"What is that…?"
Seo-jun murmured as he lowered his head, leaning closer to the faintly gleaming object.
Just as his fingers were about to touch it, footsteps suddenly approached.
His pulse spiked. In the cramped room, he scanned desperately for a place to hide.
Luckily, the room had no lighting at all.
Seo-jun slipped behind the door, pressing himself into the darkness. He went completely still as someone stopped right outside Alaric's open room.
"That's rare. Prior Alaric left his door open," one man muttered, peeking into the empty room.
"Think he forgot to close it?"
"Who knows. Maybe the Archbishop summoned him," another replied casually.
"Just shut it. We still need to check the other novices' rooms."
Seo-jun silently exhaled in relief.
He waited a while longer, making sure the hallway was truly clear before slipping out and continuing his search.
Soon, he reached the prayer hall—the place where priests usually spent their time.
He walked past rows of wooden benches until he spotted someone praying with intense focus.
Not wanting to draw attention, Seo-jun sat down right beside them.
He waited until the person finished and turned their head, then acted as if he had just ended his own prayer.
"Hey… you're a new novice?"
The voice was unusually soft—for a man.
Something felt off.
Seo-jun slowly turned, wearing his trademark smile.
"Yeah…"
The next second, Seo-jun nearly jumped out of his skin and fell off the bench.
The person beside him wasn't a man.
It was a woman.
And worse—someone he knew all too well.
She stood up just as reflexively, clearly startled.
A disguise she had maintained for months was shattered by the one person she least wanted to meet.
"Lord Adrian… what are you doing here?" she whispered urgently.
"This place isn't safe!"
Seo-jun stood up and stiffly adjusted his robe.
"That's none of your business," he replied coldly.
"And what are you doing here, Chewie?"
Chewie let out a long breath, forcing herself to calm down.
"What I'm doing here… is none of your concern, my lord," she said firmly.
"You should leave. And don't you dare expose my disguise—if you value your life."
Seo-jun's heart pounded.
For a split second, the longing he had buried almost made him forget everything—
including the fact that the woman standing before him was a traitor.
He held himself back.
Not wanting trouble, and not wanting to drag Chewie any deeper, Seo-jun decided to leave.
But just as he stepped toward the door, a familiar silhouette appeared.
It was—
Archbishop Matthias Corwin.
Seo-jun froze.
Then the old man smiled broadly when he saw Adrian Hanwick standing there.
"Well, well… it seems your desire for self-improvement is truly sincere," he said softly—yet sharply.
"Not merely an attempt to polish your public image. Remarkable. God's will truly never errs."
Seo-jun returned the smile—perfect, effortless.
Without saying a word, he turned and walked out of the prayer hall.
The moment he stepped outside, the door slammed shut behind him.
Two holy knights stood guard in front of it.
Their gazes were sharp, cold, and utterly unyielding.
Seo-jun started to wonder if Chewie really did play a key role in the conflict between the Crown and the Church—just like the history book claimed.
He didn't have solid proof to pin that suspicion down. Still, for some reason, his instincts kept circling back to her, over and over again.
Lost in thought, Seo-jun suddenly ran into Alaric, who immediately called out to him.
"Adrian? Hey—where have you been?"
Alaric narrowed his eyes. "Why aren't you asleep yet?!"
Seo-jun stayed silent, his thoughts still spinning.
Seeing that, Alaric didn't hesitate. He splashed a bit of holy water—something he carried everywhere—straight at him.
Seo-jun snapped back to reality and turned toward Alaric, who was already murmuring sacred verses in a low but firm voice.
"Oh…"
Seo-jun blinked. "You're here, Alaric?"
Alaric closed his book and let out a long sigh.
"I've been here the whole time," he replied.
"Where did you come from? Why aren't you in your room?"
For a moment, Seo-jun considered telling the truth.
But remembering how close Alaric was to that damned archbishop, he swallowed it back and said instead that he'd been wandering around—feeling out of place and bored in his room.
Alaric simply nodded.
He understood. Leaving old habits behind wasn't easy—especially when it happened so suddenly.
Even more so when he thought about how much his younger brother had enjoyed life outside these walls.
"You should go back to your room now," Alaric said calmly.
"Get some proper rest. The novices start their day very early—around four."
Seo-jun's eyes widened.
It was already one in the morning.
That gave him barely two hours before everything began.
Without another word, Seo-jun hurried back to his room.
He collapsed onto the bed—hard and freezing, more like a wooden plank wrapped in thin fabric.
The air was stale and biting cold. No fireplace. No warmth.
Just as Seo-jun closed his eyes—
A loud knock slammed against the door.
Annoyed at the near-total lack of sleep, Seo-jun covered his ears.
It didn't help.
Alaric dragged him out anyway, fully responsible for overseeing his brother's discipline under direct orders from the Archbishop.
Half-awake, Seo-jun was forced through a brutal schedule of prayers.
Matins and Lauds began deep in the night and stretched all the way to dawn.
The longest prayer started around two or three in the morning and went on nonstop until sunrise.
Prime followed at sunrise, around six.
Then Terce at nine, right before morning Mass.
All together, the morning prayers alone took two to three hours.
And that didn't even include the afternoon and evening prayers.
Monastic life followed one simple, merciless rule:
Ora et Labora.
Pray and work. No room for complaints.
Total prayer time in a single day could reach five to seven hours.
And all of it was neatly laid out in a single book—
one that now felt less like scripture and more like shackles to Seo-jun.
The Book of Hours.