Chapter 266
Chapter 266
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 266
Chapter Title: Paltennoia, The Empire's End (4)
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Religiosa Heretica. The heretics' monastery. Hunters of pagans.
Religiosa Enmagicka. The witches' monastery. Hunters of witches.
Religiosa Demonica. The demons' monastery. Hunters of demons.
In this way, the three factions based in St. Bartholomew Monastery each embodied their primary enemies. It was a naming convention hardly befitting a monastery, but it carried a certain grim poetry.
Fernandez had pondered this deeply. What if he gathered those from his past life—ones with potential, utility, and the possibility of redemption... or compromise—and formed a faction with them?
From that idea sprang the group he had organized in the enemy's illusion during his confrontation with Mumto. Religiosa Malefica. The monastery of sin. Commonly known as—
‘Wicked hunters.’
Though the details remained classified, unlike the other three officially sanctioned factions of the Holy Pantheon of Good Gods church, Malefica's inquisitors could never engage in official operations.
Their weapons belonged to pagans, demon worshippers, the fallen, and exiled mages, and their creed was survival and profit alone.
But that was for the best. Clear enmity was easier to handle than vague goodwill. Moreover, lacking official sanction meant that even if they were deployed on missions with near-zero survival odds and expended, the church suffered no blow.
Malefica dies in the operation? Evil vanishes from the world.
Malefica succeeds and slays the wicked? Evil still vanishes from the world.
No matter the outcome, it was merely the lesser or greater evil being sacrificed. The church incurred zero losses.
“Any objections, speak now. I'll convince you.”
“……”
Gripping his sword hilt, Fernandez spoke coldly. The mages, well aware of inquisitorial persuasion methods, silently stepped back without a word.
A stranger had appeared out of nowhere, demanding they join his organization—none other than the church institution with the highest bounties on their heads. The mages felt a mix of bewilderment and injustice.
Marlin, feigning composure, asked.
“Didn't you say we act on survival and profit? If you handle things yourself, our lives might be expendable, but what profit do we gain?”
“Bold words.”
Marlin flinched at Fernandez's response. If this man were a true devout inquisitor, his words were merely a judicial bargain for survival.
Follow me, and I'll spare you. That single sentence sealed their fate. Yet as their representative, Marlin had to push one step further.
A mage never sells themselves cheap. Not even their life. And Fernandez approved of that stance. A cool-headed mage who knew the basics of bargaining had excellent growth potential.
“A few years ago, I promised my subordinates money and freedom. Per-operation bonuses, base salary, freedom to maintain faith in exchange for activity allowances and subsidies.”
“Buying our loyalty in cash will cost you dearly.”
“Hah, loyalty? That's the least valuable commodity I expect from you.”
Nothing was cheaper or more volatile than the loyalty of wandering mages. Their true worth lay solely in survival and greater profit. In inquisitorial operations that risked life and limb, they were prime candidates to betray allies in a pinch.
Fernandez shook his head and said.
“Two others joined this organization before you. The one in the great wilderness was promised his life and power to rule his tribe from the shadows.”
“And the other? What did he receive?”
“Power.”
Partak of the great wilderness gained power, and Orion of the north obtained a single line of magical secrets. During the subjugation of Ksharラク스, Orion had witnessed Fernandez's combat methods, yearned for those secrets, and sworn fealty.
Extracting true loyalty from wandering mages and pagans was exceedingly difficult, and even then, without a proper leash, it was unreliable.
But power—power's logic—was trustworthy. The alpha of a wolf pack must always be capable of tearing out a subordinate's throat.
“I will grant you power.”
“Aren't you human?”
“For now.”
Wasn't that statement arrogantly presumptuous? The mages dared not voice it, but dissatisfaction flickered across their faces.
Even with spellcasting prowess that could easily land an academy dean position, that merely marked him as an exceptional mage, not a transcendent absolute.
Wandering mages were those who had kicked away their own schools on foot, craving freedom and wandering. New shackles were never welcome to them.
Yet Fernandez had an ace to secure their submission.
“Marlin. The biggest flaw in your research—the fusion curse of pyromancy—is that you only learned the magic unique to the Imperial Phileinail University. They obsess over explosions, making delicate work like fusion and erosion tricky with their mana circuit traits.”
“……!”
“So look here. If your current incantation is roughly like this…….”
Fernandez gestured in the air, and blue mana began to coalesce. The bronze throne activated, a black halo igniting behind his head.
His mudras smoothly gripped and traced the void. Everyone present was a mage, so they clearly discerned the precision and speed of his spell formation.
Proficiency impossible at such a young age. Overwhelming talent bearing the weight of years and experience. Not the impulsive passion of youth, but delicate, tenacious... a fragment of perfected ability.
Like an imperial surgeon's scalpel after decades of service. Like a master engraver's chisel after training hundreds of apprentices. A mage's mudras revealed their caliber even in a single stroke and shift.
The masterpiece of a pyromantic artist at their peak. The thrill and ecstasy as that brushstroke raced across blank canvas swept through the room.
“Replace it with this.”
Fernandez recrossed his mudras. The forming magic circle crumbled, weaving into a new spell from his fingertips. The central node's angles shifted precisely, now infused with a dreamy touch, activating into an entirely different form.
