They Have Your Family
The fucking bastards.
“I never imagined I would find you here. Hero Locke.”
“Nor did I expect to see you in this place, Cardinal Diocasan. It seems we share the same surprise.”
Though Locke and Diocasan maintained an outward show of mutual respect, the air between them crackled like drawn blades, both men braced for violence at any second.
“Shouldn’t someone who belongs on the Empire’s front lines slaying monsters be elsewhere? What brings you here?”
“As you can see.”
Locke glanced at his empty sleeve, then gave his arm a small shake. The fabric that had been pinned in place slipped down, fluttering weakly in the faint breeze. The Cardinal clicked his tongue at the sight.
“It appears you ignored my warning, Locke.”
“I remembered it clearly—don’t throw the Holy Spear. But the battlefield rarely bends to our wishes. There was no other choice.”
Locke lowered his head as if ashamed, yet his eyes burned with a clear message: Spare me the bullshit.
“I lost this arm through my own mistake and that mistake brought me here… but I’m far more curious about what business brings you to this place, Cardinal. What is your true purpose?”
“I am merely the foot of the Heavenly Mother, moving only as revelation directs. I have come to escort a distinguished guest on behalf of the Holy Kingdom.”
“…Distinguished guest?” Locke’s face twisted into a frown.
“Indeed. And since you, Hero Locke, also appear to have received grace from that same guest… there is no need for us to oppose each other. Please step aside.”
“As you said, I owe that man behind me a great debt. Which is precisely why…”
Locke slammed the butt of his spear into the ground.
“As the former Grand Inquisitor who buried the largest number of heretics without mercy, I cannot possibly hand my benefactor over to you. State your purpose, Cardinal.”
“I am simply following revelation.”
“Then you can simply tell me what that revelation is.”
The words were polite, but they carried the weight of an order coming from the master of a Holy Relic. Though Locke belonged to the Empire and the Heroes were usually bound to the battlefield—rarely crossing paths with the Holy Kingdom’s priests—the master of a Holy Relic outranked even a Cardinal within the Holy Kingdom’s hierarchy. If Diocasan invoked “acting on God’s will,” Locke believed he could leverage his own position to demand an answer or at least force the man to retreat.
“I refuse.”
Yet Diocasan rejected Locke’s demand without a flicker of hesitation, and he showed no sign of backing down.
“This is an official matter of the Holy Kingdom. It is not something for an agent of the Empire to involve himself in. Stand down, Hero.”
“……Is there a divine will that even the master of the Holy Spear is forbidden to hear? One that a mere Cardinal knows?”
“Master… how arrogant, Locke. You are merely borrowing a tool of the gods. Refer to yourself as its proxy.”
“I’m not here to play word games.”
“Nor am I. Hero Locke, I will say it once more—please step aside. If you continue to obstruct the Holy Kingdom’s affairs, an official protest will be lodged with the Empire.”
The absolute certainty in Diocasan’s voice left Locke momentarily speechless. He gripped the Holy Spear tighter, clearly preparing to level its point in warning, when Evan’s voice cut through.
“That’s enough. Move aside.”
“…Evan.”
“You’ve helped plenty. Stand back.”
Krr, is it finally a fight? These damn humans—I'll burn every last one of them…
“You stay out of it too. Can’t you see Natasha is struggling? If you can’t control the malice leaking everywhere, then get the hell back.”
Why the hell should I have to accommodate some brat?!
“Do it.”
The sharp command made the skeletal dragon snort in displeasure, but he slowly retreated all the same. Evan allowed himself a moment of satisfaction at having won that bet and placed a collar on the creature earlier. He patted Locke’s shoulder.
“Watch over the Saintess and Natasha from the back. The Saintess seems to be having some kind of problem—she hasn’t stepped forward at all.”
“Natasha……”
“Don’t show it on your face. There are people from the Holy Kingdom here.”
“…Thank you.”
Once Locke had withdrawn and Evan stepped forward, the old Cardinal’s expression smoothly returned to that gentle, amiable smile. The irony that he treated the master of the undead—the Devil of Abaddon—with more favor than the Hero was troubling enough, but the fact that Diocasan made no attempt to hide the difference left Evan even more unsettled.
“Diocasan… was it? Cardinal?”
“Correct. A most insignificant name.”
“I don’t like you.”
“How unfortunate. It must surely be due to my own shortcomings.”
Haa.
