The Chief Inquisitor Marches to War
Thanks to Simon and Prince's efforts, the holy train had shaken off the Blood Heaven Sect's pursuit without incident.
With fuel in abundance and no fear of being caught up with, they could safely consider the chase well and truly thrown off.
And now, just as planned, Simon and Lethe readied themselves to leap from the train.
“So you really are leaving.”
“Yes.”
Simon and Lethe, luggage in hand, stood before the gaping hole in the train's wall.
Metin and Ellen, the girls from the first-class car who had played with them, the uncles from third class, even the Priests from other carriages who had helped so actively in defending the train — a whole crowd of people who knew them had come out to see them off.
“This whole affair will be a turning point for me, I believe.”
Metin said.
“Even if a slump comes, I will have no regrets. I will never forget the two of you.”
“Yes, we'll be rooting for you, Sir.”
“Live so that you have nothing to regret.”
Metin exchanged farewells with the two of them. Ellen stepped closer to Simon and spoke, her voice full of reluctance.
“So we're parting again like this. I thought we'd get to spend more time together.”
When Ellen made no attempt to hide her disappointment, Simon smiled warmly.
“Something will come up sooner or later that brings me back here. I'll be counting on you then.”
“Yes! That's when I'll give you the grand tour!”
“And—”
Lethe rested a hand on her hip and grinned.
“If I ever catch you impersonating me again, there'll be no mercy next time, Senior.”
“As long as it's not you who catches me, I'll be fine, right?”
Hahaha!
A few of those who knew the full story let out chuckles of their own. Simon bowed his head in farewell to the others he'd grown close to as well.
“Well then, we're off.”
Simon said.
“Don't pretend you know us if we ever cross paths again.”
Lethe grumbled.
Bathed in the crowd's goodbyes, the two of them raised Jet-Black and Holy Power around their legs and leapt out into the darkness beyond the train.
“They're gone. Do you really think they'll be alright?”
At Ellen's question, Metin nodded simply.
“Of course. I have every faith that those two will stop this war.”
Their spectacular leap from the train was followed by a rather unglamorous stretch of rolling around in the grass, but the two of them were unharmed. Using the darkness as a screen to muffle their footsteps, they moved forward slowly.
“You can come out now, Prince.”
The moment Simon opened the subspace, Prince burst out as if he'd been waiting for just that.
[Aaargh, the subspace is still way too cramped!]
He lightly brushed the dust from his clothes — then caught sight of Lethe beside him, her face twisted in disgust. Prince choked up and snapped.
[What! What now!]
“……Ah, seriously, I can't get used to this. An undead talking back and throwing tantrums.”
Simon shrugged.
“Even the scholars of the Dark Alliance have never figured out anything about Ancient Undead. They're a complete unknown.”
[Are you talking about me like I'm some research subject?! I am the great Zombie Prince!]
Prince beat his chest in fury, then soon let out a long sigh, as if forcing himself to hold it in.
[Fine. What do you want me to do this time?]
“Nothing. You just seemed bored cooped up in there. No one's watching, so I figured you could use some fresh air.”
[What?! Bored? The great Ancient Undead feels no such emotion!]
“Then get back in, then.”
[No! It's boring in there!]
“……?”
Listening to the two of them converse in perfect parallel, Lethe felt her mind go faint. He was certainly a strange being — the kind even scholars would fail to unravel, she thought.
'Well, whose brand of strangeness could ever match this man's, anyway.'
Lethe stole a glance at Simon. As he soothed the fuming Prince, he turned to her with a smile that asked what was up, and she promptly whipped her head away.
“No time to waste. Let's move.”
The three of them walked through the night, keeping some distance from the railway.
After about an hour of brisk walking, torches began to appear here and there, and the sound of murmuring voices drifted over. It was the Blood Heaven Sect pursuit squads — the ones who had attacked the train earlier and lost them.
Lethe spoke in a hushed voice.
“They've failed to catch us, so they'll be heading back to their base now. We follow at a comfortable distance.”
As she said this and took a step forward, Lethe reeled back with a start, flailing. A zombie crouched low in the grass was baring its teeth and crawling toward her.
[Get lost.]
But at that one word from Prince, the zombie vanished elsewhere like an obedient, docile lamb.
“Ah, my heart.”
Lethe glared at the zombie's retreating back, still panting. Left to her own inclinations, she'd have been planting holy spears into that rear end all over.
[Coward.]
Prince snickered.
“Oh, you just wait. I'll purify you first.”
Lethe rolled up her sleeves. As the two of them looked ready to come to blows, Simon hurriedly wedged himself between them and turned to Lethe.
“By the way, when's your acquaintance due to arrive?”
“Ah.”
She checked her wristwatch.
“They're burning money like water right now, chaining together teleportation circles one after another — so they should be here no later than dawn.”
Simon's eyes went wide.
Dawn today? That fast?
“Yes. If they're dropping everything and coming all this way, the situation must really be serious.”
“Let me double-check — this really is someone we can trust?”
She nodded.
“Yes. They're the person I trust and follow most, after Teacher Anna. And above all, they hold considerable influence in the Holy Federation. Right now, leaning on them is the only choice we have.”
Blood Heaven Sect Headquarters, fifth floor.
It was a place filled with pool after pool of vivid red blood. Shriveled mummies lay sprawled here and there, and the walls and ceiling were packed with test subjects whose arms were bound in chains.
This was the undead laboratory.
Judas, Bishop of the Blood Heaven Sect, was absorbed in his research, dripping droplets of blood onto a test subject laid out on an iron bed.
