A hypocritical nature exposed, the saint found herself in a difficult position.
Although there was no overt condemnation in Marquess Rekandro’s eyes or tone, it was enough to put pressure on Muriel.
The awkward atmosphere was reproaching her.
That much was evident from the way the Holy Knights who’d been standing behind her—there to protect her—averted their eyes in embarrassment.
At that moment, King Hispenril, who had so far remained silent, responded. By merely straightening his heavy upper body, he asserted his presence.
“Marquess Rekandro.”
“Your Highness King Hispenril.”
“I believe in my granddaughter and grandson-in-law. Surely, they will come back to us unscathed and prove us right.”
Pressing down his concern with trust, King Hispenril opened and closed his fist.
Marquess Rekandro nodded heavily in agreement.
“Then I’ll believe so as well.”
But just then, someone poured cold water on the moment:
“Heh-heh, didn’t we hear that the owner of the Holy Sword threw himself into the Pit of Solitude? Even if the pink-haired saint is alive, the…