The Theft of Sacred Relics — A Mirror of the Kingdom’s Rot
Howard, eyes narrowed in that signature analytical glare, stood motionless as the door to the interrogation room clicked shut. There, exactly as he had pictured in his mind’s eye, two figures sat bound hand and foot—fettered not by ordinary chains but by iron links deliberately soaked in sacred holy water. The moment the power touched their skin, faint blue currents of divine light pulsed outward, wrapping them in a crude but effective restraint. It was no mere gesture of binding; every movement they made sent the chains clinking and the light flaring.
“Speak plainly,” Howard said, voice crisp and military. “Answer every question truthfully.”
The man on the left—a tall figure with a smirk already forming—let out a theatrical sigh. “Hah. To be captured by the servants of the Goddess in such a manner…”
“Even a servant like that cannot stop that tongue of yours,” his companion muttered, trying to twist his wrists free.
Howard’s brow furrowed deeply. He shot a quick glance at the woman seated nearby, then gave a single, decisive nod.
“Begin the interrogation.”
“Good,” Mirael replied, smoothing her black nun’s habit with one hand while her other rested lightly on the hammer she carried at her hip. “Let’s begin.”
For the next hour and a half the interrogation stretched on—questions, threats, holy-water-soaked chains applied with surgical precision. When it finally ended, the conclusions the two leaders reached were the same.
“They’re operating like a well-disciplined network,” Howard said, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “They only know their own assigned tasks.”
“Agreed,” Mirael added, voice tight with frustration. “No broad strategy, no timeline. Just… chaos. The sort of chaos we’ve been seeing for months.”
Howard and Mirael exchanged a long look, the weight of shared understanding passing between them like an unspoken oath.
“It’s no surprise that a cult that worships evil gods would try to sabotage our kingdom,” Howard continued. “But we need to know exactly what they’re after.”
Mirael straightened her posture. “Then we pull every available investigator. Double the manpower if we have to. These people must be stopped before they burn the kingdom down around us.”
“Agreed. We move on that plan immediately.”
The meeting of the Saintess and the heads of the Heresy Inquisition finally wound down. Both leaders rose, exchanging one last nod of resolve.
“We will bring the two men you captured here to the Holy Kingdom for questioning,” Howard said. “And we will also take the girl, Ardia. That village incident has dragged on long enough.”
The strange series of events in Charlos village had finally reached its conclusion.
***
Luke had been busy. For more than a month he had moved without pause—taking on missions that helped the people of the Holy Kingdom, negotiating with nobles, investigating minor heresies, and building alliances wherever he could. The result was visible in the way people now spoke his name with a mixture of awe and relief. His reputation had spread like wildfire through the capital and beyond.
And then, one morning, the city woke to a new mystery.
Luke paused outside a modest apartment building in Saint Deur, the morning light catching the tattered edge of his coat. A soft sigh escaped him.
“Uuu…”
Mirael, leaning back in her chair inside his quarters, stretched her arms overhead with an exaggerated groan. “I’m about to die from how busy the Cult of Emotion has kept me, and now this? A thief? What kind of nonsense is this?!”
Luke set his bag down and studied her for a moment, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
“The security here isn’t exactly lax, is it? Yet someone still broke in.”
Mirael’s eyes narrowed behind her sunglasses. “I know, right? It’s completely unacceptable!”
She launched into a long, exasperated monologue about broken security protocols, missing wards, and the sheer incompetence of the palace guards. Luke listened, letting her vent, until the words finally settled.
Thieves. Sacred objects. The kind that could only be the work of someone with insider knowledge.
He closed his eyes and let the memories of his old life surface. In the game, the Holy Kingdom had been one of the most unstable factions—plagued by internal corruption and the quiet disappearance of priceless relics. The items had surfaced, one by one, on the black market, fetched exorbitant prices from collectors and warlords alike. Even the random event relics that sometimes dropped in auction houses had been stolen more than once.
“…So that’s it. This kingdom is suffering because of exactly the kind of problems the game tried to simulate.”
A soft rustle made him open his eyes. Mirael had already dropped into the chair across from him, feet swinging.
“Luke-nim. Let’s figure this out together. Who would steal three relics from the Holy Kingdom in such a brazen way?”
“Three?”
“Yes! They didn’t even stop at the first one. St. Adrianne’s earrings, St. Homeliel’s staff, St. Fabien’s spear…”
Luke’s eyebrows rose. “St. Adrianne, St. Homeliel, and St. Fabien… the Twelve Apostles of Goddess Ramiria?”
