Chapter 112
Chapter 112
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 112
Chapter Title: Meanwhile, in the Holy Kingdom...
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After Shin Juha was thrown into the underground prison, the surface world churned with quiet yet chaotic events at the epicenter of turmoil. Seizing the opportunity during the hectic preparations for the grand Holy Spirit Festival, one of the Holy Kingdom's pillars came crashing down.
"Are you certain?"
"Absolutely, Your Eminence. We've received confirmed intelligence that Cardinal Aoira is heading out alone today. The information came straight from a devout follower close to me, one of those directly under Cardinal Aoira himself. There's virtually no chance it's false."
Cardinal Bartroy nodded, placing full trust in the inquisitor's report. Regardless of rank, this man—the leader of the heresy interrogators—was his most loyal subordinate, leaving no room for doubt.
He was always the most proactive, relentlessly purging heretics, demons, and those corrupted by twisted ideologies. No one could question his zeal; even if he were a spy or traitor, his comrades would curse him for it.
Bartroy had even pondered creating a nonexistent vice-captain position just to appoint him. His faith in the man was unshakable.
Cardinal Bartroy rose from his seat. From the wall lined with holy relics and sacred armors, he donned the finest among them.
It was a vow. He was determined to eradicate this damned traitor without fail.
"To think Cardinal Aoira, of all people, conspired with demons... It's a shock, truly. I believed him to be the most pious and benevolent soul, even advocating for his ascension to cardinal. Who could have guessed he hid such filthy darkness within?"
Bartroy, his giant-hybrid frame now bearing a massive greatsword shaped like a holy blade strapped to his back, issued a command to the inquisitor.
"Assemble the heresy interrogators. Today, we purge the heretics rotting away at the Holy Kingdom."
"Understood!"
Swift and decisive. They moved fast to ensure no leaks reached the enemy. Whatever schemes Aoira was plotting amid the Holy Spirit Festival, Bartroy had no intention of letting it slide.
Steeling his mind and tensing his body, Cardinal Bartroy pondered.
'Should I inform the other cardinals?'
But he quickly shook his head, dismissing the thought. Nothing was set in stone yet.
He was convinced Aoira was a traitor and heretic, but what if—just what if—he wasn't? Aoira might simply have ulterior motives unrelated to betrayal, or worse, other cardinals could be in league with him.
It would be fine to announce it after capturing Aoira or securing irrefutable proof and executing him.
'The Pontiff...'
The Pontiff was little more than a figurehead, though not in a derogatory sense. He lived as if bereft of influence, power, or might.
A man blessed by the divine above all others, capable of wielding everything—yet so generous and kind that he shunned all authority. Picturing him, Bartroy shook his head.
Such a soul entangled in this would surely suffer. One of his own limbs—a cardinal—colluding with demons and the demon race to endanger the Holy Kingdom?
He'd be bedridden for months.
Bartroy hesitated briefly but decided to inform him only after everything was resolved. Yet a tiny flicker of unease lingered in his heart, staying his decision.
"Is anyone there?"
He summoned a waiting devotee outside and ordered that if he didn't return, the truth be relayed to the Pontiff. Then he stepped out of the room.
No need for grand declarations of departure. The heresy interrogators, preparations complete, gazed at the emerging Bartroy with awe and reverence.
This was a covert mission. They'd agreed to claim a full assembly for a secret meeting, sealing any leaks.
They'd likely assume it was precautions or a briefing for potential incidents during the massive Holy Spirit Festival.
It wasn't the first time the interrogators had held such clandestine gatherings.
Arriving at the meeting hall, Bartroy declared gravely.
"We've confirmed that Cardinal Aoira has betrayed the Holy Kingdom and allied with demons and the demon race."
The room erupted in an instant. One of the four de facto rulers of the Holy Kingdom, a heretic?!
It was more than enough to sow shock and chaos. Nay, such fervent, excessive reactions were expected; anything less might have raised suspicions.
Bartroy raised a hand to quell the uproar and spoke calmly once more.
"From this moment, forget he is a cardinal. Erase the image of that kind, gentle figure from your memories. He is a traitor and heretic, just like those you've purged before. Hesitate not. Our cause is righteous and just."
He thrust the sword from his back high into the air and bellowed.
"May the blessings of holiness be with us!"
"Until the day all evil crumbles!"
Morale soared. Murderous intent poured from the inquisitors' eyes as Bartroy led the way through a secret passage in the meeting hall.
