Chapter 245
Chapter 245
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 245
Chapter Title: The Emperor's Eye (4)
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The heart of the Beitasser Church, 'Adelrochini'. This grand cathedral, commonly known as the 'Beitasser Papal Court', was a structure on the scale of a small city.
Every day, attendants and pilgrims knocked on the doors of the Papal Court. Monks seeking knowledge. Knights who had gathered voluntarily from all corners, and servants who worked for the priests within the cathedral. Adelrochini was a massive church equipped with all the living facilities they needed.
Beitasser. The gatekeeper guarding the entrance to the Holy Pantheon of Good Gods, and one of the vice-lords who could decide whether to seal or open the pantheon. A god's rank was fundamentally built upon the years of accumulated divinity and the faith of believers in the material world.
Thus, the scale of the Beitasser Church's 'headquarters' could never be called excessive. Deep moats and towering walls. The formidable ramparts guarded by knights whose spears and armor gleamed without a speck of dust proved the church's authority in and of themselves.
And through the deepest, loftiest corridor of that enormous fortress, Beorn walked in silence.
* * *
Beorn strode forward with one eye fixed straight ahead. Despite his advanced years, his sturdy frame still held the form of its prime, and even his simple monastic robes could not conceal his build.
With measured steps and sharp eyes, he traversed the corridor, lost in thought. What immense wealth this place commanded.
For monks, frugality was not a virtue but a duty. At least Beorn and his monastery had lived by that creed. They believed luxury and riches inevitably bred corruption.
-Dong. Dong. Dong.
Clear bell tolls rang occasionally from beyond the windows. The choir practicing hymns. The soft cooing of doves, the rustling footsteps of monks, and the low murmur of prayers blended into a serene white noise that colored the corridor.
Everything was pristine, as if severed from the mundane world. Untainted by the dust of secular life. Beorn's impression was one of sorrow.
It was the grief of an old monk who had shouldered the world's grime entirely, willingly soiling the hem of his robes in the mud as he pressed on.
"Your Holiness. Abbot Beorn Shieldbane of St. Bartholomew Monastery requests an audience."
His footsteps halted before a massive door. It was wooden, intricately engraved with illuminated verses from scripture. When the attendant at the door spoke softly beyond it, a whisper-like sound came from inside.
"He bids you enter."
The door opened, and Beorn stepped within. It closed quietly behind him.
At times, pristine simplicity was not poverty. Even in clean, austere surroundings, wealth could reveal itself. The pope's chambers were just such a place.
Never ostentatious. Never excessive. But never modest, either. Beorn gazed at the elderly man in white monastic robes, reading a book, and thought as much.
The Papal Court was innately his antithesis.
"Abbot Beorn Shieldbane of St. Bartholomew Monastery greets Your Holiness the Pope."
"You've had a long journey, Abbot. No troubles along the way?"
"Thanks to Your Holiness's concern, the trip was uneventful."
"What could an old body like mine have done? Sit. Will you take some tea?"
The pope smiled gently and offered him a teacup. Beorn sat by the large bay window overlooking the full vista of the Papal Court.
"So. What brings you all this way?"
"Your Holiness. Regarding the recent string of incidents in the Empire, I could not report them in writing and have come humbly seeking your command."
"What sort of problem?"
The pope's expression seemed genuinely puzzled. Over the past forty years—since Beorn had devoted himself to the Beitasser Church and spent those long years as a Religiosa Heretica—the pope had always worn that face.
The pope served for life. The authority of a pope, elected by conclave, was guaranteed until death. And the current pope, Paul IV, was immortal. A man blessed directly by Beitasser, serving as His earthly proxy until the Holy Pantheon sealed itself.
Thus, the current pope would reign eternally henceforth. In this era of the pantheon's seclusion, facing him was no different from confronting a living god.
"Your Holiness. Vampires have been confirmed across the Empire."