In a way, Diocasan’s fanaticism surpassed even Alphonse’s. Evan no longer wanted to exchange another word with the man. Yet he had no choice but to step forward. The fact that a priest of the Holy Kingdom had openly rejected even the Hero’s command could not be dismissed as simple insubordination.
The Holy Kingdom maintained a stricter hierarchy than even the Empire’s military. High-ranking clergy—or those equivalent—were seen as acting in God’s stead. A people who treated any unjustified refusal of orders as immediate heresy would never defy a Hero without powerful backing.
“The Pope sent you, didn’t he?”
An order from someone higher than a Hero.
“It is difficult for me to say. I am merely here in proxy of the divine will.”
Which was as good as admitting it.
“And this divine will of yours—is it to come out and greet me?”
“Even to you, Lord Evan, I cannot disclose the details of the revelation. However…”
Diocasan slowly reached into the inner pocket of his sleeve, as if to show he harbored no hostility, and withdrew a single luxurious scroll.
“I believe I can tell you what my task is.”
He offered the scroll with deliberate care. Evan sensed neither magic nor divine power upon it—nothing but ordinary paper.
“I do not know what is written inside. I was simply instructed to deliver this and escort Lord Evan back with me.”
Evan accepted the scroll with an extremely sour expression.
The only one who could order a Cardinal around like an errand boy is the Pope.
If the Pope had known Evan’s name, that he planned to leave today, and that they would meet here…
Does this scroll contain the answers to the questions I want?
The thought was impossible to dismiss. As Evan untied the red string wrapped around the scroll, Diocasan added, as though he had just remembered.
“It was also suggested that you view its contents alone, if possible.”
“Doesn’t matter if I don’t, right?”
“Correct. My only duty is to convey the message. There was no absolute command that you read it in solitude, so you may do as you wish, Lord Evan.”
Evan shot the obediently nodding Cardinal a wary look, then opened the scroll anyway.
The instant he read its contents, he incinerated it on the spot. The price was the loss of two fingernails. It was a cost that could not be instantly regenerated, yet such concerns never even crossed his mind.
“Fucking bastards.”
…Screw the Holy Kingdom. Should he just kill them all? Presenting the Cardinal’s head as a declaration of war seemed like a rather effective warning.
Evan was seriously weighing the prospect of all-out war with the Holy Kingdom when—
Squeeze.
Something wrapped around him from behind in a crushing embrace, as though trying to restrain him completely.
“……Let go.”
“No.”
“Saintess, I told you to let go.”
“No!”
She didn’t move a muscle earlier, and now this?
Evan let out a long sigh and slowly eased the tension from his body. He turned his head just enough to look at Iris, who was trembling like a leaf, and spoke in a gentler tone.
“It hurts.”
“No…! Huh?”
“I said it hurts. Let go.”
“Don’t hurt, Evan-Evan.”
Iris slowly released him. She took his right hand—the one that had lost its nails—between both of hers and offered a quiet prayer. The blood that had been dripping vanished; the wounds healed without a trace.
“……Thank you.”
With a somewhat cooler head, Evan turned back to Diocasan. The other priests looked shocked that the cursed Saintess had just used prayer without issue, but the Cardinal wore an enigmatic expression, his gaze shifting back and forth between Evan and Iris.
“Somewhat unexpected.”
“What is?”
“It seems you and the Saintess share a rather intimate relationship.”
“If we’re speaking of the unexpected, I feel the same,” Evan shot back. “You don’t seem to show even the slightest respect toward the Saintess.”
“How could that be? I hold the Saintesses and Saints of every generation in the deepest reverence. I regret profoundly that I was not born in an era where I could meet them in person. The historical texts that have been passed down inevitably contain the author’s personal views and biases.”
Surprisingly, genuine sorrow filled the Cardinal’s voice.
“Surely she must have possessed a soul as radiant as yours, Lord Evan. …Have you never considered becoming a Saint yourself?”
“Don’t spout nonsense, Cardinal.”
“Truly regrettable. If only I had met you sooner and brought you into the Holy Kingdom.”
Diocasan’s regret seemed sincere. Then his eyes grew icy as he looked past Evan toward the girl hiding behind him. In a voice heavy with lament, he asked,
“Don’t you agree? ‘Saintess.’”
“……Uuu.”
The heartfelt reverence he had shown for the Saintesses and Saints of the past had transformed into faint contempt when directed at Iris.
“Don’t you think someone like Lord Evan is far more suited to that position than a person who threw everything away and fled?”