-Screeeeeech!
The subject twisted in agony, then finally collapsed in a heap, expelling reeking waste from every orifice of its body. Drops of blood splattered again and again onto the white physician's coat Judas wore — but each drop slid smoothly off the coat and fell to the floor. As a result, he remained in a state of pristine cleanliness.
“Failure number five hundred thirty-one.”
Unfazed, Judas picked up his clipboard and marked off a check.
“Bishop. My apologies for interrupting the experiment. A slight problem has arisen.”
A believer approached out of the darkness and bowed his head. Judas did not take his eyes off his research journal.
“You lost them?”
“……Yes. Our sincerest apologies.”
“Didn't I tell you? Sending pursuit squads was pointless.”
Judas took a fresh scalpel from his toolbox. Then he began methodically shaving strips of skin from the new test subject strapped to the neighboring iron bed.
“A powerhouse strong enough to take down Aloken was aboard the train. No doubt they've also worked out a way to get the immobilized holy train moving again.”
He pinched up one of the finely sliced morsels of flesh between his index finger and thumb and examined it meticulously.
The believer bowed his head and spoke.
“With the passengers safely escaped, we must assume the full forces of the Holy Federation will descend upon the headquarters come daybreak.”
“I imagine so.”
Judas rose from his seat.
“Dispose of this test subject.”
“Yes.”
“And we should hasten our relocation to another headquarters. Prepare the teleportation circle.”
“Bishop! Bishop!”
Another believer came sprinting and dropped to one knee before him, reporting.
“We have a crisis! The teleportation circles—!”
Having heard the report, Judas left the laboratory himself and moved to the teleportation circle within the headquarters.
The believers there were milling about in visible panic.
“The circles are all completely neutralized?”
“……Yes.”
“There is only one group of people who could accomplish such a thing so easily.”
Judas pressed his glasses up his nose and smiled.
“Chief Inquisitor Late is coming.”
At those words, chaos erupted among the believers.
“B-Bishop! How are they already—!”
“Is this not going according to plan?! We haven't even leaked the intel yet!”
“Well, now.”
As Judas turned away, the white coat he wore fluttered in the wind.
“I rather suspect they've gathered intelligence on us first.”
His voice was perfectly composed.
“As it happens, this works in our favor. Prepare the Holy Crusade. We shall use this opportunity to sweep away every last one of the heretic Inquisitors.”
“Wh-what do you mean—”
Judas curled the corners of his mouth upward.
“I shall summon the Apostles of the Goddess.”
WAAAAAAAAAGH!
The believers let out a furious roar. Not a trace remained of the trembling terror they'd shown mere moments ago at the words heretic Inquisitor.
“Assemble every able body and ready the defenses. All we need to do is hold out until the Apostles appear — and that will be our victory.”
“Yes!!”
“Glory to the great Goddess!”
Leaving the fanatics to work themselves into their frenzy, Judas climbed the stairs alone.
Click!
Entering the room alone, he shut the door and engaged the lock. Then, chanting an incantation, he tore open his own finger with his teeth and let his blood drip down.
The blood traced a magic circle across the floor, and before long the circle split the floor open, forming an eerie, blood-red portal.
“I have an interview to prepare for, so this is where I leave you. May your sacrifices mean something.”
Murmuring this to himself, Judas hurled his body into the portal.
After Judas passed through, the portal closed.
“Director. The installation of the teleport-nullifying circles is complete.”
“Good.”
The hulking figure seated on a boulder rose to his feet. The warmonger who hunted necromancers — the current Chief Inquisitor, Late.
“How wide is the coverage?”
“Within a ten-kilometer radius centered on the Blood Heaven Sect headquarters, teleportation of any kind is impossible.”
“Understood.”
He had waited long enough.
His gray cloak billowing, he turned to look behind him.
Five hundred of the Bureau's elite Inquisitors stood at attention, bearing every manner of weapon and torture implement. Metal masks covered their mouths, and every one of them glinted with the deranged eyes of starved hounds thirsting for blood.
Flesh-slaughtering machines of the Holy Federation, forged through hellish mental conditioning. Fanatics ready, at the command of the Goddess and Late himself, to drive a knife into their own throats this very instant.
“The world is riddled with contradiction.”
Late began his address.
“In a world made by our great Goddess, there exist those who openly deny Her. We breathe the same air and live side by side under the same sky as vermin like those. Worse, they occupy half the world, throw all its peoples into confusion, and breed evil upon evil. And why—”
Murder crept into his gaze.
“—must we stand by and merely watch while pests draw breath?”
BOOM!
The Inquisitors stamped their feet in perfect unison, without a hair's breadth of error, and raised their weapons before their chests.
“Do we fear war? Do the innocent suffer? Do we take heavy losses of our own? Nonsense! There is no victory without sacrifice! We are the Goddess's faithful, and the Goddess does not abandon us! And I am certain—”
Divinity laced with killing intent poured from his body.
“—the Goddess demands judgment.”
BOOM!
“Sacrifice is no excuse!”
BOOM!
“With this affair as our beginning, we shall wage war upon the revolting vermin.”
Bloodshot to bursting, Late stretched out his arm. Space tore open, and from within it emerged a cross-shaped ultra-massive lightsaber.
The blade that cleaves the heavens. 'Royal Cross.'
It was so colossal that Late, standing well over three meters tall, could only barely raise it with his arms lifted above his head — as if he were shouldering an entire cross-shaped building.
“Move out! Sink your teeth into the heretics and leave not a single one alive!”
Late and the warmongers began their march toward the Blood Heaven Sect headquarters.