Chapter 342
Chapter 342
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 342
Chapter Title: Immortals and Mortals (11)
-----------------------------------------------------------------
“Damn it all, magic this vicious...!”
“The Grand Seal Hall has been breached. That place inside must be hell right now.”
The Heretica, faces shrouded in masks, whispered lowly. A thick fog of magic churned across the entire Dragonspine Mountains, as if the whole range were blanketed in mist.
At the heart of St. Bartholomew Monastery lay a sanctuary sealing away demons. The sanctuary housing relics that held those demons captive—the Grand Seal Hall. There was no other way to explain the current crisis than its destruction.
The Heretica swallowed hard as they glimpsed twisted shadows beyond the mist.
Trees. But no longer mere trees that could be called such.
Even the rustle of wind through leaves, or the occasional scrape of branches, burrowed into their minds as whispers.
-Memories...
-We remember...
-Kasidor burned...
In an instant, a Heretica’s eyes glazed over. He slapped his own cheek and shook his head furiously. Stumbling back, he said,
“We retreat. Everyone, head to the nearest monastery for purification rites.”
“But Brother Albert...! Beyond that...!”
Raise your gaze just a little from the forest’s edge, where they glared into the mist, and traces of firelight became visible beyond. Starkly clear, even through the late night and thick magic. Vivid, as if beckoning them.
In that direction, toward the deep slopes of the Dragonspine Mountains. There lay the monastery. St. Bartholomew Monastery. The direction of Inquisition Keep, the Heresy Inquisition.
The thought that it was engulfed in flames, that his brothers were dying inside, made Albert bite his lip raw. Rage surged moment by moment; he wanted to hurl himself forward right then.
-Crack!
The handle of the torch he gripped crumbled. Jolted by the numb sensation, Albert flinched. Tendons writhed like snakes along his right forearm. This was no mere anger. Something far more vicious—a demon’s corruption—was exerting influence through his emotions.
“We retreat.”
“Brother!”
“No changing orders, brothers. Suicide is no martyrdom. Brother Chirillo, how long since the last support request came in?”
“Five hours have passed.”
“Brother Barsimeo, request all Heretica near the mountain base to regroup after retreat. This calls for Demonica brothers. Brother Dermot, find the Demonica brothers right now... no, find Brother Fabiano. Everyone regroups at the rendezvous point after purification rites. You have five hours.”
“Yes, Brother.”
The Heretica fled the forest at once. Albert lingered last, guarding the rear of his sprinting brothers as he withdrew slowly. Just before leaving, he glanced at the red smoke rising beyond the distant mountain.
-Kasidor burned...
-We remember. You killed us...
“Though we pass through the valley of death, we are the foremost swords.”
-Why didn’t that prayer save us?
-You’re a murderer. You’re a killer. A murderer.
-Please, priest, I don’t know anything...
-Kasidor burned...
Flames erupted before Albert’s eyes. Flames in the shape of a dying boy’s face. Weeping blood, rubbing against his legs, pleading with that voice.
His lip tore ragged from biting too hard. Albert spat blood and whirled away, sprinting off.
-We remember...
He didn’t stop until the whispers faded. When he finally crossed the forest’s edge at last, a dry, madness-wracked laugh echoed like an auditory hallucination from the shadows behind him, growing distant.
* * *
“Brother, this is a Class 1 heresy uprising. The monastery is burning.”
The city closest to Inquisition Keep was Merlinport. Villages dotted the path from the city to headquarters, but for the priests scattered across the eastern kingdom to assemble, a major city’s infrastructure was essential.
Thus, an unprecedented number of Inquisitors had gathered at the Beitasser Church in Merlinport. Enmagicka, Heretica, and Demonica besides. This many could overwhelm a nation in force and authority.
Yet no matching morale shone in the priests’ eyes. Mournful sighs and sorrowful prayers followed one after another. To them, the monastery was no mere place.
St. Bartholomew Monastery was home and haven, school and symbol of faith. Inquisitors handled the material world’s most horrific sites and atrocities, and for such men, headquarters alone was their sole cradle.
Its loss meant the fall of their last safe harbor. The priests—rare for Inquisitors—prayed in dazed despair.
But the Grade 2 officers, assuming command roles, had to interpret this differently. They had no time to grieve. Their reality was colder and sharper than the priests’.
“Brother Marco. Can we view this crisis as the loss of the Grand Seal Hall?”
“Likely so, Brother Fabiano.”
“If so, where do we draw the containment line?”
“Hell’s magic will linger for a week, marking Merlinport as a danger zone. After that, evacuate all of Fairn.”
“Lord...”
Fabiano crossed himself with a short sigh. Clutching his brow, he drummed the table.
“Is there a way to contain it?”
“The full Enmagicka must seal the Dragonspine Mountains. We can block hell’s magic from scattering into secular society, but...”
“You mean we can’t stop the freed demons.”
“Precisely. Someone must purge them inside. Not a single one can escape.”
“There are thirty Demonica brothers here.”
“It must be total extermination, not mere repulsion. Half to hold the seal’s perimeter, the rest to lead strike teams inside.”
“Wait, brothers. Entering the interior is impossible.”
A sharp-featured man interjected between Fabiano and Marco.
