Dominus Vobiscum (2)
"Brunel village, huh."
Dominica briefly lost herself in old memories inside the rattling carriage.
It wasn't a place with fond recollections.
Long ago, during a mission, she'd made a fleeting stop there. Hardly a proper stay, but strangely, a few scenes had stuck with her in vivid detail.
Especially one.
The church.
Or more precisely, the building that used to be a church.
She'd stumbled upon it by chance while walking from the carriage through the streets—a stone structure with the faint emblem of the Holy Light Church. But from inside came not prayers, but the clamor of haggling.
Tents draped the entrance, piled high with fruit crates and assorted goods. People came and went without a care, bargaining loudly.
Stalls had replaced the altar, and the holy icons were shoved aside against one wall, gathering dust.
This is a church...? It's just a marketplace.
Marketplace. No other word fit.
She halted, her hand instinctively drifting to her sword hilt.
The urge to purge it right then flickered through her mind. It was blasphemy. At the very least, it needed to be shuttered.
That was when it happened.
"Not now."
The accompanying priest spoke quietly from beside her.
He didn't grab her arm—just shook his head.
"This place... they do what they must to survive."
An excuse? And from you? Why not from them?
Anger surged, but she swallowed it down.
Her gaze returned to the church. No— the marketplace.
"...Let's go."
That was all.
She took no action that day.
To her, Brunel was a village where the seed of faith had long been buried.
And in such places, someone always cloaked themselves as divine to lord over the people.
"Heretic investigation and disposal..."
Her eyes gleamed sharply.
"...I won't overlook it this time."
After stepping down from the carriage, Dominica stood still for a moment.
Ruts scarred the dirt road, roofs sagged low, and faded signs hung from weathered poles. Outwardly, little seemed changed.
Yet something had shifted.
Before, the very air had felt heavy. Stares clung like burrs—eyes that sought aid without begging, following her from every shadow.
With every step, someone slumped by the roadside. Children thrust out dust-caked hands. Others lacked even the strength to lift their heads, merely wheezing against walls.
Those memories weren't pleasant.
But now...
No one reached out. No one begged.
People went about their tasks. They glanced her way, of course, but quickly looked aside.
"...They're gone."
Her eyes narrowed.
The poor. All those people...
It wasn't just a reduction—their traces had faded entirely.
A good change, perhaps. But experience told her the world wasn't so kind.
Surface-level cleanup.
Shoving the destitute to the outskirts for a polished image was common, especially among those who exploited faith.
Dominica slowly surveyed her surroundings.
Laughter rang out. Two children dashed playfully, clutching wooden sticks, pursued by a woman calling their names with a smile.
Her gaze lingered. This was nothing like the Brunel she remembered.
"...I'll need to verify."
She turned toward the village center.
A small tavern caught her eye at the street corner—worn, but open for business. Perfect for gathering intel. She headed inside.
Ding.
The bell chimed crisply as she pushed the door.
As expected, no customers. The owner wiped a glass behind the counter.
He turned at the sound.
"Miss, it's daytime—no booze..."
His words trailed off.
He'd clocked her attire: the black coat's emblem, the refined trappings, the sword at her waist.
A Heretic Inquisitor of the Holy Light Church.
The owner's face stiffened.
Dominica scanned the dim interior before continuing.
"I have questions."
No request for permission—just a statement. The owner swallowed dryly.
"...Ask away."
"This village... the atmosphere feels different."
She locked eyes with him, ready to strike at the first whiff of deceit.
"What happened recently?"
The owner hesitated, then set down the glass.
"...The church."
Dominica's pupils flickered faintly.
"Go on."
"A new fellow took over from the old priests."
"Sent by the church?"
"Not that I know..."
He scratched his neck awkwardly.
"Folks thought he was a madman at first... but then he started doing things."
"What things."
"Gathered the starving first. Shared food, cleared empty buildings for shelter, even lined up jobs."
