Chapter 251
Chapter 251
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 251
Chapter Title: Secret Operation: Judgment
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The Inquisition Keep was bustling with more inquisitors than ever since its founding. Following Abbot Beorn's total mobilization order, every inquisitor—regardless of rank—had been confined to headquarters.
Even the Religiosa Demonica were keeping their voices low amid the eerie atmosphere permeating the monastery. History's largest gathering of agents filled the space, yet paradoxically, the monastery was quieter than it had ever been.
In the inner chambers of that monastery, a Religiosa Demonica monk was walking. It was Zephys, a massive man heading into twilight years.
*Knock knock.*
"Who's there?"
"It's Brother Zephys."
"Come in."
The door to the abbot's office creaked open heavily with a noisy hinge. Zephys paused for a moment in the doorway. Beorn, with dark circles under his eyes, was buried under a pile of documents.
The abbot's enormous desk was cluttered with stacks of papers in disarray—a sight unseen from the usually meticulous Beorn, who handled reports with ironclad precision.
Zephys glanced at the document in his hand. Was it morally right to hand this over? The hesitation was brief. He placed the report on the desk and stood before Beorn.
"What is it?"
"A proposal for an operation."
"By papal decree, all operations from headquarters are on indefinite hold. Leave us."
"Then why haven't you retired to your chambers, Brother?"
Zephys pulled a chair from across the desk and sat. Beorn offered a teacup; Zephys nodded lightly in thanks and took a sip.
"How long has it been?"
"Three days."
"You're not a Religiosa Demonica, Brother. If you collapse now, the monastery is finished."
Beorn chuckled dryly at his words. If the absence of one man could collapse the entire organization, that was a systemic failure. Zephys's remark felt more like criticism than concern.
The Pope's ban on heresy investigations was an understandable decision given the circumstances. Such probes inevitably required cooperation from secular kingdoms. They might not see it as cooperation, but eradicating heretics and conducting investigations solely on the Church's authority was nearly impossible.
Secular nobles, socialites closely tied to them, heretics hiding in back alleys and shadows disguised as ordinary folk—to burn them all required both justification and pragmatism. And the Church, since the Ecumenical Council declaration, had suffered its greatest loss of secular authority.
Attempting heresy investigations now could unnecessarily provoke the royal houses. The eastern kingdoms already suspected the Beitasser Church, and after the Shilde Church violated the neutrality pact, the Church's prestige was plummeting critically.
At this rate, the Inquisition would cease to exist. Their primary justification for rounding up commoners and executing heretics had been the Church's neutrality.
Yet, precisely because of that, Beorn's overwhelming workload seemed odd. With the Inquisition crippled, what could possibly keep the abbot so busy?
"Let's see. Heretic investigation request in the Palgas Plains. Serial disappearances in Wolfrime City. Hm. This one's from the Garden region. This is troll work."
"...Brother."
"You're sorting heresy cases. What's the point? We can't even launch investigations right now."
"Brother. If we stop, who will save them?"
Beorn pushed the reports aside momentarily and spoke. He pressed his fatigue-reddened eyes with his fingers and groaned.
"I don't know when this situation will resolve. But one thing is certain. For every moment we halt, every step we fail to take, the devil worshippers advance one step further."
"Inaction in the face of good is no different from evil."
"We'll atone together later. All of us. But refraining now is to uproot a greater evil. Holy Pantheon... no. Lord Beitasser, grant us your blessing."
Beorn removed his hand from his eyes. His one good eye was bloodshot from exhaustion.
"When our chains finally shatter someday, we must at least be prepared. The heretics grow bolder than ever, and false prophets and apostates will rise against us."
"You don't have to shoulder all that preparation alone, Brother."
"Brother. What I'm doing defies His Holiness and the Curia. If problems arise later, one apostate—me—should suffice."
"Our paths have always been one. Pray we meet again."
Zephys slid the report directly in front of Beorn's eyes. Beorn slowly opened the pages. It was an ordinary operation proposal. But the destination...
"Paltennoia... Aiming for the imperial family?"
"And the Shilde Church."
The empire's capital, Paltennoia. Home to the Shilde Church's largest diocese and the heart of civilized society. And likely... the grandest nest vampires had ever built.
Sometimes, certain tumors must be carried for life. The kind that kills the host the moment it's excised. From the Church's perspective, Paltennoia had become such a tumor.
The high priests of the Holy Pantheon suspected the emperor's corruption. Not as a devil cultist, but as a vampire.
Yet opposing the emperor would rally all pro-imperial factions across the empire against the Church's authority. The fiercer the clash between Church and crown, the more 'alternative' options would emerge for nobles turning from the Church.
