A Bigger Fire (1)
"……That's all I know."
Vice Bishop Silvio squeezed his eyes shut after spilling everything.
"Heh, it was all just as you predicted, young master."
Randolf let out a disbelieving chuckle. When he'd first heard Isaac's theory, it had sounded utterly absurd. But now, every piece had the stamp of truth.
The old church and the heretics were connected. And caught in the middle, playing the fools, were Nias, Randolf, and Pfeil.
The bishop had fabricated villains to expand the old church's influence in Goethe territory. To nurture those villains, he'd used the tithes from the Goethe family. Of course, the bishop and his cronies hadn't forgotten to skim their share.
The vice bishop trembling before them, blood trickling from his wounds, had devised a new doctrine based on old church theology and incited vagrants and beggars to form a cult.
"The worst kind of…… confession," Randolf muttered in disbelief.
"……."
Silence fell over the dungeon.
All eyes naturally turned to one person at the end of that hush. Isaac.
"What now?" Carlson asked.
"Tomorrow, Schrader goes to the cathedral with the vice bishop. We'll settle things there."
"So our part ends here, then."
"Who knows. Sir Randolf, Carlson—got time tonight?"
"Pardon?"
Randolf and Carlson shot Isaac puzzled looks. They'd just extracted the confession and were starting to unwind.
"Looks like we might have visitors."
It was obvious. The bishop, with his tail stepped on, wouldn't sit idle.
Isaac eyed the vice bishop steadily.
"Don't think you've won. This time, we fell for the count's cunning scheme and our holy work was disrupted, but Goethe will pay dearly! The bishop will make sure the count faces severe punishment…!"
"Not the count, young master Isaac," Carlson corrected in a flat tone.
"……?"
"I planned this. So if anyone's demanding payback, they should come to me. Not that it matters. Now, let's talk."
Isaac beckoned to Randolf and Carlson, then strode out of the interrogation room. The vice bishop could only gape at their retreating backs.
Late at night. Thick clouds hid the moon, refusing to show itself.
"Heard of the man-eating pig farm southwest of Bernsi?"
"I've heard that story more than ten times already."
"Oh, right?"
"Gonna take a piss."
"Don't wander off. Come right back."
One guard waved dismissively and slipped into a dark alley.
But even after a long wait, the guard didn't return.
"That bastard better not be sneaking off alone to chug booze in some corner. Hey, Vernon!"
The guard at the entrance moved toward where his partner had vanished. But before he could take three steps, darkness swallowed his vision.
Five shadows materialized over the fallen guard. They were cloaked head to toe in black fabric that blended into the night, covering even their mouths. They exchanged glances, then entered the camp.
"Gurk—"
A dagger plunged into the throat of the bored jailer idly tossing dice.
Crack.
The neck of the guard at the underground level two entrance twisted in an unnatural direction.
The five shadows moved in perfect unison, checking the identities of those behind the bars.
At the far end of the underground level two detention camp, the interrogation room door stood open. Vice Bishop Silvio slumped in his chair, bound tight. One eye was swollen shut, blind.
One shadow slipped inside, raising a dagger to Silvio's throat.
Pfshk!
But before it could strike, the shadow felt heat bloom in its side. No pain—just the arming sword grinding through bone and muscle, yanked free, then cleanly severing its neck.
The remaining four didn't panic. They sensed presences and split into pairs, lunging for the blind spots on either side of the entrance.
Carlson and Randolf—who'd already downed one—waited there.
Randolf parried the two thrusting rapiers, then sliced deep into one's shoulder.
"Kgh."
A faint groan escaped, meager for the wound's severity.
The injured shadow suddenly bolted from the interrogation room.
"Ralph!"
"On it!"
Randolf responded to Carlson's shout. Not one could escape. Isaac's orders. No time for the bishop to get word and think. Quick and clean.
Clang—
Aura flared from Randolf's arming sword, snapping his opponent's rapier. The arming sword bit into the shadow's throat.
"Guhk—"
Randolf kicked the body free, sword sliding out, then pursued the fleeing one.
Carlson faced his two, shifting to block the vice bishop. No letting them reach him.
Two rapiers clashed and sparked against one arming sword.
Carlson held the edge in swordsmanship, but without Randolf's aura, he couldn't overwhelm their numbers.
The stalemate shattered with one variable.
"Out of the way!"
The vice bishop—thinking them his rescuers—lurched up from his chair, shoving Carlson.
"Gahk— Wh-why……."
But it was a mistake. The shadow drove a dagger into his chest.
