Chapter 47
Chapter 47
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 47
Chapter Title: A Cleric's Stance on War
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*
Crackle, crackle.
Fernandez had been silently sipping his black tea in the abbot's office for a good fifteen minutes already. Beorn, clutching a report he'd revised nearly to shreds, could only glare at him in return.
Tap-tap.
Beorn irritably drummed the table before finally setting the report down.
"What was the very first order I gave you?"
"Burn the heretics...?"
"And after that."
"Investigate the Walker incident."
"Let's hear it again, then. Walkers turned out to be ghouls... They look similar, so I suppose that's possible. We'll call the initial investigation a mistake. Franzrit... Didn't you know that the Franzrit bloodline had appeared in the Barbes Barony?"
During the deployment of the operation orders, Fernandez had once asked Beorn if the Barbes Barony wasn't Franzrit territory. Fernandez managed his expression as best he could before replying.
"I'm not well-versed in local geography."
"Fair enough. So a Franzrit vampire just happened to suffer from Red Hunger there, you killed it, and then you received this missive from it?"
"It's exactly as you see."
Beorn tossed the missive onto the table. Words written in chicken blood, stamped with Franzrit's seal. He tapped the missive lightly as he spoke.
"Fine. So you delivered this missive to the Serpent King, conducted a heresy investigation, witnessed a dragon resurrection ritual, discovered Franzrit behind all these circumstances, a battle broke out, and in the midst of it, the Serpent King died alongside the dragon... And then a god resurrected?"
"...It might be hard to believe, but it's all in the report."
"...Tch."
Beorn had summoned Fernandez the moment he returned. He needed to figure out what utter nonsense this all was. Fernandez hadn't even had time to brush the dirt from his cloak before enjoying this untimely tea time in the abbot's office.
"...A god resurrected, burned all the vampires to ash, and then vanished, and the elf fleet abandoned its claim to Infermer and withdrew to its home port?"
"Yes."
"Do you even grasp what this means?"
Fernandez answered plainly.
"It means the Dane Kingdom might soon go to war with Fairn."
"...What?"
Beorn's gaze lingered briefly on Fernandez's eyes. He swallowed hard before pressing.
"What do you mean by that?"
"The Fairn royal family is tainted by heretical sects. Even if Brother Zephys succeeded, the national strength is far too depleted to clean up the heresy outbreaks across the kingdom—from Merlinport onward—and restore public order."
The Hundred Years' War. No, at this point, it was still the Fifty Years' War. Every civilized nation under the Levintear Empire's sphere of influence was deploying forces against the Karajit Sultanate.
Securing resource deposits, slave supplies, ideological clashes, territorial expansion... There were countless reasons, but none of that mattered now. In Fernandez's memory, the true reason this pointless war dragged on was the demon worshippers lurking behind it all.
By dispatching troops and supplies to this interminable conflict, the eastern kingdoms were slowly withering away. Public sentiment was more volatile than at any point in civilized history, and the mountainous regions teemed with bandits.
In such circumstances, the Fairn royal family needed a clear enemy. One they could show the people, one that would solidify their rule. Fortunately, the Fairn royals commanded one of the continent's strongest forces: the Royal Griffin Knights.
"The Dane Kingdom's naval power is laughably weak. They scarcely have any proper ports. If the elves of Infermer and the vampires of Serpent Isle have clashed and wiped each other out in this situation, opening sea lanes and kickstarting multiple trade routes along the eastern coast... There's no greater threat to the Fairn royals."
Moreover, with Merlinport in ruins at this juncture, the Fairn royals desperately needed a large-scale port to sustain maritime trade. Conveniently, Infermer's location was extremely close to the Fairn royals' maritime border.
All the pieces fit. The Fairn royals would soon declare war on the Dane Kingdom. As the two pillars of the eastern alliance collided, this barren eastern continent would be engulfed in war.
"...Impressive."
Beorn fell silent for a moment. He slowly met Fernandez's gaze. Sixteen years old. Far too young—for the battlefield, for combat, even for becoming an inquisitor.
Yet in his first mission, he had sealed a demon. In his second, he saved the Fairn royals. And in his third, he drove back elves and vampires, expanding the civilized realm of the eastern kingdoms.
And this insight now... Beorn paused before speaking.
"Then what do you think I'll order you to do?"
"Burn the heretics."
The politics of civilized society lay outside the inquisitors' domain. Their blades held meaning only when aimed at demons and their worshippers. If they meddled in politics, the very authority of the faith would be undermined.
Beorn and Fernandez's gazes intertwined briefly. Beorn nodded with a deep smile.
"You're a Grade 2 Inquisitor now. Brother Marco will inform you of your authority. And visit the Heretica Sanctuary. You can now choose your missions."
"An honor."
"I have high expectations for you. Go now."
"Macto."
"Macto superlaudo. Brother."
Fernandez bowed his head and rose from his seat. As he grasped the door handle, Beorn's voice came from behind.
"Ah, you. You seem well-versed in political diplomacy and engineering."
"I'm from a noble background..."
"And geography too."
"...Thank you for the praise."
Cold sweat trickled down Fernandez's back. He turned the handle as calmly as possible. Beorn's sharp gaze pierced his back.
"I'll watch you with pleasure, Demonica brother."
"An honor."
Creak, click.
Mistaking the Barbes Barony's overlordship due to unfamiliarity with geography? Impossible. Someone with that level of insight wouldn't make such a blunder. Beorn thought with a smile.
