Faith 1
"What the hell is that bullshit? All the mages are dead?"
The silence was broken by Jack, his face twisted in disbelief. Knowing that Licht had cast a soundproofing spell, he didn't hold back on the volume.
"Exactly what I said. The missing mages from El Sion—they might already be dead. No, dead is probably the right word..."
"What...?"
Silence fell once more. Licht silently moved his fork and knife. Ranin clamped his mouth shut again, and Licht steadily finished the rest of his food. Jack alternated bewildered glances between them, as if wondering what the hell was going on, until Licht set down his utensils after emptying his plates.
"That intel."
"......"
"Is it reliable?"
It wasn't cross-verified. Info from a single source could easily be laced with lies. Ranin nodded slightly, as if he knew exactly what Licht was getting at.
"It's solid. You might not know this, Licht, but our line of work has one unbreakable rule."
"Never lie."
"...You know it? That's exactly it. When selling info, you can't fabricate or mix in falsehoods. Lose trust once, and you're as good as dead. And the broker I met today, Sven—he's one of the most notorious in the business."
"Notorious doesn't even cover it. The guy delivers on quantity and quality."
"Only downside is the insane prices."
"Money-grubbing bastards. So, why are all these mages dead? Spill the details."
Ranin let out a sigh and shook his head.
"...I don't know the full story."
"What...?"
Jack blurted out in disbelief. Ranin continued.
"Dozens of mages from El Sion definitely arrived in Bailen not long ago. And under the eldest young master's tacit approval, Archbishop Sernos was overseeing them."
"And they're dead?"
"That's the strong likelihood. Sven figures they've already been used up as test subjects..."
"...That's it?"
"Yeah. He didn't know more. I'm not taking it at face value, but we can't exactly tear the place apart on a hunch. For him, that was probably the limit of what he could say."
Ranin spoke matter-of-factly. Jack thought for a moment before asking,
"How much?"
"Huh?"
"How much for the info?"
"...1000 gold."
"Those fucking bastards!"
Bang! Jack shot to his feet, slamming the table. Plates rattled, drawing glances from nearby mercenaries and travelers toward Licht's table. But that was it—no further interest. The soundproofing spell made it look from outside like he'd just stood up a bit too quickly.
"What the fuck? 1000 gold?"
"...No choice. We were in a hurry. Had to grab something before worrying about the cost."
"Even so! Taking 1000 gold for half-assed intel?"
"Pricey, sure, but if it's true, it's worth every coin."
"Still...!"
Jack fumed, grinding his teeth. 1000 gold for one piece of intel—and sketchy intel at that. No wonder he was pissed.
'Life insurance, huh.'
But Licht understood completely. Info tied to Archbishop Sernos, the real power in Bailen Duchy, and Jeron, the eldest young master. Hard to obtain, even harder to sell.
'Money-grubbing...'
Honestly, selling it for 1000 gold was suspiciously cheap.
'He knows more than that.'
Something was being held back. Info too dangerous to sell, even for gold. The vagueness was his way of drawing a line. But it was enough. If he wouldn't talk, make him.
Licht tapped the table lightly.
"Enough. We've got our lead—that's plenty."
"No, young master! 1000 gold? Even if we're swimming in cash, this is—"
"Where's this Sven?"
Jack shut his mouth tight. But only for a moment. He grinned, catching the implication. Ranin answered blankly.
"...Not far from here."
"Good. Those fuckers scammed us—they better be ready."
"You really going?"
Ranin asked. Licht nodded firmly.
"No point dragging this out."
If they're not coming to us, we go to them. Licht rose slowly from his seat.
***
"Say that shit again. 'Fair price'? Who the fuck does this guy think I am?"
Bang! A head slammed into the bar table. Wood splintered. Sven barely lifted his gaze under the massive hand crushing his skull, thinking,
'This fucking...'
How'd it come to this? The room was trashed—chairs scattered, tables smashed, corpses strewn about. All killed before they could even draw swords. And these were the tough guys in the business.
'Fuck, that mercenary breathed aura into his blade?'
Sven belatedly regretted his choice. He'd sold info to a veteran guide he'd never seen before. Looked skilled, sure, but that was it. When asked about Archbishop Sernos, he'd almost refused—then changed his mind. Outsider, probably leaving Bailen soon. And flush enough to drop 1000 gold upfront. Keep it vague enough to avoid blowback, pocket the cash—easy profit.
Not even a real scam. The info was worth 1000 gold. The guy knew it, paid willingly. But who storms in like this?
'What the hell are these guys?'
A lone Sword User mercenary? Manageable. The problem was that youthful figure in the black cloak.
'Couldn't even track his movements.'
Even if every thug in the business ganged up, could they take him? Sven glared at nearby Ranin.
'That damn bastard. Must have backup...'
"Don't even think about scheming. Bullshit me, and I'll rip that jaw off."
Crunch. Jack squeezed harder. Sven's face mashed against the bar, letting out a grotesque groan.
"Urgh... W-wait, let go! Can't... breathe..."
"That's enough."
At Licht's word, Jack released the pressure. Freed, Sven gasped raggedly.
"Hah... hah... Who the fuck are you guys? You think you'll walk away from—"
Licht silently placed a bundle on the bar. It opened on its own, revealing stacks of gold coins and glittering gems—easily thousands.
Sven swallowed reflexively.
"Payment for info."
"......"
"Mages vanished from El Sion. I know they're in Bailen."
"That's..."
