Chapter 17
Chapter 17
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 17
Chapter Title: Priest Danel
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"How about you head back first?"
It was at a fork in the road—left to St. Vesta Cathedral, right toward home—when Danel asked.
Bryon waved his hand dismissively.
"Don't be ridiculous. Who would believe I'd skipped out on today's duties if I went home now?"
"Fair enough. Cleaning a new house really is the last thing anyone wants to do."
Danel couldn't come up with any persuasive argument to counter Bryon's simple logic.
Bryon asked in a bright, cheerful voice.
"By the way, who did you go to meet at the convent?"
"You're better off not knowing."
"Even if it was a forbidden love with one of the nuns, I could keep my mouth shut."
Bryon said it half-jokingly.
"If it was something that trivial, I would've told you."
Danel replied in kind, jokingly.
Bryon's face turned pale, and he didn't attempt any more jokes. But this chatty friend eventually uttered the very word Danel had been wary of.
"Is it about the Holy Grail?"
Danel was startled, but not because he'd been caught.
"I'm curious what thought process in that head of yours led to such an absurd deduction."
"It wasn't much of a deduction. Everyone thinks that anyway. Since it came up..."
It wasn't that it had just come up—he'd clearly been itching to talk about it since earlier, and the words poured out.
"Lots of people come to St. Vesta Cathedral looking for the Holy Grail. Bishop David spends hours convincing each one to leave. Some of them are really persistent. They even resort to threats."
"What kind of threats?"
"Outlandish ones! You couldn't even imagine! And we're not even officially supporting the Holy Grail expeditions. Imagine what the Raphael Priesthood must be dealing with. I ran into one of their acolytes on the road once, and he said three people come to them for every one that shows up at our place."
It was dawn, with no one else around, but Bryon still lowered his voice. Even so, the street was so quiet that it echoed fairly loudly.
"Apparently, a king from some country even showed up once. He asked if he could lead his army to search for it, begging for the Pontiff's permission. Cardinal Lorenzo gives those types a real dressing-down and sends them packing. Even if the Pontiff said God wanted it, if every Tom, Dick, and Harry took off, it'd just bring shame to our western continent, right?"
Danel just nodded.
'If Bryon's going this far, the stress on His Holiness must be worse than I thought.'
Bryon said earnestly.
"So we were thinking among ourselves—if the Rom Priesthood sent someone to represent us on a Grail quest, who would it be? Nine out of ten said you, Father Danel. I was one of them, of course."
"The eastern continent is too far for an old man like me."
"Why? They say Saint Theo crossed three continents alone preaching the gospel, all the way up to ninety years old."
"So, the point is, the young priests believe I'll be the one to do it?"
"Of course. One guy even swore a month ago, when you were away briefly, that you'd already set off to retrieve the Grail. I should've made a bet—if I'd known you'd come back like this."
"You rascal, working in a cathedral and not a pious word in your mouth."
Danel sighed worriedly as he gazed up the uphill path toward home.
"People thinking that way is nothing but trouble."
"What's the problem? If you're not going after the Grail, just say so. If you are, set off proudly. They'd be strewing flower petals in your path everywhere you go."
Bryon, already weary from the long journey, was out of breath climbing the hill and couldn't speak properly. But Danel walked on steadily as always and said calmly.
"I suppose I should tell you an old story. Did you know the old Rotin Empire wasn't ruled by an emperor, but by three consuls and a hundred senators sharing power in a republic?"
"No idea. What's a republic?"
"It'd take too long to explain fully, so briefly: a republic is a system where no king or emperor rules—politics is decided by votes and debates among many people. But then rumors spread that a consul from the military, Serous, was going to overthrow the republic and make himself emperor."
"Why the rumors?"
"Because his army was so overwhelmingly powerful. He could have conquered Rotin single-handedly if he'd wanted."
"No wonder people were worried. So Serous disbanded the army?"
"No, he argued he needed it to fight the barbarian hordes. The republic's senators didn't buy it—they were convinced he wanted to be emperor."
"Why didn't Serous just deny it?"
"He did! He denied it and made excuses multiple times. But the senate demanded he disband the army and arrested him. The charge was treason, punishable by death. The hero who defended the empire from barbarians was suddenly facing execution—for possessing the very army that kept them at bay."
"So Serous died? Oh, right! He didn't!"
Danel chuckled briefly and wrapped up the tale.
"Serous escaped with help from his loyal soldiers, then assassinated every senator in the republic one night. All hundred of them dead in a single night."
"My God. I only ever heard he became emperor out of lust for power. Never learned about any republic."
"I can understand Serous to some extent. Of course, I'd have ditched the army and fled before the senate even raised the issue."
"You sound like you've met Emperor Serous himself. So, since everyone's suspecting you of going on the Grail quest anyway, does that mean you'll just go find it?"
"When everyone thinks that way, sometimes you have no choice but to go along, even if you don't want to. On the flip side, if that's what they all think, I might as well use it to my advantage."
"How would you use it?"