"Not just the Empire, surely. Aren't they common monsters worldwide?"
"We cannot equate vampires with mere trolls or ogres. Though not the devil's creations, vampires are unequivocally a plague devouring civilized society."
Vampire hunts fell outside Beitasser's purview. The 'purification' targets He recognized were devils, heretics, and witches alone—their enmity limited strictly to devils, their spawn, and their minions.
Thus, intervening in secular kingdoms to hunt vampires constituted interference in internal affairs on the ecumenical council level, violating the Holy Pantheon's 'inviolable accord'.
"And?"
"...Moreover. Clear signs of heresy have been detected in the Emperor himself. Your Holiness. One Heretica inquisitor assigned to a mission in the Livy region has passed into heaven."
"May the Holy Pantheon bless him."
"Yes, our brother surely finds the peace in the Lord's bosom that he lacked in life. But the secular world is not so. The heretic he pursued was, per investigation, a servant of the Emperor—or at least closely tied to the Imperial House."
Therefore, grant permission for an inquisition into the Imperial House. Beorn concluded thus, gazing at the pope. The pope merely wore an enigmatic smile.
Inquisitorial investigations prioritized action over reports by nature. Suspicious circumstances demanded immediate probes, with reports following.
Yet the target was the Emperor. Ruler over the eastern continent's civilizations. Touching the Imperial House would not remain a mere religious matter.
It would inevitably entail political and diplomatic repercussions. Hence, Beorn had to seek the pope's will first.
"This old body read those reports directly, Abbot. Have you forgotten which brother was dispatched to that region before?"
"...Grade-2 Inquisitor Fernandez."
"Indeed. Our saintly brother."
The pope set down his teacup and averted his gaze momentarily. Books lay on the table—ones he had just been reading. Coverless. Meaning documents requiring secret clearance.
"This old body has lived many years. A lifespan granted by the Lord, fully dedicated to Him. In that time, I've read and seen much. The pure, the corrupt. Without discrimination. All as means to proclaim His will, learning and living thereby."
The pope handed Beorn a dossier. Beorn took it but dared not open it. It might require papal clearance.
"Some books I've read in sequence. And among them, a rare few moved this old body anew each time. Like the scriptures containing the Lord's words and teachings."
The pope gestured. Open it. Beorn carefully turned to the first page of the report. Beneath it lay familiar handwriting.
"Lately, such books have increased, filling me with joy."
"Brother Fernandez's reports."
"Yes. A compilation from our saintly brother's first mission to his most recent operation. Classified as the highest tier of church secret documents."
Only natural. Any text describing devils warranted secret status by default.
Moreover, Fernandez's reports contained secular royals' scandals and secrets, evidence of church intervention in kingdoms, and furthermore...
"How shall we name this era?"
"...Pardon?"
"What defines an age, Abbot? Major events, like the Holy Pantheon's sealing. Or the outbreak of the Fifty Years' War. And the advent of a saint."
The reason Fernandez's reports commanded top clearance.
"The existence of archdevils—and their deaths."
In folk faiths, 'archdevil' was unknown. A concept circulating solely among Holy Pantheon churches and heretical sects. Tales of five devils rivaling gods in might.
No one believed archdevils could die. Death did not apply to them.
It equated to claiming one could slay a god. And if so, the slayer implied god-killing potential.
From the church's view, gods must be eternal, omniscient, omnipotent. Thus, it concealed archdevils' existence—and their 'deaths'.
In this era, save a few involved parties, none outside the Beitasser Church knew archdevils had been slain. That was why.
"With such a brother on the Empire's case, do you mean to overlook it?"
"You seem displeased?"
"Yes, Your Holiness. St. Bartholomew Monastery—the Inquisition—judges heresies with horizontal equality, heedless of case severity or target's rank."
"That godly zeal is a model for all faithful."
"The mission Your Holiness directly assigned our saintly brother was to direct the eastern kingdoms' gaze toward the Empire. Yet I believe, Your Holiness, that mission was not meant to ignore confirmed heresies."
