The Time of Judgment Has Come
The deeper Simon read into the classified documents, the more absurd it all became.
The Blood Sky Cult's goal wasn't slaves. It wasn't even securing living sacrifices.
Their ultimate objective was war between the Holy Federation and the Dark Alliance.
'I thought they were just purposeless lunatic heretics, but there was a scheme like this hiding underneath.'
He had to admit it was exquisitely crafted. The mood between the two powers right now was nothing short of a powder keg — the two sides each had a casus belli ready, but the puzzle was missing a piece or two, so the war had yet to come together.
But what if the Cult's train hijacking blew up right now, and word spread across every corner of the Federation that the ones behind it were necromancers of Kizen and the Dark Alliance?
Hostility toward necromancers and calls for war would boil over beyond all control, and at that point not even the Pope himself could hold the war back.
"This could... actually turn into a real war."
Metin, who had been reading the documents alongside him, seemed to share the thought, letting out a low groan.
"The documents say the Cult deliberately leaked information to the Chief Inquisitor so that he would raid their headquarters. And the Chief is one of the most extreme warmongers there is. He'll stop at nothing to use this incident to spark a war. It's like giving wings to a tiger."
"...Is he really that extreme?"
"Yes."
The boss of every heresy inquisitor in the land — Chief Inquisitor Late was infamous in equal measure on both sides of the continent. In his youth, he was a merciless warmonger who had hung countless necromancers on Red Crosses. Now, as Chief of the Inquisition, he was a hardliner who burned hundreds of Federation citizens at the stake every year in witch hunts.
As Simon listened to the explanation, he rested his chin on his hand.
"Just hypothetically. What if we submitted these documents to that Late fellow as evidence...?"
Metin shook his head.
"The truth means nothing to the Chief. He'd burn the documents on the spot, and it would be perfectly in character for him to kill us to keep our mouths shut."
"...Ugh."
If Metin was right, persuasion looked impossible.
While Simon turned the problem over and over, Metin set his documents down and let out a long sigh.
"To be honest, I was something of a believer in the idea that a certain amount of war was necessary myself."
Metin gazed steadily at Simon.
"But seeing that 'miracle' you worked changed my mind. I keep asking myself whether I haven't been trapped in a far too narrow way of thinking."
Simon's shoulders flinched, and he quickly forced out an awkward laugh as he traced the holy sign.
"I'm afraid I don't know what you mean, Reverend! Haha!"
At Simon's reaction, Metin smirked. So he was hiding his identity thoroughly, was he?
Simon's face turned serious again.
"Then what if, before the Chief Inquisitor raids the scene, we get this evidence out to the press first?"
Metin nodded.
"Yes, I think that's the best option too."
In the end, it came down to a race against timing. If they waited for Late's handiwork to foment the people's rage and hatred toward necromancers, then cried out afterwards, 'Actually, it was all the Blood Sky Cult's scheme!' — it would be far too late. They'd most likely be buried under the war frenzy, or dismissed as some petty conspiracy theory.
But if they moved first, using the Cult's own knights to hammer into public consciousness the fact that the cultists had tried to set the Holy Federation and the Dark Alliance against each other, then even if Late later published articles fanning anti-necromancer sentiment, the shockwave would be far weaker. They could even count on a rebellious streak emerging — a refusal to be played for fools by the Cult.
There was one risk to this plan, though: the Holy Federation's press was firmly in Efnel's grip. Every article required Efnel's approval before it could be written, which meant time. And in the meantime, there was a danger Late would make his move and have the article rejected.
"All done!"
Just then, Lethe shouted, arms thrown up in the air. Bright light spilled out from the holy magic circle she'd been working on, and the train's body began to shudder and rumble.
"You can actually drive this thing?"
"Of course I can! It'll be slow going, but I can even reverse. Anyway, what's the verdict on the investigation?"
Simon relayed everything he'd learned. As she listened, Lethe's expression grew grave as well.
"So let me get this straight — this whole incident was the Blood Sky Cult trying to stoke a war between the two powers, and the man coming to clean up the mess is the Chief Inquisitor, an extreme warmonger himself. Is that about right?"
"That's it exactly."
"..."
She sank deep into thought.
"I agree with using the press. But the way I see it, rather than handing this evidence to the media ourselves — a bunch of nobodies with zero influence — it would be better to entrust it to someone who has influence."
"...Someone with influence?"
"Yes. I'm going to contact an acquaintance of mine. Someone who can sway both Efnel and the press, and who wants this war less than anyone. That should work, right?"
Lethe drew a communication crystal orb from her breast pocket and began manipulating it.
Zzt!
The moment the connection went through, Lethe spoke with extreme formality.
"Gratula mi kibilis. This is Lethe Shardena."
Simon's eyes went wide.
That was the greeting reserved for high-ranking Priests.
* * *
"I see. Understood."
Click.
The man who set down the communication crystal orb let out a soft chuckle.
A room with not a single lamp. Curtains drawn over the windows kept the office in near-total darkness.
And the man seated in the enormous chair was clad in heavy armor even indoors, weapons strapped across every part of his body. His right eye showed nothing but white. Short black hair framed a stubborn, iron-hard face.
"The time has come."
At his words, the aide standing at attention picked up the thread.
"The Blood Sky Cult hijacked a train, sir?"
"They did."
The man twisted the corner of his mouth. This was Late, Chief Inquisitor — the man known as the greatest killer of necromancers in the world.
"The time of judgment draws near."
The Blood Sky Cult had intended to use the Inquisition to start their war. The plan's backbone was simple: every cultist would slip away to safety first, then lure the heresy inquisitors in to collect the evidence.
