They are all characters I control.

Her skin was very white, but not the healthy, sun-kissed white; rather, it was a pale, almost transparent white that had been hidden from the sun for a long time.

Her hair was dark brown, messy and plastered to her forehead, making her small face look even thinner.

Her features were fairly regular, but she was too thin, with high cheekbones and deep-set eyes, looking like a wildcat that had just been released from its cage.

He was barefoot, walking on the grass, with red marks on the back of his feet from where he had been bound by chains.

But he didn't care. He stood there, looking up at the sky, and took a deep breath, as if savoring some long-lost flavor.

Ophelia stood behind the flowerbed, quietly watching the little guy.

If we're talking about cuteness, then yes, it's very cute.

Even the nuns around her slowed their pace, especially since he seemed to be in poor condition and looked even more pitiful.

Moreover, this little boy possessed both an aura of divine magic and a completely opposite attraction.

At this moment, the other party was unaware that they were being watched like a small animal, after all, whether it was the Disciplined Saint Ophelia or the Judgment Sisters, their forte was stealth.

Even the prayer agent saint Isabelle had difficulty spotting them, let alone this little boy who seemed to have no magic or power at all.

After resting for a while, the little boy looked around warily and almost spotted Ophelia and the others.

After confirming his safety and determining his direction, he began to stealthily make his way towards the corner.

Ophelia found the little guy's actions and behavior quite amusing.

She lightly leaped and landed at the corner, deliberately waiting. Then, as soon as the little boy turned around, he buried his head between her chest and abdomen.

The little boy was clearly stunned with fright; through his clear eyes, one could see his own face reflected in Ophelia's as she looked down at him.

"Oh dear," Ophelia said with a cat-and-mouse-like pleasure, "it seems you've had a tough time, being locked up by that repressive woman Isabelle for a long time, hasn't it?"

She lifted the little boy up by the waist with one hand, and pinched his waist with the other.

"Look at you, they won't even give you clothes to wear."

The little boy was trapped in those two enormous mounds, and his mind was clearly blank.

"Oh? You're not going to keep running? I thought you'd struggle." Ophelia looked down at the little boy who was now lying obediently in front of her.

The little boy blinked but didn't say anything.

"Hehehe, you're quite clever, knowing you can't escape." Ophelia laughed.

She was very satisfied with the little boy's reaction, which would save her a lot of trouble.

At least, Isabelle won't find out.

"Now I'm giving you a choice: come with me, or...?"

"Or you could go back to Isabelle. If you want to go back, I can take you back."

"So, what's the choice? Make your decision."

The little boy looked up at the smiling Ophelia, and he didn't hesitate at all.

Without answering, he lowered his head and rested his face against Ophelia's chest.

This reaction clearly speaks volumes; it seems the little boy prefers himself to Isabelle?

"Very well, since you've made your choice, I'll take you back. At least I'll make you more comfortable, and treat you better than that girl Isabelle."

Ophelia gazed meaningfully at the little boy before her and smiled triumphantly.

Chapter 27: Bullied by the Strong

Ophelia's bedroom was completely different from Isabelle's simple, almost shabby prayer room.

Claire walked barefoot on the cold marble floor, her gaze sweeping over the bedroom... no, it shouldn't be called a room, it's more like a "museum".

The four walls were covered with all kinds of torture instruments, from the most common whips and handcuffs to metal devices whose names I didn't know.

Each piece was polished to a shine, and maintained with even greater care than the sacred objects in a church.

On the shelf against the wall were several rows of crystal bottles, each filled with a different colored liquid, and labeled with numbers that Claire couldn't understand.

There was another wall with a dozen or so badges neatly hung on it.

They are from various divisions of the Church Knights.

Claire recognized several of them; they were the ones he had seen when he controlled Eleanor's body, worn by some of the 'Holy Lance Knights' church knights.

Each badge has a slip of paper attached to its base, which includes the badge number and the date.

What is this woman collecting these things for? Has the Inquisition been keeping an eye on Eleanor's Knights? Or perhaps the 'Church of Life'?

However, at this point, he was no longer in the mood to worry about others.

Claire looked away and sighed inwardly.

He'd barely escaped one wolf's den before falling into another—no, into a tiger's den. At least in Isabelle's "wolf's den," there was food and drink, and a busty saintess to feed him every day.

And over here? The room is full of torture instruments, the walls are covered with "souvenirs," and there's a chaplain who treats interrogation as a hobby.

He had actually discovered Ophelia long ago.

In that garden, the moment he jumped from the windowsill, he became aware of the presence of the nuns who were judging him.

The methods used by those nuns to conduct the trial were indeed ingenious, but Claire had been imprisoned in the dungeon for over a hundred years. Although her body had shrunk, her senses had not deteriorated.

Besides, he had fought many battles, big and small, while controlling Eleanor, so how could he not be aware of the presence of others?

But he didn't run, because he couldn't escape.

Where could a boy who looked about eight or nine years old, barefoot and wearing ill-fitting pants, possibly run in the holy city?

If one were to reveal their true strength, it would be tantamount to admitting guilt without being asked.

Even if the other party wanted to attack, Claire was not without the ability to fight back, but Ophelia had no intention of killing Claire.

At least, she won't kill him for now.

When Claire bumped into her, he was ready to launch a sneak attack, and Ophelia could have kicked him away, but she didn't.

