Help! Get Me Out of My Sister's Novel-Chapter 569: ’The Gods’ Message.’

"Your Majesty," Serapion began, bowing just low enough to appear respectful, "I must say, I am truly grateful that you granted my request for an audience. I hadn’t expected it, especially after hearing that the prince was still... unconscious."

His tone was smooth—too smooth—and when he straightened, his lips curved into what might have been called a smile if it reached his eyes. It didn’t.

Heinz regarded him silently from across the long table, one arm resting against the carved armrest of his chair.

The golden sigil of the crown glinted faintly on his sleeve, but his expression was unreadable, gaze sharp and unwavering.

He didn’t care for Serapion’s false courtesy or his feigned warmth. The man’s every word reeked of diplomacy, of someone used to speaking for gods but serving only his own pride.

Still, Heinz wasn’t here for pleasantries.

He was here for answers.

"During your entrance," Heinz began, his voice low and steady, "you mentioned that Florian’s gift was a message from the Gods."

He didn’t phrase it as a question.

Serapion blinked once, surprised by how direct he was, but then smiled again—softer this time, as though amused.

"Yes, Your Majesty. As you know, our people have long been blessed with the ability to hear the whispers of the divine. There are some, like myself, who are able to commune with all the Gods."

He placed a hand over his heart, his ornate sleeves brushing the gilded edge of his robe.

His tone carried a practiced reverence, each word polished by years of preaching.

"However," he continued, his smile widening faintly, "as I mentioned, this message was a gift—intended specifically for His Highness. So if I may, I would prefer to—"

"It’s a warning," Heinz interrupted, his voice slicing through the room like a blade. "Isn’t it?"

The faint flicker of a candle made the air between them seem colder.

Serapion froze.

Heinz leaned forward slightly, his eyes sharp and unflinching. "It’s something meant for him," he continued quietly. "Something connected to me. To what’s happening here. To whoever—or whatever—is after him."

For the first time since the conversation began, the priest’s smile cracked.

It was small, but Heinz noticed—the slight twitch at the corner of Serapion’s lips, the faint stutter of breath before he forced composure back into his face.

The act was breaking.

Serapion cleared his throat softly, straightening his posture. "It seems," he said carefully, "that the rumors were true."

He took a slow step forward, the dim light catching the white and gold embroidery of his robes.

"You truly are favored by one of them, aren’t you, Your Majesty?" His voice was low now, more deliberate. "You must have had an encounter with a specific God... one who helped you. Who granted you power beyond mortal measure."

He paused.

And then his tone changed—subtle, but sharp enough to cut through the air.

"...And in doing so, angered nearly every other God in existence."

Heinz didn’t flinch. His expression didn’t even flicker.

He just stared at the priest—unmoving, unreadable—as if weighing whether Serapion was worth the air he breathed.

Then, slowly, Heinz tilted his head, his voice a quiet drawl. "How much did these Gods tell you?"

The question was soft, but the danger beneath it was unmistakable.

Serapion hesitated for the briefest moment, then smiled again—this time without any trace of piety. "That depends, Your Majesty."

He folded his hands neatly in front of him, the faintest glint of satisfaction in his eyes.

"How much," he asked calmly, "does His Highness know?"

Heinz’s stare darkened.

"As I’ve said," Serapion continued, lowering his voice, "this message is meant for Prince Florian. And while you may already have an idea of what it contains..."

He leaned forward slightly, that same false smile returning—but colder now, deliberate.

"...there’s a very high chance he doesn’t."

For a moment, the room was utterly silent—just the crackle of the candle between them and the faint hum of tension, thick enough to choke on.

Heinz’s hands curled slightly over the edge of the desk.

"I am trying to keep him safe," Heinz said, his voice tight, strained—the kind of tone that carried both command and desperation.

His hand curled into a fist on the desk, knuckles whitening.

Serapion’s response came calmly, almost too calmly. "And I, as well, Your Majesty." He clasped his hands together, his smile faint and serene. "This message is for His Highness’ sake."

Heinz’s gaze hardened. "And why do you care so much about Florian, Father Serapion?" he asked, voice cutting through the air like glass.

"As far as I know, there’s no relation between your kingdom and his. In fact—" His tone darkened. "Florian was involved in the execution of your princess. Alexandria."

Serapion’s smile faltered.

"She was one of your saints," Heinz continued, leaning forward. "A woman who claimed to speak to the Gods themselves. A woman your entire kingdom revered. And yet—here you are, calm, unbothered by her death... even wanting to help the man she hated."