But before the Cult had ever leaked a word to the Inquisition, Chief Inquisitor Late had already learned every last detail through information channels of his own.
In the end, every piece on the board was rolling through Late's fingers.
"Insolent wretches."
The corner of his mouth quivered.
"They thought they were using us. But we will use them. At dawn tomorrow, we raid and wipe the Blood Sky Cult out to the last man, and notify every newspaper in the land that the Dark Alliance stands behind them. And once the mood has ripened, I will go up to Efnel myself and request an audience with His Holiness the Pope."
"Yes, sir! We'll prepare everything down to the last detail!"
Late snapped his fingers, and the curtains parted, light flooding through the window.
"Hnnngh..."
As the darkness lifted, the sight was revealed: people drenched in blood, hanging from Red Crosses.
Great nails had been driven through their bodies. Their fingernails and tongues had been torn out, and brands of heated iron seared their raw, flayed flesh. In their eyes there was no light left, and not a trace of the will to live remained.
"Prisoner 5415. He has confessed."
"Well done."
Late snapped his fingers again, and the inquisitors dragged the blood-soaked men out of the office.
Now these men would confess their sins at holy trial, be executed, and only then be released from their torture into freedom at last. When they were gone, all that remained on the floor was a long trail of blood.
"At last."
Late rose to his feet. His frame, over three meters tall, towered upward.
"The time of war is coming."
He caressed the whited-out right eye.
The wound Nephthys had given him. The thought that soon he would tear that woman apart with his own two hands — it was impossible not to feel elated.
Whoooosh!
Explosive divinity erupted at his back. The inquisitors standing at attention flinched and fell back a step.
'So that's the legendary...!'
Late's divinity revealed its true worth in wars against heresy.
Only while a war raged, Late's divinity granted him infinity. He crossed hundreds, thousands of battlefields and never tired. With endlessly supplied divinity he rose and rose again, striking down necromancers beyond counting. Victory, always and without exception, belonged to the man left standing at the end.
"By next year, I will hunt down and destroy every last manifestation of evil left on this continent!"
Divinity was the will of the Goddess.
And the will of the Goddess was war.
"Prepare the executions! Carve the crosses! Paint them red!"
His mouth split into a grin.
"This year, the carpenters will be busy."
* * *
Night fell.
Lethe had triumphantly worked out how to operate the magic circle and put the train into reverse, but it ground to a halt before long.
The problem was fuel. In the heat of battle, the pipe that fed fuel into the locomotive had been destroyed.
Left with no choice, Metin picked out a few able-bodied men from among the passengers and they refueled the engine by hand. With every crew member who knew the relevant procedures dead, there had been quite a bit of trial and error involved.
As the fuel tanks filled, darkness closed in and night arrived.
Until the fuel was loaded, there was nothing to do but stay inside the halted train. In the fear of not knowing when the Blood Sky Cult might strike again, the passengers trembled.
Lethe gathered the Priests and Clerics on board who were capable of fighting and organized them into a makeshift self-defense force, then distributed the remaining rations from the storage car so the passengers could fill their empty stomachs.
No sign of an attack yet. Simon, Lethe, and Ellen sat in an empty compartment with a wall blown clean through, watching the darkness outside as they ate a late dinner.
Nom nom.
For all her sharp tongue, Lethe was actually a hearty eater. Having demolished an entire bowl of steak without pause, she tore into the lunchbox beside her and spoke up.
"I talked with Her again in the bathroom earlier. She says she's coming here herself."
Simon's eyes widened.
"Wha — really? She's coming here?"
"I was shocked too. She's someone who's always buried in work and never leaves her seat, but she said the situation sounded serious and she'd come running right away."
Even as she said it, Lethe's tone made clear she couldn't quite believe it herself.
"How would she even get here?"
"She's burning through teleport magic circles of outrageous cost to make the trip. Says she wants to see the situation with her own eyes. So once I get the train moving, I have to go lay a teleport guidance circle near the Cult's headquarters."
Ellen, who had been absorbed in her food, jerked her head up in alarm.
"Th-that's way too dangerous! There's no telling how many of those horrible heretics might be around!"
"Can't be helped. She's the one I called, so she's my responsibility."
"I'll come with you."
At Simon's words, Lethe nodded.
"Would you, now? Then the moment this business is over, we head straight for the Tree of Life. It's not that far from here."
As they traded one story after another, Simon excused himself for a moment, saying he needed the bathroom.
As if she'd been waiting for exactly this, Ellen's eyes gleamed and she leaned forward eagerly.
"Lethe, Lethe! So what exactly is going on between you two? You sync up so well it's almost scary!"
"Shut it. Keep going and I'll lift your jaw all the way up to your nose."
"Eeek, you're only ever cold to me, Lethe!"
Lethe leaned back against her seat and answered airily.
"We're nothing."
That answer only poured fuel on the fire. Ellen fired back like a machine gun.
"Oh, come on — nothing? Getting a necromancer like Simon all the way here is something even you have to risk your life for, Lethe! Nobody stakes their life for a total stranger, use some common sense!"
Lethe's eyes flicked up, and she corrected her, word by word.
"It's a matter involving the life of someone who saved mine, and that person's son came along as a collaborator. That's all."
And as she gave that answer, Lethe caught herself wondering why she was making excuses like this, and let out a long sigh.
"Crystal clear. You couldn't be clearer if you tried. Get a grip, will you? I know what you're trying to rope us into, but it's not the fun little picture you're imagining."
"Is that so?"
Ellen giggled.
"Then would it be okay if I confessed to Simon today?"