Report on the Fall of Purity (6)
The two of them talked for quite a while. With what they'd uncovered so far, they couldn't grasp the full picture anyway. So they tried to at least outline the situation. That way, they could extract more from tomorrow's meeting with the Heretic Inquisition officials and the high-ranking knights.
Both the Church and the Empire wanted to protect their heroes. Neither seemed to have a proper grasp of the current state of affairs. But their approaches differed entirely.
The Empire had selected Cain and Lily as investigators because the two were free from the influence of nobles who could sway the royal family and the state. Cain wasn't nobility, and he never revealed his hometown—which meant he couldn't be threatened with something like, "If you don't obey, we can't guarantee the safety of your parents back home."
Lily was much the same. The White Blood Knight Order was practically an independent armed force within the Empire. They weren't particularly close to the nobles, nor on bad terms, and while they pledged loyalty to the Empire, they didn't offer the absolute obedience of the imperial army. If anyone besides the Emperor tried to meddle with them, they wouldn't stand for it. Moreover, White Blood Knights handled secret bodyguard duties. With Lily there, at least the knights wouldn't strike first.
In essence, the Empire aimed for a "completely independent investigation, influenced by no one."
The Church's response, on the other hand, seemed focused on elevating the Pope's own authority and controlling the narrative. Unlike the Empire, they hadn't assigned anyone substantial yet. The Church's and Pope's confusion was evident in how they'd essentially imprisoned Knight of Purity William and the victims at the sealed abbey.
Instead, they'd launched the "canonization" process. To elevate someone to sainthood, a comprehensive investigation into their life was required—from birth onward: every deed, action, miracle performed, and evaluation from those around them. All inquiries would be legal, unrestricted in scope, and accessible to any high-ranking Church official.
They couldn't play games with masks amid such a complex power structure. Or the Pope no longer wielded the overwhelming prestige to do so. Or perhaps they'd realized the matter was too grave to hide.
Cain and Lily leaned toward the third possibility. The Church reaching out to the Empire, and requesting escorts from the Holy Grail Knight Order—which had notoriously bad relations with the Empire's White Blood Knights—proved it. Even begging for help while the Empire nursed a headache from the daylight robber knights showed how desperate the Church was.
"Even so, that old man's something else," Cain said—not sarcasm, but genuine admiration rising from his heart.
The Pope was a shadowy politician. Through canonization, he'd justified investigations into the heroes, nipping rumors in the bud. All results would flow to him, and he'd control the spread of gossip and intel accordingly. Without this, if rumors had run rampant, his prestige would have plummeted. Now, he held the reins, even able to spread disinformation or deliberate red herrings.
If the Seven Heroes checked out, he could just make them saints. If problems arose, he could elegantly sidestep with, "Revering the living as saints has no precedent," bury the issues, reduce political fallout, and secure his own dominance.
It was a ploy because it wasn't the straightforward path. Resorting to ploys proved the Pope lacked a proper move. Canonization was just buying time; the truth lay in figuring out "what the hell happened."
“The Pope knows how to handle secret intel networks. He's stirring chaos so no one but him at the top can see the full shape. He's mixed intent and disorder so thoroughly you can't tell where one ends and the other begins.”
“What's the gain in that? 'I don't know what I don't know, and know what I know.' Saying that would…”
“Expose his weaknesses outright, so he won't. Even the Empire could use whatever he doesn't know as a bargaining chip.”
Lily, knees drawn up, grumbled. “I don't like it. We're busting our asses in the field, seeing all the ugly shit, while His Holiness the Pope is deliberately muddying the waters. Clouding our eyes too. Feels like we're chasing an eel.”
“So what? Eels hide in the muck to protect themselves. Wait it out, it'll settle, and we just stay calm. Frustrating and dizzying, sure, but we've learned plenty today. Tomorrow… we'll learn more.”
Cain tapped the plank with his fingers. Tok, tok. They'd wrung out everything possible from the current situation. Anything more veered into speculation and imagination on thin facts. Imagination was free, but preconceptions weren't.
