< 77. The Work of an Inquisition Officer >
*
The outdoor hymn hall of Diemonica was bustling with Diemonica members from early morning. They had brought simple snacks and were sitting on the grass, resting.
“Oh, here he comes. He’s here, brothers!”
“Ohhh!!! Do it again! Do it again!!”
“Ah, damn it. Get lost, will you!!”
Fernandez, holding a two-handed sword, took a high stance but quickly relaxed and grumbled. Kirhas chuckled as she watched him. She slightly widened her stance and took a defensive posture.
“Your Excellency, how about showing us one more time?”
“What? You’re watching me practice secret techniques so openly?”
“You really sound like a knight, brother! Haha, we’re clerics!”
Fabiano laughed while gulping water from a canteen. The Diemonica members, including him, were wearing exercise priest robes, which essentially meant they were almost in their underwear.
-Why were we so scared of these guys in our past lives?
‘Because they’re disgustingly hard to kill?’
In their past lives, during the peak of Faijashi’s activities, battlefields where Diemonica participated were based on retreat and delay tactics. No matter how the other Inquisition Officers accompanying them were dealt with, Diemonica were nearly impossible to kill.
Fernandez, resigned to the stares of these annoying figures, sighed. What could he do? He had already become one of them.
Just do it. Just enough not to get hurt. Fernandez, with a reluctant expression, firmly gripped the sword hilt. Silence fell over the hall as everyone watched.
“Kirhas. Don’t block, just dodge.”
“Ohhh! He said it again!!”
“Will it work this time? If it fails again, oh brother, I won’t have the confidence to attend your funeral rites out of shame!!”
“Pectus, Incensum (Courage, Sacrifice)!”
“Macto!”
“Macto Superlaudo!”
Ignoring the snickering of the Inquisition Officers, Fernandez clenched his teeth. After slaying the giant, the spirit of King Dane within his soul was fading. Perhaps it wasn’t disappearing but melting away.
The king’s experiences and achievements were blending into his blood, sinking deep into his subconscious. He practiced daily to restore his skills, but all he achieved was—
-Crack···Crash!!
“Again!! It broke!!!”
“Hahaha, my victory. Brothers! Who bet on it?”
“Brother Sergio bet on success again!”
“Damn it! I’ll have to fast for four days!”
The training iron sword shattered mid-air, scattering fragments and iron dust onto the ground. Fernandez, feeling a mix of frustration and regret, looked at the hilt that was all that remained of the sword. There was a gap—just one or two steps—between him and King Dane’s strike.
“Your Excellency, here.”
“Ah, thanks.”
Kirhas handed him a canteen. Fernandez took a sip and picked up another iron sword she brought.
“Do you remember the name of that technique?”
“Wasn’t it Secret Technique: Greatsword Shatter?”
“···Have you been reading those things lately? Brother, a monk reading romances sold in the market?”
“There’s only one Bible, but heroic romances are published every year. Do you know how useful they are? Want to read some too?”
“Very reasonable. You’ve earned the gaze of Phelon (God of Wisdom), Brother Sergio.”
“Macto.”
“Macto Superlaudo.”
Fernandez sighed at the Diemonica’s chatter and raised his sword again. Ignore them, ignore them. Let’s try one more time. This time, it might work. Fernandez’s arm muscles tensed.
Then, an Enmagika member approached, dragging his robe. He frowned at the scattered sword hilts and quietly spoke to Fernandez.
“Brother, stop wasting swords. The Monastery Head is looking for you.”
“···Oh, is it already time for the next mission?”
It’s a bit early, but time is a limited resource. Fernandez shrugged and returned the sword to Kirhas.
*
The corridor leading to the Monastery Head’s office was long and austere. Fernandez quietly prayed as he passed by monks, slowly walking through the corridor. Despite the rain that had fallen all night, the sky was clear and bright.
The climate of the Dragonspine Mountains is extremely unpredictable. Fernandez leisurely walked, gazing at the mountain ridges visible through the window.
“Ah, young man over there.”
“···Young man?”
It was the first time he’d heard that title in the monastery. Fernandez stopped at the playful voice.
Red hair like the sunset fluttered in the soft spring breeze from the window. A glamorous woman in a tight leather jacket leaned against the windowsill, arms crossed.
She looked at Fernandez with sparkling green eyes, her gaze thick and sticky, sending a slight shiver down his spine.
“Who are you···?”
“You can call me Angela. For now.”
“Angela. Huh.”
-Imperial Iron Side?
‘What’s she doing at the Inquisition Office?’
There couldn’t be anyone else in the world with that codename and that tone. He cautiously stopped, keeping an eye on Angela.
Angela licked her thick lips and smiled.
“You’re more my type than I heard.”
“Tempting a monk···?”
“Ah, sorry. I spoke my thoughts out loud.”
Angela shrugged and uncrossed her arms. She walked over, her heels clicking, and stood in front of Fernandez. She had to look up at him, her head slightly tilted. A thick, dizzying rose scent wafted from her.
She extended a hand clad in white gloves. Fernandez hesitated, unsure of her intention.
“Never seen a handshake before? I’m Angela of the Imperial Iron Side, commanding a battalion of the Gray Circle. You should consider it an honor.”
“Inquisition Officers hold the authority of bishops, and I’m a second-class Inquisition Officer, but?”
“Ha! That’s what a man should be like!”
Angela laughed and patted Fernandez’s shoulder. Her green eyes sparkled with amusement.
“Lately, the kids are all so timid and weak, it’s disappointing. I like how you talk back to me.”
“What’s your business?”
“Let’s get along. That’s all.”
Angela chuckled.
She smiled and stroked her shawl. She pulled a long pipe from her bosom and held it gracefully.
“The monastery is a no-smoking zone.”