Dominica's expression hardened.
"Charity work."
"That's what we figured."
The owner gave a wry smile.
"But the people... they changed."
"How."
"...Everyone started looking like they were determined to make it somehow."
No deception in his words.
"The church at the center?"
"Yes. Nearly everyone heads there now."
"...Without church approval."
He fell silent.
Pieces clicked in Dominica's mind: seizing the church, securing loyalty, expanding influence through aid, reshaping faith.
It masqueraded as benevolence, but the truth beneath was surely rotten. A classic heretic ploy.
"His name?"
As the owner opened his mouth—
Dominica turned away.
"...Never mind."
Certainty settled. No need for more.
She pushed the door open, and warm air rushed in. Under the sun, Brunel looked serene.
Too serene.
Her hand rested lightly on her sword hilt. The mission directive echoed: Heretic investigation and disposal.
"...Found you."
Her steps turned straight toward the church.
The place once reduced to a marketplace, trampling faith beneathfoot.
And now...
Where people gathered once more.
"...?"
Her first emotion wasn't conviction.
It was suspicion.
The church square was quieter than expected. No frenzy, no fanatic fervor.
Children played near the steps; a few carried water jugs, trading jokes. At the entrance, people distributed bread in an orderly line—no signs of coercion.
Happy laughter. That was the strangest part.
Genuine, heartfelt laughter.
Staged?
Dominica's eyes narrowed.
Faking appearances was child's play for heretics. They always started with peace to lower guards.
She scanned carefully. No armed figures. No watchful eyes.
Too... natural. All the more suspicious.
She seized a passing man's arm.
"Hold."
He turned, startled.
"What are they doing here?"
"...Pardon?"
"Sabotage. Coercion. Tithe extortion. Anything."
He looked blankly for a moment, then shook his head.
"No? Nothing like that."
No hesitation in his reply.
"Truly."
"Yes. Just... helping each other, sharing work..."
She cut him off before he finished.
Brainwashing.
The word flashed through her mind.
Then—
"Is something wrong?"
A gentle voice came from the side. Dominica's gaze shifted.
A man approached.
Plain clothes, unguarded stride—like welcoming a guest.
"Who are you?"
He blinked, then answered calmly.
"Ellian."
In that instant—
Dominica's gaze hardened.
The name from the documents. The heretic suspect. The cause of the failed subjugation report.
And there he stood, utterly casual.
No hint of flight. No tension.
If anything...
He was kind.
Unnaturally so.
Doesn't know he's wanted?
Or...
Knows and plays it cool.
Judgment came swift. Her sword gleamed.
In a flash, it cleared the sheath, slashing for Ellian's throat. A strike without mercy.
Yet—
Thud.
"...?"
The blade halted.
"What...?"
He'd caught it—between two fingers.
No force applied. It simply hadn't budged.
Dominica's eyes widened in shock.
What is this?
She poured strength into the blade...
Nothing.
"...Let go."
A final, desperate push.
He looked troubled.
"Ah, sure. Releasing now."
As he relaxed, the sword slipped free.
Dominica stepped back. An unforeseen variable. No clue to the technique. No trace of mana. Still, she had to subdue him.
"From the Lustia Holy Kingdom's Inquisition."
She wasn't even sure why she said it.
"Heretic Inquisitor, Dominica Alba."
A few onlookers gasped. The man himself just blinked.
Then... he hesitated.
"...Ah."
He let out a small sigh.
"I see."
After a brief pause, he spoke cautiously.
"One request?"
Dominica's eyes narrowed.
"Speak."
"Wait until evening."
"...What?"
"I'd be grateful if you could hold off until then."
No intent to flee.
It was almost a plea. Even though he was clearly strong enough to handle her if he chose.
Dominica pondered, then slowly sheathed her sword.
"...Fine."
She glared at him.
"But if you run..."
Ellian nodded.
"I won't."
The sun was beginning to dip toward the horizon.