However, the moment this priestess began speaking, she revealed that he had escaped from Isabelle.

So, does Ophelia know that she is the Evil Emperor? Or does she only know that Claire escaped from there, but is unsure of his identity?

As Claire gazed at the items on the shelf in front of her, deep in thought...

"What are you looking at? What do you think? Is it good?"

Ophelia's voice came from behind, with a hint of lazy laughter.

Claire turned around and watched her walk in through the door.

"It's a bit strange, the things here seem quite interesting."

Before he was certain of the other party's intentions and the information they possessed, he continued to act like a little boy.

Ophelia followed his gaze to the wall covered with badges, a slight smile playing on her lips. "Those are 'souvenirs.' Each one represents a heretic I sent to the gallows."

“Isn’t that a church knight’s?” Claire said.

“The Inquisition does not discriminate based on status.” Ophelia walked up to him, squatted down, and looked him in the eye: “Bishops, knights, nobles, commoners—if you commit a crime, you must be punished.”

Claire didn't speak; he simply shrank back two steps.

Ophelia reached out, pinched his chin, and turned his face toward the window. "Your face does resemble one."

She scrutinized him closely, a smug smile playing on her lips: "You probably looked like that young evil emperor Claire, didn't you? How interesting."

Claire's heart tightened, but she maintained the innocent demeanor of a young boy and asked, "The Evil God Emperor? Big sister, have you ever seen the Evil God Emperor?"

“No, not at all.” Ophelia released her grip, stood up, and looked down at Claire.

But Claire couldn't see her face at that moment; she could only see a pair of mountains.

Ophelia chuckled and reached out to stroke Claire's head.

“But I think I’ll be able to meet that evil god emperor soon, and you hope so too, little guy.”

Without waiting for Claire's reply, she turned and walked into the inner room.

Claire stood there, her heart skipping a beat.

She guessed it, though she didn't say it outright, but her tone, her eyes, her "tests"—she was already certain.

More evidence is needed to prove that he is the Evil Emperor, but this is also a turning point for Claire.

Whether Ophelia guessed it or not doesn't matter anymore. What's most important is what Ophelia plans to do after she does guess it.

In the best-case scenario, I would simply be confined to Ophelia's room for the time being.

In the worst-case scenario, one would be sent to the Inquisition, where one would suffer torture and become a prisoner who would never die but whose life would be worse than death.

Claire let out a soft breath, knowing that she still had to give it her all when it was time to fight.

She absolutely did not want to become fish on a chopping board.

"Come in," Ophelia's voice came from the inner room.

Hearing Ophelia's call, Claire hesitated for a moment before going inside.

The inner room was more spacious than the outer one. In the very center was a huge bathtub, its water crystal clear, with white flower petals floating on the surface. Hot.

Steam rose, and the air was filled with the fragrance of flowers, mixed with a faint herbal scent.

The bathtub was surrounded by white animal skin carpets, and was fully equipped with candlesticks, essential oils, and soft towels.

Ophelia stood by the bathtub, wrapped in a white towel.

Her figure was more slender than Isabelle's, probably because she was a battle saintess. Compared to Isabelle, who was skilled in using holy magic, Ophelia, who acted as the representative of the commandments, was not so skilled in holy magic.

However, Ophelia also knows rune magic, mental magic, and other types of magic that are explicitly forbidden from circulation by the church.

Naturally, he is also exceptionally skilled in physical fitness and combat skills, proficient in short swords, knight's swords, crossbows, assassination, and commanding knights.

They were also adept at producing magic potions and various elixirs, and these differences between them and Isabelle were directly reflected in their physical appearances.

Claire glanced at her, then looked away.

After all, this woman, though beautiful, is poisonous.

Just then, two nuns silently entered from outside the door.

They wore black, tight-fitting leather armor, their faces were stern, and their movements were swift.

Without saying a word, they grabbed Claire's arms on either side and began to tear off her clothes.

Claire did not struggle.

Struggling at this point is pointless. His physical appearance is still that of a child, although his true form is that of an adult, but his physical sensations are those of a child.

The little boy couldn't even beat an adult woman in an arm wrestling match, let alone two well-trained nuns.

Claire was left to their mercy.

Chapter 28 A Frank Conversation with Ophelia

The nuns' movements during the trial were clearly clumsy; they didn't seem to know how to pry things up.

Although Claire only had one long top that could be used as pants, they were still scrambling around to find what they needed.

I guess she usually just tears things up, or maybe this is her first time interacting with a little boy.

Perhaps it was because after her top was also removed, Claire's pale and thin body was exposed, with her ribs protruding one by one, and red marks from the chains still remaining on her wrists and ankles.

The pale golden holy marks on his chest glowed faintly in the candlelight.

The nun's gaze fell on the holy marks, then quickly shifted away.

Then, they wrapped a soft white bath towel around him, supported him on either side, and walked towards the bath.

Claire was placed in the bathtub. The water wasn't hot; the temperature was just right, reaching up to his chest.

He leaned against the pool wall and looked up at Ophelia.

Ophelia sat opposite him, her long legs dangling in the water, a towel draped over the edge of the pool.

Most of her body was submerged in the water, with only her shoulders and collarbone exposed. Her long, wet silver hair clung to her neck, and water droplets dripped from the ends of her hair, creating ripples on the surface of the water.

She picked up a soft towel from the poolside and slowly wiped her arms, her gaze fixed on Claire.