The Silver Holy State, Ordela
The Holy State Ordela.
Unlike the golden Empire or the ash-gray Kingdom, it was a massive nation that looked as if it had been painted entirely in silver.
"It's coming into view. The spire of the Grand Cathedral."
Following Erian's words, Roan turned his gaze.
A silver tower soared high enough to pierce the heavens.
At its peak, a golden bell swayed intermittently.
Roan faltered.
His footsteps ground to a halt.
"Roan? What are you doing?"
His eyes were anchored in the present.
But his mind was not.
The moment he laid eyes on that bell tower, Roan's memory dragged him back into the tragedies of his past life.
Dong, dong.
The massive golden bell tolls.
Not briefly at set hours as it usually did, but continuously, day and night without pause.
The resonance, infused with a strange power, drives people mad.
Soulless crowds begin to cluster in one spot like zombies.
Behind the throng, the Pope waves his hands as if conducting an orchestra.
"More... pile them higher! We must build a tower of souls to satisfy the Lords...!"
Thud, thud.
A tower of human flesh rises.
Wider, grander, higher.
A mound of flesh slowly climbs, as if to reach the tolling bell tower.
Entwined souls soar toward the heavens.
The sweet, condensed mass of souls is torn apart and devoured.
Ah, the sweet taste of souls.
A perfect delicacy to whet the appetite of an outer god.
Intoxicated by the delicious offering, an unspeakable entity parts the clouds and reveals itself.
An outer god whose mere gaze is enough to plunge humanity into madness.
'It's Erian's homeland, but she wasn't involved in this.'
Still, it was more than enough to threaten not just Ordela, but the entire continent.
'It's a relief Tyramore is under Ordela's jurisdiction. This has been weighing on my mind; I need to deal with it quickly.'
Snapping out of his memories, Roan resumed his stride.
"This place was founded by believers, right? Was it Sheryl?"
"Ah, yes. Most worship Lady Sheryl. Though, of course, there are exceptions."
"...I don't know much about gods. I won't get kicked out for being impious, will I?"
"No, absolutely not. The Holy State is exceptionally welcoming to outsiders."
Erian, a native of the Holy State, spoke with absolute confidence.
Yet her confidence was shattered before they could even pass through the gates of the Holy State.
Step!
"Could you halt for a moment?"
A paladin, blocking the entrance with his massive frame, barred Roan's path.
"Huh?"
"An unusual energy has been detected from your finger. May I examine it?"
When Roan extended his hand in confusion, the paladin shook his head.
"I am sorry, but entry is forbidden. Heretical energy has been detected on your finger."
"What?!"
Roan gasped.
For heretical energy to be detected on his body, when he was the one trying to stop the heretics—this made absolutely no sense—
'Ah. Is it because of this?'
The ring clung tightly to his finger, as if refusing to let go.
It was the artifact he had taken from Deiar Hon.
'But this is annoying...'
Roan felt he could only rest easy once he got inside and dealt with either the bell or the Pope.
"I don't plan on causing trouble, so can't you just let me in?"
In the end, he chose to lie through his teeth.
"No."
But the paladin had no intention of letting him pass, regardless of his excuses.
"If you remove the ring, we will allow you entry."
"You're a stubborn one. Guess I have no choice."
As if resigned to his fate, Roan drew his sword.
"What, are we fighting? A mess right from the start," Jane muttered.
"I-indeed... My heart is in quite a flutter..." Charbun stammered, excessively polite.
"You said you were exiled, right?" Jane asked Erian. "Shouldn't you feel relieved instead...?"
"A-ah, in that case, may I step away to a safe distance?" Charbun asked, looking around nervously.
The party members chimed in, trying to adapt to Roan's sudden escalation.
But Roan's next move defied all their expectations.
He placed his hand flat on the ground and raised his sword high.
"U-um... what are you planning to do...?" Charbun asked cautiously, a sinking feeling in his chest.
"It won't come off, so I'm cutting it. My finger."
"Y-you're cutting it?!"
"Yeah. I've been thinking, and it's been giving me a bad feeling. It grants good abilities, but... it feels weird. Like someone is watching me."
It was a decision far beyond the comprehension of ordinary human logic.
He wasn't trapped in a crevice, nor did he need to use his finger as bait.
He was simply denied entry, yet he was ready to chop off his own finger.
And to do so based on nothing but a vague 'bad feeling'!
No matter how long they traveled together, this was something they could never get used to.
"N-no... Roan. Surely that's going too far..." Erian stammered.
"Can't you heal it, Erian?"
"I can, but... that doesn't mean the pain of cutting it off will just vanish!"
"It's fine."
It was fine.
Truly, it was fine.
He had pushed past his limits so many times that pain was a familiar companion.
"We gain nothing by causing a scene. It'll be troublesome if the person I'm looking for gets suspicious and goes into hiding."
