Such Thoughts - 3
Crafting the holy water I needed demanded a considerable amount of focus. In other words, the more attention Serin wasted on the cult investigation, the lower the quality of the water would become.
Proper holy water was an absolute requirement for the restorative tonic I had to make for Sowol, which meant keeping her from pouring her energy into pointless places was important work. So I threw everything I had into the investigation, and within just a few days I found myself standing before the final site.
"Is this the place?"
Father Rewalon frowned slightly as he gazed at the location all our investigation had pointed to. It was where the men who ruled the territory's back alleys had gathered.
"According to our findings, this is where the cult first took root."
"Franz Hall, then."
Prostitutes, thieves, thugs, and assorted other dregs of the alley all belonged here. Simply put, it was the shadow of the territory made manifest. Father Rewalon's expression as he looked upon it was none too pleasant.
"Could the reason the brothers and sisters here don't attend church be the cult's doing?"
Oh, come on. That's way too far.
If skipping church makes you a cultist, then I'm a cultist too.
"If the cult's teachings are indeed spreading from Franz Hall, we can't rule out that possibility."
Still, that was clearly the answer he wanted to hear, so I humored him with a vague nod.
I let my hand drift to the sword hilt at my waist. Seeing this, Father Rewalon raised a hand lightly, and several paladins waiting behind us lifted their maces.
"Begin."
The instant Father Rewalon gave the order, the paladins surged forward. Perhaps it was the thunder of their heavy footfalls — the doors of Franz Hall burst open, and burly men came pouring out with weapons in hand.
"What the hell?! Who are you people?!"
"We are the holy knights of the Church. Traces of the cult have been found on these premises."
"Hah?! So what?!"
"We must conduct an investigation. Please do not resist."
Ordinary thugs would grumble a little and step aside. After all, picking a fight with the Church carried far more downside than upside.
But the thugs of Franz Hall, it seemed, hadn't grasped that particular truth. Or maybe — just maybe — they had something they couldn't afford to have the Church find.
Clang!!
Blades came out. Watching the thugs move to block the paladins' entry, I gave a careless shrug.
Yeah. Some people only understand once they've seen blood.
"Charge."
At my word, the paladins moved. The thugs tried to resist — they had no intention of simply absorbing the attacks of heavily armored holy knights — but their resistance was never going to pierce the paladins' overwhelming defense.
What exactly were they hoping to accomplish with those pathetic little toothpicks against men clad in solid steel plate?
As the paladins' maces cracked bones and split flesh and a path opened up, I walked inside.
"Hah."
The interior of Franz Hall was a disaster. Empty bottles and half-eaten food lay scattered about, and naked women were sprawled across the floor, moaning.
Had they been drinking? No — I couldn't smell any alcohol. Too lucid to be drugs, either.
Which meant...?
The answer came easily. Hallucinations induced by the cult's sorcery.
"Who the hell are you?!"
A burly man who must have come down at the commotion drew his weapon and lunged. I dropped him with a single blow to the jaw, then turned back to examine the fallen women more closely. Confirmed.
Through a special ritual, the cult granted its victims hallucinations and pleasure. Sweeter than any drug, yet with a dependency that left narcotics in the dust — and through that sweet poison, the cult seeped into people's lives, little by little.
Recalling the related event from my days playing the game, I climbed the stairs, dropping the men coming down one by one, until I came face to face with a half-naked man.
"...Is that you, brother?"
"Franz Kane."
A man with enough pull in the back alleys to be called their master. A bald mountain of flesh with a protruding gut, he smiled an oily smile and twirled the staff in his hand.
That. That's cult evidence right there.
"What brings you all the way up here, brother?"
"The Church hired me to pull the cult's roots out of this territory, root and branch."
"Hmmmmm... Brother. I humbly beg you — could you not simply turn back this once?"
"Could I? Surrender quietly and accept the rite, and I'll spare you the inquisition."
When cultists faced the religious tribunal, it ended at the stake nine times out of ten. My generous offer — surely hanging for treason beat burning alive in agonizing torment — was declined without a shred of conscience on his part.
His choice instead was the hidden blade concealed within his staff. The ominous black energy rippling off it confirmed it: a fine artifact, courtesy of the cult.
"No matter how gifted you may be, brother — as long as I hold this blade..."
Shwk!!
"U-UWAAAAAAAAAH!!"
