Hos stared blankly at the long table before him, with nobles coming and going behind him.

Unlike Hos, who was shackled, they could freely leave to socialize, only returning to their seats once the main course was served.

The air was suffused with the aroma of roast lamb mixed with honey, while the sweet taste of wine lingered on the lips.

Servants flitted beside the table, carrying wine, silver platters piled with assorted delicacies—tender roast quail, perfectly stewed venison, and pheasant stuffed with spices and raisins.

"Oh, after the flood, the Pope issued a decree, telling us to be frugal and save food for disaster relief, so we can only hold a small gathering in response to the Pope's edict."

Count Sclings, the castle's host, stood beside the main seat in the hall, raising his gilded silver cup high, delivering a toast.

"Originally, seeing so many believers still starving, I couldn't bear it," Bishop Constans said with a face full of compassion, "But fortunately today's dishes aren't excessive, Count has prepared so much, let me just take a few bites as a sign of respect for him."

"Indeed, the Archbishop is truly loving to the believers." Count Sclings clapped his hands, calling over a maid, "Constans has a bad stomach, bring over that bowl of Demon Blue Finch Tongue Soup."

Nobles of all ranks sat around the table, dressed in silk and sable, hands adorned with lustrous rings and gilt ornaments, the warmth from the blazing hearth conveyed to everyone's feet.

The ruby rings flickered under the candlelight, stinging Hos's eyes slightly.

As a bankrupt knight, Hos had never seen such a spectacle.

Even when he was Knight Commander before, he wasn't allowed at the table, especially since Duke Dane was disliked in noble society, rarely anyone would host such a banquet for him.

He never expected that such banquets were held for him, more than once!

Pretending to be "Hos", Droolte still couldn't comprehend the significance of Archbishop Constans's actions.

One must know, he was a major enemy of the Church, the "second-in-command" causing upheaval everywhere with his short-haired followers.

For reasons unknown, on the journey away from Thousand River Valley, the bishop brought him to banquets, introducing him to others like a trophy.

Hos first understood the sensation of the caged lion in a circus, though he could hardly be considered a lion, just a dog painted to look like one.

"Bishop Constans, when will this devil arrive? We're all so afraid."

Count Sclings, with a rosy complexion from wine, rested his large belly on his knee, eagerly looking at Constans.

Hos glanced back at Constans, who smiled while sipping soup, but seeing those narrowed eyes, the battle-hardened Knight Commander shrunk his neck.

Humiliated, Hos closed his eyes, inhaling deeply through his nose.

"Brrrr, I am Hos Gallar, uncle of the devil Pope Horn, devil's uncle from the Fire Prison ..."

Under the tutelage of several masked strongmen, Hos had long learned how to perform devil possession.

Of course, his skill still couldn't compare to the real Saint Son Horn.

Unlike Horn's Holy Father descending, in the Empire, all mental illnesses were often regarded as devil possession, even mutterings during sleep were taken as evidence of devil invading dreams.

Hos's neurotic tremors were considered relatively mild possession.

"Ah!"

After Hos got up and performed the ritual, the noblewoman beside him immediately covered her nose with her palm, slowly fainting from fright, while a male noble next to her swiftly reached out to support her.

But everyone knew, noblewomen's fainting was a lady's etiquette, seeing the devil, a lady must faint.

Even if their eyes are wide open more than the devil's when they faint, still, they must faint first.

"My nephew Horn is the grandson of devil Babel, lord of Fire Prison, disguised as Miseria, you will surely die when you see him ..."

"And your master, the one named Miseria, is merely an assumed name, my master's plaything ..."

"Bold!"

"Damned devil!"

"Oh, my dear Miss Rapus, don't be afraid, he's chained up."

Rolling his eyes, Hos knew how the people around would look at him, with eyes of curiosity and rebellion.

When he loudly uttered blasphemous words, the noble's scolding, rather than anger, was more excitement.

This breaking taboo pleasure, it was why the nobles loved to see his "possession".

With a goblet of pale blue wine, Constans drank unabashedly, smiling at Hos's performance.

Originally, he hadn't thought Hos would be so useful, he made him perform "devil possession", merely to gain merits and smear the short-haired.

Catching Hos's achievement had to be big enough, after all, you claim he's Horn's uncle, you have to have evidence to be believable, right?

As for smearing, it was for Pope Johnny VIII.

Wasn't Pope Johnny VIII suspicious? Really took the Saint Son's descent seriously, capturing short-haired everywhere?

As the Pope's devoted Little Priest, Constans decided, rather than debunking Horn as "Saint Son's descent", he might as well confirm Horn as "devil possession."

This slander method was all too familiar for the wandering priests who controlled rural voices.

But Constans didn't expect the nobility to welcome this form, maybe because Hos insulted Miseria loudly, or because Hos is a rare "living devil".

Above all, slandering the devil was an excellent excuse for fame and banquets.

After the flood in Thousand River Valley came famine, noble banquets gradually decreased, not really saving for disaster victims, just mindful of rival families possibly wielding moral sticks.

Yet if banquets aren't hosted, are they still noble?

Since Hos appeared, this issue was resolved, they weren't hosting banquets for pleasure, but to accuse the devil for Miseria!

"Damned devil, do you dare seduce men, how do you do it?" A lady found none hitting the mark, had to personally step in.

"Brrrr, you lowly believers of Miseria, I never ..."

"Cough, cough ..." Seemingly choking with soup, Archbishop Constans coughed, dabbing his mouth with a handkerchief.

Hos recognized this look, knowing if during this banquet, he didn't get involved with Duke Kush, upon return, he'd have to get involved with four real strongmen.

"What? Don't stay silent, you seduce men, why can't you admit it?"

"..." Humiliated, Hos clenched his teeth, loudly said, "That day, I saw the Duke bathing in the room, then I walked up to him ..."

Hos's voice grew increasingly hoarse, narrating the fictional "romance" between him and Dane, starting hesitantly, but growing fluent, even mimicking actions.

In the trance of storytelling, Hos sometimes saw black horns sprouting from nearby noble heads, while lava flowed on the hall's stone walls.