337. The Immortal and the Mortal (6)
She remembers the era when dragons soared through the skies. A time when gods walked the earth, when fairies lived in the forests, and dwarves dwelled underground.
It was a time when the constellations in the sky looked different from now. In her mind, the stars were a tapestry for the fallen heroes. As the constellations changed, much time had passed, and countless heroes had perished.
She had remembered them for a long time. She had mourned them. For their beautiful lives, lives that burned brightly and radiated light. In her own graveyard, she had embraced her own memorial tower and mourned them all.
But now, only a single tombstone stood alone in her graveyard. When it became too much to bear, she lifted her head and gazed at the night sky.
Even during the long passage of time when many myths and legends were forgotten and buried in the sands, her constellation still remained in the night sky. She remembered the other constellations that once were near that star. But now, the only constellation she could recognize was her own.
“Drifting away.”
The dragon, who had returned from death and oblivion, decided on death that day. A slow, fading death. A death that would weather away. There was no need for grandeur or nobility. She wanted to end this drift with a grounding.
Several months had passed since then. Life force still overflowed within her body. The dragon drew a line in her nest with her massive claws as the dawn broke in the distant sky, welcoming another day.
“So, you were here.”
She had sensed the human approaching her nest hours ago. She simply hadn’t felt the need to drive him away. She turned her gaze to the entrance of the nest.
A large man was approaching her, hacking through the overgrown bushes with a broad sword.
“Zephis Siradast.”
“It’s my first time seeing a dragon in person. Have you been well?”
“Living, unable to die.”
“We all move towards death. We just haven’t arrived yet.”
Zephis strode over and sat down in front of her. The dragon rolled her large blue eyes to look down at him. It felt as if her chest was being torn apart. Zephis inevitably reminded her of a certain man.
“Have you come for me?”
“Yes, Abelesas. I apologize for disturbing your seclusion.”
“What is your business?”
“Fernandez’s…”
At the mention of that name, her eyes clenched shut. She exhaled a rough breath, bowed her head, and made a sound like a wounded herbivore. Over the sound of her groaning, Zephis’s voice overlapped.
“I heard it was you who discovered his relic. I want to know the location and circumstances.”
“Didn’t… Freya already… inform you…?”
“Pull yourself together.”
-*Clap!*
Zephis clapped his hands to get her attention. His body was too large to slap her cheek, so he waved his hands instead.
“You’re not the only one who lost him. He wasn’t your possession, and his loss likely wounded us all. You didn’t even attend his funeral in Paltennoia, did you?”
“I… I…”
“I’m not here to scold you for that. But I have a duty to track his death. At the very least, I need to understand his circumstances more clearly. I came here with that duty. I need your cooperation.”
Under Zephis’s cold words, Abel looked at him again with trembling eyes. Meeting her gaze, Zephis stood straight under her large eyes and spoke.
“Mourning more intensely doesn’t mean you feel his death more painfully than others, Abelesas. Scale doesn’t prove sincerity.”
“Zephis Siradast…”
“Tell me. The location and circumstances where you found his relic. Just as we respect your grief, you should also respect ours. This could be our way of mourning.”
Abel bowed her head and whispered softly. Each to their own way.
“But I still don’t believe he’s dead.”
“Then why aren’t you looking for him?”
Disappearance is more painful than death. It makes it impossible to acknowledge the grief of loss. But Abel had given up on tracking Fernandez. If he were truly dead, if she had to face that death head-on, she wouldn’t be able to bear it.
It’s my weakness. Abel admitted it plainly. But is that wrong? Is loving someone wrong?
Is it wrong to love someone so much that you can’t rashly say you love them? Sometimes, words lose their value in commonness. She was afraid this feeling would easily oxidize, so she simply held onto it quietly.
Thus, she couldn’t dare to acknowledge his death. She couldn’t attend the funeral. If even she acknowledged his death, who in this world would prove his life? Only her. Abel stubbornly built her nest and chose to stay inside.
Until he returns, but slowly dying. She couldn’t acknowledge his death, but if it were true, she only wished to be with him at the end.
“…Fine. I’ll tell you.”
That man said grief isn’t proven by scale. Mourning more extravagantly doesn’t prove it’s superior to others’ sorrow. Abel agreed with this logic. That man was also a human who cherished Fernandez, and he had the right to hear the answer.
* * *
Beorn was sitting at his office table, engrossed in organizing documents. Recently, incidents of cult activity had been occurring with bizarre frequency. The reckless cult activities that started in the eastern regions of Phaeirn were now slowly spreading throughout the Eastern Kingdom.
The lack of manpower…
The Inquisition Office, overwhelmed by fatigue, was on the verge of collapse. Beorn was a meticulous man who always wanted to keep at least a minimal number of personnel on standby within the monastery, but in the current situation, such a luxury was impossible.
A few emergency response personnel remained, but if this momentum continued, even that was uncertain. Beorn tapped the table, lost in thought.
“Someone is behind this.”
That was the conclusion. Someone must be behind this large-scale heresy incident. But who, and how?
