A Fiery Night at the Inn
"Aaaaargh!"
In that instant, Jenkinson incinerated Marane with divine flames. Black energy began to pour from her body, coalescing into a distinct shape.
[So Yuno's dog dares to harm my servant.]
The voice that emerged from the shape was cold and mocking. The onlookers finally understood that Marane had indeed been a demon worshipper, and terror gripped them. They could sense that if the black entity exerted even a fraction of its power, everyone present would die. The aura it radiated was so intense and malevolent that even an ordinary priest would struggle to guarantee their own survival.
Seems like the work of a fairly high-ranking demon.
Crack. Crack.
Jenkinson merely rolled his neck from side to side, loosening his body with a calm, almost bored expression. The crowd began to feel a tentative sense of relief at his composed demeanor. Only then did they remember that a priest stood among them.
The black shape regarded Jenkinson with interest. No priest should have been able to dismiss it so casually. Even if this was only a fragment of its true power, the strength it possessed was genuine. Yet this man remained utterly serene. Did he have some hidden trump card?
Just as the entity was pondering this, Jenkinson spoke.
"This is exactly why I hate taking on cases outside my usual jurisdiction. Demons fall under someone else's purview..."
Muttering the complaint, he drew out his rosary.
Well, fundamentally, dealing with demons is still part of a priest's duty.
With that thought, he gripped the rosary tightly and wrapped its steel chain around his fist.
[Is the priest planning to fight hand-to-hand?]
The black shape sneered at the sight, but Jenkinson offered no reply. Instead—
Whoosh!
He launched himself forward in a single explosive leap, reaching out to seize the entity and raising his chained fist high.
"Hand-to-hand combat, you say?"
A priest resorting to fisticuffs? He was an intellectual. And this wasn't even a true demon, merely its dregs. The very notion was absurd.
Thinking this, Jenkinson drove his fist straight into the shape.
Crunch!
"This is simply cleaning."
It was hardly worthy of being called a battle. This was nothing more than the removal of something that should never have existed in this world.
The shape burst apart and vanished under the impact of his fist.
Drip...! Drip...!
Jenkinson watched the black, dead blood from the entity splatter onto his hand and fall in thick drops.
"Doubt is a sin, they say... How unfortunate, Rober."
A chill ran down Rober's spine. The emotionless words finally made him realize his mistake, and he began to tremble violently. His eyes darted around desperately, searching for anyone who might help him. Then he found her—his wife, still staring at the scene with a dazed expression.
"Jenny! Perfect timing! Talk to the priest for me, will you—"
Jenny looked at him with eyes full of betrayal.
"Dear...? Weren't you supposed to be at work?"
"...!"
Rober's eyes widened at her words before he lowered his gaze. Jenkinson released him and pronounced his punishment.
"You are excommunicated."
At the word, Rober could only hang his head in silence. Jenkinson glanced at the blood on his own hand and thought,
The main body got away.
He had deliberately held back his power to draw it out, but it had been pointless. By now, it would already be long gone. Feeling a twinge of regret, Jenkinson began to wrap up the situation. He requested assistance from the nearby church to handle those declared heretics and those sentenced to ten days of penitential prayer. Marane's corpse was turned over to the royal family for direct cooperation. Rober's custody, now that he had been excommunicated, was also entrusted to them. With excommunication, he would likely be exiled from the country. Whether any nation on this continent would accept an excommunicated believer remained to be seen.
"...I had no idea at all. That my husband was doing something like that..."
The public execution by burning that the crowd had anticipated never came. Still, having witnessed both the demon's power and the Inquisitor who purged it, the spectators seemed satisfied enough to disperse. Left alone with Jenkinson, Jenny sank to the floor, her face hollow.
"That damned bastard... What work? What do you mean, 'Marane isn't that kind of woman'? Why say something like that and get yourself excommunicated? Stupid man. Instead of worrying about a woman like that, he should have been worrying about his wife, growing older day by day while running the inn!"
Jenkinson remained silent as she poured out her bitterness. Jenny, for her part, found his quiet presence oddly comforting and felt grateful for it.
After venting for some time, Jenny finally looked at him, her expression a little lighter.
"I'm sorry. I talked only about myself. Thank you for listening."