Nearly a hundred heresy inquisitors followed, marching toward their destination.
Blind to what awaited at the end.
"There it is—the warehouse on the outskirts of the Holy Kingdom that heretic Aoira has been frequenting lately."
"Sparse traffic, and it gives off an ominous vibe. Something's definitely afoot inside."
Suspicious indeed. The warehouse crowned a hillock like a small mountain, larger than expected—big enough for hundreds. Bartroy stayed vigilant.
He swiftly ordered his trailing subordinates.
"Surround it. Leave ten to encircle the hill and ensure not even a rat escapes. The rest, follow me up to investigate."
They moved with precision, slowly ascending the hill to slay the traitor within.
The base of the hill. The midpoint. The summit. Over a hundred inquisitors formed a net. At the peak, Cardinal Bartroy and his men caught their breath.
"Charge!!!"
They smashed through the warehouse doors and stormed inside. What they saw...
Was a gruesome, horrific nightmare that turned the stomach. Chunks of meat hung from hooks, dangling upside down like slaughtered cattle and pigs.
Blood. Blood. Blood. Blood.
The floor drowned in it. The metallic stench assaulted their nostrils, mingled with the rot of corpses permeating the air.
Ugh! Urk!
"What... what in the world is this?"
Cardinal Bartroy, leader of the interrogators, had seen every manner of heretic and endured countless atrocities, believing himself inured to horror.
But this defied reason. A world forged of blood, flesh, and corpses.
"So, you've finally come this far."
At its center stood an elderly man in pristine white cardinal robes, utterly out of place. His once-kind, benevolent smile now curdled the blood.
"Cardinal Aoira... Are you truly... a traitor?"
"Hahaha. Traitor? Such an ill-fitting word for one who infiltrated the Holy Kingdom as a spy from the start. Call me a heretic instead—like the kin you and your men have slaughtered."
Bartroy fell silent, scanning the foul, repulsive scene. Then he drew the holy sword from his back.
"Heretic and traitor, Aoira! As leader of the heresy interrogators, I, Bartroy, sentence you to death! All inquisitors, draw blades!"
Clink! Clink! Clink!
Blades aglow with light. Swords infused with divinity, granting supremacy over heretics!
The holy swords emerged—blades bound to the Pontiff and archangels, brimming with blessings.
Replete with holy power antithetical to demonic energy, these were the swords dubbed holy blades. Wielding them, the inquisitors no longer recoiled or feared the sight.
"Advance! Purge the heretic!"
They pressed forward, minds fixed solely on cleaving the heretic and traitor. Ever onward.
For that was why they bore swords, why they held the title of heresy inquisitors.
And at their forefront charged Bartroy, greatsword raised.
No matter the warehouse's size, a superhuman like him closed the distance in moments, swinging at Aoira.
Excluding the Pontiff, he was the mightiest cardinal in the Holy Kingdom—that was Bartroy's epithet.
He had never once imagined defeat against Aoira.
No, against a cardinal limited to buffs and healing? He could crush him effortlessly, perhaps in a single blow without even crossing blades.
But.
"Kuhahaha! Foolish, arrogant old man, Bartroy. Do you know why I only use buffs and healing?"
From his robes emerged a chalice. Infinitely holy, beautiful, and grand.
"Because that's all I need. Offense, after all..."
It inverted. Its contents spilled to the floor. Within the sacred, beautiful, grand relic lurked the profane: blood.
"...is more than covered by my true power."
Holy power vanished. The grail vanished into subspace, and the spilled blood—along with the floor's gore—rose.
Demonic energy surged. A feat possible for puppets. Achieved through the loophole of wielding a holy relic.
Like fallen angels channeling holy power and demonic energy through their wings, switching at will.
Holy power with the relic in hand. Demonic power from his true form otherwise.
Blood Demon Art. The puppeteer's second signature ability activated.
A blood-wrought barrier materialized before the incoming holy sword.
Boom!!
The sword failed to pierce it. But it cracked the barrier at least.
"Impressive power indeed. To scar a barrier forged from the purified, blessed blood of high demons."
But that was it. A mere crack from a full-force strike.
"Hmph! Not yet! Think you can hold out forever in there? With my inquisitors and me united, your doom is sealed! We'll capture you and dissect every secret of that power!"
Bartroy pressed on. Aoira met his resolve with a strange smile.
And moved his hands once more, invoking the Blood Demon Art anew.
A battle erupted, unknown to any soul in the Holy Kingdom, frantic and chaotic with festival preparations.