Purple Flame (2)
Five carriages raced down the highway at regular intervals. In the lead, four cavalrymen split into two pairs, taking turns scouting and standing guard. Holy knights rode in the first and last carriages, while priests traveling on papal business—including Bishop Alquin—occupied the second and fourth. Though the poison had been purged from his system, Bishop Alquin's body wasn't fully recovered yet, so he required the assistance of his attendant priest.
Isaac, Raphael, Enet, and Beltran rode in the central third carriage. Enet rubbed her itchy palms, where fresh skin was growing back. She sat blankly, watching for cues, oblivious to their destination or purpose. Beside her, Beltran stared into emptiness. He didn't respond even when Isaac spoke to him, ignoring Enet—the girl he'd admired enough to send letters to—with equal detachment. His face, unfit for a fifteen-year-old boy, was one of utter resignation to life.
"Aren't you worried about not bringing your escort knight?" Raphael suddenly asked, gazing out the window.
"Why worry when the inquisitor himself is here?"
Isaac had sent Carlson back to Binvelt. With Boatmer Viscount liable to strike again at any moment, Bessimer alone wasn't enough. As a great warrior, Bessimer could boost the soldiers' morale, but he had no head for camp logistics, hierarchy, command, or leadership. Bill, once Nears' boss, was quick with numbers, but even he couldn't wrangle Bessimer and the battle-hardened troops. For Binvelt to survive the winter, either Isaac or Carlson needed to stay at the camp.
"I'm a man of the Church. If the Church treats the baron with hostility, I'll have no choice but to do the same."
"Don't worry. I've got Enet here."
"Me?"
Enet jumped at the sound of her name from Isaac's lips.
"Hm." Raphael eyed her skeptically.
"Mage. The baron says you have faith. Is that true?"
"F-faith...?"
Enet echoed the unfamiliar word, glancing at Isaac for guidance.
"Y-yes, of course."
At Isaac's nod, she bobbed her head vigorously.
"Wh-when I was ten... I was baptized at Bernsi's cathedral."
"Oh? And your baptismal name?"
"...Ilidor? Ilido... something like that. I don't really remember..."
"Ilidor?"
"Ah, yes! That's it."
"Hm. It means 'light bestowed by God.' When did you learn you had divine power?"
"Pardon?"
"Ah, divine power must be new to you. Let's call it light magic instead."
Raphael seemed deeply interested in Enet's light magic—it tied directly to his faith and worldview. Since their conversation in Yegona last night, he'd been eager to test her piety. He wouldn't get the answer he wanted, though.
Was it around this time?
Leaving the flustered Enet be, Isaac recalled a chapter from the distant future's History of Religion.
If memory served, it started this winter in the Pope's Domain. Bizarre events began unfolding. High-ranking priests burst into flames one after another. Bishops, archbishops—even cardinals. Even the revered monsignors, who'd devoted their lives to the old faith. All met the same end.
Flames erupted from their bodies without warning. They weren't near fire, nor was there any cause for ignition. Some perished mid-sacrament, others while preaching to the faithful, blessing relics, or greeting imperial envoys. Once ignited, no one survived. The fire wouldn't extinguish no matter what, and amid horrific screams, they melted away in seconds.
Witnesses all described the flames' color. A vivid purple that haunted their closed eyes and dreams. The fire consumed only the victim's flesh, vanishing like a lie once the body was ash. Conversely, it burned relentlessly until total incineration.
At first, the Papal Court dismissed the incidents as accidents or spun pretty tales: a candle mishandled, or God calling the faithful home early. But those who'd seen priests writhe and scream in agony couldn't swallow it. If God had called them, why the torment?
The Church's next claim: sinister mages, heretics at work. Mages in the Pope's Domain were dragged to underground interrogation cells. Some confessed to nonexistent crimes under torture or died. Terrified mages gave false admissions, letting the Church pin it on "evil sorcery." But that narrative crumbled quickly.
The Inquisition discovered a pattern among the purple flame victims. All had abused God's name for corruption: simony, indulgences for profit, sexual exploitation, embezzling church funds, massacring innocents for political power. By winter's end, eleven had burned to ash in the Pope's Domain. Six innocent mages sacrificed in the Inquisition.
"...I hear dozens of mages have been arrested. The Pope's Domain is conducting mass interrogations of them."
"B-but I'm heading there now."
"Five victims already. If another appears after you arrive, you'll be under suspicion too. Be careful, mage. His Eminence the cardinal won't spill innocent blood, but getting caught in the dragnet—who knows?"
Raphael's tale had shifted to the Pope's Domain crisis.
"It's a poor time for you to visit. Heir of a mage house and his personal mage."
"Is that so."
