Chapter 82
Chapter 82
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 82
Chapter Title: Multiple Personalities and the Whip God's Priestess
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Multiple personalities.
And the priestess of the Whip God.
“Beatrice.”
“The mana core. Found it. And there’s a ton of other stuff here that’d make for good research materials.”
She said it casually.
As if she truly believed I hadn’t noticed, acting just as we’d originally agreed.
“…Good.”
There was so much I wanted to ask.
But I held back.
The fact that she’d goaded me into raiding Altemion’s mansion basement.
The fact that she’d manipulated and killed Violle.
And that she’d snatched the mana core in the process.
I didn’t ask about any of it.
‘When she was Maria, she was clearly a pilgrim who revered the sword.’
Her divine power was fundamentally the same as mine.
She housed two personalities in one body, and remarkably, both divinities dwelled within her.
Faith is the heart devoted to a god.
Was it because her heart differed between Maria and Beatrice?
She was the only being capable of serving two gods.
And one of those gods just happened to be Auste, the Whip God—long forgotten by the world.
She was most likely a member of Crasion.
Crasion was that kind of archaic group, after all, full of those sorts.
Crasion.
I didn’t have fond memories of one of its elders, Ramatu, but it wasn’t an organization to blindly antagonize.
They seemed to have flocked here from the fallen kingdom, sniffing out easy pickings.
If anything, there were more opportunities to exploit them. There were plenty of their faithful I could poach.
Take Cedric, for example.
Beatrice’s skill in sacred alchemy was evident just from glancing at her lab.
No sense poking the bear and risking her smashing everything before bolting.
Waiting until she revealed it herself wasn’t a bad idea.
-Kyaaang!
Beatrice, who had set Vivi down, opened the metal box behind her and revealed the mana core.
True to its name.
A lump of condensed magic.
Like blood mixed with a drop of poison and left to gel.
The stench of blood was overpowering, and an ominous energy pulsed from it.
Thud.
I immediately closed the box.
“I’d prefer you not take it out carelessly with Vivi around.”
“Ah, right. I’ll be careful.”
If a magic beast ingested a mana core, its magic would go berserk. If Vivi swallowed this by mistake, it’d be disastrous, so we had to handle it with care.
“We’ve got it. Ready to start right away?”
“Yes. With this, extracting the beast blood won’t be too tough. After some trial and error, it could take as little as three months. Worst case, a year like I said. The core’s in great shape, so maybe even faster.”
Music to my ears.
Once the beast blood extraction was done, I could hand off the troll potion work too.
Of course, only after fully bringing her into the fold.
“So… what now?”
What to do.
Yeah. Let’s play along for now.
“Violle’s dead.”
We’d gotten everything there was to get.
This time, the mana core and the Whip God.
Knowing Auste’s devotee was Beatrice was harvest enough.
Unlike devotees of other gods, crushing Auste’s followers was tough, but recruiting them wasn’t.
“I see. What’s your plan now? Count Altemion won’t just sit still.”
“Before coming here, I tipped off the kingdom’s army. And the Church. They should arrive soon.”
“That buys us time for now. But is that enough? He’ll make a huge fuss after losing his son.”
As she said, no need to show my face.
A mere raid wouldn’t get Altemion’s head.
‘He’ll probably just pay a fine.’
Raising magic beasts was a dirty secret plenty of nobles indulged in.
But this changed things.
“What’s that?”
“An axe.”
The axe I’d kept just in case.
Not your average axe, of course.
Dropping this one would turn even a lax investigation into a full-blown ordeal.
That simplified everything.
* * *
“Who dares bind me!!”
“Third Inquisition Captain, Orkal. Greetings, Count Altemion.”
Everyone in the count’s mansion had been surrounded and bound by the kingdom’s army and the Heretic Inquisition.
Altemion vented his outrage.
“My son is dead!! And you’re hauling me away? What is the meaning of this!”
The basement had been wrecked by some intruder, and his son was dead.
No time to grieve before the army and inquisitors stormed in—Altemion could only rage.
“Do you see this?”
“That’s… just an axe!! Are you mocking me with some pathetic axe?!”
The young man with a boyish face.
Third Captain Orkal.
Altemion knew of him.
He’d only glimpsed him once, but the rumors were unavoidable.
The Heretic Inquisition Captain who handled bugs.
Dismissed as a petty blade by the world, quietly scorned.
His youthful face and personality only fueled it, or so he’d heard.
But.
“Quiet down.”
“…!”
At Orkal’s calm words, Count Altemion shut his mouth instinctively.
Cold sweat trickled down his back.
‘Calmer than I thought. Or has his vibe changed since then?’
The atmosphere was different.
Where he’d once seemed innocently naive, now he felt more mature.
“No. This is a carcass blade. An ugly savage’s, no less.”
“W-What!?”
The axe of the Axe God’s barbarians.
The very thing orcs wielded.
