Flames of Purification
“Enet.”
“Yes?”
Isaac had suddenly asked her while staring up at the ceiling of the inn room. It was the evening before he sent her off, back when she was glaring intently at her ancient language grammar book.
“Even without blood ties, can people become family?”
“There are plenty of families like that, aren't there?”
“I mean the kind where you'd give your life for them.”
It was hard for Isaac to understand. Raphael was willing to stay by the cardinal's side, even risking his own death.
“At least Uncle Hans and Aunt Gisela would do that, right?”
“Uh...?”
Isaac was momentarily stunned when those unexpected names popped out of Enet's mouth. He recalled memories he'd buried in one corner of his mind. Even when he triggered mana rampages and wreaked havoc, they had stayed by his side until the very end. People who reached out to him, despite not sharing a single drop of blood. The reason they sacrificed themselves—perhaps because they loved him. Isaac still struggled to comprehend it. All he could do was try to repay them. He suffered nightmares out of fear of losing them again. That dread of loss chased away the waves of melancholy and futility crashing over him.
That's why Isaac could turn as cruel or monstrous as necessary, whenever it was needed.
Raphael, is that how it is for you too?
Isaac thought, gazing into Raphael's eyes. Raphael was glaring at him—the one who had ultimately ignored his warnings. His expression screamed, So you're really going to do this. He stood guard by the podium where Vincenzio stood.
The interior of Lorenzzio Cathedral remained overwhelmingly grand. The ceiling stretched endlessly high, while marble pillars plated in gold rose like pillars holding up the heavens themselves. Morning sunlight streamed through the stained-glass rose window, casting beautiful patterns of light across the podium. Silver motes danced over the holy icons, and the faint scent of myrrh and lilies hung in the air. Numerous priests in full vestments sat alongside hundreds of believers who had come to witness the rite.
In the midst of the uproar gripping the Pope's Domain over the purple flames, seeing the Atonement's Light of the fallen saint firsthand carried profound meaning.
“Isaac von Vinfelt Goethe. Kneel.”
Vincenzio spoke in a calm, warm voice. Unlike his usual threadbare priestly robes, he wore a pristine white surplice overlaid with a red mozzetta, a zucchetto perched on his head. Silver gloves encased his hands, and he held a wooden box—the relic Isaac sought. An ancient oath box carved from gray deadwood. Inside lay the Atonement's Light, the fallen saint's possession and a sacred object.
At least he didn't bring a fake.
Isaac thought, sensing the alien mana seeping from the box.
His reason for desiring the Atonement's Light was singular: to expand his multiple circulation paths, which had stalled at six.
“Ahem. Kneel.”
Vincenzio cleared his throat.
“Ah, yes.”
Isaac, lost in thoughts of the relic, slowly dropped to his knees. Two sentiments clashed within him: wariness of when Vincenzio might unleash his magic, and anticipation that the Atonement's Light would broaden his horizons. In truth, he leaned more toward the latter.
“Isaac von Vinfelt Goethe. You did not retreat before the darkness threatening the Church. You upheld the truth, exposed the lies, and cleansed the bloodstained commandments. Now, the Papal Court recognizes your deeds and courage as a mission bestowed by God.”
Vincenzio's words for the rite avoided any specific details, as was customary. Botmer went unmentioned, naturally. No one raised objections to the vagueness. Apart from top-tier relics like a saint's remains, nobles routinely donated vast sums or entire territories to receive such sacred objects. Most in the crowd assumed Isaac was just one of them.
“The saint who left this relic once said: ‘Remember that I was a sinner. But remember too that even a sinner can turn toward the Lord in the end. I fell. I fought. I prayed. The fire I leave behind is not one of condemnation, but atonement for this land—never cease battling sin.’”
Vincenzio recited the fallen saint's final words and brought the declaration to a close.
“...Priests gathered here. Choir and knights, pilgrims and faithful. Today, we bear witness to the sign that the Lord stands among us.”
“...In this era where sin reigns, justice falls silent, and power defiles God's name, a boy of merely twelve summers has proven the truth and safeguarded the light.”
“...Here, we bestow the ‘Atonement’s Light,’ a small radiance to pierce the defilement of this land. Now, you are all its witnesses.”
Vincenzio's low voice resonated softly through the cathedral. The choir struck up a hymn, and the hundreds of believers knelt one by one in prayer. Isaac raised both hands and accepted the wooden box from Vincenzio. A chill seeped in, accompanied by a faint tremor—the mana emanating from the relic. He itched to pry it open right then and verify the contents, but there was no time.
In that instant, the air shifted.
“Sorry about this. I hadn't planned to go quite this far...”
Vincenzio patted Isaac's shoulder as he handed over the box.
Isaac smiled chillingly.
