Blasphemous Creatures
"Arienael?"
"Yes...."
Arienael still seemed lost in thought. Her glare at Prudence had faded, but her responses were half-hearted at best. In the end, I clapped my hands lightly, and only then did she look at me.
"Ah, sorry. I was lost in thought for a moment."
"It's fine."
"That woman earlier... she's an inquisitor?"
"Yeah. Doesn't look the part, does she?"
"Inquisitor......."
Arienael's expression soured. It wasn't subtle—she was openly displeased. I worried we might slip back into that awkward mess from before, so I had no choice but to ask.
"What's wrong?"
"What do you mean?"
"You gonna tell me or not?"
"I have no idea what you're talking about."
"You know exactly what I mean."
It would've been nice if she'd just said it was personal and left it at that. This sudden awkwardness was driving me nuts.
"The way you looked at Prudence earlier was weird. Did she make you uncomfortable? I don't mean anything bad by it."
"No, her attitude wasn't rude or anything. It was just... absurd."
"Is there a problem?"
"An inquisitor inviting an elf to church? Doesn't that strike you as odd?"
Was it that upsetting? Just a standard invitation to me—I've heard it so often it rolls off my back—but for Arienael, it must hit different. Elves have their own ancient faith, after all.
"Do elves worship that tree-hanging god of yours so devoutly?"
"That's part of it, but... isn't it hard for an elf to believe in that religion anyway?"
"Why?"
"Don't you know what the inquisitors claimed back in the day?"
"No clue. Do I strike you as the religious type?"
"Not at all. That's why you didn't buy it earlier either."
Her words were casual, but her attitude had softened. What the hell had happened to make her like this? Did they massacre unbelieving non-humans or something? But even the Apis Church wouldn't go that far. Sure, they hound my research daily, file endless indictments, slap false charges on me while pretending it's for my own good—but massacres? Never heard of it.
"As you know, the Apis Church considers the pentagram an ill-omened shape."
"Obviously."
You learn about elemental symbols when you first study magic. Kids know triangles stand for fire, squares for earth. But not all polygons symbolize elements, and vice versa. According to the church, the hexagon represents divinity, perfection, integrity, eternity. Like how circles channel mana rather than symbolize elements, hexagons in spell formulas just help sustain incantations.
I skipped one shape on purpose. The regular pentagon almost never appears in magic circles. Not all polygons have spellcraft meaning, but the pentagon does—and it's still shunned. Because it's impure and sinister.
The pentagon symbolizes demons, negativity, sin, contradiction, perversity—all sorts of nasty stuff.
"Why bring that up now? What do elves have to do with pentagrams?"
"That's what we thought too."
Why demonize a simple shape so much? Some say it's one short of the holy hexagon, denying divine perfection. Others claim it's the first regular polygon that doesn't tile the plane, the origin of all evil and deficiency.
"But humans... they found a connection anyway. Not with elves directly, but with what elves cherish and love."
For a more practical, spellcraft-based reason: black magic formulas all feature stark pentagrams. Blood rituals, summoning otherworldly beings, plague curses, necromantic corpse revivals—they all embrace the pentagon. Not just pentagrams, but any shape evoking them invites heavy scrutiny. Most mages avoid them outright. Who wants to write dozens of pages defending a single diagram?
And from experience, even submitting those explanations every time doesn't keep the church off your back.
"So they claimed it was all a seedbed for evil."
"Elf faith? But the elven symbol isn't a pentagram."
Arienael's answer shocked me. At first, I thought she was joking or lying. Not because it was tragic, but because it was so absurd.
"No. Plants that bloom with five petals. All of them, without exception."
*
First I'd heard of it. They did that? There's fanaticism, and then there's this.
"I had no idea. They went that far off the rails?"
"It was before you were born, Professor. And they never actually carried it out. Not everyone in the church back then was insane."
"Obviously."
Only now did I realize Arienael was speaking from personal experience, not hearsay. If she'd lived through it, that put it within the last two centuries. Recent enough—why hadn't I heard? It's the kind of ridiculous story you'd remember, even use in arguments with priests.
"An Apis cardinal reined in the rampaging zealots."
"Ridiculous as it is to ask, what did he say to stop them?"
"God's messengers, the honeybees, suckle that nectar to fill their hexagonal hives. Even with evil natures, they can become servants of God. That's why we must redeem sinners, not cast them out."
"Huh......."
"He became pope later."
