[BL] Alpha, You've Got the Wrong Mate! Chapter 338 — High Priest II

"Where have you been, Your Grace?" a voice asked, bowing deeply to the lady who stepped out of the carriage.

The dark-brown-haired woman spared the man a brief glance, but didn’t bother to let her eyes linger.

"To et with a rchant," she replied coldly. "However, put that aside. Have you been working on what I told you?" Her voice sharpened with the last words.

She was the second high priest in the temple. Everyone respected her—to the point that they would incline their heads the mont they felt her presence around them. She was the one in charge of everything that happened because of the first high priest’s illness.

"W–Well, yes, of course," the man stamred. "I did so research. And our n in Revhara reported that they were unable to find him—"

Before he could finish, dark red light surged around the woman, her teal eyes glowing ominously.

"I would hate to stain my hands with blood," she said softly—too softly. "So make sure you give a better answer soon."

With that, she turned and entered the building, slamming the door behind her.

She didn’t even notice the way the young man’s eyes dropped at her behaviour, disappointed.

The man—Vincent—was her son. Yet he had never felt any warmth from this woman. She was always cold, distant, barely paying attention to his upbringing.

All his life, ever since he was but a re child, he had been trying to earn her approval—even if it ant suppressing the Grim Reaper, a man who was unlike any normal human.

And now, she had ordered him to find him just when Vincent had thought he had gotten rid of that person.

"...I should go to Revhara and search for him personally," he breathed, scratching the back of his neck.

It had been enough hide-and-seek for all these years. Wherever that man was hiding, he had managed to do so for far too long. The Grim Reaper needed to be found—before his mother truly began to lose it.

Was she fond of that oga?

Vincent didn’t know. He barely ever saw that person. Only fragnts lingered in his mory—silver hair dull under dim light, eyes forever blindfolded with a thick white cloth, hands and ankles bound by chains as one would restrain a dangerous criminal rather than a living being—or any ordinary young man.

"Never look into his eyes."

"Never take off that blindfold."

Those words had been drilled into him since childhood. He had grown up hearing them and had learned to obey without question.

Yet the irony was cruel.

As a child, he had often wondered—how could one fear a man whose eyes they had never seen? How could one call him a monster when he had never spoken a single word?

He learned the answer not long after he took part in the war.

The Grim Reaper was Hianshu’s greatest weapon. One that never failed. One that killed without hesitation, without rcy—no matter who stood in its way.

Vincent clenched his fists. What haunted him most was the silence. The oga never scread, never begged, never cursed them for the countless cruel things they had done to him. As if pain were sothing he had long accepted. As if chains were no different from air.

And then, one day, he was gone.

The white floors of the Temple were stained dark red with the guards’ blood. A thick, foul stench spread through the building the following morning. Bodies lay scattered across the hallways, lifeless and cold.

Yet he had left no trace of his escape.

Only an empty chamber—and broken chains that should have never been broken.

Vincent swallowed. When his mother discovered that those in charge had been careless—when she realized the Grim Reaper had slipped through their fingers—she ordered her closest n to slaughter the survivors as if they were animals, beings without worth in her eyes.

He straightened, drawing in a sharp breath.

Revhhara.

They had searched every corner of every continent, every kingdom. Only one place remained—the empire Hianshu’s people struggled to enter, separated by a thick, towering wall.

If there was anywhere that man could have gone, it would be the land that feared and loathed him the most.

"But then..." Vincent muttered under his breath, unease creeping into his chest. "Wouldn’t he have been executed by now...?"

If that were the case...

A bright smile ford on his face at the re thought.

Finally, he would have left his and his mother’s lives forever.

***

Zion was brought to the temple. When he asked the man sent to fetch him, the only answer he received was a faint, "You will see."

See what?!

Zion exhaled sharply, biting his nails in anxious habit. He tapped his boot against the floor, the sound forming a steady rhythm in the otherwise quiet hall.

The room wasn’t particularly empty. It held pieces of furniture—couches, sofas, a table at the center, and even bookshelves, all neatly cleaned, with barely any dust visible.

He didn’t know why he had been called here, which only made his anxiety worsen. Had the Temple truly discovered his real identity?

He bit his bottom lip, lowering his gaze to the cup of tea placed before him. His throat burned, dry and tight. Still, he hesitated. What if it had been poisoned?

"It isn’t poisoned."

The door swung open, and the sa lady he had seen the other day stepped inside, a bright grin plastered across her face.

Zion sprang to his feet, lowering his head. He was unaware of her exact status. However, from the way the guards stationed at the threshold kept bowing—even when she wasn’t looking—he could tell she was an important figure within the Temple.

The young man remained standing, his head bowed, muscles stiffening. He did not dare lift his gaze too quickly. There was a weight to her presence—one that pressed down on the air itself.

She moved closer, the soft rustle of her white gown echoing faintly in the room.

"You may sit," she said lightly, her voice sweet, almost amused as she took a seat.

Zion hesitated for half a second before obeying. He lowered himself back onto the couch, hands resting stiffly on his knees. His eyes flickered to the untouched cup of tea before him.

Her lips curved.

"So cautious," she remarked, crossing her legs. "That is good. Caution keeps one alive in Hianshu."

Her gaze lingered on him—slow, assessing, stripping him bare layer by layer.

Zion felt as though she were peeling apart his carefully constructed identity, searching for sothing beneath. He clenched his jaw, trying to keep his breath steady.

"You are the new rchant who ca from the kingdom of Pioliar," she continued, tilting her head slightly. "Azazil, was it not?"

He nodded.

"Yes, Your Grace," he answered, choosing his words carefully.

At that, her smile widened—not in pleasure, but in sothing sharper. Sothing knowing.

"Relax," she said softly. "If the Temple had wished to have you chained and dragged into the dungeons, you would not be sipping tea in one of our guest chambers. We are quite straightforward when it cos to our enemies. We aren’t fond of playing cat and mouse," she chuckled, her eyes gleaming.

"Which ans," she leaned forward, folding her hands atop the table, "you are here because you are useful."

Zion’s heart sank. He was uncertain about what to expect from this woman.

"And what use might I have to you, Your Grace?" He forced a low laugh, trying to appear amused—just as much as she was. Nothing that would stir questions or suspicion.

"We have been trying to find soone who could make clothes for us," she stated. "Due to an unexpected change, our usual supplier will no longer be able to fulfill our request. Would you be willing to take our order?"

"Oh, of course not," Zion replied with a smile.

Thankfully, it was nothing like what he had suspected.

"By the way, I doubt I have properly introduced myself. I am High Priest II. Nice to et you," she said, a grin tugging at her lips.

Zion nodded quickly, bowing once more.

"Yes... sa here," he murmured, biting the inside of his cheek to stop himself from revealing his true na.

"Heh, you don’t seem surprised to hear use a number instead of my na."

"O-Oh well, during my stay here, I had the chance to hear a few people speak of High Priests in this manner so I beca accustod to it."

High Priest II chuckled.

"How cute. So you aren’t curious about my real na?"

"I-If you wish to tell..."

The high priest didn’t say anything for a mont, making Zion believe he had ruined everything. His heart thumped in his chest, threatening to explode at any mont from dread.

"I hear you have a talent for crafting," she broke the silence, her voice smooth yet sharp, carrying an authority that left no room for lies.

"We require garnts of the highest quality and classy. Preferably for unique occasions. Do you believe you can manage that?"