Before he could finish, I swung and severed his hand. Franz stared blankly at his own hand lying on the floor, then let out a scream, and I was kind enough to point out the obvious.
"What a shame. You can't hold it anymore."
"Y-You... YOOOU!!"
Pain and rage from the severed hand, perhaps — Franz's eyes rolled back in fury. Black tattoos began to crawl across his half-naked body.
He was using the cult's sorcery to empower himself. Not a great choice. It granted strength in the short term, but used too often, it would eventually drag him down into demonhood.
And besides...
"Gasp!"
"Guhk—!!"
It wasn't much of a technique, anyway. I cut off both his arms and both his legs before the transformation could complete.
While the limbless Franz rolled around on the floor, the cleanup below apparently finished, and the paladins began climbing the stairs.
"Brother. This is..."
"Traces of the cult."
"...He's transforming into a demon."
At Father Rewalon's words, spoken as he came up behind the paladins, their expressions shifted. Watching them glare at Franz as if they wanted to tear him apart on the spot, I shrugged and shook my head.
"He must be processed according to the Church's lawful procedure."
"Haah. Of course."
Right. A nice, lawful burning at the stake.
The paladins hauled Franz off as he spat curses even while rolling across the floor, and in the meantime I picked up the artifact he'd dropped.
"Evidence tying Franz to the cult. It's a cult artifact, so please handle it, Father Rewalon."
"Thank you. Thanks to you, we were able to wrap this up without significant losses."
"Just doing my job."
With this, every trace of the cult that had sprouted within the territory could be erased. Of course, tasks remained — tracking the cult faction connected to Franz, investigating whether the cult lurked elsewhere — but that was Father Rewalon's business, or the central Church's.
All Serin had been tasked with was handling what occurred inside this territory, which meant from here on out she could devote herself entirely to brewing the holy water I wanted.
"Then I shall take my leave."
"Yes. May the Lord's grace be with you, brother. Ah, and this week's mass..."
"How unfortunate. I'm afraid I'll be ill that day."
As much as I despise the cult, there was no way I was attending mass.
Really.
I informed the lord that the matter was concluded and headed back to the Eastern Merchant Guild — where I cocked my head. Quite a few wagons were lined up out front. What was this? Puzzled, I went inside and found warriors I didn't recognize.
"Oh! Brother, you've returned."
"Yeah. So... what's all this?"
"Ah, our Eastern Merchant Guild does extensive trade with the East. The members sent there for a major deal have just come back."
Ah, is that so? All the way from the East. Must've been rough on them.
I gave a servant a perfunctory nod and glanced over the goods they'd brought back.
"Hm?"
And that was when I saw it — a girl who looked to be about Sowol's age, unloading cargo. A girl with the deep black hair characteristic of the East, an androgynous sort of beauty, and talent that, while not on Sowol's level, was considerable.
A shame. If her talent had been just a bit greater, she'd have been my second disciple.
But having taken Sowol — such an exceptional prodigy — as my first, anything less felt half-baked. Not that I'm heartless enough to dismiss her outright, and there's still time... but taking that girl on as a disciple might be a bit...
"Why are you staring at Lyla like that?"
"Just looking. Can't I look?"
"There's nothing wrong with looking... but Lyla is my dear friend and my escort warrior."
"Oh? Is that so?"
"So don't get any funny ideas."
"What exactly do you take your master for?"
At Sowol's oddly cold words — she'd crept up on me at some point — I gave her a light thump on the forehead. Watching her clutch it and grumble, I looked her over.
"Looks like you've been keeping up with your homework properly."
"Would you like to test me?"
"I'm sure you did fine. No real need for a test..."
"Then does that mean lessons resume today?"
I hadn't been able to hold proper lessons these past few days, what with the cult investigation, and Sowol was pushing to resume. But it still wasn't possible. I had to go gather the ingredients for the tonic.
"I have to make a trip to a nearby major city, so lessons are out of the question."
"...With Sister Serin?"
She's busy making holy water. Why would I bring her along?
"I'm taking you."
"...I beg your pardon?"
Why so surprised? Sowol stared at me blankly for a moment, then glanced back over her shoulder — her fist clenched tight.
"Happy?"
"Nooo~?! I'm actually terribly busy right now, but since you insist so earnestly, Master, I suppose I shall accompany you!"
For someone claiming that, her expression looked absolutely delighted.