"No, it was."
"Pardon?"
Beorn stared at the pope with trembling eyes. The pope was no object of faith testimony. His authority stemmed solely from the Lord's name; his divinity warranted treatment as a material god incarnate.
Among his vast powers were 'supremacy' and 'infallibility'. Supremacy: universal, complete, direct right over all churches.
Infallibility: guarantee of no error in proclaiming doctrines on faith and morals.
Powers no human could wield. If any man's words were deemed pure truth without flaw, Beorn would launch an inquisition.
But not the pope. His words held as truth invariably. A human impossibility. Hence, a living god.
Thus, Beorn must accept. Deeming his shock irreverent, the pope continued slowly.
"Brother Fernandez surely recognizes the Empire's rot and won't condemn the Emperor mid-operation. Put differently, this old body's directive can be seen as tolerating the Emperor's corruption."
"...How does that justify acknowledging heresies?"
That crux was Beorn's all. His life's stake. Everything antithetical to his values.
"The church stands at a precipice."
The pope averted his blazing gaze out the window. From here, the pristine Papal Court lay fully in view.
"Secular powers rise daily; church rights wane. Thirty years since the Holy Pantheon sealed and the Lord bestowed no direct grace. The 'crusade declaration's ripples now reach every Holy Pantheon church."
Beorn fell silent. He had requested that crusade. Upon reading Zephys's report, he had no choice but to petition the Papal Court.
Northern devil incidents summoning an archdevil, culminating in a hellgate's opening—lacking verification time, his best was 'crusade declaration'.
But it cost the church eastern kingdoms' trust. If blame fell, it belonged on him.
"I don't fault you, Abbot. Merely stating outcomes. Eastern royals doubt the Holy Pantheon Church even now, with some inquiring of this old body directly."
"My apologies."
"Tut. I said I'm not blaming you."
The pope smiled warmly.
"Yet understand the church had no alternative. And Brother Fernandez devised on-site: 'Make the Emperor the scapegoat, shifting church burden.' What think you?"
"Exceedingly cunning."
"And exceedingly genius."
Beorn felt a swell of pride. Setting sainthood aside, Fernandez was his direct subordinate.
"That brother is not yet twenty. His knowledge: merely boyhood in Cerned Barony and two years at the monastery. Bluntly, he knew info beyond his means, acted beyond his age's capacity."
"Your meaning..."
"Even deeming him an unparalleled genius, forged by the Lord as a sword to save this apostate age—it's no overstatement."
The pope indicated the report.
"First mission: slew a devil. From its info, inferred cultists. Slaying them saved Fairn royalty—and promptly reclaimed an elite eastern trade port from elves for humanity."
"..."
"In Dane Kingdom, reenacted an ancient king's legend, redeemed a fallen house. In the Great Wilderness... heh. Unsealed an archdevil and felled it within."
Page by page, the pope continued.
"In the North, crossed a devilgate, slew devils, saved northern pantheon gods—leading one to the continent. How many years? For one man's feats, half success warrants sainthood after lifelong toil."
"Two years."
"Yes. Mere two years. Time for a child to first call 'mother.' In it, he slew two archdevils, upended the continent's order. No age's feats. No 'human' feats."
"Your words imply..."
"Personal genius transcends age. A Lord-forged saint could manage. But info lacks bias. How interpret foreknowledge of unobtainable intel?"
Closing the final page, the pope declared.
"Our saintly brother is a prophet."
"A prophet... you say?"
"If he knew future events, yes. Brother Fernandez must be a prophet. And if one with foresight crafts strategy via it..."
If such a one vowed, 'I will topple the Emperor.' It would come to pass. The pope's judgment.
"Thus, Brother Beorn. The time is not yet."
The church could not judge the Imperial House now. That 'time'—their saint would herald it. And that day...
Justice would stand true.