If the previous demonstration resembled a systematic gearwork—admirable for its functional beauty—
The current incantation evoked sculpting, form, and artistry woven into the gaps.
This was the craftsman. The pinnacle of a completed mage. Marlin whispered, nearly in rapture.
“That…… was the answer…… I've wasted the last three years swinging at empty air.”
“No. Your efforts built your skill. Pursuit of knowledge and secrets is never wasted. Marlin.”
Fernandez continued sternly, maintaining gravity. In truth, the magic he showed was merely a degraded version of the spell Marlin had perfected in her later years at Kalmburg Magic Academy.
The incantation she reported back then was even more beautiful—and lethally so. Not his specialty, Fernandez had merely inspected its completion. It deserved recognition as a masterpiece in mage society.
Yet even this degraded copy inspired new paths for Marlin of twenty years past. Fernandez said, a touch embarrassed.
“And where's completion in magic? Even if a god of magic existed, perfection is impossible.”
Perfection inherently contradicted itself. Could an incantation exist utterly unimprovable, self-contained as complete? One yielding identical output for identical input across all conditions?
Impossible. Even the First Realm that forged dimensions and gods, even the world's will manifest, couldn't achieve it. Magic knew no completion.
Thus—always room for betterment. Deeper mysteries everywhere, greater truths buried in the mundane. The mages of this world never ceased their quest for wisdom.
That was what mages were. As it should be.
“Desire higher peaks, crave more, and follow. I guarantee no freedom, safety, or power. Only knowledge.”
He scanned the faces. Most were familiar, save a few. Subordinates, peers, even disciples from his Kalmburg Academy days.
Outcasts, vagabonds, failures, fugitives, murderers, and heretics once hunted by all civilized society.
Their futures shone bright. Their unique magics too. He knew it dimly. And Fernandez—no, Feizashi back then—
-Had never forgotten a spell once known.
Forty years as a wandering mage meant surviving alone, delving magical secrets across that span.
One by one, the mages bowed. To the enigmatic stranger. To this unidentified youth met less than an hour ago. In essence, presence, spiritual weight. Willingly submitting to that gulf in stature.
Thus was Religiosa Malefica founded.
* * *
That late night, in the inn designated as Malefica's temporary outpost—the Shadow Academy's lodge—five groups of mages dispersed in different directions.
[You take the canal by the central avenue on Pelleril Street.]
[By force?]
[What nonsense. With mana, of course. Same for all of you. This spot, this one, this one. And this building too. Subjugate these five zones with mana. If any resist…….]
Kill them. Whoever they are. Nobles or high officials, without hesitation.
[But that endangers us…….]
[In the name of the Holy Pantheon of Good Gods, no one will persecute you after tonight.]
He won't outlive today. Fernandez said with a smile. The Malefica shared it.
Their spell research and knowledge were mere fragments, but sufficient as operation retainers. The mages eagerly departed for the assigned sites.
Five zones across the city. Points seemingly unrelated, radiating from the imperial palace. None questioned his orders or motives.
‘If the emperor plans a national-scale magic circle…….’
Its center must be the palace. The emperor hadn't left it in ages; it was nearly sealed now.
Even the lab where he unleashed plague in the capital—he oversaw it remotely. Meaning all plotting and preparation centered there……
‘Assume the palace as the core. Overlay the magic circle.’
National, imperial scale. Encompassing even the duchies under elector counts. A massive radial array. Since intuiting Urkasia's summoning circle days ago, he'd awaited only this moment.
Grasp the framework, fill details. Reverse-engineering magic circles. Basic technique: analyze and dissect enemy arrays.
At grand scale, national from afar. But with confirmed core, delineate conversion nodes, sacrifice nodes, substitution coefficients from locales—
‘Grand ritual subcategory. Assume rays extending from core outward.’
The emperor's circle was a ‘conduit.’ Souls from pre-burned corrupted villages across the empire funneled to Paltennoia's palace.
Seize the conduit's checkpoints. Yes. Those dispatched would act as mana wedges.
Disrupt the flow, shatter the spell. But was that enough?
‘No.’
Halting magic with mana wedges was simple once grasped.
So advance one step: ‘Use’ the enemy's magic. Link wedges, overlay a new circle. Signature spell [Fernandez's Reversal]. Turn foe's magic against them, forge it into your own.
“Turn the tables.”
Fernandez smirked, pulling his hood low. Alone in the emptied inn as mages scattered. He whispered low, pushing the door.
Summer's sticky night breeze whispered through alleys.
Malefica's first operation. Time to set an example as inquisitorial faction.
Burn the palace. The emperor, that demon.
The heretic.
Leaving the inn, one inquisitor strode toward the palace.
* * *
“Now, let's think of an operation name.”
“……An operation name?”
“This will be officially logged as an Inquisition operation. Gotta submit a report up the chain.”
“Have you something in mind?”
Prince Robert had said: The rotten must crumble for the new to rise firm. To endure the next millennium, topple the empire of the last.
No sweet fairy tales of rebuilding or hopeful futures for them. Malefica. The monastery of sin handled the sticky, repulsive tasks.
“The Empire's End. How's that?”
The Malefica burst into laughter. Toppling pompous imperial noble swine, smashing their corrupt sty—justice aside, it would be immensely satisfying.
“Perfect.”