Purple Flame (1)
“How did you know?”
Inquisitor Raphael asked.
“The guard knight tried to kill not only his master Rutger, but even Bishop Alquin. It was probably meant to silence them while escalating the war through their deaths.”
Isaac laid out the reason the war had broken out and the Botmer plot he had pieced together. Botmer Viscount planned to seize Binvelt through his second son Rutger and use it as a forward base to strike at the Goetes. But Rutger not only lost the war but broke the rules of the duel. If word got out, Botmer’s honor would be tarnished, and he’d lose trust in noble society. Collateral branches might withdraw support, and even the church would struggle to back him. To prevent that, Botmer had made his move. Kill Rutger and Bishop Alquin to eliminate witnesses, then frame Isaac.
“It’s far more natural to say that a thug like me lost my temper and killed Rutger and the bishop, rather than Botmer Viscount ordering an assassination.”
“But it failed.”
“Halfway successful. Rutger’s dead, after all.”
“And to finish the job, he sent Clerk Gaspar?”
“Yes.”
“……If I’d only heard it from you, Baron, I never would have believed it.”
Raphael gazed at the bound Clerk Gaspar with a heavy heart. The old clerk had already confessed everything. His index fingernail was missing. He wasn’t used to pain. Compared to his deep-seated hatred, his flesh was infinitely frail. Just pulling one nail had made him spill it all.
Botmer Viscount had given the order. When Chevalier didn’t return even after time passed, and word came that the Papal Court was dispatching investigators to Binvelt, Gaspar’s mission was to poison Rutger or Bishop Alquin if either lived, and destroy their testimonies and letters.
“To think you’d let vengeance blind you.”
Raphael’s eyes darkened deeply. Gaspar had a young deacon he cherished greatly—one he’d personally taught ancient tongue, theology, and canon law. The boy had been sent to a remote imperial village to manage a small chapel, but the local noble ruled with brutal tyranny. Unable to stand it, the deacon confronted them and was murdered by the noble’s sons. They hunted him like wild game, driving him into the forest and telling him to run. Gaspar appealed to the Papal Court for justice, but it was ignored. The deacon was ruled dead from a wild beast attack after wandering the mountains. No effort to uncover the truth. Shadowy high clergy colluding with local nobles lurked behind it all.
To the grieving clerk, Botmer Viscount extended a hand. Fulfill my request, and I’ll avenge you.
“Was your faith that shallow? So flimsy it could be drowned in evil so easily?”
“……”
Clerk Gaspar averted his eyes from Raphael. No rebuttal. No excuses. He just stared gloomily at the floor.
“Then why didn’t you suspect me?”
“It was a feeling. You didn’t seem the type to bend to someone like Botmer.”
“A feeling?”
Wrinkle lines deepened on Raphael’s face.
“Someone who’d bow to a mere kingdom noble wouldn’t have risen to Special Inquisitor.”
“It’s not about rising to a position. It’s about being of use.”
“If that offended you, my apologies.”
Isaac apologized breezily. No sincerity in it.
An inscrutable kid.
Raphael thought, eyeing Binvelt Baron. The boy gave off a subtly roguish, arrogant vibe. Yet something about him defied dismissal. Raphael, who’d paid no mind to northern kingdom politics, knew nothing of Isaac’s rumors. He’d devoted his life to purging heretics on the Papal Court’s orders. To him, Isaac seemed far from the brute he claimed. Even the story of killing Botmer’s servant and sparking war felt off. Isaac carried the slyness of church schemers locked in internal power struggles.
“What now? The bishop seems poisoned.”
“If it’s foxglove extract as the clerk said, we can slow the spread, but full antidote is tough.”
“So we can buy time?”
“Yes. I can ease the poisoning here with herbs, but poisons usually mix other extracts to control effects. We need a proper apothecary in the capital.”
“From here to the capital takes at least three days, even rushing.”
“We must move now.”
“Hm.”
Raphael’s deliberation was brief.
“Prepare the medicine. We’re heading to the capital.”
“Is it necessary to go together?”
“The bishop’s life hangs in the balance with mine. Better if we go as a group.”
Isaac answered Raphael’s question.
One carriage and one wagon raced in line. Carlson drove the carriage, carrying Isaac, Enet, Raphael, and the tightly bound Clerk Gaspar inside. The wagon behind held two holy knights and Bishop Alquin, struggling with poison. One knight had been tasked with feeding the bishop Isaac’s medicine and nursing him.