Serapion chuckled softly, though the sound didn’t reach his eyes. "Ah, Your Majesty... you misunderstand me. I have reason to believe that His Highness bears no guilt in what happened. In fact, I am convinced that all of this—" he gestured faintly toward the air, toward the palace beyond the walls "—is connected."

He paused, lowering his voice. "Alexandria was once pure of heart. Kind. Compassionate. I could not believe she was capable of such cruelty."

Heinz’s lips curved faintly upward—cold, bitter.

’She killed me before. Now she tried killing Florian. Kind?’

He raised an eyebrow at Serapion’s words, and the priest laughed softly again, though there was an edge of strain in it now.

"It seems you do not believe me," Serapion said, turning slightly toward the tall window where sunlight filtered through stained glass.

"But let me tell you something, Your Majesty. You may know of our kingdom’s customs, our faith... but you do not know how our saintesses are chosen."

"Oh?" Heinz’s tone was flat. "Then do enlighten me."

Serapion inhaled deeply, his hand brushing over the rosary at his waist.

"We are chosen by virtue. By purity of soul and kindness of heart. It is said that those blessed with divine voices are those who embody the very essence of the Gods’ grace. Many believed I was cruel for not mourning openly, for not weeping at Alexandria’s death—or her parents’ suicide."

He looked down then, his voice softening into something almost human.

"But Alexandria was like a daughter to me. Her parents were dear friends—family, even. They were the gentlest people I knew. They offered blessings to every kingdom they visited. They even wanted to aid the Tranquilis Kingdom in its darkest hour."

His eyes lifted toward Heinz again, and for a brief moment, sorrow flickered there.

"However," Serapion continued quietly, "I know in my heart that Alexandria’s fall into darkness was not her own doing. It was the will of the Gods. Her actions were guided—driven—by the voices she heard."

Heinz’s expression darkened. "And what caused that?"

Serapion’s answer came softly, but it landed like a hammer. "You, Your Majesty."

Heinz’s jaw tightened.

"Not her love for you," Serapion added quickly, "but the Gods’ wrath upon you."

"Bullshit," Heinz hissed, standing abruptly. "You expect me to believe the Gods turned their ’kind saintess’ into a murderer just to spite me?"

Serapion didn’t flinch. His faint smile returned—patient, almost pitying. "In the eyes of the Gods... and in the eyes of those kingdoms you’ve destroyed... you are no king."

He pointed directly to Heinz’s chest—where the faint glow of the crystal shimmered beneath his robes.

"...You are a demon."

The room fell silent.

The knights outside would’ve heard the tension in that silence—thick, suffocating, electric.

Heinz’s voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. "Careful with your words, Father Serapion."

"I mean no offense," the priest said, bowing his head slightly. "I speak only the truth. You wield power that defies nature, and you keep a beast that should not exist."

His eyes flickered toward the faint pulse of Azure’s crystal. "Tell me, do you think that dragon’s existence pleases the Gods?"

Heinz’s glare could have cut through steel.

Serapion continued, slower now, deliberate. "You have done things no mortal should, Your Majesty. And now the balance trembles. What you have created—what you have become—has angered the heavens. Alexandria was not your punishment."

He looked Heinz directly in the eyes.

"She was the warning."

Heinz’s hand twitched on the table. His voice was cold, low, barely restrained. "And what was yesterday, then? Another divine message?"

Serapion’s expression turned grim. "Yes. The same wrath that consumed Alexandria has found others to carry out its will. The Gods want you and His Highness separated... by whatever means necessary. That is why they gave him the message."

Heinz froze.

The weight of those words hit him like a blow to the chest.

’Separate us? Why? Why Florian? What does he have to do with my sins?’

His thoughts spiraled, breaking apart faster than he could control.

He had been called a monster before. A tyrant. A murderer. But this—this was something else.

The Gods themselves wanted Florian away from him.

And that—more than anything—terrified him.

His pulse quickened, anger and dread colliding in his chest.

He needed to know what the message was. He had to.

He leaned forward, his voice rising. "Father Serapion. Tell me—what did they—"

He stopped.

A voice—soft, melodic, familiar—cut through his thoughts.

"Father Serapion? What are you..."

Heinz’s head snapped toward the doorway.

His breath caught in his throat.

"Florian," he whispered, eyes widening.

The priest turned, startled, just as the prince appeared in the doorway—frail but standing, his pale hair catching the light.

"Your Majesty," Florian said softly, confusion and fatigue lacing his voice. "What’s... happening here?"