"I can't tell you that far. But once I tidy up the house, I won't be heading to St. Vesta Cathedral—I'll go to Rotica."
"What for?"
Danel stopped in front of his house and answered.
"To ask Cardinal Lorenzo or Pontiff Dionysius if they'd stop me if I went after the Holy Grail."
Bryon's eyes went wide.
"What kind of fool's errand is that? If you're going for the Grail, sneak off—or like with Emperor Serous, just bolt. Why poke the bear?"
"Everyone's watching me, aren't they? Might as well keep their eyes on me. It doesn't bother me either way."
Danel opened the door and went inside.
Bryon followed, tilting his head in confusion.
'He doesn't get it. Good. I'd said too much.'
Danel pointed to the wooden table with his finger.
"Wait in the living room a bit, Bryon. We have to stay until noon, so feel free to nap."
"Music to my ears."
Bryon swiftly lay down on the table. He wrapped himself tightly in his long robes, ready for sleep in an instant—a familiar routine for someone used to snatching short naps anywhere to make up for lost rest.
Danel climbed the creaking wooden stairs. The small upstairs room held only a worn bed and an even older wardrobe.
Danel sat on the edge of the bed, mentally listing things he needed to sort.
'What to do with the wine in the cellar? It'll go bad.'
Even last summer, three bottles had overflowed and spoiled. One had somehow matured even tastier, but the other two were utterly undrinkable and had to be tossed.
'Sshould I pack clothes? No, in this case, money's better. Won't be much, though.'
Taking money on a long trip wasn't ideal either.
During the old Holy Land reclamation wars, many soldiers, knights, and clerics had brought gold or silver—thinking they'd need it en route or at the Holy Land. But oddly, rumors spread that 'everyone heading to the Holy Land has gold,' leading to highway robberies before they even arrived.
Thieves still preyed on clerics heading east these days.
Those who couldn't carry money faced dilemmas. Leaving it all at home felt risky too.
That's when the Parens Holy Knights came up with a brilliant solution. They converted nobles' and knights' assets to gold, stored it for a set period, issued receipts, and upon safe return from the war with proof, returned the gold minus a ten percent storage fee. Once word spread that the Holy Knights guaranteed the gold under their name, everyone entrusted their wealth to them.
The Holy Land wars hadn't just enriched Rotica.
'Hmm, thinking about it, sending the Holy Knights on the Grail quest might not be the Raphael Priesthood's strategy after all. They've basically left that massive fortune in Parens, haven't they?'
Danel counted out silver coins for rent and had a stray realization.
'How much of the Holy Knights' force is still in Parens? If the Parens royals pretended to go mad and seized their wealth, would the remaining knights have enough men to stop it?'
Parens Kingdom was in dire financial straits. Meanwhile, rumors said the Holy Knights held more gold than the Rom Empire's imperial treasury. That was plenty to risk public backlash.
All they needed was a pretext. Attacking a knightly order dispatched by the Pontiff's command for the Grail would require more than a flimsy excuse.
'This is where a religious inquisition comes in handy. Proclaim the Holy Knights secretly worship a heretic god, and it's solved. Who was Parens' cardinal again? Doesn't matter. If it works out, he could become the first bishop of a new order!'
As suspicions swirled in his mind, footsteps echoed from below.
At first, he thought Bryon had woken and was wandering about. But the steps were different—deliberately muffled.
'It can't be Bryon.'
Danel descended the wooden stairs.
"Who's there?"
The landlord had once picked the lock with a spare key.
Danel had forgotten food out on the table before leaving on a long trip, and the stench of rot had filled the place. The landlord had come fearing he'd find Danel's corpse, or so he'd said.
But nothing like that justified a visit now.
Danel checked on Bryon, who lay sprawled. A dark bruise marred his pale neck, and blood pooled thickly on the floor.
No signs of struggle at a glance. Bryon just looked like he was sleeping in an odd position.
Danel knelt before Bryon. He checked for a pulse, just in case, but it was too late.
"Poor Bryon. I should have insisted you go home then... You met this end because of me."
Danel prayed for Bryon. Creaking footsteps crossed the living room behind him.
Turning, he saw a tall man in filthy clerical robes. He pulled back his hood, revealing a bald head. Unshaven for days, short black stubble spiked around the crown.
"You act like you knew I was coming, Father."
The man dragged a chair over, placing it before the kneeling Danel, and sat.
"Hardly. But I knew it was too late to escape you. Didn't I just lock the door?"
He leaned forward, elbows on thighs, fingers interlaced, matching Danel's eye level.
"I didn't lock it to trap you, Father. Just to keep outsiders from stumbling in and adding needless victims."
"You've already made one unjust victim."
"We stop at one."
"Whose orders? If I don't want to be the second, I at least deserve a reason. You might have the wrong man."
"Could be unjust, depending. But that's for me to judge."
"Your name?"
"What for?"
"You're going to question me anyway, aren't you? That's why you haven't killed me yet."
"Fair exchange of questions, then? As rumored, you're entertaining. But wrong. I'm very good at making stubborn liars tell the truth."
