The duke stared at him as if struck by lightning, his lips parting soundlessly.

Ignoring it, Ian set his goblet down on the armrest. "If you have no other business, shall we end this here?"

Only then did the duke recover, eyes widening as he drew a sharp breath.

He leaned forward, desperation clear in his eyes. "J-Just one more... May I pour you one more?"

So there was something else.

Ian narrowed his eyes for a moment, then, as if relenting, slid the goblet on the armrest slightly forward. "Thank you, Agent of the Saint...."

The duke straightened with a breath of relief, hurriedly grabbing the bottle from the seat beside him—as though afraid Ian might change his mind.

He tilted it carefully, steadying the faint tremor in his hand.

"Regardless of what judgment the Great Church delivers, it does not change the fact that you are a recognized demigod," he said, still unable to meet Ian’s gaze.

He finished pouring and set the bottle aside. "It seems you truly do not care about your tarnished reputation or the suspicions of the world—a fact all of us, myself included, overlooked."

Ian merely shrugged and picked up his goblet.

Watching him cautiously, the duke asked, "May I ask you one question?"

"Go ahead." Ian nodded, glancing down at the wine filling his goblet.

That’s quite a pour.

Then again, to the duke, this was likely a ticking hourglass.

"Are you truly only curious about what judgment the Great Church will pass? Or is there another intention behind this?"

"Hard to say." The corner of Ian’s mouth curled upward as he slowly raised the goblet. "If I did—what would you think it is?"

The duke’s eyes narrowed faintly.

"If there is... then..."

He didn’t even seem to have the luxury of being annoyed at the question being turned back on him.

"Then the Great Church will soon realize that you do not fear their judgment. And that will put them in a difficult position."

He tightened his grip on the goblet resting precariously on the armrest.

"If they declare you uncorrupted, then the suspicions surrounding His Highness and the Platinum Dragon will also unravel. But if they rule the opposite..."

He stroked his beard, murmuring half to himself before meeting Ian’s eyes again.

"Then their decision would contradict the will of the heavens. It could become grounds to claim that the Church no longer speaks for the divine. And the North would react immediately."

Ian’s lips twitched faintly. The duke possessed a shrewdness that belied his appearance.

"Well, they could also claim that I was never acknowledged by the heavens in the first place," Ian replied calmly. "Or that I am deceiving them."

He didn’t bother adding what seemed most likely—that the Church might simply ignore the matter entirely under the pretext of the Dark Prince.

The duke hesitated, then swallowed again. "If they take that route... how will you respond?"

"You’re more ambitious than you look. You’ve already heard more than enough to satisfy both you and the Church officials you’re close to," Ian said lightly, not losing the smile on his lips as he took another sip.

He drank again, unhurried, then added, "Be content with this, Duke. They’ll realize soon enough how troublesome this situation is, but a puppet doesn’t need to worry about that much, does he?"

The duke couldn’t respond. Fear, shock, and conflict flickered across his eyes as he stared at Ian’s chest.

The duke finally squeezed his eyes shut and let out a strained breath. "I see. You’ve regarded me as their pawn from the very beginning."

Ian let out a faint scoff. "You can’t deny it."

It was a chance for the duke to be honest. If he wanted anything from Ian, he would have to betray them first. And that choice had to be his own.

After a long pause, the duke lowered his head slightly.

"Yes. My father and the elders of my house are pure devotees, and I stand here because of them. But..."

He hesitated, then raised the goblet with a trembling hand and took a drink. Ian didn’t rush him, simply crossing one leg and leaning back.

"I am not a pure devotee, Agent of the Saint. I have only lived as one because I could not defy my house."

He lowered the goblet, speaking as if confessing a sin. His head remained bowed, his eyes still shut as if he lacked the courage to face Ian directly.

"I serve the heavens. And you... You are a recognized demigod. Surely it is clear which side I should truly follow."

"Is it?" Ian’s lips curved faintly as he idly tapped his foot. "For someone who claims that, you’re still not being entirely honest. You wanted to keep me close so you could find a way to slip that leash off your neck."

Leaning forward slightly, Ian said, "And to see if I’m a rope strong enough to grab onto instead. Am I wrong?"

The duke’s eyes flew open. He froze, staring down at Ian’s feet before his lips began to tremble.

"I-it’s true... I did harbor such impure thoughts! But I swear to the heavens that wasn’t all!"

His grip tightened on the goblet as if it might shatter.

He drew a shaky breath and continued, "From the capital, I heard of your great deeds... and I admired you in secret. Even among the pure devotees, there are those like me..."

Ian leaned back again, lifting his goblet. Despite his indifferent expression, he could tell the man was telling the truth.