“Ah, I forgot. Sorry.”
She apologized without a hint of remorse and laughed deeply. Angela fluttered her hand and slowly walked away. The clicking sound of her shoes echoed through the corridor. A thick, dizzying rose scent slowly spread through the hallway.
“See you later, Albert.”
-What a bothersome mess.
‘If the Empire is involved, it must be about the central continent.’
-Necropolis?
‘Highly likely.’
Fernandez frowned as he watched Angela’s retreating figure. Something felt off. How does the Empire know about the Necropolis at this time?
‘The seal on the Necropolis won’t fully break for another 40 years. With Pertas dead, there’s no one left who can break the seal.’
-So the Empire must have tried before.
‘Which means they failed.’
Lost in thought for a moment, Fernandez soon shook his head and headed to the Monastery Head’s office.
*
Beorn was leaning back in his chair, gazing at the large map hanging on the wall. Even when Fernandez opened the door to the Monastery Head’s office, he didn’t turn around.
“…Uh, Monastery Head?”
“Yes. Sit down.”
Beorn spoke bluntly, stroking his rosary. As soon as Fernandez sat down, Beorn suddenly opened his mouth.
“What do you think about the 50-year war?”
“A tragedy that should be stopped… I suppose.”
“That’s sentimental. Be honest.”
“It’s a waste of useless resources.”
At Fernandez’s words, Beorn turned his chair to face him. Beorn’s eyes were dark and sunken from exhaustion. He took off his monocle and carefully wiped it with a dry cloth.
“Right. The resources invested in the war have exceeded the maximum profit that could be gained from victory. Scholars from the Church say that the economic capacity of civilized society has already regressed by about 10 years. How long do you think this war will last?”
“Another 50 years.”
“…Why?”
“Because too many resources have been invested.”
At Fernandez’s words, Beorn’s brow furrowed. Fernandez looked at the map hanging behind Beorn. Leviathan, Kirzat, the Western Great Wilderness, and numerous warlords, even the nomadic tribes in the southwest of the continent.
Even the side that wins this war will gain less than what they’ve invested. But what about the losing side?
If this war ends with a clear victory for someone, will the defeated nation even remain a nation?
The enormous loss of human and material resources, and the staggering war reparations. They could be colonized for decades to come, and the economic and cultural invasion goes without saying. In a war with such risks, who could easily back out?
Whether it’s the Empire or Kirzat. As most citizens think, this war isn’t about pride. No matter how the war started, it’s now a matter of survival.
“It’s funny to say winner takes all, but either the Empire or Kirzat will fall the moment the war ends with someone else’s victory.”
“Good. Then. Who do you think will win?”
“The demons will win.”
“…Huh.”
Beorn’s gaze deepened. Fernandez shrugged.
“Too much blood has already been spilled. The losing side is obvious, but how long will it take for the winning side to regain its former glory? The moment the two great nations fall, the ones who will be most delighted are the demons.”
“Right. You’re correct. That’s why this is also our business.”
“Should we stop the war?”
At that bold statement, Beorn chuckled. Seventeen years old, an age where one should be immersed in knightly romances, wielding swords, or wasting life on wine and women.
But this kid always spoke in such an absurdly idealistic way while surprisingly coldly strategizing. Beorn liked this kid. Not just for his competence, but also for his boldness.
If he had been born twenty years earlier, if this kid had joined as a recruit during Beorn’s active days. Then, Beorn might have given everything to support this kid. But now, he had become the head of the Inquisition Office.
The head of an organization can’t favor anyone. Every member of the organization is just a human resource to be used appropriately. Beorn regretted his position.
“That’s for the Lord to decide. Our job is only to reveal the Lord’s will. Brother Fernandez. Take this. And gather as many resources as you can. It’s going to be a long mission.”
Beorn handed over an envelope sealed with the wax seal of the Leviathan Empire. Fernandez noticed a faint rose scent coming from the envelope.
*
-Knock knock.
“Not here.”
“Abel, I’m coming in.”
“Not here!”
-Creak.
Ignoring Abel’s words, Fernandez opened the door. As the old wooden door opened, a sticky heat filled the room. Fernandez saw Abel in the middle of the room, standing on one finger in a handstand.
“Do you know you look like a demonica right now?”
“…Hmph.”
-Thud.
Abel lightly flicked her finger, flipped her body, and landed softly. She frowned as she looked at Fernandez.
“So, you finally decided to talk to me?”
“It’s not that I didn’t think about it. I just didn’t have the chance.”
“You rascal.”
After making a secret pact with King Vicente in Altberth, receiving urgent orders to return to the Inquisition Office from the Vaitas Papacy, running for almost nine days to reach the Inquisition Office, and immediately attending a funeral.
Abel had no chance to be alone with Fernandez. She had been growing sharper since the incident in Altberth. For the past few days, she hadn’t even tried to talk to Fernandez.
It was uncomfortable for her too. Except for Kirhas, she had no acquaintances in this era. She glared at Fernandez for a while, then sighed.
“Fine. I lost again. Sit down.”
“Thank you. But what were you doing in the room?”
“Testing this body’s performance. It’s not in dragon form, after all.”
Abel laughed, wiping the sweat from her forehead. Fernandez blushed and turned his head, catching a glimpse of her skin through her loose clothes.
‘Damn it. Again.’
-Haha, you fool. Think about your age.
‘It’s not my fault. This is.’
It felt like King Dane’s soul was whispering to quickly wipe the sweat from Abel’s neck. The fragments of the soul that never showed up during sword training were now reacting so intensely to Abel…
The emotions Fernandez felt when looking at Abel weren’t just King Dane’s filial piety towards his mother. It was something a bit more… complicated. Fernandez frowned, avoiding Abel’s gaze.
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