Chapter 11
Chapter 11
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 11
Chapter Title: The Arrival of the Inquisitors
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The procession of inquisitors entering Trista continued.
The inquisition centered around Iron Heretic Inquisitor Raibun.
A woman with flowing water-blue hair blocked their path.
Esther Sol Sillyad.
She stood silently confronting them.
“Pilgrim Esther. I didn’t know you were here.”
“I did.”
A bold response.
The aura she subtly exuded was extraordinary.
For a pilgrim who hadn’t found her sword, something felt off.
‘The genius who succeeded Stella the Saintess.’
That was how the current church viewed her. What pilgrim could stare down a Heretic Inquisitor with a sword sheath so confidently?
‘If she finds her sword…’
Just how strong would she become?
Raibun nodded slowly, gazing into Esther’s captivating gray eyes as if entranced.
“You must have come at Bishop Albato’s command. He must have been curious about the authenticity of the apostate Kalius as well.”
“Yes.”
A curt, almost rude reply. But Raibun pressed on without flinching.
“Is Sullivian well?”
Only then did an expression appear on Esther’s face.
Her beautiful eyes narrowed, stirring an indescribable feeling.
It was probably something close to joy.
Esther turned her back without answering Raibun’s question.
He watched her silently until she vanished from sight, not moving a muscle, and only then spoke.
“Not a single footstep sound.”
“Yes? Oh, right. I didn’t notice.”
“Not even a year ago, Pilgrim Esther was chasing at my heels.”
But now, seeing her again.
“She walks side by side with me.”
Terrifying growth.
Raibun watched the path where she had disappeared for a long while, his eyes holding a mix of jealousy and fear.
“Let’s go. Our goal is to find the apostate Kalius.”
Before Esther Sol Sillyad.
Find Kalius and secure the holy relic.
That was the top priority.
“In the worst case, we might have to cross swords with her.”
Raibun, looking displeased, ordered a search of all Trista.
* * *
“Look at this stiff-necked pup. Let’s see if you can still yap like that after getting beaten like a dog.”
Taang! Taang!
The sharp gauntlet covering his hand rang out like iron.
Kalius’s eyes sharpened.
That wasn’t a simple gauntlet worn by knights.
It was called a cestus.
A relic of the Forgotten God, now lost to time.
‘The last follower of the Forgotten God, Cedric.’
A divine weapon crafted by the miracle of the god he served. In other words, a carcass sword.
“S Cedric Bore Madrichan.”
“How dare a pilgrim from some crumbling kingdom mouth my name!”
“I’ve come to collect Herbalist Artemo’s debt in his stead.”
Flinch. Cedric, who had lunged like a sleek panther, froze in place.
His color shifted to blue.
“Debt? I don’t carry debts like some beggar—you must be mistaken.”
“You wouldn’t claim not to know Herbalist Artemo’s name.”
The herbalist had said.
Cedric had taken a precious herb from him. That herb was meant for his one and only daughter.
But despite his efforts, his daughter died, leading him to where he was now.
“…….”
Cedric fell silent.
He seemed conflicted.
But Kalius wasn’t worried.
If this wasn’t enough, he had plenty more to say.
“Have you found the Oracle’s greaves?”
Cedric’s face twisted into something even more ferocious.
But it was only for a moment.
Ptoo! Spitting on the ground, Cedric dismissed the casino guards.
“You… follow me.”
Turning his broad back, Cedric pulled a new cigar from his suit pocket.
Seeing this, Kalius calmed his pounding heart.
Cedric, executive of Crasion.
Cedric, the last follower of the Forgotten God.
Cedric, who mourned his dead daughter.
He was one of Kalius’s favorite characters on the pilgrim’s path, and one of the hardest to befriend.
‘Blue for now.’
But Kalius was certain.
He would soon turn gold.
* * *
Cedric Casino’s office.
Seated on the reception sofa, Kalius faced Cedric across from him.
Cedric Bore Madrichan.
One of the strongest of the strong, rivaling the top two in combat prowess even in Crasion.
Hiding his identity in Karpe for now, but if he unleashed his full power, no one in Trista could stand against him except the lord, Gerald.
“What are you, really?”
Hoo—
White cigar smoke billowed out like a long sigh as he asked.
The smoke rose along his body and vanished into the ceiling.
“A pilgrim. And the one here to collect Herbalist Artemo’s debt from you.”
“You know that’s not what I’m asking.”
Kalius leaned back deeply into the sofa backrest at the sight of Cedric growling like a beast.
“About the Twin Gods?”
Kalius smiled faintly.
The Twin Gods.
Miracle and Oracle.