“Let's call it. This is enough. The rest, we'll hash out with the Church folks tomorrow.”
“Understood. Good work, sir.”
“You too.”
While Cain closed his eyes, Lily rummaged through her bag for a long while.
“More to do?”
“Ah, yes. The oil…”
Her upper chest, chafed by the heavy chain armor. Lily's cleavage flashed vividly in Cain's mind.
“Want me to step out?”
“No need. Really… I can manage quickly.”
Cain turned to face the wall and lay down. No candles in the room, just moonlight as the sole light—Lily seemed to struggle a bit. But soon came the clink of metal, a pop of the stopper, and an “…Ah.” Embarrassed groan.
“What? Problem?”
“…Spilled a little.”
“On the floor?”
“Not that… but my clothes… got a bit wet. Not enough to change, but… Ah…”
Cain pulled the blanket over his head.
“Do what you need.”
“…Sorry if I disturb your sleep.”
“Not asleep yet.”
The blanket was thin, the outside deathly quiet—no wind even. So the swish of fabric hitting the floor rang loud, like rustling leaves by his ear. Squelch… squelch—skin on skin. A soft “Ngh. Hoo…” groan. The chafed spot must hurt bad. Cold oil on swollen wounds would make anyone react. Each squelch spread olive scent. The oil warmed to body heat, releasing its aroma. Rubbing it between fingers and breast would only intensify it.
“Hn…”
Cain wondered when it'd end and glanced back. Fortunately, Lily sat with her back to him, shirt discarded beside her. Long, rippling golden hair gathered over her right shoulder. Gently stroking her soft skin downward.
And Cain saw it. The myriad scars on Lily's back.
Those suffering in the chapel earlier flashed unbidden. Whip marks. Burns. Cuts. Stitches. Would an angel's back look like that if its wings were forcibly ripped out? Relentless moonlight burned, shoving it in his face: Look closely.
‘…I know because I've taken plenty of beatings.’
That's what Lily had said.
‘Should've realized the weapon was a “sword sheath” sooner.’
If the surface scars were that bad, the inside must be worse. Yet her back looked so fragile. Absurd thought. Lily was taller than Cain—long legs, sure—but never seemed small enough to cradle.
‘The olive scent.’
Cain thought. ‘Warm olive mixed with her body scent.’
So Lily glancing over her shoulder, their eyes seemingly meeting, her head tilting back with a breathy “Huuuhng,” hands languidly stroking her breasts top to bottom—tap, tap. The glistening outline shining through, impossible to hide even from behind.
‘Moon's playing tricks.’
Cain wrenched his head away. Low groans, then rustling as Lily grabbed her clothes and dressed. The sound of her lying down under her blanket.
“Sir? Asleep?” A whisper, careful not to wake him.
“Yeah.”
“I was noisy.”
“Nah.”
“You really won't?”
“Yeah.”
“Hold my hand.”
“Huh?”
His head already spinning. Cain wanted to clear it. Lily's voice was as soft as the oil.
“You don't even see me as a woman anyway. Once this is over, you'll quit, right? So before you go, can't a comrade lend a hand to another comrade?”
“Gotta be comrade-to-comrade for that?”
“…Can I be honest?”
“Yeah.”
“Bad memories keep surfacing.”
Silence pooled in the moonlight. Lily extended her hand bit by bit.
“Those scars. The wounds on the people inside… I've seen them too long. Been holding back, but… I won't sleep like this. Don't want to relive bad memories.”
Easier to refuse if he hadn't seen her back. Or her crying behind the pillar. He could've brushed it off as nonsense.
Cain kept it simple. Holding a drained person's hand—what's the big deal?
Couldn't reach from his side-lying position, so he lay flat, extending his left hand from under the blanket. Lily scooted closer, offering her right hand demurely. Slick with lingering oil, ticklish, warm, moist.
“You won't do anything naughty, right?” Lily teased.
Cain chuckled dryly. “You trust me too much?”
“I do. This is a ‘monastery.’ You'll follow the rules… like always. Right?”
“Ha.”