And it had come from the mansion basement.
Altemion reeled as if struck by lightning, but it was fact.
“We can’t overlook this. And you were illegally breeding and trading magic beasts.”
“…So what? Plenty of nobles raise and hunt them for sport on the down-low.”
Brazen as it was, true.
Mere beast breeding? A fine and done.
Yes.
If it were just beast breeding.
“Not long ago, orcs launched a massive raid in the north, sparking war. To bolster their numbers and mobility, they tamed magic beasts.”
“What!”
Traces of beast breeding in the basement.
And the axe that appeared there.
“You must’ve been short on cash. To think you’d aid orcs—one of the kingdom’s ancient foes…”
“F-False accusations! Nonsense!!”
“Shut your mouth, traitor!!”
Orkal’s patient explanation twisted into a demonic snarl, his roar echoing through the mansion.
The divine power in the Heretic Captain’s voice shook bodies and summoned primal terror.
Count Altemion, who’d underestimated him inwardly, felt his blood run cold.
Clang! Clang! Clang!!
The inquisitors guarding Orkal drew sharp blades from their sheaths, aiming at Altemion’s throat.
Gulp.
Altemion quelled his fury.
Rage boiled, but survival demanded cool composure.
Otherwise, his head could roll right here.
‘Who. Who the hell did this.’
No one turned down his bribes. Who fed him this massive lump?
Infuriating, but he had to defuse this.
Fail, and he’d die.
No—his entire house might vanish.
“F-False accusations. Even if an orc axe turned up, that doesn’t link to me. Someone could’ve planted it! I demand a proper investigation.”
“Of course. That’s why we’ve brought a special guest.”
“Who…”
Click, clack.
Heavy boot steps echoed softly through the silence.
In the mansion’s front yard.
Among the bound servants.
The armed kingdom soldiers and inquisitors parted left and right.
Black hair whipping in the night breeze.
Expressionless gray eyes.
A noble in uniform, as if painted to perfection.
Kallias von Jervan.
“Kallias…?”
Why was he here?
The question arose, and memories flashed like a panorama.
Violle meeting Kallias.
Debt. Magic beasts. Axe. North. Hero!
They intertwined, syncing with Kallias’s arrival.
Rage flooded Altemion’s face.
“Kallias, you bastard!! Was this your doing!!”
“Who do you think you’re yelling at?”
Thud!
Orkal kicked the rising, bound Altemion back to his knees.
Kallias swept the crowd with his gaze, then leveled his sword at him.
A translucent blade wreathed in blue aura.
A sword that seemed to hold the moonlight.
Judgment Sword—Mida.
“J-Judgment Sword…”
His fury lasted only a moment.
The moment rumors of the Judge resurfaced.
Fear gripped Altemion.
Instinctual dread.
“Count Altemion.”
The heavy call crushed his shoulders.
“…”
No one in the world is spotless.
Who doesn’t have a speck of dirt if shaken out?
Dirty money.
Money one shouldn’t take.
Nobles who live without it are the rare ones.
Especially in a kingdom deep in decline.
Thus, Altemion couldn’t meet Kallias’s cold gaze head-on.
He too had once been a proud Carpe citizen, living with dignity.
He’d mourned the crumbling nation, begged, raged at the Empire’s mockery like any other.
But one averted eye built walls of security for his family.
He was a father to a foolish son, a husband to a loveless but affectionate wife before a noble.
He had closed his eyes.
Then and now.
Closing eyes was the same, but the facing peril was worlds apart.
“Have you ever acted against the Empire?”
At Kallias’s single question.
Altemion bowed his head low.
His bowed head spoke silence.
The keen blade cut through the silence.
On a cloudless full moon night.
The kingdom’s count met his end.
* * *
“Extra! Extra!!”
The boy hawking papers with glee scattered headlines that drew stark reactions everywhere.
Nobles swallowed grimly, commoners grinned in satisfaction.
[Judged Sinner]
“Count Altemion beheaded by the Judge. Man, becoming a count means chopping other counts now. Hilarious! Right?”
“It’s a man’s death. Not that funny.”
“So stiff. Just saying.”
Helena and Esther, sipping tea on a café terrace, traded barbs and fell thoughtful.
Whom they thought of was as natural as flowing water.
“I hear they’re debating his appointment as Inquisition Captain.”
“Why? Just appoint him. He’ll smash the nobles for us.”
The Church couldn’t touch kingdom nobles lightly, even inquisitors had limits.
Politics and religion were distinct.
But Kallias was both Church pilgrim and count.
So the issue lay elsewhere.
“He’s still a pilgrim. Like me, one who hasn’t found the sword to carry lifelong.”
No precedent existed for pilgrims becoming inquisitors.
“They’re probably bickering over tradition and lack of precedent. Obvious without seeing.”
As Helena said.
The Church factions—moderates and radicals—were in full-throated debate.