Miracle for cestus, Oracle for greaves.
Cedric was an apostle of the Forgotten God, who was two yet one.
Long ago.
Tribes worshiping many gods existed, clashing in wars.
The victorious tribes amassed power, prospered, and formed nations, while the defeated faded into the annals of history, forgotten.
Cedric served one such ancient god.
Among them, the peculiar Twin Gods, Miracle and Oracle. A faith barely maintained through thin lines, now believed in by Cedric alone.
Churches serving gods had holy relics, without which they couldn’t perform miracles.
Without miracles, they couldn’t gather faithful, so Cedric had long sought the Oracle’s greaves.
Only then could he lay the foundation to revive his religion.
‘But Cedric never finds them.’
He dies without ever locating the holy relic, the Oracle’s greaves.
Because those greaves are…
“How did you know? No one in Crasion knows of my god. In this world, only two know I’m a saint of Miracle.”
Cedric’s question snapped Kalius from his thoughts.
Kalius looked at Cedric calmly and replied.
“Isn’t there something more important than me knowing the Twin Gods? Cedric. You owe me a debt first. The god stuff comes after.”
Kwaang!!
“You really want to die?”
Cedric’s patience reached its limit.
His palm shattered the table.
The importance and symbolism of a church’s holy relic were clear. But that’s why Kalius dragged it out even more.
In this world, no one knew where the Oracle’s greaves lay dormant.
Only one being knew.
The one who built this world and assigned its settings.
Everyone except Kalius himself.
‘Still, this is heavy.’
The pressure and subtle killing intent Cedric exuded were immense.
Kalius feigned utmost composure, but he couldn’t hide the sweat beading on his back.
Cedric’s current strength was among the top in Karpe Kingdom, excluding five paladins—countable on one hand.
If they truly fought, he could die in an instant.
But that’s precisely why.
‘I must make it certain.’
He couldn’t turn him into an enemy.
A half-hearted alliance? Acquaintance? Even worse.
Ambiguity would breed suspicion and the shadow of death.
He needed a solid bond that couldn’t be broken to maximize survival odds.
In isolated Karpe, befriending a powerhouse like Cedric could turn crises into opportunities.
‘That’s how I survive.’
Having sorted his thoughts, he reached for the teacup on the table.
A fine tea set.
A limited edition crafted by a master artisan.
Undoubtedly Cedric’s cherished possession, one of his few hobbies.
If he broke it, Cedric’s fist would fly straight at him…
‘I need to seize the initiative.’
Kalius carefully lifted the teacup and took a sip.
“Spit it out before my fist shatters every tooth in your mouth.”
Cedric pressed with bloodshot eyes.
The stalling ended here.
“Cedric. I’m the only one in this world who knows where the Oracle’s greaves are. Is that the attitude to take?”
“Fine. I’ll hang you upside down and use you as a punching bag instead. That’ll loosen your tongue.”
Gulp.
Kalius showed no reaction to the threat, placing both hands on his knee and interlocking fingers.
“You’ve already investigated me thoroughly. Petty threats like that won’t work.”
“Right. The pillar of Karpe. The wastrel spawn of famed House Jerban. No talent in swordsmanship, skirt-chasing trash in the church. That’s you, Kalius von Jervan.”
“…I’ve never lifted a skirt, so that’s odd.”
“Everyone knew you were the church’s black sheep—no investigation needed.”
Well, he was handsome, at least.
Where could a wastrel hide?
Unjustly accused of things he’d never done—it was frustrating.
“So I wondered. The swordsmanship I saw from you wasn’t that bad. Even famed Jerban wouldn’t disown you over that. And the eldest son, no less…”
Cedric eyed Kalius with a strange expression.
“Three years as a pilgrim. What the hell happened to you?”
But Kalius didn’t answer.
He simply demanded.
“That’s none of your business. Cedric. What I want remains the same as at first.”
“…You really are a wastrel. Can’t understand until you’re beaten senseless.”
Cedric readjusted his cigar.
Kalius’s eyes gleamed.
That’s when it happened.
Cedric’s fist moved.
Bear Claw Cedric.
True to his moniker, the fist rushed at him in an instant.
Speed beyond reaction.
Whoosh!! Fierce wind whipped Kalius’s black hair.
He couldn’t budge before the massive fist like a bear’s paw.
“…Tch.”
Cedric withdrew his fist.
His gaze caught on the teacup in Kalius’s hand.
‘Phew.’
If he hadn’t been holding the teacup?
Cedric’s fist would have surely smashed his face. Kalius would’ve been a bloody mess from that one blow.