The carriage air was heavy.
“Have you forgotten how to speak entirely, Gaspar? Not a word at all?”
“……”
Even to Raphael’s question, Gaspar stared only at the floor. He seemed to have lost all will.
“Like he’s got a muzzle on.”
Raphael turned his gaze.
“……”
Enet clutched her skirt hem, eyes darting wildly. For her, this was someone she’d never face in life—nor should. A Special Inquisitor. Terror who tortured and burned heretics. Raphael wore a black coat with a heavy iron cross around his neck. Each sharp glance made Enet shrink involuntarily. He was just glancing idly, though.
“Don’t fear. I don’t judge the innocent.”
“……A-and if guilty?”
“Judged by the sin’s weight.”
“……Eep.”
Enet bit her lip. Foolish question.
“Sounds like you’re guilty. Baptized?”
“Y-yes, as a child. W-with the head maid……”
“Confess, and I’ll grant mercy’s chance.”
“……”
“No confession? Then interrogation. Bishop Alquin says you burned a guard knight turned monster with purple flame. True?”
“Y-yes?”
Enet answered in a trembling voice.
“Are you a mage? If so, did you manifest that flame by your power? Or lean on foul forces? Speak without a shred of lie.”
Raphael stared piercingly at Enet.
“Uh, th-that’s, um…… Young master.”
Enet looked at Isaac with tearful eyes. How to answer?
“Why look at me? Ha, enough of that.”
Isaac said.
“Interfering with interrogation now?”
“She’s a maid I brought from the manor. Hasn’t done anything warranting it.”
“The bishop was terrified. Did this girl really manifest purple flame?”
Raphael spoke, eyes still on Enet. The grilling was half-hearted from the start. She looked utterly unlike a mage. Every mage he’d seen—hiding or flaunting it—carried some madness, great or small. In eyes, expressions, actions. Twisted somehow. Wielders of power too much for humans. Clergy called it divine might, leaning on faith. Mages had no such crutch. Or chose none. They clung to human values over absolutes: curiosity, lust for power, recognition, honor. Clinging to illusions—how could they be normal? Mad, great or small, just hiding it.
Enet showed none of that. Too innocent for a mage, no hint of craving. Just an immature girl. To Raphael, a mere child. Hard to believe such a one manifested Cardinal Vincenzio’s violet flame and burned a mutated knight.
Rather, his behavior screams mage……
Raphael eyed Isaac. The baron claimed a unique constitution barring magic, but Raphael didn’t fully buy it. Just didn’t matter enough to press.
“It’s true Enet protected me.”
Isaac answered.
“Care to show me?”
“H-here?”
Enet asked, face crumpling.
“Tricky. My exclusive mage can’t use fire magic right now.”
Isaac lifted Enet’s wrist. Bandaged burns.
“But if you grant one request, I could show you.”
“Request?”
“I believe Cardinal Vincenzio heads the Tribunal now. Correct?”
Isaac asked, gazing out the carriage window. Night cloaked everything. Safer by day, but the bishop’s poisoning left no time. If he died, no witnesses to Botmer’s crimes. Lanterns hung outside swayed ceaselessly.
“You know well.”
Raphael narrowed his eyes. Not secret, but not public either. Useless trivia without interest.
“Could my exclusive mage and I meet His Eminence?”
“Why?”
“Tell him Binvelt Baron has words on the purple flame.”
“……”
Raphael frowned. Isaac’s manner grated since earlier. Leisurely, as if reading some board Raphael couldn’t see.
“What do you know?”
“Just seeking a way to live. As I said, cut off from my main family, I need backing. Before the cardinal, I’d gladly show the purple flame.”
Isaac said brazenly.
“Bold words before me.”
“I think His Eminence would welcome it.”
“So that’s why you’re tagging along.”
“Among other things. The bishop matters, but losing you would be trouble too.”
“What do you mean?”
“Sorry, Inquisitor.”
Suddenly, the silent clerk muttered.
“What……”
“Hold tight! Carlson!”
Abruptly, the carriage accelerated. Hooves pounded on both sides—too dark to count.
Whoosh—boom!
A fireball arced through the dark, exploding beside the carriage.