“We’ve lost [Saint Anthony’s Chalice]. We can’t reinforce Demonica brothers anymore. At this point, there’s no reason to expend Demonica brothers purging interior demons.”
“Brother.”
“Brothers, stay calm. We must think rationally. Seal the Dragonspine Mountains entirely, then intercept any escaping demons. That’s logical.”
“Don’t correct Brother Marco. We’re no strike force. This isn’t a purge op.”
“Then...?”
Fabiano eyed the Heretica with sunken gaze. He rose slowly, scanning the room. Every priest watched him now.
“This is a rescue op. Our priority, before enemy annihilation, is saving the brothers stranded inside.”
“But...!”
No chance brothers survive that hell. The Heretica started to say it but drew breath and shut his mouth. A fact everyone knew, yet none dared voice.
Avoiding Fabiano’s gaze, the Heretica lowered his eyes. Fabiano’s solemn eyes seemed to proclaim.
One possibility, however slim. If it exists, they won’t stop. This is no futile struggle. It’s the Inquisitor’s way of life.
Has the world ever not been hell? In this brutal realm, they swore to be civilization’s foremost beacon, the breakwater against roughest waves.
They’re no suicidal moths seeking martyrdom. They advance to certain death believing their sacrifice secures their brothers—
And that when the last brother breathes his last, the world grows more peaceful. Staking all on that faint hope, they’ve burned as firewood against the world’s darkness.
No different now. Far off, their brothers await. Their home. Their grave, cradle, refuge. And there—
Demons lurk. Reason enough for these priests to march. Fabiano silently shed his cassock. The worn fabric billowed into his hands.
Every priest in the cathedral saw it. Men in identical cassocks. Embroidered keysword and torch on the back—Inquisition Keep’s seal. Fabiano raised the ragged cloth like a standard atop the podium and spoke.
“We tread the mire, advance into darkness. We swore not to be sheep, but lions. Brothers, didn’t we swear to be our own lamps?”
He met each priest’s eyes, pausing. Even Demonica aren’t lightly schooled. Closer to death than any, they choose cheer instead.
All priests master basics: Scripture to church history. Fabiano too spent non-mission time reading and praying.
Inquisitors first and foremost church priests. Thus, one Scripture verse outshines ten speeches. So thinking, Fabiano spoke.
“In the world you have tribulation, but take courage; I have overcome the world.”
“Rejoice, rejoice. Glorious Lord, who works among us.”
Verses all headquarters priests knew. They softly echoed Fabiano’s words. He nodded briefly, continuing the prayer.
“Fear not, for the Lord is with us. Marvel not, for He is your God.”
“Truly, the Lord will strengthen you.”
“We are the Lord’s foremost blade, sharpest blade, roughest blade.”
“Advance righteous. Truly, the Lord will strengthen you.”
As prayer continued, Fabiano met the priests’ eyes. He smiled faintly, reciting another favorite from the Grand Canon.
“Do not think I came to bring peace. I brought not peace, but a sword.”
“We are the Lord’s foremost blade, sharpest blade, roughest blade.”
Priests seamlessly continued, voices unbroken.
“Seeker, seek. Follower, speak. Righteous, act. The Lord comes with sword.”
“Deliver us from evil, faithful and just.”
“World full of evil, unbelief, temptation. Lord, lead us not into trial. We beseech Thee.”
“Willing, the Lord comes with sword.”
“Lord, we pray.”
The Inquisitors’ oath. Pausing before the final line, Fabiano stilled. Every priest in the church stared with blazing eyes.
With burning emotion, Fabiano chose words. He drew deep breath, whispering the oath’s end softly.
Every priest completed it with him, in unison.
“We shall burn demons, heretics, and witches.”
-Whoosh!!
Fabiano’s cassock ignited abruptly. Beneath blinding white radiance, none dared speak. Short breaths, low prayers, hasty crosses—seen, heard.
“...Macto...”
Fabiano stared blankly at his glowing cassock. As flames died, his hands held a resplendent standard, embroidered in rainbow hues. Inquisition Keep and Beitasser Church symbols intertwined massively.
Each emblem’s stitching gleamed like extracted gems; merely gazing filled the flesh with new vigor.
“The three elements of divine spell: origin, prayer, miracle...”
Enmagicka Marco gasped admiration, crossing himself. Fabiano calmed his awe, surveying. Priests had risen, kneeling on one knee, hands clasped in prayer. Fittingly so. Since the Holy Pantheon sealed, save Saint Fernandez of the Great Wilderness, this was heaven’s direct intervention.
A miracle. Fabiano nodded, hoisting the standard high.
“The Lord is with us. No salvation outside the Church (Extra Ecclesiam Nulla Salus). Brothers, march to your cradle, your Church, your faith!”
“As the Lord wills (Deus Vult)!”
“So be it!!”
The standard billowed grandly in the still air. Below its emblems fluttered a long banner, embroidered: Pectus, In Kensum. Ancient Gael for courage and sacrifice. Words inscribed near brothers’ tombs in Inquisition Keep.
Demonica: 34 total.
Heretica: 317 total.
Enmagicka: 173 total.
Inquisitors stationed near eastern kingdom, summonable instantly to headquarters’ crisis: full strength 524.
Without doubt or hesitation, they turned toward demon-haunted Dragonspine Mountains.