Chapter 49
Chapter 49
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 49
Chapter Title: Special Operation: Traveling Show
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*
“Benefactor, please eat something at least. You’ll ruin your health.”
For the past three days, Fernandez had practically been living in the archives and library, gathering materials. Kirhas handed him a biscuit with worried eyes.
The side table in the records storage was piled high with documents and books, stacked haphazardly. Fernandez rubbed his bloodshot eyes but didn’t stop his hands. Under them, a thick report was finally taking shape.
[Special Operation Proposal: Traveling Show]
Fernandez stamped the cover of the proposal and smiled. He neatly folded the map of the Dane Kingdom, covered in notes and highlights, and attached it to the proposal. It was a masterpiece crafted by Feizashi and Fernandez over three sleepless nights.
Dane Kingdom—Fernandez thought of his homeland. The Cerned Barony was one of the fallen rural fiefdoms in the Dane Kingdom. This country, which could be called his motherland, was about to become a grand theater stage. Protagonists and allies, antagonists. Lighting, sound, stage props, and scripts for every character—all were in his hands.
War would break out between Fairn and Dane, those two kingdoms. In his past life, Fairn had fallen to the Demdrizad Cult, and Dane had groaned under the tyranny of a mad old king until a young hero, Vicente II, ascended just before the Great War and barely held the Eastern Kingdom Alliance together.
But Demdrizad had fallen, and the shadowy demon cult that ruled Fairn had been ousted by Zephys. In this chaotic international situation, Infermer fell into Dane’s hands, and Fairn began preparing for war.
Even if the current situation wasn’t exactly what Fernandez had intended, it was within his expectations. Upon returning to the Inquisition after the Infermer incident, Fernandez had been drawing up plans to prevent this war.
-Crunch.
Fernandez chewed a biscuit as he thought. If the Eastern Kingdom Alliance collapsed, the Levanter Empire alone wouldn’t be able to sustain the war against the Kazrit Sultanate. And if the Kazrit Sultanate seized the front lines, then beneath them...
“Necropolis Undercatacombs...”
Fernandez recalled the continental map. The reason the massive war between the two empires hadn’t subsided for over a century was due to those bastards’ influence. That war, which twisted the foundations of human civilization, had to be stopped—but not yet.
If one of the two empires seized the central region where the Undercatacombs lay, and those things were unleashed from underground... Fernandez couldn’t handle it with his current power. The balance where the Levanter Empire held even ground against the Kazrit Sultanate’s forces needed to be maintained a little longer.
In any case, to keep the central region’s war going for now, Fernandez had to prevent the Eastern Kingdoms’ war. He chuckled at the paradoxical situation. He finished chewing the biscuit, swallowed, and stood with the proposal in hand.
*
-Thud, thud.
Beorn slowly read through Fernandez’s proposal, as if chewing every word. He kept glancing at the Dane Kingdom map and tapping the table. Fernandez waited patiently, sipping his black tea.
-Thunk.
Finally, Beorn closed the folder and let out a long sigh. For a while, he pressed his brow in silence. His monocle dangled from his thick index finger. At last, he opened his eyes.
“Is this your conclusion?”
“Yes, Abbot.”
What could a man of the faith do to prevent war between Fairn and Dane? The simplest, fastest answer Fernandez had arrived at for Beorn’s question was one.
‘The Knight King must revive.’
Or, make them believe the Knight King had revived. Assuming no political intervention from the Holy Pantheon Church, what was needed to stop this war was a hero. A symbolic one—so overwhelmingly symbolic that no other kingdom would dare invade.
“Grandiose and long-winded. You know that, right?”
“It would be, if it fails.”
“You’re confident it’ll succeed?”
“I’ve never acted without confidence.”
“Humility is a virtue of the faithful.”
“Thank you.”
Fernandez smiled. Beorn nodded at the smile. What would this young man have become if he hadn’t become a priest? Deep down, he was glad for Fernandez’s arrogant grin. He could have been a great hero—or a terrible disaster.
“Don’t expect support from the Order for this operation.”
“That’s only natural. The evidence of the Order’s involvement should be known only to God under heaven.”
“You’re a secular priest now.”
Beorn stated flatly.
“Return the Order’s holy relics and revert to lay priest status. Officially, Fernandez Cerned is no longer with the Inquisition until this operation succeeds. We’ll issue new identification papers once papal approval comes through.”
“Thank you for everything up to now.”
“Good luck.”
Until now, only the Inquisition’s priests and a handful from the Papal Court knew about the saint. From the moment it was decided Fernandez wouldn’t serve as the Order’s propaganda figure, he’d been treated as their hidden dagger.
In the end, it had been a resounding success. The achievements Fernandez accomplished in his short time were far from trivial. Truly, only possible through divine grace. Beorn stamped the proposal.
“I approve the long-winded proposal. Go see Brother Martirio to check your gear.”
“Thank you for your kindness, Abbot of St. Bartholomew Monastery.”
“Come back alive, Sir Cerned. You have much work left.”
“Macto.”
“Macto supelauodo, faithful one.”
Fernandez becoming a saint was top secret for the Inquisition. Their motto was rumors, results, and fear alone—and in an era when the Holy Pantheon was sealed, a stigmata bearer and saint was too flashy a title.
Fernandez bowed deeply to Beorn and withdrew. He grasped the doorknob and left. Creak, click. The door shut with a dry sound. Beorn sighed, touching the proposal.
“May the Holy Pantheon bless us.”
He pulled out the report prepared for the Papal Court and tossed it into the brazier.
-Whoosh.
Sparks scattered everywhere. He soon took out a fresh sheet of paper.