“The feeling's mutual.”
Vincenzio's purple flames manifested through orthodox magical implementation.
Proficient enough in ancient language to cast without incantation, it seems. But he still follows the basic process.
In a flash, Isaac analyzed the mana flowing from Vincenzio's fingertips resting on his shoulder.
Orthodox magic implementation followed three sequential steps: mana condensation, elemental conversion, magical alteration. The resulting flame's hue varied with the caster's mana density. To kindle violet flames, Vincenzio could be said to enjoy God's blessing in density.
Mana's First Law: Mana flows from high density to low.
Second Law: Low-density mana is absorbed by high-density mana.
Vincenzio had exploited these laws to incinerate corrupt priests over the years. It mimicked spontaneous internal combustion, but in reality, he condensed his mana within their vessels, methodically executing the three steps. The high-density mana burned relentlessly until it devoured every trace of their own mana—like striking a match in an oil drum. Few priests matched his density, and as Grand Inquisitor, he tracked their schedules to ensure they stayed within effective range.
My case is a bit different.
Isaac possessed a unique constitution. A mage with multiple circulation circuits rather than circles. While Vincenzio circulated mana through his circles in a single loop to manifest spells, Isaac's system allowed simultaneous multi-spell operation. The number of active circuits determined his mana density.
When he burned the priest in the bell tower, Vincenzio would have needed a phase change spell to hurl a violet fireball—the summit was too distant to maintain density. But Isaac had no such need. By modulating the number of active circuits, he extended a thread of steady-density mana like unspooling yarn, linking straight to the top.
That was possible because he could freely adjust his mana density. In other words, when faced with a magical attempt like Vincenzio's—pushing mana to turn the vessel itself into fuel—Isaac could absorb it at will or reflect it right back.
Kiiing—
Six multiple circulation circuits activated in unison, sending a resonant hum through his body like the wail of a soul.
“...!?”
For a split second, bewilderment washed over Vincenzio's face—an expression Isaac had never seen from him before. His features were always like sunlight in spring: serene, predatory yet gentle. But the impossible torrent of mana surging through his fingertips was something he'd never encountered in his lifetime.
Mana infused with the caster's will—magic power. It poured into his circuits and vessel without end. Vincenzio struggled to dismantle it before it could condense, before elemental conversion could ignite it into flame.
“Your Eminence...?”
It lasted only as long as two blinks. Raphael sensed something amiss in Vincenzio's hesitation, hand still on Isaac's shoulder, and took a hurried step forward to separate them.
“It was fun while it lasted.”
Isaac murmured softly.
Whoosh—
“Ah—”
With Raphael's sigh came Vincenzio's ignition in brilliant violet flames—larger, hotter, and brighter than any witnessed in the Pope's Domain.
Vincenzio had overlooked one crucial detail: Isaac's magic power could undergo elemental conversion even without condensation. That was a hallmark of the multiple circulation circuits—non-sequential, non-linear, capable of simultaneous phase execution.
The magic power scattered through Vincenzio's vessel kindled its own flames, each fragment independent. Even the power he'd forced into Isaac's body rebounded in full. Overflowing beyond what any single vessel could contain, it erupted outward.
The blaze devouring Vincenzio spread in all directions. No priestly power on hand could contain it. They herded the believers toward the exits. The inquisitors faltered, transfixed—the miracle unfolding before them outweighed their own lives. The Grand Inquisitor engulfed in flames. The fire creeping to consume the entire cathedral.
Stone meticulously selected and carved by masons. Walls of brick laid with exquisite, unyielding precision. A temple that seemed impervious to flame, eternal. Yet the altar, pews, icons, tapestries, reliefs, curtains, books, and liturgical vessels were all tinder waiting to ignite. The roof, spires, framework, and ceiling trusses were thick oak and pine. Even stone would crack under prolonged intense heat, leading to collapse.
Fissures spiderwebbed the gold-embellished marble pillars. Icons melted like weeping tears. Myrrh and lily scents drowned in acrid smoke as tapestries blackened and curled. Soot bloomed across the religious frescoes on the ceiling.
Was this baptism by fire? At its heart, Vincenzio clung to form. Within the violet radiance, only his silhouette remained—impossible to tell if he saw or heard. His shadow glanced briefly at Raphael, then dropped to its knees in prayer, as always.
The Grand Inquisitor burned alongside the sins of the Pope's Domain. No arson, no accident. God Himself had set the sanctuary ablaze.
Isaac shoved through the flames into the plaza. Gazing back at the inferno engulfing the cathedral, he opened the wooden box. Inside lay an aged cross necklace—the Atonement's Light.
Amid the crowd of wailing penitents, Isaac draped the ‘Atonement’s Light’ around his neck. Then he departed the plaza at an unhurried pace.