The Spark That Burns the Entire Mountain
Vincenzio Cardinal. He was no mere cleric. In the end, he was the man who set the world ablaze with his convictions—and oxidized himself in those very flames.
For the seven days he spent locked in the Inquisition's dungeon, Isaac pondered deeply. In that time, his exceptional hearing caught all sorts of voices.
"Do you really think that flame was His will?"
"It's blasphemous to say, but Father Rodrigo's death felt more like judgment to me. The man had racked up too many sins."
"You hear about Father Julio, who burned to death recently? The tribunal's investigation says he was holding orgies with whores in the cathedral."
"The day of judgment is coming."
"I heard Bishop Torque has begun a fast of prayer. He climbs the altar steps on his knees every night."
"Cardinal Richelieu visited the lepers. He's nursing them and performing acts of atonement."
"Did you hear? Inquisitor Paul donated all his accumulated wealth to the Papal Court."
There were events inside and outside the Papal Court tied to the purple flame incident, along with unverified rumors.
"They say the pro-emperor cardinals have banded together for their own investigation. That purple flame thing. Could be the Grand Inquisitor's doing."
"Isn't that just jealousy of the Grand Inquisitor? Cardinal Vincenzio never got along with the conservative or pro-emperor cardinals anyway. He was a commoner by birth but had the Pope's favor."
"It's not just malice. Coincidentally, the Grand Inquisitor was nearby when the incident happened. No one to vouch for his innocence, either."
"As you say, it's just coincidence. Sounds like speculation to my ears."
"But it's true the Grand Inquisitor wields power like no other. Isn't it strange? No more victims since he stayed at Sankta Monastery. Pro-emperor armed monks guard him constantly."
Through these overheard snippets, Isaac aligned what he knew of history with the present moment.
Currently, Cardinal Vincenzio enjoyed the Pope's favor. His upright temperament, piety, and poverty had earned him the role of Grand Inquisitor. The Papal States brimmed with fear from the purple flame incidents, especially among high clergy. Those with even the slightest guilt whipped their own backs, climbed cathedral steps on their knees, undertook endless fasts, or confessed publicly before the faithful.
Some donated their fortunes; others sought out the sick for selfless care. Yet others drowned not in fear, but in ecstasy: cloistered monks upholding their vows piously, young priests frowning at the Papal Court's corruption, pilgrims disillusioned by faith bought with coin.
'And then, war.'
More victims would oxidize in purple flames. Pro-emperor and conservative cardinals would suspect Vincenzio but find no proof. Victims would climb to eleven. The Papal States would stain with terror and violence. Screams would echo endlessly in the Inquisition; more would die under torture than as sacrifices. Gravediggers would boom unprecedentedly; theologians would debate until coughing blood.
Clergy would tremble in dread; the faithful would spiral into madness. Then the twelfth victim: Cardinal Vincenzio, strolling the plaza, suddenly engulfed in purple flame.
But no one in the crowd screamed or fled. Strange. Despite the blaze, not a thread of his robe or strand of hair singed. He didn't cry out or thrash. He simply knelt quietly, reciting prayers.
A miracle. A sign. Gasps of awe rose from the throng. Someone sobbed in rapture. The violet holy fire that incinerated the corrupt had endorsed him. He was pure.
That day, Vincenzio became a living saint. The Pope's authority crumbled. Long-simmering resentment against the old church's rot exploded. Calls to elevate Cardinal Vincenzio to Pope grew. Rifts cracked the clergy. The Emperor raged. If papal authority fell, so would his own, legitimized by the Pope. He branded Vincenzio and followers traitors and enemies.
The Pope and Emperor declared holy war. Anti-papal forces rallied. Monarchs hating papal corruption or imperial overreach declared independence. Protestant sects, reformist clergy, republican city-states united. Commoners furious at oppression backed them.
The war dragged on. Kingdom vassals of the Empire withered. Endless troops and supplies drained them; taxes soared. Conscription, famine, plague, bandits, rebellions ravaged. Seizing the chaos, the Second Prince staged his bloody succession. Its ripples reached even Goethe. Northern fortress Winterband fell once, starved of men and supplies. Countless lives sacrificed to reclaim it.
All from this middle-aged man before him. One spark ignites a mountain.
"What are you thinking so deeply about?"
