Chapter 7
Chapter 7
Episode 7.
They had ridden nonstop for a full day.
Even with their monstrous stamina, both Aiden and Petra had reached their limits.
Calling it "a day" was generous—truthfully, they hadn't gotten a proper wink of sleep since leaving Tedrang Village.
Past midnight, Aiden and Yuron rested near the granary fields just outside their destination.
The two horses snorted, exhaling rough breaths. Leaving all their gear—holy armor, holy sword, everything—with the caravan had been a wise decision.
"I was truly shocked," Yuron admitted.
He had witnessed Aiden throwing himself into the blue flames. Though they had vanished in an instant, by then, Aiden's entire body had already been charred black.
"Forgive me for saying this, but... I honestly thought you were dead."
Zeras' Flames of Judgment burned until the condemned were reduced to mere ashes.
Even Zeras himself couldn't extinguish them—so how Aiden had survived unscathed was beyond comprehension.
"Tell me exactly what happened."
Yuron tossed a dry branch into the campfire and began.
"The moment the flames spread over your body, they disappeared. You lost consciousness, and the Inquisitor seemed... deeply unsettled. Frankly, I've never seen him look like that before."
The flames vanished? That made no sense.
"Vanished?"
"Yes. I saw it clearly with my own eyes. They flickered blue, then vanished in an instant."
This contradicted the game's lore entirely. Aiden needed to meet Zeras and confirm this himself.
"Did he say anything about the child?"
"No. I know his epithet well—'Flame Demon.' The nobles fear him because he insists even they must be purified by fire. I don't know why he spared her."
The aristocracy called Zeras the "Demon of Flames," terrified that he would hold them to the same standards as commoners.
"Meeting the girl was coincidental."
"Not quite. The Inquisitor seemed to know Lady Yuriel's movements. He placed you on his horse and headed straight for the caravan."
Aiden didn't ask about the bishop or the necromancer—Yuron wouldn't know. Zeras had likely gone directly to the Holy See to investigate.
"The Inquisitor asked me to tell you to meet him at the Church."
Though the general picture was clear, questions remained. Meeting Zeras took priority.
"Understood. Get some rest. We enter the city at dawn."
Aiden leaned against a tree, stealing a moment of respite. Sleep wouldn't come.
The Holy Capital of Arhaim, though geographically within the Empire, was effectively an independent state ruled by the Pope.
Encircled by canals and surrounded by fertile granary fields, the city thrived in abundance. The ceaseless flow of travelers had cultivated a treasury of culture.
The Empire called it the Holy Prosperity.
Aiden and Yuron arrived at the drawbridge leading into the city.
Security was notoriously strict, leaving the bridge perpetually crowded.
Merchants, pilgrims, adventurers, travelers, clergy—today was no different, with a snaking line trailing behind them.
Aiden guided his horse toward the left-side passage reserved for priority access.
"Halt!"
The guard's sharp command drew attention.
"This passage isn't for just anyone. Turn back and wait your turn."
Aiden's appearance didn't help. His tunic was blackened with soot, torn in places.
Though Yuriel's healing had mended his burns, he looked more like a fugitive than a knight.
When Aiden continued forward, the guard drew his blade.
"Advance further, and you'll be detained under decree!"
Slowing, Aiden retrieved his seal and showed it.
"You've had a long night."
The guard stiffened upon recognizing the insignia.
"My apologies! We'll verify your identity and let you pass immediately."
"Paladin. Name's Aiden."
The guard's eyes flickered with recognition.
"I've heard of your reputation. It's an honor. Though... weren't you supposed to arrive with House Sachilie—"
"Urgent business. I came ahead. Open the gate."
"Ah—right away!"
At the guard's nod, the iron gate groaned upward.
The guard handed something over.
"This... a message from Lord Zeras."
The scroll of parchment was sealed, untouched.
"You're to read it immediately upon receipt."
Aiden unfurled it, then headed straight for Zeras' residence.
"You're always faster than expected."
Zeras' estate was spacious but austere, nearly devoid of servants.
He sat across from Aiden, offering tea. The sharp scent of peppermint filled the room.
"Doesn't feel much like a home, does it?"
"You're rarely in Arhaim, my lord."
Zeras roamed the Empire relentlessly. As the Church's Watcher, he hunted heretics and, at times, passed judgment on demons.
Wherever he went, the stench of burning followed.
"True. I never liked staying in the Holy Capital. Some say this place is the root of the Church. Funny, isn't it? The root that should be purest is filthier than anywhere else."
Zeras lifted his cup.
"Being here makes me feel like even my faith is being denied."
His gaze flicked to Aiden's expression.
"Know why I'm telling you this?"
"No."