Jenkinson waved a hand dismissively at her apology. After all, an Inquisitor was still a priest first. Listening to the grievances and confessions of the faithful was simply part of the job.
"No need. Hearing the faithful's stories is also a priest's duty. You're a good person, Sister Jenny. I'm certain you'll find a good match someday."
Jenny felt her heart skip a beat at his kind smile. Honestly, how shameless. To harbor such improper thoughts toward a priest, of all people. She scolded herself even as she asked,
"More importantly... now that your work is done, will you still be staying at the inn?"
His purpose here had been fulfilled, so there should be no reason to remain. Sensing the faint regret in her question, Jenkinson answered calmly.
"I plan to stay until tomorrow, at least."
Word of the situation would reach that woman soon enough anyway. But with night already fallen, sending a pigeon would be difficult. A formal next assignment would likely arrive by morning. So for now, he intended to spend one more night at her inn.
"I... see."
Hmm?
Jenkinson wondered if the note of happiness in her voice was just his imagination, but he followed her anyway.
—
Inside the train bound for Remor, leaving the capital.
The woman who had been leisurely reading a newspaper in her private compartment noticed that the power she had planted had vanished and smiled.
"They sent a stronger priest than I expected. Henri. Or rather, in this case..."
She read the memories carried back by the returning power and chuckled.
"Silvestina, is it? Heh."
She still remembered. Those blood-red eyes filled with hatred, staring at her while cradling the corpse of a fallen comrade. That beautiful silver hair soaked in blood. If they met again, whose blood would she drench it in next? The thought alone was already thrilling. Still, the time wasn't right yet. She would wait.
More importantly...
"Jenkinson... Jenkinson Beckett."
The man who had exorcised the power she had planted. She already possessed information about him. An Inquisitor specializing in family affairs, judging human adultery. His interpretations of doctrine and law were respected even by cardinals, and by the time he was ordained as a priest, he had already slain ten of her kin. Truly...
A monster.
Even she was reluctant to face him head-on. The abilities he had displayed this time suggested he was hiding far too much.
Silvestina. That girl has hidden away a terrifying blade.
By deliberately assigning him to family affairs, had she been trying to divert attention from this side? Even so, it was ridiculous that a man who could become the greatest demon hunter was instead running around investigating adultery. How amusing.
With that thought, she boarded the train bound for Remor.
—
Throb.
As I tried to sleep, a headache struck, and I clutched my forehead.
[Jenkinson.]
A voice I didn't want to hear.
[Jenkinson.]
Yet it was the voice I missed more than any other.
[Please just die.]
No—she wasn't the kind of woman who would curse like that. Thinking this, I lightly brushed the phantom away.
When I opened my eyes, my entire body was drenched in sweat. What time was it?
"...Still only ten o'clock?"
Looking at the clock, I felt a wave of emptiness. It had felt like I'd slept for ages, yet less than an hour had passed since I lay down. I laughed in disbelief. It seemed I still hadn't accepted her death.
...Might as well wash up.
Realizing how soaked in sweat I was, I rose from the large bed—supposedly the best room in the inn—and headed for the bathroom. It really did live up to its reputation. This room came with its own small bath.
Swish.
After peeling off my sweat-soaked cassock, I filled the tub and sank into the water.
"Haa..."
Much better. Soaking in water of just the right temperature was calming both body and mind. Good thing the place was properly equipped with magical tools for temperature control.
While I was relaxing like that, someone knocked on the door.
Knock. Knock.
"...Who is it?"
Still staring blankly at the ceiling, I wondered who this unwelcome visitor might be.
"Um, well... I wanted to thank you for what happened today."
Thank me?
From the voice, it was none other than Jenny, the owner of the inn. Had I done anything worthy of thanks from her? Thinking this, I replied,
"It was simply what any clergyman would do—"
"I-I still want to thank you. May I come in?"
"..."
The answer seemed already decided. I fell silent for a moment. Well, it didn't really matter. I could always refuse after seeing her. With that thought, I stepped out of the tub, roughly dried my hair and body with a towel, wrapped another around my waist, and answered.
"You may come in, Sister Jenny."
Waiting for her to enter, I paid no mind to my state of undress. I figured I could just turn her away quickly. But—
"E-excuse me."
"...?"
The moment I saw what she was wearing, I couldn't understand the situation. Her outfit was anything but ordinary.