She was right. This was a monastery. Not some tent like the knights might pitch—this was legit monk quarters. Indulging desires here would be rude.
“Yeah. A ‘monastery.’”
“Thank you.”
“Sleep.”
Lily drifted off quickly. Her large breasts, not fully covered by the blanket, rose and fell softly. But she wouldn't let go of his hand—locked fingers tight. When Cain relaxed, so did she.
Did she naively think nothing would happen in a monastery? Or know better and say it anyway? Or am I seeing it wrong?
Cain's eyes grew heavy. Too much seen, heard today. Even the scents were alien. How much did darkness reveal, light conceal? Secrets rooted deep, sprouted evil towering too high to crane up at.
Tickling his nose: sweet, poignant flesh mingled with oily warmth. Palm filled with sticky, pleasant moist heat. Walls stone, mattress plank, pillow wooden—but beside him breathed a kind, living soul.
Dizzying. Complicated. Wanting escape, Cain sank into sleep.
In his dream, he saw Lily. Naked, body fully bared. Olive oil gleaming smooth under moonlight. But her face was missing—shrouded in shadow.
She lay in a swamp, sinking slowly. Cain grabbed, tried pulling her out. But she wouldn't budge. Instead, she held him—arms around his back, legs entwining his. The swamp swallowed endlessly, like a bed.
‘Kairos. Let's go. To the worse side.’
It wasn't Lily anymore. Shadow. A shadow in a dress. Spreading black blood.
Cain thrashed, groaned, screamed. The shadow laughed, twisting grotesquely. Breathing labored.
—It's okay.
Something firm yet soft and yielding touched his face. Warm, cozy. Like a sleeper shuddering in cold curling toward heat, Cain instinctively sought the warmth.
—It's alright. You're safe.
Something soft and hot settled over him. Cain felt himself melting. Safe here.
—I'm right here. Not leaving. Don't go. Please stay. Don't leave me.
Pleasant restraint.
—Don't abandon me.
The next morning, Cain remembered no dream. Fingers unlinked, his body soaked in sweat. Lily slept deeply, smiling like a doll by a spring window—her clothes drenched too. Such a hot night? Baffling.
Cain let her sleep.
After a quick wash and breakfast in the dining hall, as the two rested on sun-warmed rocks, the squire from yesterday approached. Face a swollen mess—beaten badly overnight.
With slurred speech, he relayed: Heretic inquisitor at 10 a.m., knight officers in the afternoon. Delayed bringing extra supplies and men.
“Have a good day.”
Cain grabbed the departing squire. “What happened? That's too much.”
The squire fidgeted, eyeing passing knights and pages. Lily chimed in worriedly. “Yes. Even for knight orders…”
“Training.” The squire smiled sadly. “We all live like this. Learning obedience, discipline… endurance. Surviving battlefields where one mistake kills. Others endured it too—I can't show weakness alone.”
“Even so, haven't seen anyone beaten that bad.”
Cain and Lily had seen squires kicked in the shins or cuffed. But not to near-death like this man.
His hands trembled. Forced smile failing. “Lord Castle likes me especially. Not just anyone becomes his squire or page.”
“Why endure it?”
Cain frowned. The squire's jaw quivered now—compelled to hurry back.
“…To become a holy knight.”
“Got it.”
The squire bowed and left. His wistful eyes looked sorrowful. Cain knew those eyes. The gaze of a packhorse dragging loads till collapse, heart bursting, dying roadside. Never rebelling even under the driver's whip.
“Are all holy knights like that?”
“No idea.” Lily's voice sank. “But that won't make a good knight. Patience is a knightly virtue… but not like that. Not like that.”
She shook her head, as if shaking off bad memories. “It can't be.”
“Same here.”
Cain rose, tapping the ground with his staff.
At 10 a.m., the inquisitor arrived. Hood half-on, he beckoned Cain and Lily. “Come here a sec. Just us three.”
Author's Note (Afterword): 4/25: Slightly refined the early part for easier understanding. No plot changes—just reordered sentences, so content unchanged.