"Truth is, the moment I arrived, I was conflicted. Faith versus pragmatism. Which to choose? That's also why I summoned you."
Zeras stood, gesturing for Aiden to follow. They descended to the cellar.
Dampness clung to Aiden's skin. The stone floor exhaled a chill that seeped into his bones.
Forel and the necromancer dangled from ropes suspended from the ceiling.
A table before them displayed tools—their purposes horrifyingly clear.
"Are they still alive?"
"They cannot die until God permits it."
At their voices, Forel and the necromancer convulsed. Kill us, they begged, writhing.
Their forms were barely human after whatever had been done to them.
"It took less than ten hours to break them. The bishop talked the moment I pulled his nails."
Zeras approached the necromancer.
"Do you still serve the Demon God?"
The man shook his head desperately. His tongue was gone—he couldn't speak.
"If that's the truth, may God guide your soul. Repent until then."
Leaving the necromancer to gurgle, Zeras turned to Aiden.
"The bishop was consumed by lust and conspired with heretics. The deal was exchanging countless kidnapped children for you."
To the necromancer, a paladin was the ultimate prize.
Dozens of children meant nothing compared to that.
There had never been an altar—just a scheme. The bishop needed children; the necromancer needed a paladin.
"But who'd expect a freshly appointed paladin to defeat a Dark Warrior?"
The ambush had been planned around Aiden's known strength.
Aiden felt dizzy. He had doubted it, but Forel had truly committed apostasy.
Even if this incident passed, the fact that events and characters were deviating was deeply unsettling.
"Regardless, that's the gist. Now, we must choose between pragmatism and faith."
Zeras pointed at Forel.
"An unexpected name came up—Archbishop Tegain. You've heard of him."
Tegain was a leading figure among the Church's moderates.
The Sacred Council was currently embroiled in debate over reclaiming the Holy Lands. The radicals pushed fiercely for an expedition; the moderates argued it was too soon.
Originally, the first expedition would fail. This time, it had to.
"...If the archbishop is implicated, the moderates will collapse."
"Correct. Without them, the radicals will force the expedition through. I agree the Holy Lands must be retaken—but not now."
The Holy Lands lay across the continent—territory stolen by demons two centuries ago. Now, it was a demon-infested wasteland.
"What do you think?"
Aiden answered firmly.
"Absolutely not now."
"So you suggest turning a blind eye to Tegain's crimes?"
"You must look beyond the target. Catching one apostate will spill too much blood."
Zeras smiled faintly.
"Hypothetically—if I reported this and launched an investigation, what would you do?"
Aiden didn't hesitate.
"By my oath to God, I would stop you, Master."
"How?"
"Even if it means staining my hands."
This was non-negotiable. The expedition had to happen once—when everything was ready, in a single decisive strike.
Not now.
He would kill Zeras if necessary. Aiden had no confidence in persuading this fanatic with words.
Instead, Zeras laughed heartily.
"You truly don't waver. Not an ounce of doubt in your convictions."
Then, as if exhausted, he shook his head.
"That must be the difference between us."
Aiden was thrown by the sudden shift.
"You must have questions, yet you don't ask. You know my epithet—the demon who burns men alive. Yet for the first time, I revoked my judgment."
Zeras recalled the past—his younger brother, seduced by a demon, carving out their family's hearts as offerings.
He had watched, hidden beneath a bed. His brother had drunk holy water—so why? The question meant nothing.
He had hesitated, despite being born wielding blue flames.
Zeras recounted this calmly, then flicked his fingers.
No flame ignited.
"The moment you leaped to save that child, I hesitated again. You didn't falter. God grants one chance, not two. I disappointed Him."
The fuel for the Flames of Judgment was conviction. With certainty, they burned eternally—but doubt extinguished them.
"God has taken the flames from me."
Zeras looked almost relieved.
"He'll bestow them upon another, more worthy."
Aiden hadn't known this part of Zeras' story. The loss of his power was unexpected.
While the main plot progressed as remembered, the branches were tangling.
"Anyway. If you're still resolute, then send them to God's side."
Cases involving the Demon God cult fell under the Special Inquisition's jurisdiction.
Forel wouldn't survive their interrogation. The chain would lead straight to the top.
If the moderates collapse, we're finished.
Of course, they had contingencies. But Aiden wanted no room for error.
"You agree with this, Master?"
"I told you—I'm conflicted. Forgive this pathetic master for leaving the decision to you."
"Forgiveness doesn't matter. This is the path that serves everyone."
Aiden stood before the two prisoners.
"Will you absolve their sins and send them to God?"
"I don't know about that."
But these two had to disappear. Aiden gripped the mace on the table.
As he raised it, searing heat flared.
"God has answered you."
Zeras smiled approvingly.
A pale, searing flame flickered—brilliant and sublime.