Standing on the steps in front of the Holy Light Cathedral, Emperor Reinhardt seemed to be in a daze.
The afternoon sun was so piercing that the earthly emperor couldn't help squinting his eyes.
Pope Gregory's words still echoed in his ears. Though he knew well these were intended to sow discord, a thorn had been planted in Emperor Reinhardt's heart.
It sank deep into his bloodstream and with every beat of his heart, it inflicted a burst of pain.
At first, it seemed insignificant, but as time passed, the pain became increasingly unbearable for Emperor Reinhardt.
Suspicion, a characteristic that no one in power who was deeply controlling could escape.
The splendid horse-drawn carriage slowly started, leaving the Holy Mountain, and returned to Phoenix Palace soon after.
Emperor Reinhardt, deep in his thoughts, trudged forward, and when he regained his senses, he found that he had unconsciously arrived at the Queen's resting quarters.