It was a voice warm as spring. Vincenzio smiled gently as he spoke. Faint wrinkles etched his pale face, but they didn't mar his handsome features. Silver hair fluttered like soft silk in the breeze; his brow, nose, and jaw flowed in perfect harmony.
"......Not used to the sunlight yet."
Isaac frowned as he replied. It wasn't a lie. From the dungeon, masked and clueless, he'd been dragged here. Harsh rays stabbed his eyes, bringing headache and dizziness. A body long steeped in darkness didn't adapt easily—especially with senses honed by the wolf king's legacy.
"Forgive me. Raphael mentioned you repeatedly, but the Grand Inquisitor's post isn't one I can leave lightly."
"Does freeing me mean your verification of me is complete?"
"Halfway. The other half, we'll confirm now."
Vincenzio's voice was low and kind. Hard to believe he headed the Tribunal. Without the armed holy knight behind him, you'd mistake him for a kindly hermit monk. Sankta Monastery's scenery was idyllic peace itself.
"A mustard seed is tiny. Yet grown, it becomes a great tree sheltering all."
On a garden bench, a young monk read a worn Bible. Nearby, orphanage children listened raptly to the gospel. He smiled contentedly, drawing soft lines in the dirt with a twig.
"See? This tiny seed grows in the soil, drinks sun and rain, swells bigger."
"Can we grow like trees too?"
"Of course. He planted little seeds in your hearts. Nurture them with love and faith, and you'll become fine people."
The young monk brimmed with warmth over solemnity.
"Nice place."
"Yes. Too nice for such talks. But it's the place I love."
Cardinal Vincenzio nodded agreeably.
"What needs confirming?"
"First, I'd like to remove your manacles. I hear you have a unique constitution. True?"
"Yes."
"Still causing mana rampages?"
"Not in the last half-year, at least."
"Theo, remove the boy's manacles."
At Vincenzio's request, the holy knight silently obliged. Isaac rubbed his swollen wrists. Skin peeled where the irons bit, bruised black-purple, but necrosis hadn't set in. Lucky.
"Now, with free hands, check this first."
From Binvelt:
Boatmer's eldest son leads a great host toward Binvelt. By rough count, at least two thousand strong.
"When did this arrive?"
"Two days ago. Might have reached by now."
"Not welcome news."
Isaac voiced his impression after reading the missive from Binvelt.
He hadn't grasped this. Too far from the Papal States for hell wolf sensory links.
"Raphael said you came because Boatmer violated duel code, assassinated second son Rutger, ordered bishop's murder, and his guard mutated. Correct?"
"Yes. I seek proof and fitting Papal response."
"But Bishop Alquin gave strange testimony. That mutated guard—Chevalier, was it? He said the flames consuming him were purple. True?"
"Yes. My exclusive mage conjured them."
"Hm."
Vincenzio exhaled slowly.
"Father!"
"Oh, Dominic."
As the young monk's sermon ended, children rushed to Vincenzio. Some clung to his legs, others hugged his waist.
"We listened good! Now play hide-and-seek!"
"I'd love to, but I'm talking with a guest today."
"Guest? Him?"
"Yes."
Curious eyes turned to Isaac.
"He came from far away. But He's child, like us."
"Does big brother have seeds in his heart too?"
"He does. But seems he's searching where He planted them."
"Then he can play hide-and-seek too!"
"Might be hard. Uncle's busy today. How about with Theo instead?"
"......"
The holy knight looked troubled.
"Theo bro can't hide good."
Children already swarmed the knight.
"Theo, a favor. This little peace rests on you."
"But I......"
"Just a moment. I'll pray with this boy and return. Baron, pray with me?"
Vincenzio rose naturally, leading the way. Past vine-wrapped columns in an ancient cloister, down stairs beside a heavy iron door etched with a cross. Children's joyful shrieks faded.
Down the stairs, damp stone walls formed a narrow passage. Flickering candles lit ancient frescoes. How far? The passage ended at an underground chapel.
"Do you have a beloved place?"
Vincenzio's voice echoed in the stone chamber.
"I do."
"Love alone can't protect much."
"Probably."
"Now, let's discuss how you'll protect the places I love."
Whoosh! The chill crypt air heated abruptly.
"First, you've learned my secret. Hear why I won't kill you."
Purple flame kindled at Vincenzio's fingertip.
Whoosh!
"This enough?"
Purple embers bloomed at Isaac's fingertip too.