Corruption. Half the empire falls into the devil's grasp. And that's not all. Imperial paralysis means stagnation across half the continent's east. Trade halts, economies freeze, famine and war ravage.
Sometimes, a tumor is a lifelong curse. But sometimes, a surgeon must cut it out anyway. Declaring doom to the patient, incising a clearly fatal wound. More undertaker than physician.
"Can you bear it?"
"If the Lord wills."
"His Holiness said to wait."
"His Holiness's will is ever just. But must every shepherd tread only the righteous path?"
Beorn flipped to the last page of the report and paused. He couldn't bring himself to sign that final line.
Not every shepherd can stick to the righteous path. Some must walk the thorny road for their flock, others stray alone to shine.
Zephys's proposal could be seen that way. His request was thus:
"I've entrusted my role to Brother Fabiano."
A roundabout request for excommunication. A monk couldn't perform sacraments against the Pope's will. So, he would shed his robes, venture into the secular world, and fulfill his duty.
"That brother will manage."
"You needn't do this."
"Success in this operation will restore the Church's authority and resume the monastery's sacraments. If sacrifice is needed, and if the Lord desires it... Lord, I gladly offer."
"Brother."
"No salvation outside the Church. What of the lambs in that dark night?"
Zephys gazed at Beorn with a smiling face. Beorn closed his eyes quietly and continued the refrain.
"We who prayed to be the world's beacon, shepherds armed with blades marching ahead against evil."
"Thank you for everything."
"May the Lord guide your path."
"As it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be."
The two monks quietly made the sign of the cross. Zephys set down the report, turned, and left. *Creak, thud.* The rusty hinge groaned dryly.
Alone in the abbot's office, the old monk whispered softly.
"You take the brightest among us first. To make him a star in the heavens."
* * *
On the outskirts of Bürlang City, the Tiger Clan Alliance's legions had set up camp. The city had lost all function as a city. Bürlang had devolved into an outpost, and every action by the Tiger Clan warriors was sanctioned under the pretext of "maintaining order."
The Great Chieftain had not ordered the city's plunder. They secured supplies from the city and surrounding territories under the term "requisition," with logistics and population movement under strict surveillance by the Tiger Clan army.
Duke Sephor's proxy, Jean Lemang, had been detained by the Great Chieftain. Bürlang was no different from annexed Tiger Clan territory.
Into that tight surveillance net walked a man.
"Who goes there!"
Tigerfolk sentries guarding the checkpoint thrust their spears forward and bellowed. Travelers from the eastern trade road to the capital faced harsher scrutiny than from any other direction.
And what mad wanderer roamed alone in the dead of night? The man approaching the checkpoint carried no lantern or torch.
Like a writhing shadow, he evaded notice until he stood under the guard post's light. To the night-sighted tigerfolk, it was chilling.
And those eyes. Gloomy blue eyes gleaming from the black shadows stirred their instincts.
"Halt! State your identity and disarm!"
"Out of my way."
"What?"
The man stepped from the shadows to stand before the checkpoint. Only then could the sentries see his face. A black-haired young man. And one every tigerfolk knew at this moment.
The Great Chieftain's right hand. The asura who charged first on every battlefield, amassing the greatest feats. Rumors said he crushed a hundred thousand with three hundred cavalry alone—a legendary figure.
"Fernand... ez-gong!"
"Yeah. I'm back. Move."
"Damn, blood! You're wounded? Hey! Call the medic!"
"Medic? Just bring some booze."
Fernandez waved irritably and walked on. His signature twin greatswords glinted under the torchlight. The sentries shrank back in awe.
He looked like a warrior drawn in a picture. The tigerfolk bowed their heads in reverence and parted.
-Idiots.
Feizashi chuckled softly. Fernandez strode on stone-faced, snatching and chugging a bottle from an approaching tigerfolk on the spot.
Of course, a Religiosa Demonica's liver doesn't succumb to mere alcohol. It was all an act. Fernandez knew tigerfolk traits better than any human.
Tigerfolk are drawn to the "rough man" and the "bad boy." They instinctively idolize the "strong." As Fernandez drained the bottle and tossed it aside, the soldiers' gazes turned to near-worship.
The blood seeping from his abdomen was no light wound, visible through his crumpled armor exposing raw flesh. Yet he walked steadily, unflinching, downing booze—a tigerfolk ideal of the "lion-hearted."
Fernandez rinsed his bitter mouth with the cheap rotgut and continued.
When justification falls short, idols are needed. And Kirhas needed even greater authority. For that, this clowning was worthwhile. As the Great Chieftain's closest aide, his support would redound to Kirhas's credit.
Fernandez excelled at crafting heroes. Including himself.