“Exactly! They picked the best ones like they were choosing desserts. You’d better watch yourself too, Luke-nim. St. Lumenis’s relic is particularly valuable—if you get caught stealing it, you’re finished.”
Luke glanced down at the ring on his left hand, the one Mirael had lent him. The faint glow of divine power inside it reminded him of his own responsibility.
“I’ll remember that.”
Mirael leaned forward, voice dropping. “So… who do you think did it?”
Luke thought for a long moment. In the game, the thefts had never been front-page news. Everyone assumed the kingdom was simply decaying, and the relics were simply another casualty of that decay. But the timing, the precision, the way the items kept appearing on the black market… something about that pattern felt wrong.
He remembered the old player note he had once seen in a forum thread—an internal discussion that had been circulating among veteran players.
“The relics are leaking outward. No matter how you look at it, the only way this makes sense is if someone inside the kingdom is involved.”
The Saintess of Light, St. Lumenis’s ring, the very relic he carried on his finger, felt suddenly heavier.
“So… an inside job?” he asked.
Mirael nodded. “I thought the same thing. But the people capable of doing this are not the sort you find in one or two places. They’re organized. Dangerous.”
Luke rose slowly, the faint smile returning. “Then let’s find them. I’m not busy right now.”
***
Howard’s office on the second floor of the Heresy Inquisition building was quiet, the air thick with the scent of old parchment and polished metal. Luke stepped inside and was immediately enveloped by a small whirlwind of pale crimson hair and red eyes.
“Luke-oppa!”
Ardia launched herself at him the moment he crossed the threshold, wrapping her arms around his waist in a fierce hug. The girl who had once been nothing more than a trembling street orphan was now a confident, smiling teenager who treated Luke like her personal guardian angel.
“Ardia,” he said, ruffling her hair gently, “I told you—hugs are only allowed after I’ve given permission.”
“Ehehe~ But you like it when I hug you, right?”
She nuzzled her cheek against his chest, completely unashamed. The two had grown far too close in the last month, and Luke found himself both amused and a little flustered by the situation.
From his floating position near the ceiling, Cheon Baek-gyeong’s voice drifted down like an old man grumbling over a bad bottle of wine.
“Tsk. First Nia, now this girl? You’re collecting trouble like it’s candy.”
Luke simply plucked the ancient sword spirit from the air and deposited him gently onto a nearby chair with the same care one might show a misbehaving child.
Howard cleared his throat, straightening his glasses. “Saintess Mirael mentioned the thefts. I assume you’re here to assist.”
“I am,” Luke replied, taking the folder of reports Erin had prepared. “Tell me everything.”
He read in silence. Three relics stolen within ten days. St. Adrianne’s earrings first, then St. Homeliel’s staff five days later, then St. Fabien’s spear. The pattern was almost too perfect—too regular.
Howard rubbed his temples. “We’ve already narrowed down a list of possible insiders. It’s long.”
Luke’s eyes narrowed as he flipped to the final page. There, in Howard’s neat handwriting, was a small sketch of an unfamiliar symbol.
“An inside job,” Luke murmured. “That would explain the speed and precision.”
Howard sighed. “We thought the same. But the symbol doesn’t match any known language in our archives. The scholars we’ve consulted are all baffled.”
Luke stared at the drawing for a long moment, then tilted his head.
“…I know this.”
Howard raised an eyebrow. “You do?”
Luke smiled, small and knowing. “It’s the script of the Dark Elves. An archaic, seldom-used language even among them. They stopped writing it centuries ago.”
The room fell silent for a beat.
Howard leaned forward. “You’re certain?”
“Positive. I’ve seen the characters before—on old elven ruins and in forbidden texts. They’re not common. Whoever wrote that symbol knows exactly what they’re doing. And they’re not just stealing relics anymore.”
Mirael, who had been listening from the doorway, stepped fully into the room. “Then we have a lead?”
“We do,” Luke said, eyes gleaming with the familiar light of a gamer who had finally remembered the real game behind the game. “We don’t need to chase rumors or guesswork anymore. We follow the trail left by the thief himself.”
The young man from the slums who had once been an orphan in the streets of Riana now stood between the Saintess of the Holy Kingdom and the head of the Heresy Inquisition, the Ring of Saint Lumenis glowing softly on his finger.
The kingdom’s rot had finally found someone who knew how to cut it out.