"All dead, you said. That's all you sold."
"...Want the rest?"
"Not enough?"
Sven eyed the bundle, then Licht. Long deliberation. Finally, he shook his head.
"Sorry, I don't kn—"
"This fucker..."
Bang! Impatient, Jack grabbed Sven's head and smashed it into the table again.
"I swear, I really don't know!"
"Still not getting it, huh? Worried about that eldest young master and Archbishop Sernos?"
"What're you—"
"Keep their feelings in mind, stay shut, and you die here. Get it? Spill now, save your skin, maybe flee as an exile—or just croak."
"Guh..."
Licht nodded; Jack shook Sven's head roughly. Released again, Sven meekly spoke.
"...What exactly do you want?"
"Making me repeat myself?"
"The El Sion mages who came to Bailen—they're dead?"
"Details."
"It's a long story..."
Sven cautiously eyed Licht.
"I know the Pope of Palenia kicked off something to revive the previous Saintess, Libre Prelude. Kidnapped El Sion's mages as sacrifices for the ritual."
"How do you— Never mind, that speeds things up."
Classified info known to only a few brokers. Question popped up briefly; Sven pressed on.
"The El Sion mages are all dead. Literally. Used up in trial rituals."
"Trial rituals?"
"Resurrection rituals have never succeeded in history. And Libre Prelude's been dead over ten years. Need test runs before the real deal."
"Reliable info?"
Jack glared down, eyes bulging. Sven flinched.
"Solid, I swear! Got it from a high priest at Bailen Cathedral—fed him a fat bribe, no room for doubt."
"Anything else?"
Licht asked. Sven's lips twitched before answering.
"Plans might've shifted. Instead of the mages, use hundreds of thousands of Isiteria faithful gathered at Light Square on Creation Day, January 1st next year..."
"......"
"Not confirmed! Just rumors floating around. Wild shit like the Pope bargaining with demons..."
Done talking, Sven trailed off and shut up. Licht furrowed his brow.
'Creation Day, sacrifice the faithful at Light Square?'
Hard to buy. Sounded too absurd. Hundreds of thousands as sacrifices? Pope dealing with demons? He'd know about something that big.
'No.'
Licht paused, dismissing the doubt.
'The past has already changed drastically.'
Could he swear it hadn't happened before? Executor Bryce, who'd raided Cherbito, died by his hand. The future was twisted. Relying on fuzzy memories was foolish.
"That's all I got. Can you... let me go now?"
Sven mumbled hesitantly. Snapping from thought, Licht asked last.
"Where were the trial rituals held?"
"...Under the cathedral."
"Basement?"
"The crypt with saints' relics. Usually sealed, opens occasionally."
"I see."
Gazes met. Licht glanced at Jack and Ranin, then moved his hand.
"You letting me live? I got nothing more..."
"Good work."
"...Huh?"
Slash! The swiftly drawn Ascension Sword grazed Sven's throat. Sheathed upright after flicking blood, his head tumbled, arterial spray erupting.
"Still merciless as ever. What's next?"
Jack asked without blinking. Licht scanned the room.
"We'll check it ourselves."
"...Need time to prep."
"Won't take long."
"Precisely when?"
Ranin pressed. Licht replied curtly.
"Tomorrow evening."
***
"How long do you plan to sit idle?"
Night had deepened. Jeron addressed Sernos across from him.
Days since hearing his knight Werner was dead. Even after identifying the culprit, Sernos took no action.
"Not yet time."
"We already gave one chance. Why more?"
"Killed two Expert knights solo. Think you can handle that?"
"If I set my mind to it."
His sharpest blade was gone. Not just any top Expert—lifelong loyal knight from his mother's side, unlike Alder knights. Best among those handling dirty work privately.
'Bent over once already.'
Let it slide, no grudge. But rejected. His half-brother, second son Millein, holed up like a rat since.
Would've been cleaner to kill him. Jeron bit his lip unconsciously.
Sernos spoke.
"Might be far stronger than you think."
"...Licht Sientia."
"No idea why he uses that name over Barbalte... but Count Fredriksen must've swayed him well."
"Still a green kid, not even mid-twenties. Dozens of knights and mages at the main house—Werner wasn't our only Expert."
No matter how strong, can't take a nation alone. Need Evan Barbalte, Arhen's Swordmaster, or Palenia's top Executor for that. His faction had many retainers favorable to him as eldest son, even neutrals. They couldn't command directly, but if attacked solo, they'd defend the house to the death.
"Don't rush. Better sure than sloppy."
"The ritual's not even done."
"Failed, though."
"You said ship to the Holy Kingdom recently..."
"How would I know His Holiness's will?"
"No games. Archbishop Sernos, how long until—"
Then—
Creeeak.
The door flew open. A fainted man collapsed below—a guard knight. Jeron's face twisted.
'Ambush?'
Guard taken out unnoticed—silenced before alerting.
Step, step.
Footsteps before thought finished. Jeron slowly raised his head.
First sight: pristine white armor. Executor emblem. Number 7.
"Palenia's... Executor...?"
"Long time, Sir Kars."
Jeron gasped in shock. Sernos greeted calmly, as if expecting.
"Archbishop Sernos Decart."
Kars was already upon them.
"His Holiness's order: capture or execute Licht Barbalte."
His Execution Sword gleamed coldly in moonlight.
"This is not a request—it's a command."
Sweeping down his pure white holy sword, he demanded,
"Where is he now?"