The Heretic Inquisitor Who Might Die (3)
I had no idea exactly why the Elf was so furious, but if I couldn't quell that rage, a murder was bound to occur right there in the mansion's chapel. A heretic inquisitor slain by a slave in the chapel of the esteemed Deharm Viscountcy. That absurd headline would spread like wildfire, becoming fodder for the noble ladies' gossip. I absolutely couldn't let that happen! It would not only dishonor our ancestors but hasten the family's downfall—a clear harbinger of ruin!
And besides, no murder born of mere emotional clash could ever be justified, no matter the circumstances.
But how should I...
Did I possess any key to resolving the conflict between the heretic inquisitor and the Elf? Even mustering every bit of knowledge in my head, no clear solution emerged. My mouth grew parched, my face draining to a pallid blue for no good reason.
Hamtarshin apparently misinterpreted my pallor as guilt weighing me down, for he opened his mouth with a triumphant air.
"It seems you're crushed by the weight of your own sins. I understand, but I have no authority to grant you pardon. So, give it up and confess your crimes. If you do, Her merciful Highness the Saintess might yet show compassion."
If I give up, you die, you idiot! The boiling fury inside me was directed at Hamtarshin, but he, so full of self-assurance, couldn't possibly read my true intent.
That left only one option. I resolved to brazen it out as much as possible and rose from my seat.
"Ha. I wonder who's worrying about whom right now."
A noble must never lose his dignity, no matter the situation. Recalling that timeless precept, I turned to Hamtarshin with deliberate leisure.
"Did you say I committed a crime, Inquisitor?"
Hamtarshin's eyebrows twitched at my shifted demeanor. Yet he showed no sign of backing down, straightening his back and meeting my gaze squarely.
"We have eyewitness testimony. The circumstances clearly point to you as the culprit, Lord Theorad."
Damn it. An eyewitness, of all things.
"What eyewitness to what, exactly?"
"I cannot disclose that. All testimony from interrogations must be kept strictly confidential."
"Not even to me, the head of the house?"
"Unless the God of Light permits it, I would protect the witness's identity even at sword's point to my throat. This is not my will alone, but the will of the entire Balance Church. I trust you understand."
Thorns bristled beneath his paternal tone. He clearly resented my interference in church matters. Sorry, but that was precisely what I wanted.
Feeling the Elf's glare boring into my back, I haughtily lifted my chin.
"The Balance Church has truly become pathetic."
Hamtarshin ground his teeth. He was openly baring his anger toward me now.
"Lord Theorad. If you cannot justify that remark, I will fulfill my duty and refer you to a religious trial."
"Worry not. Such a thing won't happen. I merely spoke out because I believe you—a priest of the Balance Church—are flouting the Church's own teachings."
"I am flouting the Church's teachings?"
"Of course. As I understand it, the Balance Church never brands anyone a heretic without clear evidence, no matter how suspicious they seem. Am I wrong?"
Hamtarshin fell silent. Even he could find no flaw in my words.
"Yet what are you doing? Treating an eyewitness's testimony as if it were the God of Light's gospel? Even spouting nonsense about interrogating me on 'suspicion of heresy.'"
"...I was rash."
"Good that you realize it now. I'll forgive you with an open heart. And to add, I am willing to submit to your interrogation."
I couldn't give the Elf a chance to butt in. Brushing past Hamtarshin, I sauntered slowly toward the confessional.
He followed behind me.
"You mean you'll submit to interrogation?"
"Just like anyone else. I'll enter the confessional and answer your questions. Wouldn't that be fair? I can't receive special treatment alone."
"That's not wrong."
He still eyed me with suspicion, but his tone had softened considerably. A good sign. As long as he wasn't blindly distrusting my words, that was thanks enough.
"Then I'll go in first."
I opened the confessional door, entered, and took my seat. After a brief wait, I heard the opposite door open.
The partition in the center blocked the view, but the silhouette confirmed it was Hamtarshin.
"Then, let the interrogation begin..."
At the voice from the other side, I cried out desperately, muffling my voice as best I could.
"I confess! It was me who made the slave piss on my father's statue! But it's a misunderstanding! I never intended that at all!"
"...Lord Theorad?"
"That wicked Elf has me dancing to her tune! I'm living like a puppet on strings because of her! So please, don't provoke that Elf! She's deadly! It's not just you—she could slaughter the entire household!"
