Chapter 139: The Prince’s Secret and Pierre’s Unraveling

Pierre felt as if he were seeing a ghost in that moment.

And wasn’t it truly akin to seeing a ghost? How could an Inquisitor, a venerable prince no less, willingly associate himself with such a taboo profession?

Yet, the “Happy Prince” Kleiman’s face was undeniably distinctive; Pierre could not possibly be mistaken.

“The Duke of the Northern Marches is a hero of his generation, and yet his son turns out like this. I truly envy you,” Kleiman remarked, his tone outwardly gentle but laced with veiled sarcasm. “I’ve always had to work hard to play the part of a good-for-nothing, but you don’t even need to act.”

Pierre kept his head bowed, not daring to retort, a slight tremor running through him.

Of course, he wouldn’t dare. From childhood, the ideal deeply rooted in his heart was that status and family lineage represented everything. This belief was precisely why he had acted so brazenly, relying on his identity as the heir to the Alençon family.

Now, however, a being had finally appeared whose status and family completely overshadowed his own.

“You committed perjury, didn’t you?” Kleiman asked, his question blunt and direct.

“No!” Pierre instantly replied.

The mental interference imposed by the archbishop was etched into his consciousness like a brand, allowing him to fully rationalize the false accusation against Jeanne Decker within his own mind. Thus, he could utter the lie without a change in expression, feeling not a shred of guilt.

Kleiman narrowed his eyes, scrutinizing the other’s mind, yet he too found no inconsistencies.

However, he was equally certain that Jeanne Decker had never lied, and thus, he had long concluded that Pierre had committed perjury. His intelligence network also indicated that someone was orchestrating this from behind the scenes, with Pierre merely being the fool used as a pawn.

Since Pierre’s mental state showed no fluctuations, only one conclusion remained.

“Tell me, who exactly inflicted the ‘Mental Imprint’ ability upon you?” Kleiman pressed.

“No, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Pierre replied.

The archbishop who had cast the ability not only concealed their identity but also placed an imprint upon Pierre, compelling him to remain silent about the matter.

Kleiman sneered inwardly.

Such a thorough technique could only be achieved by someone of the Fifth Order. Indeed, those involved in this affair possessed immense influence, even managing to enlist an archbishop of such high standing.

“I truly dislike people like you,” Kleiman said softly, his voice tinged with melancholy. “You’ve turned this country into something I despise, and you’ve made me into someone I don’t like being.”

“Huh?” Pierre failed to grasp the meaning of Kleiman’s words.

Kleiman offered no further explanation, instead flashing him a profound smile. “Oh, and by the way, my work as an Inquisitor is a secret to the outside world.”

“Please rest assured, I will remain absolutely tight-lipped, absolutely!” Pierre vowed solemnly.

“It’s fine, it’s fine. Even if your lips aren’t sealed, it makes no difference to me. I’ve already taken some precautions,” Kleiman said, still smiling, though to Pierre, that smile now seemed to morph into an irritatingly smug smirk.

“Your, Your Highness, you wouldn’t…” Pierre forced out a grimace of a smile through his fear. “You’re not going to… to…”

“Oh, where did your thoughts wander off to? How could I casually kill someone?” Kleiman chuckled. “Besides, you are, after all, General Alençon’s son—though I suspect, given his personality, he’ll likely disown you sooner or later.”

Pierre’s heart seized. Someone had actually foreseen this.

It was then that he realized he, as a son, didn’t truly understand his father. In his eyes, his father was prejudiced, stern, and fearsome. He had never seriously considered Duke Alençon’s integrity or the unyielding bottom line in his heart. Instead, Prince Kleiman, an outsider, could offer a more objective assessment.

Prince Kleiman, having not missed the fluctuation in Pierre’s mental state, immediately thought:

‘Oh? Could it be that you’ve already been cast out of your home?’ Prince Kleiman mused.

His innermost thoughts having been directly perceived, Pierre’s eyes widened in horror.

Pierre realized that Prince Kleiman was likely a ‘Bishop’ of a considerably high Order. If the other party wished, they could easily dispose of him—after all, he was no longer the heir to the Alençon family. If his father truly didn’t care, His Highness the Prince would have little to worry about in ending his life.

“Your, Your Highness, spare my life, Your Highness!” he immediately pleaded, his face contorted in a pitiful cry.

“I told you not to overthink things. I truly don’t just kill people casually.”

Prince Kleiman smiled as he patted Pierre’s shoulder. “I merely wish for you to forget what just happened. It’s quite simple, just consider it… a dream.”

As he patted for the third time, the ‘Dream Weaver’ ability suddenly activated.

Pierre’s eyes went blank, and he stood rooted to the spot, lost in a daze.

The Fifth Order Inquisitor’s ability, ‘Dream Weaver,’ could drag a person into a dreamscape crafted by the caster.

Upon advancing to the Fourth Order as a Proxy, the ‘Dream Weaver’ ability upgraded, allowing for the substitution of memories between dreams and reality. It could conceal a person’s recent memories, making them difficult to recall as a dream, or strengthen a dream memory, making it perceived as reality.

Kleiman concealed Pierre’s memories from the moment he saw Kleiman’s face, as well as the earlier memory of Eve burning his ear. Simultaneously, he created other ‘dream memories’ and seamlessly stitched them into Pierre’s perception of reality.

Furthermore, he had subtly manipulated Pierre’s mind using the ‘Mental Imprint’ ability.

Moments later, Kleiman withdrew his hand and put his iron mask back on.

At the same time, Pierre snapped back to awareness, his first reaction being to wince and clutch his ear. “Hiss, what’s going on?”

Regarding his ear, he suddenly noticed another highly uncomfortable sensation—a sudden, profound nausea in his mouth.

He instinctively sensed that this revulsion seemed to stem from a wet feeling in his mouth; in other words, his own saliva.

“Ugh! Ugh, ugh, ugh!” He suddenly began spitting, desperately trying to rid his mouth of all moisture.

“Are you looking for death?!” Eve, seeing his actions, was about to ignite him again.

However, Kleiman stopped her just in time. “Everyone has uncomfortable moments; let’s try to understand each other. You brought water, right? Give him some.”

“Ah!?” Eve’s eyes widened.

“Quickly,” Kleiman urged.

“Oh.” Eve reluctantly took out her water skin and handed it to Kleiman.

“Have some water, guest,” Kleiman said with a smile, opening the water skin and offering it.

“Oh, oh…” Pierre looked at the ‘high-ranking Inquisitor who just happened to be passing by and inspecting’ with surprise. He then glanced at the water offered to him and instinctively reached out to take it.

As his hand touched the water skin, he froze.

‘Water?’

‘That means… this skin contains… water?’

‘Water!’

The mere thought of that transparent, cool liquid suddenly filled him with an unspeakable dread and aversion.

“No!!!” He screamed in horror, frantically swatting the water skin away.

The opened water skin fell to the ground, water splashing from its mouth and onto his hand.

“Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh!” Pierre suddenly shrieked maniacally, desperately rubbing his wet hand against his clothes.

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