Fernandez’s new organization, Maledika, remained intact even after his death. Most of the malignant organizations that refused to join the Church were being eradicated. At least the Empire was now almost completely purified.
But in the Eastern Kingdom, where Maledika’s influence was faint, entirely different heretical organizations began to emerge. Was it taking advantage of the Church’s administrative focus on the Empire? It was too aggressive to interpret it as just that.
These are not heretics of the same lineage. The heretical organizations being captured in real-time across various regions each had different doctrines. Could such individuals unite and reveal themselves simultaneously? Impossible.
Therefore, someone must be behind the emergence of these organizations. Someone who can unite various cultists centered around the eastern region of Phaeirn in the Eastern Kingdom…
Unite…?
“…Damn it.”
When his thoughts reached that point, Beorn bit his lip. Maledika is a group of dark mages who pledged allegiance under the name of the Church. They eradicated heretical organizations across the Empire within half a year of their rise.
The power of uniting cultist cells with completely different tendencies. The reason the Holy Temple of the Gods could take the lead in the war against heresy was due to the scattered nature of the cultists. They are never friendly to each other.
Each has different beliefs, rituals, and convictions. To each individual, the others are no less than enemies, just like the Holy Temple. If such individuals were united, it’s no ordinary matter.
Beorn narrowed his eyes and tapped a corner of the table. Starting from the eastern region of Phaeirn… Can we assume that this plague has its base somewhere there…?
-Knock knock.
“Monastery Head. It’s Benicio.”
“Come in.”
A thin, middle-aged man with a large scar on his cheek opened the door and entered. The sharp-featured man bowed and handed Beorn a bundle of documents.
“An urgent request for strike support, Monastery Head.”
“Where is it this time?”
“Saint Antharius Monastery. The Heretica dispatched to that area was Brother Oliver, who reported complete destruction of the monastery and traces of cultist activity, currently under pursuit.”
“Traces of cultist activity? The Merdis Cult? If it’s the northwest of Phaeirn, that would be their activity zone.”
“No, Monastery Head. They found symbols of the Brendar Brotherhood.”
“Damn it. Does that mean they’ve expanded to the northwest of Phaeirn?”
“Yes, Monastery Head.”
“Those bastards are capable of their own demon summoning rituals. Send a support request to Diemonica and secure personnel.”
Beorn took out a personnel list and unfolded it. He stroked his chin and frowned.
“Three… There are three brothers available now. If we get two more strike requests, the main office will cease to function…”
Beorn shook his head and looked at Benicio. Seeing his expression, Benicio nodded and said,
“Monastery Head, you must have sensed something strange too.”
“Indeed. They’re acting as if they want to commit suicide. What do you think the reason is?”
Large-scale cultist uprisings were a threat, but paradoxically, also a great opportunity. The reason heretical factions were threatening was because they operated in the shadows of civilization. If they reveal themselves and run amok, it could be a perfect opportunity to eradicate them at once.
Even with the current lack of personnel and the urgency of the situation, it’s not impossible. If all Inquisition personnel are deployed externally, no matter how long it takes, those who reveal themselves will eventually be caught.
Currently, heretical sects are revealing themselves en masse and running rampant everywhere. As if they want to commit suicide. The problem is that even without understanding their intentions and scale, Beorn has no choice but to deploy troops.
Feeling dragged along by their intentions, Beorn sensed a sticky sense of crisis. This was closer to the instinct of a long-time Heretica agent. He wanted to seek the opinion of a brother who had served with him for a long time.
But Benicio shook his head.
“It’s not entirely a joyous matter, but it’s an opportunity, isn’t it, Monastery Head?”
“Perhaps you’re right. Maybe I’m being too sensitive…”
“Always be suspicious. That’s the doctrine you taught me, Monastery Head. It’s also something I often say when teaching other brothers. You’re doing your best.”
“Enough flattery, Brother Benicio. Take one Brother Diemonica and form a strike team to that area. And…”
“Yes, Monastery Head. We’ll return as quickly as possible.”
“No. Return as safely as possible. Without sacrificing any brothers.”
“Macto.”
“Macto superlaudo, brother. Go.”
Benicio gave a short bow and left. Beorn unfolded the documents Benicio handed him and read them, pulling out a rosary and rolling it in his hand.
[Seek righteousness.]
Rubbing the inscription engraved on the rosary with his fingertip, Beorn pondered what scene would remain after this storm.
[And your Heavenly Father will add justice to you.]
The sunset was fading. The vast slopes of the Dragonspine Mountains cast long shadows. In his office, only the crackling campfire and a faintly glowing candle remained to light his side.
In the meantime, Beorn stared at the map for a long time without a word.
His one remaining eye glowed sharply in the darkness.
* * *
-Warning, you are entering Papal Territory.
-Arrest may result in burning at the stake.
-Saint Bartholomew Monastery.
Deep in the night, a signpost on a small path in the forest creaked and swayed, making an eerie sound. A man paused for a moment, looking at the scene.
-Crunch!
A flash of light, and the signpost split in half, rolling in the mud. The man stepped on the broken piece of the signpost and continued walking along the mountain path.
-Warning…
-Burning at the stake…
-Monastery…
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