Isaac nodded impassively. In truth, it was the perfect time. He had something to gain from the cardinal amid this chaos—not just denouncing Boatmer's atrocities and leveraging the cardinal's authority against him.
"I don't know why you so badly want to see His Eminence, but tread carefully, baron."
"Surely the flames won't reach a magicless wretch like me."
Isaac jested at Raphael's repeated warning.
"We're done for, young master."
Enet whimpered, clutching her head. Dimegtrium handcuffs bound her wrists—as they did Isaac's.
Damp air reeked of mold, urine, and feces. Dim torchlight flickered along the narrow corridor. Emaciated prisoners, skeletal behind iron bars, watched their procession pass. Their eyes lacked focus.
Kwaaaah—
Intermittent screams echoed like hallucinations, genderless. Chains rattled amid torch crackles, ragged breaths, nose-blows, and mumbled prayers.
"In."
The guard shoved Enet and Isaac into an empty cell. Bloodstained walls, scattered chains. The gate clanged shut.
"Eugh—"
Enet recoiled. Prisoners weren't the only residents. Rats, cockroaches, maggots swarmed visibly—thanks to the previous inmate's filth and scraps.
Horrified, Enet froze, afraid to touch wall or floor. Goethe Manor had been cold enough to deter pests, never this filthy.
"Huh. Feels familiar."
Isaac plopped onto the floor nonchalantly. Compared to his family's underground vault from decades past, it wasn't so bad.
"What're you waiting for? Sit. Standing'll cramp your legs."
"Y-young master, doesn't it bother you? You have a plan, right? Right? It won't happen to me too, will it?"
Enet had always followed Isaac blindly, never questioning. But her eyes gleamed with fear—she'd glimpsed a mage condemned as heretic and burned at the stake en route here.
"I'll vouch for your status. Don't worry."
At least, that's what the inquisitor had said. Up to then, the Pope's Domain had been a spectacle worth seeing.
Pilgrims thronged dusty roads toward the holy city, flags bearing saints aloft. Papal troops in gleaming armor and helms. Marble squares and restored ancient cathedrals blanketing the white stone expanse. The cityscape, steeped in God and man's history, inspired awe.
Passing checkpoints into the grand cathedral: golden marble pillars, soaring ceilings and arches, vast tapestries embroidered with scriptural scenes, frescoes filling the dome. Sunlight through rose windows cast rapture; chandeliers, icons, altars, myrrh incense, choral hymns... It proclaimed a space shared by God and man.
Enet forgot to breathe; even Isaac, seeing it beyond books, wondered if God truly resided there. It could kindle faith from nothing.
But the wonder faded fast. Raphael conferred with a priest. What seemed protocol dragged on; the priest's face hardened. Fleeting glances alerted Isaac and Enet to trouble.
Holy knights encircled them.
"By order of the Inquisition, all mages and associates are to be imprisoned."
"These are visitors seeking His Eminence Cardinal Vincenzio. Detaining innocent guests violates procedure."
Raphael protested, but the priests didn't flinch.
"You know the Inquisition's orders are absolute, Inquisitor."
After scuffles, Raphael was helpless. As an inquisitor, Inquisition commands bound him.
"The situation's graver than thought. It may take time. But wait, and I'll ensure you see His Eminence."
With that promise, Isaac and Enet were hauled from the worship hall to the Inquisition's underground cells.
How many days passed in darkness, stench, screams? Enet, once avoiding walls, now sprawled on the floor. Cockroaches and rats passing her nose barely startled her. Time had dulled her.
Meals were meager—black bread and water, once a day by feel.
"Eight meals means about eight days."
"Are we... going to die?"
Enet's voice held resignation. The environment reshaped her fast. She'd once shuddered at the corner bucket for waste; now she used it shamelessly, darkness her shield.
"Don't say that over the bucket."
"Nothing comes out anymore."
"I don't wanna know."
"E-even if I die, I won't blame you, young master."
"..."
Isaac watched a plump cockroach scuttle by, its glossy dark shell gleaming from good feeding.
Took longer than expected.
Prolonged cuffs dulled his wrists. No food, yet his body grew heavy, mind foggy. But via wolf king's senses, he monitored outside perfectly.
Tonight, then.
He predicted—and was right. Day or night unknown, but Enet dozed at her usual hour. The cell was tomb-silent. Some prisoners dragged out never returned.
Suddenly, stealthy footsteps approached his bars.
"Are you Baron Binvelt?"
A hooded man asked in a voice aged by years.
"I am."
"Why come here of your own accord?"
"I know who ignites the Purple Flame."
"...Who?"
"Could you come closer?"
The man approached the bars. Pale jaw visible under hood.
"It's you. Cardinal Vincenzio."
Isaac whispered.