*
“How much are you planning to bring back this time?”
“At least more than a dagger hilt.”
Fernandez replied cheerfully to Martirio’s words, chuckling. Every mission, he returned having shattered his gear—that’s what the old monk had said. The Inquisition’s biggest expense was equipment attrition.
“Yes, make sure of it.”
Martirio smiled and placed a longsword on the table. A plain one, without any engravings. Fernandez’s face reflected in the high-quality steel blade. Did he say “come back in one piece” to every inquisitor who checked out gear like this?
“Longsword and greatsword, plus shield?”
“Chainmail too, please. A surcoat if you have one, gambeson, and barding as well.”
“Wandering knight this time?”
“It’s the most comfortable.”
Fernandez slung on a harness packed with throwing knives. He naturally drew a dagger, checked it, and sheathed it. The weapon most familiar to him his whole life was still the dagger.
“Ah, that one’s not finished yet.”
“This is plenty... What’s wrong with it?”
“The clasp is a bit flimsy. No one’s been using it, so it wasn’t repaired. That okay?”
“Nah, it’s fine. Thanks.”
Fernandez signed the checkout log and packed his gear. The heavy weight of the armaments felt reassuring.
*
The outdoor hall of chants held Religiosa Demonica monks and Abel. The Demonicas, deeply impressed by Fernandez and Abel’s last spar, kept challenging her. Abel laughed as she exchanged blows with them.
-Clang!
“Excellent!”
Abel smiled, deflecting Fabiano’s greatsword into the air. Fabiano smoothly twisted it upward. To flip the weight of that massive blade with just his wrist—impressive strength.
-Swoosh.
“Brother Fabiano is a highly skilled Demonica. What do you think?”
“Oh, Brother.”
Zephys appeared beside Fernandez, who was watching Fabiano and Abel spar. Zephys looked at Fernandez and spoke.
“Looks like you pulled an all-nighter for a few days.”
“Demonicas maintain performance for about three days without sleep.”
“Interesting phrasing. ‘Performance.’”
Zephys smirked and eyed the gear Fernandez carried.
“Mission assigned quickly. You only just got back.”
“I’ve always been a busy guy. Ah, how did that thing you went on turn out...”
Fernandez read the fatigue and sorrow in Zephys’s eyes and fell silent. He could guess without more words. The Fairn royal incident was no small matter, and quite a few inquisitors had been dispatched there.
“It ended routinely.”
Zephys composed himself and shrugged.
“I read the report on Infermer. Unbelievable. The aftermath won’t be light.”
“That’s why I can’t rest.”
“Diligence is the model for all inquisitors. Where to this time?”
“Home.”
To the Dane Kingdom. His homeland. The land of knights.
“Your homeland. I look forward to it.”
Abel, having finished sparring, wiped her sweat and approached. Fernandez nodded briefly and glanced at Fabiano panting behind her.
“How are the Demonicas?”
“Their tactics are straightforward and honest. They hunt demons, as they say. Less swordsmanship, more like rough hunting techniques. That made them tricky.”
Each strike carried troll-like power, with reaction speed and instincts as sharp as beasts. The Demonicas’ attacks were a kind of “unavoidable even if you know it’s coming”—designed against larger, stronger foes, tearing space itself if not blocked.
“Yes. It’s been ages since I visited the Kingdom of Knights. Any chance you’ll stop by the capital?”
“Probably.”
“Perfect.”
Abel’s eyes curved softly. Fernandez felt a pang of guilt watching her. After all, he was using her as a pawn.
-Do you love her?
Feizashi appeared behind Abel. He sneered at Fernandez.
-You don’t really see these idiots as brothers. Her or that beastkin wench—they’re just pawns on our chessboard.
Fernandez glanced once at Abel’s smile and Zephys’s weary face.
“Brother Zephys, sorry, but I need to prepare now.”
“Ah, I’m holding up a busy man. My apologies.”
Zephys smiled and walked away. Fernandez thought as he strode down the corridor.
‘We have no right to truly cherish or love anyone.’
-Right. Even if we did, it wouldn’t be these ones.
‘And we have no right to belittle them either.’
Since the Infermer incident, Fernandez and Feizashi’s values had clashed more often. Was it just the difference in flesh? Or something Beitasser had done when splitting their souls? Fernandez didn’t know. In his past life—as Feizashi—he wouldn’t have thought this way.
From afar came the light, cheerful footsteps of Kirhas running toward him. Light and lively. Her clear laugh painted itself in his mind. Even her bright voice.
-You’ve grown weak. Just hand the body over to me. If I handle it, we’ll achieve our goals more efficiently and swiftly.
‘We’re greedy, Feizashi. I never let go of what’s in my grasp nicely.’
Kirhas’s glossy black hair shimmered in the evening light of the Inquisition’s corridor.
“Benefactor!!”
Kirhas ran to him without hiding her footsteps—tadadah. If she wanted, she could approach even a Demonica’s senses undetected. She came to him hoping he’d look her way.
If the operation he planned was a play, this scene he’d prepared was a masquerade. With the sensation of donning a smiling mask, Fernandez faced the charging Kirhas.
Fernandez smiled and stroked her hair. Feeling his touch, Kirhas closed her eyes in delight, purring softly.
‘In this life, I won’t let anything slip away. Nothing.’
-One day, you’ll have to choose.
Deception, acting, exploitation, abandonment, sacrifice. As an archmage over eighty, nothing was more familiar to him. Fernandez glared at Feizashi’s eyes, which had appeared before him, while holding Kirhas close.
‘For my son.’
-For the kid.
He would grasp the world, let nothing escape. Even if the price was himself. Flesh was mere consumable.
*