Marco had once described him as possessing a composure and cunning beyond his years. Was this what it meant to bear the Lord's stigmata, a saint in the making? Beorn took a sip of his black tea and leaned back in his chair.
Creak.
The old chair groaned heavily as it tilted. His gaze fell on the continental map hanging on the wall—a massive chart cluttered with red seals and black crossed swords.
'Lord, why not grant us just twenty more years sooner?'
It had been ten years since the Pantheon sealed its gates—a time of relative stability. The Inquisition's agents numbered three times what they did now, and heresy incidents were a fifth as frequent.
If such an agent had served under him then. If Fernandez had been one of his limbs back when Beorn was still in active service.
He would have nurtured him with all his might. Groomed him to become a pillar of the Inquisition one day. And retired laughing. Perhaps even volunteered as an instructor.
'Tell us there is still hope for us.'
Stroking the frame of his rosary, Beorn prayed. Seek justice. Look to goodness. Perform virtue. Truly, so it is.
The red seals on the map marked reported heresy incidents; the black symbols, the fallen inquisitors. It resembled flesh barely stitched together, bleeding profusely. The continental map etched in Beorn's mind looked precarious, like rags barely pieced together.
Your heaven shall add righteousness unto thee. Beorn halted his prayer, turned to his desk piled with reports, and took up his pen to draft one for the Papal Court.
Man cannot know the Lord's will. Thus, Beorn could only give his utmost.
*
'Whoa, did you see that old man's eyes?'
-Thank goodness we're not active in the same era.
'Tell me about it.'
Fernandez chuckled as he crossed the monastery corridor. His superior had a knack for dumping the toughest assignments on him.
'Stop the war without ruffling the royals' feathers...'
-Expecting that level of delicate political maneuvering from a 16-year-old brat isn't exactly sane.
That was Beorn's intent. Extinguish the war before it engulfed the eastern kingdoms—using heresy trials as an excuse. But don't provoke the kingdoms' sentiments.
Grade 2 Inquisitor authority? The power to choose missions was just a pretext. It meant figure it out yourself and deliver results, since no clear path was forthcoming.
Fernandez couldn't tell if this was a trap from a veteran Heretica agent or a genuine test of his abilities.
And it didn't matter.
He had foreseen the war between the eastern kingdom alliance long before returning to the Inquisition. And foreseeing it meant...
'We had prepared for it.'
-Show-off.
Fernandez halted at the Heretica Sanctuary entrance, spotting Allen watching him. Allen leaned against the wall, his arm in bandages.
"Ah, Brother!"
"Macto, young brother."
Fernandez approached with a smile as Allen greeted him.
"Macto superlaudo, Brother. I'm glad to see you back."
"The feeling is mutual, Brother. I heard the rumors, but I couldn't quite believe them."
"What were the rumors?"
"That you rode a dragon and massacred elves and vampires indiscriminately."
"...Haha."
Why did it have to be true? Fernandez paused briefly. Allen smirked.
"No one's foolish enough to believe that literally. But it's the kind of thing that's just too unbelievable."
"I feel the same."
"I was hoping to cross blades, but look at my condition right now."
Allen lightly shook his bandaged arm. It didn't seem like a severe injury, but unlike the Demonica, Heretica agents were perfectly, utterly normal humans. They needed time to heal.
"Rest well, Brother. I have business to attend to."
"At the Heretica Sanctuary?"
"Ah, I'm the same rank as you now, Brother?"
"...Heh."
Allen nodded. No surprise there—even half the rumors true warranted a promotion.
"Congratulations."
"I'm thrilled to receive yours first. The Abbot told me to choose a mission, and I was wondering where to go."
"No need to beat around the bush. Follow me."
Allen led the way readily. Connections and impressions were worth cultivating, after all. Fernandez smiled. In his past life, 'good impressions' had been one thing he never managed.
-No, we had good impressions.
'Shut up.'
-Hey, think about the other guys. We're among the nicer-looking black mages out there.
Fernandez and Feizashi bickered as they followed Allen.
*
Much like the [Library] in the Enmagicka Sanctuary or the [Outdoor Hall of Hymns] in the Demonica Sanctuary, the Heretica Sanctuary had its own specialized area.
The [Records Vault]. A repository crammed with documents, intelligence, and investigation reports on heresy incidents from Heretica agents and Torchmen scattered across the continent.
In this dank, musty space, Fernandez was sorting reports on the eastern kingdoms.
"Silver Benefactor, got more here!"
"Ah, thanks."
Kirhas Hearttaker, who had buried herself in the archives, rummaging through records with her whole body, hauled over another stack and laid it before him.
Thud.
Dust billowed into the air. Fernandez grimaced, waving it away, then pulled out reports to resume sorting. Fairn, Dane, Gloyn, Griken, Belthur. He arranged them by eastern continent kingdoms, then his hand paused.
"...Oh?"
[Investigation Report: Cardus Barony Abandoned Silver Mine]
Rustle.
Fernandez carefully lifted the dust-covered report. It described a series of disappearances near the abandoned mine, strange rumors leading to an investigation—but aside from bandits, nothing unusual.
-Cardus...?
'This is it.'
Here was the perfect link to the Dane royals. Fernandez tucked the report into his bosom and stood.
"Ah, done already? Can I go?"
"Yeah, good work, Kirhas."
Kirhas, who hated the dusty spots, beamed brightly at the permission to leave.