“Cedric. Don’t you know who holds the cards now? Better not do anything rash. Touch a hair on me, and you’ll never find the Oracle’s greaves.”
“…….”
After glaring murderously for a long time, Cedric slumped back onto the sofa.
Thud.
“What. What do you want.”
Only then did Kalius set down the teacup and curl his lips.
“I want one thing, Cedric.”
“So what the fuck is it.”
With you.
“I want to be brothers.”
“…What?”
Cedric’s face twisted.
* * *
Equals, no superiors or inferiors—brothers in rank.
That was the condition and wish I demanded of Cedric.
He looked at me like a madman and didn’t believe a word.
But I negotiated with the Oracle’s greaves as leverage, and in the end.
‘See you later, brother.’
We became brothers.
“Brother.”
The word “brother” has a strangely sticky pull.
Cedric knows that stickiness too. That’s why he refused at first, then accepted.
Of course, for now, it’s just words—he doesn’t fully trust me yet.
But as time passes, he’ll come to see me as a true brother.
That’s the kind of man Cedric is.
Rough and ruthless on the outside.
But a man of deep sentiment.
‘Still blue for now…’
The moment suspicion turns to trust.
He’ll turn gold.
“Hoo—tired.”
-Click. The room Cedric lent him for now, to rest.
The casino’s top-floor VVIP room.
The spacious suite brimmed with expensive decorations and furniture.
Through the living room window, Trista’s fountain square and the dawn lights offered a glimpse of the pleasure city’s allure.
“That emblem…”
The Valterus Church’s symbol was a single sword resembling a cross.
“The crossed red swords symbolize the inquisitors, so why here…”
Was there an apostate here?
“Whatever, none of my business.”
Whoever apostatized—it didn’t matter.
No time to care about others now.
He quickly wiped the blood from his body with the prepared water and flopped onto the bed.
The plush bed embraced him softly.
It had been quite a while.
Such comfort. Mostly camping or crashing in dingy inns and stables.
No sudden blades would rain down in a place Cedric managed.
A strange sense of relief brought overwhelming drowsiness.
“Tomorrow, hit Trisi Auction House for holy water ingredients… then check the basement for decent artifacts.”
He unexpectedly had a lot of money now.
Three thousand gold coins.
Wealth won through gambling. Equivalent to a grand lord’s several years of taxes.
“Cedric’ll handle the money, so no worries.”
He’d received certificates and checks usable only in big cities like Trista.
Cedric wasn’t the type to mess with his funds anyway.
‘Hope there’s a good artifact… there should be something usable.’
If not, he could ask Cedric to hook him up. Artifacts were called holy relic replicas, after all.
Cedric might have something decent.
“Tomorrow…”
His eyelids drooped.
Sleep came rushing.
Click.
But then. The sound of a door opening that shouldn’t.
Swish.
He slowly reached for Arsando by the bedside.
Step, step.
Approaching footsteps.
As it drew near.
Shing!
Arsando’s blue blade halted before the intruder’s throat.
“Eek!”
“…What are you.”
“M-my lord…!”
He thought it was an assassin.
It was none other than Brans.
“You’re alive.”
“O-of course!”
He hadn’t checked.
‘I thought it was a shallow cut.’
More intact than expected.
“Heh heh, I’m no Brans to die to a sword from someone who can’t even hold one properly! Just a nick, so I spat on it and came!”
Brans showed his wound as he spoke, but it looked well-treated with good medicine.
“Who did this.”
“The casino folks. Even the bandages smell nice.”
Cedric must have taken care of it.
‘Well, I called him a squire.’
Just to justify killing Ged.
Kalius looked at Brans in disbelief and let out a hollow laugh.
“They let you in because you said squire, huh.”
“Yes!”
“But you’re not really a squire, are you?”
At Kalius’s curt remark, Brans bowed his head to the bedside like he’d been waiting.
“This Brans! Trista street rat, but smitten by my lord’s bold gambling and ruthless swordplay today! Let me follow you from now on, through anything!”
“…Sudden.”
He’d basically used him as a shield, yet this attitude…
‘He’s scheming or an idiot.’
One or the other. Kalius leaned toward the latter.
“Accept me as your squire! I’ll do anything!”
“…Damn. What a clown.”
Sleep was gone now.
Tucking away Arsando and donning his coat, Kalius prepared to head out.
“Where to?”
“Black Market. Was gonna go tomorrow, but I’m awake—might as well now.”
Trisi Auction House.
The so-called black market. Items might vanish after today.
“Uh… then I…”
Glancing at Brans, Kalius smirked and lifted a corner of his mouth.
“Follow if you want.”
“Yes!!”