A long silence followed. Hamtarshin held his tongue for a while, weighing the truth of my words. Frustrated by the delay, I pulled the "Great Beast-Hunting Weapon" activation slate from my bosom and slid it through the gap beneath the partition.
"This is...?"
"The activation slate for a beast-hunting weapon recently developed in the Duchy. I tried to neutralize the Elf with it. But look at this. Not a single hair harmed, let alone neutralized."
"The recent eyewitness report of an explosion of light from the central courtyard...?"
"Servants who saw the magical weapon detonate, no doubt."
"Hm. If your words are true, Lord Theorad, why didn't you tell the household staff? Why not seek help from those around you?"
What a question.
"Telling the staff would only sow chaos throughout the mansion. Do you think an Elf who enjoys playing the slave role would like that? As for the latter— if I rashly seek help and she finds out, it's catastrophe. And even if I get aid without her knowing, if we can't defeat her, it's still doom."
"Then why tell me alone?"
"I'm pinning my hopes on you. The Church's power might just repel the Elf. Please, relay this to the Saintess. The Church's knight order might be able to stand against her."
A groan came from the other side of the partition. He still distrusted me, but if I'd moved him even a little, it was a success.
"I've heard you out. But it's hard for me to judge your true intent. Forgive me, but I can't rule out the possibility that you're fabricating this to escape a bad situation. So, we must summon the Elf slave for a direct confrontation."
"Inquisitor...!"
"Don't worry. I'll ask only circuitous questions to avoid the concerns you raised. If that gives me conviction, I'll report it to the bishop."
I started to add something but fell silent instead. Even in his shoes, my words would sound far-fetched. I couldn't demand blind faith, so the rest was up to Hamtarshin.
With a sigh, I opened the confessional door.
"Bring the Elf here."
Once Theorad had left the confessional, Hamtarshin stared down at the slate given to him, lost in thought.
The Elf slave is behind all this?
She wasn't a normal slave, that much was true. Her aura at their first meeting had been anything but servile. Still, calling for the knight order? What bravado.
Is he trying to wriggle out of this?
Hamtarshin had seen plenty of nobles pulling the same stunt as Theorad. They'd buy a strong slave as insurance, pinning their own misdeeds on them. Slaves were far tougher than commoners, but most couldn't overcome the slave seal etched by black mages from the Magic Realm, forcing obedience to their master's words. Nobles exploited that to blame their atrocities on slaves and evade punishment.
The odds were high that Theorad was the same.
A delusional megalomaniac. Or perhaps a con artist at heart. To Hamtarshin, who had judged countless heretics, Theorad's motives reeked of cunning.
Even if everything the lord said is true...
Making someone piss on his father's statue was an unforgivable sin. And Hamtarshin wasn't the type to let slights against the Church slide. He'd punish House Deharm one way or another and extract an apology from Theorad.
As Hamtarshin lifted the slate with such thoughts, the confessional door opened, and someone sat on the opposite side.
She's here.
He felt no particular worry about facing the Elf slave. His plan was to probe her with simple questions anyone could answer.
Fiddling with the slate, Hamtarshin spoke indifferently.
"Listen well. From now on, you will answer my questions..."
Whoosh—
Heat seared the side of his face. Startled, Hamtarshin turned to see the partition between them erupt in flames, crumbling to ash.
Beyond it, the silver-haired Elf watched him with serene detachment.
"What are you—"
Crack—
The sword he tried to draw froze solid. An impossible chill permeated the confessional. Frost escaped his breath, his fingertips lightly icing over.
How is this possible?
This was no magic a mere slave could wield. Not even seasoned mages chained spells so fluidly.
Could everything the lord said be true?
Hamtarshin's breath quickened in panic, his pupils dilating. A certain fear made his lips tremble.
The Elf eyed the slate in his hand with contempt.
"Insolent short-lived one."
Her emotionless words took magical form, encroaching on Hamtarshin's space. The temperature plummeted; breathing grew labored, normal inhalation a struggle.
"You."
Gurk!
Invisible hands throttled his throat. Hamtarshin gritted his teeth, hands shaking. Saliva dribbled pitifully from his clenched jaws down his chin.
Yet the Elf neither loosened her magic nor showed mercy for his plight. She sustained it just enough to keep him from death—that was her sole concession.
Her arrogance was so innate, so natural, that Hamtarshin glimpsed an otherworldly nobility even as she tormented him.
"Why."
Watching him teeter on the brink, the Elf calmly parted her lips.
"Did you try to kill Theorad?"
In endless agony, Hamtarshin's mind reeled at her words.