"Well, yes, but..."
Deciding that further words were useless, Roan tensed his arm, gripping his sword tightly.
CLANG!
"Could you wait for a moment?"
The sword, which had been descending without a shred of hesitation, halted.
It was because of the paladin, who had been watching him with an expressionless face.
"I have just received a transmission. A black-haired human, a tattooed human, a red-haired human, a dragon half-breed, and Lady Erian Belgard. I was informed that you resolved the incidents in Tyramore and elsewhere."
The paladin stepped his massive frame aside, clearing the path.
"Welcome to the Holy State. This is a peaceful place, so please refrain from causing any disturbances."
Along with his warning, the scenery inside welcomed them.
Lush green plants dotted the silver-dominated landscape like accents.
The attire of the passersby was neat and restrained.
A simple accessory or two bearing their respective denomination's crest seemed to be the extent of their adornment.
In contrast, armored figures presumed to be paladins patrolled here and there.
It felt like an environment where committing a crime was practically impossible.
"...A seed of destruction is spreading in a place like this? I can't believe it," Jane muttered.
The Kingdom, where the ruler's laissez-faire attitude allowed black markets to thrive.
The Empire, which openly showcased bloody spectacles for entertainment.
Compared to those two, the atmosphere here felt remarkably safe.
"Jane, crises always strike when least expected."
"I know. Just saying."
Jane shrugged and looked at Roan.
Roan's gaze lingered on one particular spot.
The spire with the bell.
That had to be the root of all evil.
'If I just destroy it... things will get complicated.'
It would be tantamount to declaring war on the Holy State, one of the three largest nations on the continent.
'Besides, Erian is from here, and Roan isn't making a move yet.'
Jane decided to observe the situation for now.
Just then, someone approached them.
"Greetings, honored guests who have labored for the Holy State."
The voice was soft, accompanied by quiet footsteps.
The party turned toward the sound.
A perforated iron eye mask and an opaque veil.
A figure whose face and even gender were impossible to discern bowed politely.
"Who are you?"
"I am a nameless servant, sent to guide you to the Grand Cathedral where His Holiness resides."
"...Guide us?"
"Yes. His Holiness has heard of your deeds. In Tyramore, the Empire, and the Kingdom—how you lent your aid regardless of affiliation or nationality."
He had come to escort such distinguished guests.
The renown Roan had sought so desperately.
The reputation built from the incidents they had resolved was finally bearing fruit.
"Then—"
—CLANG!
Just as Roan was about to agree, a deafening metallic screech echoed across the plaza.
"Hey, you...! What are you doing?!"
It wasn't the bell tolling.
It was Zaraxia striking the spire to test it.
"I merely wished to test its structure and durability out of curiosity. Is that forbidden?"
"Of course it is! What on earth were you thinking?!"
"Forgive me, but the spire is a sacred monument in Ordela. His Holiness holds it in high regard, so I must ask you not to touch it..."
The servant, Jane, and Charbun worked together to pull Zaraxia away.
"Um..."
Amidst the commotion, Erian quietly approached Roan.
"That person... they're a bit strange..."
"Strange?"
"Yes. By law, the citizens of Ordela must refer to the Pope as 'His Holiness'."
Yet this servant was casually calling him "the Pope."
"And it's bizarre how they've covered their entire body, even their eyes. We have no custom of hiding our faces. In fact, the higher a priest's rank, the more they expose their face and hair to receive the holy light."
Yet this person seemed to be actively retreating into the shadows.
Her points were entirely valid.
Hearing her words, Roan also felt a sense of incongruity.
"Still, we can't just apprehend them here based on suspicion alone."
They needed to meet the Pope face-to-face first.
After all, the Pope was the central figure of the tragedy that would unfold here.
Having finished their quiet exchange, the two joined the fray to subdue Zaraxia.
Afterward, they followed the servant and arrived at the Grand Cathedral.
It was a brilliant silver, far more radiant than the residential districts.
The holy power gently permeating the air was their unique method of detecting and warding off external threats.
"...Singing."
"Yes. It's a hymn. The same one I sang when we fought Serenar..."
Perhaps reminded of her exile, Erian cast her eyes downward.
Then, a figure emerged before them.
"You have traveled far to reach us, adventurers. Thank you for your service."
The Pope.
Unlike the others, he was adorned in remarkably lavish vestments.
'He's the one who established the law of charging money for holy healing.'
Roan studied the Pope as he accepted his gratitude.
'His eyes, his gait, his posture... nothing seems out of the ordinary.'
Greed aside, there was no trace of madness in his eyes.
Did that mean he had committed those atrocities in his right mind?
...Absolutely not.
'Someone drove him mad.'
With absolute certainty, Roan's gaze shifted to a single spot.
The space where the servant, covered from head to toe, stood waiting.