"An inquisitor?"
"I've done that work."
"More like you're expert at dressing lies as truth."
"That alone gives me cause to execute you, Father."
"Bullshit. You just want to kill, and you're wrapping it in crap logic. Do you get off on the screams of agony and the smell of burning flesh?"
"Can't deny that. But time's short. You've been flitting about, delaying what I should have finished ages ago."
The man unclenched his hands. Blood speckled them. Now Danel noticed blood on his cuffs and robe hem too—Bryon's blood.
Soon, Danel's would join it.
"You brought a youth named Jade from Jerva, right? Where is he now?"
"You won't give a name, so I can't give anything."
"I might look amused, but I'm furious. I should have burned Jade in Jerva a week ago. But you moved faster, Father Danel."
Danel stood. The man watched his every motion intently but gave no warning, just kept talking.
"I rode ahead, ambushing the fastest shortcut from Jerva to Rom. But you took another route. Where? Mirva? Bompei?"
Not expecting an answer, he continued solo.
"My predictions have never been off this many times. I even came here early, thinking you'd head straight home—and you weren't. I waited all night. You beat me to Rom—where the hell did you detour that slowed you so much?"
He nodded toward dead Bryon.
"And where's Jade? Why drag around some nameless kid instead? His robes mark him as an acolyte from St. Vesta. But you weren't coming from the cathedral earlier. How many places did you hit tonight, and by what route?"
"You're clearly skilled at questioning, but poor at listening. No matter what the target says, you twist it to fit your narrative, repeat until you get your predetermined answer, or torture until you hear only what you want. In that case, I have nothing to say. It wouldn't be the answer you want."
"That's exactly not the answer I want. Don't make me hurt you, Father."
"That annoys me too. As if I'm forcing you? No—it's what you came to do. Go on, then. That's why you're here, isn't it?"
The man rubbed his hands together repeatedly, laughing.
"Amazing. I came prepared to take fingernails, toenails—maybe a few ribs if needed. Pain makes the human soul speak its honest voice. Only then do they repent and prepare for heaven."
He rose from the chair, drawing a dagger from his robes. Razor-sharp, sturdy enough to pierce armor.
"But sadly, Father Danel, you seem corrupted to your soul's depths. As rumored, entertaining—but not as pious. My coming here must be God's will. A fallen man like you gets no chance to repent. Only death will make your soul 'less' corrupt. To make you regret your life, I'll give you the most agonizing death I know. At least God will be satisfied."
"Don't invoke God for your filthy pleasures."
"What? Pleasure, like pain, is a feeling from God."
He seized Danel's neck roughly, hoisting him up.
Danel gripped his wrist but offered no real resistance. With one hand, the man tore Danel's shirt open left and right, pressing the blade to his sternum.
"Parens Kingdom's northern barbarians are still savages, uncivilized without God's word—backward in culture, economy, politics. But those fight-obsessed brutes taught me one thing: torture. Ever heard of the Blood Eagle?"
He raised one hand. Rope slithered from inside his loose robes, binding Danel's wrists on its own. The rope hung him from the ceiling like a cross.
"Now I'll split your ribs and pull out your lungs. They'll splay left and right over your shoulders, wings of an eagle spread across your back. You'll live long enough in that state to regret your misguided faith."
He released Danel's neck and stepped back.
Hanging in midair, Danel spoke.
"Did you just use magic?"
"Everything from a priest's mouth. Call it a miracle of God—or devil's power."
He pressed the blade to Danel's chest again.
"Once done, I'll light the oil barrel in the kitchen on my way out. Folks'll think you two died in a fire while asleep. Burnt corpses won't scream 'stabbed to death,' even from a Blood Eagle. Hell, they might not even recognize you as Father Danel..."
Mid-sentence, a hiss came from the kitchen—like escaping gas.
The man approached warily. The olive oil barrel was ablaze.
"Huh? Why...?"
He hurriedly threw off his robes to smother it. But the flames leaped to the robes, flaring bigger. He flung them away and retreated. Fire filled the kitchen in seconds.
His smiling face crumbled.
"Father, what did you do?"
"What could I have done...? The fire! Put out the fire first!"
Danel, bound and pleading, begged.
"At this hour, fire in a wooden building—with no one to stop it—will spread fast. It's a crowded area! Hurry, extinguish it! Just kill me and..."
The man stabbed Danel's nape.
Danel gurgled mid-sentence, unable to finish.
"I'll handle it!"
Yanking the blade free unleashed a torrent of blood spraying the wall—like with Bryon. Danel gasped a few times, then slumped limp in the ropes.
With a gesture, the ropes unbound and returned to the man's hand.
Meanwhile, flames surged across the oil-slick floor like a tide. Fire spilled into the living room, licking the ceiling. Black smoke filled the space in moments.
"Father Danel, looks like you did a little for God after all. To grant you such a merciful death."
The man turned, exited the living room, opened the door. He glanced back one last time at the flames and smoke engulfing Danel and Bryon, then fled the house.