Not all pure devotees despised him blindly. Nasser hadn’t, after all. And perhaps even among Philip’s followers, there were others like him.

"I have always believed that you might truly be the light destined to save this continent. Th-that is why—"

The duke forced himself to look up at Ian.

"I wanted to help you clear every accusation. And... I hoped that if I could be of the slightest help in that process, you might, in turn, save me."

"Nice words. A bit late, though. You should’ve said that when I gave you the chance." Ian let out a chuckle and set his goblet down again.

Eyes wide, the duke pressed a hand to his chest. "P-Please... have mercy. Just once—give me one more chance to prove my sincerity."

"That’s enough. You may leave, Duke. I’d rather not kill the Duke of Racliffe twice."

"I-I don’t need your help! Just give me a chance to prove I’m not their puppet down to my very soul... please..."

The duke bowed his head, pleading—like a man abandoned by the heavens themselves.

Ian watched him in silence for a moment, then picked up his goblet again. "If they have the power to appoint a duke of the West to their liking..."

The duke looked up sharply at Ian’s casual tone.

"Then it seems the purists have fully taken control of the Great Church."

"Y-Yes. Since the fall of the Black Wall, they no longer needed to hide their intentions. Their influence has only grown stronger!" The duke answered immediately.

Ian took another sip of wine and asked, "Do you know who stands at the center of it all?"

"Regrettably... no. The only names I know are Archbishop Mimar, and Bishops Pereol and Hegia."

"Mimar... Pereol... Hegia." Ian’s eyes narrowed as he repeated them.

Before he could say more, the duke continued smoothly, "Archbishop Mimar is one of the highest-ranking cardinals of the Great Church. Pereol and Hegia each preside over the districts of Ailles and Midfert."

"...Then one of them must have recommended you."

"It was Pereol. He was also the one who informed me of the outcome," the duke replied without hesitation.

Ian nodded slowly, then set his goblet back on the armrest. "That should be enough to prove your sincerity."

At last, he had a lead—one that might even point to the Round Table. Philip would likely return with something more concrete, but more information could only help.

"Thank you... Agent of the Saint," the duke said quietly, his expression settled—more than that, he even seemed relieved.

Ian tipped his goblet toward him. "Mind your expression in front of Sir Cesare, Duke. If you’re careless, he might suspect you of having spoken irreverently with me."

"So you already knew he wasn’t just a simple bodyguard." The duke gave a faint, almost resigned smile.

"It was only a guess. But it seems he really is the one holding your leash."

Ian let out a chuckle and tilted his goblet toward him. "In any case, if even a small favor will do, I’d like to repay your sincerity in kind."

The duke looked up, startled, then straightened his posture. "It would be an honor, Agent of the Saint."

"Do you have an attendant you trust with your life?"

At the sudden question, the duke paused, then nodded. "Yes. I do."

"Good. Then start by drafting two reports—exactly as I instructed earlier."

Ian wet his lips with wine and continued, "It would be best if you add that the Agent of the Saint could not conceal anger when the Platinum Dragon was mentioned—make it sound emotional. Then send one of those reports to the Great Church with Sir Cesare acting as the courier."

"Given the importance, it will be sent without suspicion," the duke replied, eyes narrowing slightly as he finally seemed to regain some composure. He took a measured sip of wine.

Ian nodded. "And request reinforcements from the Great Church while you’re at it."

"Reinforcements?"

"Tell them I warned you they should worry about the Black Isles instead of wasting time dealing with me. Say that the lords of the isles have been corrupted and now worship an ancient god sealed in the abyss."

The duke’s eyes widened a beat late. Ian met his gaze calmly and went on, "Warn them that if they are not stopped, the Black Sea will one day become a sea of death—and that neither Racliffe nor the inner sea will remain untouched."

"Good heavens," the duke gasped. "So the Black Fleet that was annihilated in the inner sea truly was corrupted, just as the rumors in the capital claimed."

"That’s right. I’m your witness."

"To be honest, I had my suspicions. Ever since the day you slew the archdemon of the deep sea, no ships from the archipelago have been seen."

"Then you should have requested an investigation from the Great Church."

At Ian’s remark, a bitter smile touched the duke’s lips. "I did. But I received no reply. And after hearing that His Highness had returned... I abandoned any hope of one."

That alone was enough to make the corner of Ian’s mouth curl upward.

His suspicion that the Great Church was deliberately ignoring the Black Isles had now become a certainty.

The duke continued quietly, "But if I deliver your warning, Agent of the Saint, surely something will—"

"All the more reason they won’t send support. They won’t want it to appear as though they’re acting on my warning," Ian cut him off.

He looked at the duke, who blinked in confusion, and added, "But that should give you more than enough justification... to discreetly request assistance from the royal house, shouldn’t it?"