I don't know papal achievements or even their names. But from that alone, I could guess his type. Lenient toward criminals over harsh punishment. Pragmatic, quick on his feet, good at compromise. Takes guts and boldness to face down zealots. Eradicating those flowers was impossible anyway—no gain for the church. Anyone sensible would've stepped in fast. Probably why he got elected pope—solid political instincts.
"So I don't harbor much grudge against the Apis Church itself anymore. But......."
Still, I could see the pope's dark side too. His words made it clear. He stopped the madness, but still branded the flowers demonic evidence. No apology. You're impure and ominous, sure, but we'll hold off on the purge for now—happy?
"Even so, I never imagined this. An inquisitor chatting up an elf so friendly, even proselytizing. Hilarious."
Arienael didn't look amused at all.
Did Prudence know?
If she knew the backstory and suggested it so casually, that's borderline malicious. But did she? The church probably scrubbed the records—why teach priests about it? Still, from the Inquisition of all places... would she really be clueless?
My head spun with complications, so after wrapping up the talk, I cleared my mind with two resolutions. First, we'd visit that monastery together someday and test the waters. Second, no pushing Arienael too hard today.
* * *
A mansion in Honlake territory. Neither grand nor shabby—it mirrored Count Rackton's finances exactly. Not lavish enough for extravagance, but comfortable for a noble house.
The family head, Count Rackton, was speaking with his daughter.
"You've heard of Professor Atwill too, I assume."
Not really a question—he knew no kingdom noble could be ignorant of the name.
"Atwill proposed research to the church. Details are scarce, but their attitude shifted markedly friendlier afterward. And your sister says he's far kinder and better than the rumors suggest."
His daughter had zero interest in such matters. Religion and magic weren't her thing. But you can't always chase only your passions.
"So you should meet him once."
"Me?"
"Yes. Rumors aside, Atwill's the most promising mage on the continent right now. Building a connection can't hurt."
"Why me, not Sis? She's better positioned for that."
"You know why. Your sister's not in a spot to do it. And neither are you—leaving family business to others isn't an option. Or should I task your academy-going little sister?"
She felt reluctant. Proper noble gentlemen upheld etiquette with ladies regardless of feelings. Knights guarded a lady's honor. Even common sense dictated not rudely rebuffing friendly approaches—at least outwardly.
But Roger Atwill followed none of that: no noble courtesy, no chivalry, no gentlemanly polish, no basic decency. Noble women approaching him privately faced dismissal, cold shoulders, and ridicule.
She didn't want to join their ranks.
"If you win his favor, the succession issue resolves itself. With Atwill's backing, even the ducal house won't touch us."
"He won't meet without cause."
"True. So we'll make one. Therefore......."
His follow-up stunned her. Not just the content, but the sum—a burden for a minor provincial noble house.
"That much money? Is he worth it?"
"What do you mean?"
"His prospects. Atwill graduated undergrad from the Royal University, then studied in the imperial capital. Plenty of capital and imperial nobles offered better terms than us."
"Sure. And the imperial family probably approached too, dangling offers we couldn't match with our entire fortune."
"Then why......."
"But."
The count's face soured briefly.
"People change. You know that well enough."
"Yes...."
His daughter wanted to plug her ears—it was an uncomfortable topic. Fortunately, he didn't belabor painful memories.
"Atwill's on bad terms with nobles, sure. But worse with the church. And now he's allied with his fiercest opponents. What does that tell you?"
She couldn't follow.
"Sorry, Father. I'm not getting it......."
"He finally hit reality's wall. Realized he can't solve everything alone, so he compromised. And he's not hiding it—he's flaunting it."
The count spoke with confidence.
"It's a signal from Atwill. Approach now. He finally gets you can't thrive fighting the whole world. So we move faster than anyone."
"Really...? Did Sis say that too?"
"Would she?"
Her sister had mentioned Professor Atwill, but only class stories.
"Seems he's built a personal rapport too. Only one student remembers his name—her. He's not shunning nobles like he did religion."
"Seriously?"
"Yes. He dotes on Stella, they say. Won't he treat her little sister well too?"
I doubt it.
"While you're at it, ask about that magic stuff you've wondered on. Better from the expert than bugging your sister."
Father's word was law, but she couldn't shake her deep doubts.
Is he really playing those games?
If rumors held, Atwill was politically clueless. Lived at odds with everyone—not mere dislike, but total avoidance. For him to get so pragmatic in under a month?
Born to nobility yet aloof from politics, she never got used to this. Overreaction? And could she trust Sis's words?