Carlson recovered and swung, but the shadow used Silvio as a shield, dagger at his throat.
In that hesitation, the shadow slit it.
"Kek, kek—"
Silvio clutched his neck in shock, blood bubbling through his fingers endlessly.
As Carlson checked him, the two shadows fled the room. Confirming Silvio gone, Carlson gave chase.
Silence returned to the underground level two prison.
Creeeak—
The iron hinges groaned. Isaac had watched from the adjacent cell.
"……."
Silvio lay dead, eyes wide. Isaac closed them gently.
The witness proving the bishop's crimes was lost. But it also confirmed every word Silvio said as truth.
They already had plenty of physical evidence. Sorry for Silvio, but alive or dead, he served his purpose for Isaac.
'Doesn't make this any more pleasant.'
Witnessing death wasn't fun, one way or another. Magic might have saved him. But revealing his mana control? Unpredictable fallout.
His unique constitution—like Zeke von Goethe, who burned the capital—would surface eventually. The kingdom's royals and nobles might turn on Goethe.
Silvio's life wasn't worth that risk.
"Oh? Who's this?"
An unexpected voice snapped Isaac from his thoughts.
"Isaac, isn't it?"
"……Didn't expect to see you here, Bishop Levonius."
Isaac rose and faced the man at the door. A shabby robe hooded his head, but even that couldn't hide his bulging gut. Stern jaw, habitual gentle smile. The mastermind.
"Not surprised to see me? As expected of the margrave's son—different from the start."
"I'm surprised myself. Didn't think you'd come personally."
The bishop's arrival caught even Isaac off guard.
"I'm surprised too. Didn't expect Goethe's schemes to ruin everything like this. Every effort bears fruit, they say—but mine fell short. So I came myself, and lo, reward."
The bishop smiled thinly. Unreadable, but Isaac got it.
"You look like you found gold in the gutter."
"Do I? I raised Silvio like a son since his orphan days. I'm grieving now."
"At least some guilt over his death?"
"No, pain over his fall. To bend to evil so easily. But he knew grace. He brought you here."
"Planning to kill me too."
Isaac stated it calmly.
"Fearless eyes. Remember when I baptized you, Isaac?"
The bishop opened a worn tome from his side. Isaac recognized it instantly.
'A grimoire.'
The empire's old church had persecuted mages fiercely. Thousands of magical artifacts seized by the papacy. This was one.
"No."
"You were an infant. I didn't like your birth. Child of faithless Goethe and barbarian heretic nest."
The bishop shook his head.
"Cursed from birth—natural, fruit of defying His will."
"……."
"Isaac, you shouldn't have been born. If normal like your brother, maybe—but your existence proves Goethe-barbarian unions defy divine order."
"You say wounding things so casually. For a bishop."
"Out of pity. Telling you why you must die. Your soul can't be saved."
"What do you gain from killing me?"
"You'll die by heretics today. Severing evil pagans. This land will be purified."
"……So that's it."
Isaac's gaze turned icy. The final puzzle clicked.
Why send heretics to sacrifice him. Not just to stir the domain.
Most heretics, including Nias, were vagrants—disbanded tribes from the frontier. Tribes crushed for opposing peace between Goethe and the great clans.
If they gruesomely sacrificed Isaac, the peace Count Goethe forged would shatter.
'Thought I baited them myself, but they targeted me from the start.'
In his past life, around this time—assassins struck at him. They suicided on failure, no leads. He'd chalked it to mana rampage grudge. Now the outline emerged.
"Don't expect your knights back. The five were bait. Ten holy knights wait. Can't show faces here."
The bishop drew stakes from his belt pouch.
"Barbarians use these in sacrifices, they say. Gods fix the offering for easy eating. So barbaric."
Whish—
The stake sliced air toward Isaac's brow.
Keeng!
But it veered mid-flight, striking the wall.
"Grimoire with phase change incantations, I see."
Isaac's face stayed blank, but inside he was startled.
'Definitely a grimoire.'
Simple phase shift, massive power. Blunt stake pierced stone after ice collision.
Isaac wasn't the only shocked one.
"How…… can you use ice magic?"
The bishop's face twisted in horror. Not just casting—it precisely sniped the projectile. Far beyond expectation.
"Who knows. Sold my soul to the devil, maybe."
Silvio's blood still warmed the floor. Droplets defied gravity, floating, merging, crystallizing into ice shards.
"Out of pity for you, bishop—I'll tell you why you must die. Because my magic getting out now would be inconvenient."
Whish—
Ice shards from Silvio's blood hurtled at the bishop.