386. Omen (5)
The forms of the end are countless, but the result they bring is always the same. It was a statement both the Church and the heretics agreed upon.
Thus, the Church declared that it would not tolerate even the slightest evil deed by any means necessary, while the heretics, each harboring different ideals, raced toward the end they dreamed of.
At least, that’s how it was for the people of this era.
“But they all only know the end as vague rumors and secret myths.”
No one has ever witnessed the moment of the end firsthand.
Except for two people in the current Material World. Fernandez spoke to the one remaining person besides himself.
The king with old, deep eyes, the sovereign from a distant myth who still retained the mighty power of his prime, was listening to his words.
Jerolen. The last remaining first monarch of the Elven Triarchy. He held a wine glass and listened to Fernandez.
“Yes, at least we know what form the end takes. What is the reason you sought me out?”
“I wish to borrow the method you once used to aid Charlemagne.”
“Hmm…? You want to ride a griffin?”
At the end of the Celestial War, when Charlemagne personally slew the Great Demon and brought peace to the Material World, Jerolen had carried the Emperor on his griffin to the battlefield.
But Jerolen couldn’t answer immediately.
The situation now was entirely different from when Charlemagne had plunged into enemy territory.
Back then, demons had built a Great Empire in the Material World. To strike down the Great Demon, one had to cut through tens, hundreds of thousands of demons. But this era was not like that.
There was no need for covert movement, no deep military encampments filled with enemies, and on this continent, there were plenty of sovereigns who would raise their military flags at his call.
Why would he need a means of transportation like a griffin?
“Where do you want to go? If you need fast transportation, it would be safer and more comfortable to travel by sea routes.”
“The land where Charlemagne closed his eyes for the last time, where he killed the Great Demon. You are the only one in the Material World who knows its exact location.”
Fernandez spoke while watching the dockworkers unloading cargo at the port. Infermur, once the land of the elves, was a massive port capable of accommodating elven capital ships with its ample harbor facilities.
Dock lines, carts, pulleys, and cranes were intricately intertwined, unloading food supplies and other materials.
Less than ten days after the news of the war’s end reached the Empire, the elven royal capital ship appeared in the east, loaded with relief supplies.
Everything seemed to move like a precisely crafted gear.
Before the rumor of the war’s end even reached the central political circles of the Empire, they were already loading food supplies from the port of Guir to be distributed across the Empire. The timely arrival of the elven capital ship capable of large-scale voyages at Guir went unquestioned by anyone.
Before they could seize control of the seas, the northerners had fled to the open ocean at just the right time, and the Order of Pilgrimage Knights had “regrettably” failed to stop their retreat.
The Empire provided food aid to Dane as “compensation for their support during the last civil war,” and Dane supplied relief grain to the small eastern kingdoms at “low prices and cheap interest.”
The supply chains and distribution plans were overseen by the scattered Knights of the Round Table of Dane, timely and appropriately.
Now, Dane could claim both fame and profit, rising as the dominant power in the east.
No one could doubt this meticulous, and highly coincidental, series of events. After all, a piece of bread in one’s mouth was worth more than curiosity.
“Charlemagne died a thousand years ago. I doubt any traces of that time remain.”
“I have the means to listen even to the spirits of the dead from a thousand years ago. How long do you think it will take?”
“To get there? About a week to ten days after this is done. Switching between five griffins along the way should take about that long. Will there be others joining you?”
“No.”
Fernandez shook his head briefly, and Jerolen shrugged.
“Your determination to face threats alone is admirable, but you should occasionally pay attention to the concerns of those around you.”
“Unnecessary advice.”
“Stubborn as ever. Alright, let’s go. Come back in ten days.”
With that, Jerolen seemed to have said all he needed to say, turning his head to gaze at the dock again. Fernandez could sense longing and nostalgia in that gaze.
It was the gaze of a king, forever exiled from the land, who still remembered the days when he walked the earth.
* * *
The food distribution work went smoothly. So smoothly that Fernandez didn’t even need to step in.
In truth, while Fernandez was skilled at crafting grand schemes, he wasn’t as adept at running a country and building meticulous economic plans.
Having lived his life as a Wandering Mage, he had orchestrated the assassinations of heroes through schemes, but he had no experience living as an Administrative Noble.
So now, he was enjoying a long-overdue vacation. Taking a leisurely tour of the recovering lands of Altberth and Dane, rebuilding from the ravages of war.
“Do you remember that town?”
“Two years ago already. I remember.”
“Haha, it’s good to spend time like this sometimes.”
Abel smiled softly, matching Fernandez’s pace.
He urged the horse forward. She suddenly looked at him with a mischievous expression.
“But is it okay to leave Kirhas behind like that?”
“She’s the most capable among us, isn’t she?”
“I refuse to accept that. Trying to belittle my worth!”
Unfortunately, Kirhas couldn’t join this outing.
As the acting Duke, she had to manage the affairs of the region, and as the Chieftain, she had a mountain of tasks to handle at this very moment.
She was currently staying at the palace, dealing with the issue of enslaved beastmen scattered across the eastern territories and the trade disputes between the Empire and the east, as both a noble of the Empire and the head of the Federation of Beastmen.
‘No! This can’t be happening!! Ancestors! Help me! Don’t do this to me!!’
‘Kirhas. Denying it won’t make the tasks disappear.’
‘This is betrayal! Your Excellency! You’re no longer Your Excellency! You’re a traitor!!’
Kirhas screamed and attempted to escape dozens of times, only to be caught each time by the Knights of the Round Table and buried back under piles of paperwork.
Abel chuckled as she recalled the scene.
“Do you think she can handle it? I still can’t imagine her having any political sense.”
“Don’t underestimate her, Abel. Kirhas is a sovereign who single-handedly defeated the old political monsters in Gur, who had been feeding on the murky waters of politics all their lives. She’s more capable in politics than her words and actions suggest.”
Politicians can be broadly categorized into three types: schemers skilled in intrigue and conspiracy, shadowy figures hiding behind a facade of simplicity, and instinctive warriors like her.
Her eyes had now fully bloomed, almost resembling those from her previous life.
In other words, she had evolved beyond merely striving for victory in battle, now instinctively making the most perfect choices.
This was the result of diligently accumulating experience, talent, and the karma of her soul. Now, no trap could easily ensnare Kirhas. Even from small clues and brief conversations, she could make the most rational decisions.
This is what happens when a natural-born hero puts in the effort. She was one of the greatest sovereigns of her previous life, and now she stands as a hero who rivals the best.
“Well, I have no complaints since I get to enjoy a good time because of it. So, where are we heading now?”
“I thought we’d follow the trail.”
“Trail?”
“Even if the Inquisition Office was destroyed, it doesn’t mean all Inquisition Officers died at the same time. But the fact that the Knights of the Round Table were dispatched suggests that communication between the Papacy and the Inquisition Officers has been severed.”
If all Inquisition Officers had survived and were able to carry out their duties, they would have appeared during Zigismund’s obvious heresy incident.
The reason the Pope had to resort to desperate measures and dispatch the Knights of the Round Table was largely because the whereabouts of the Inquisition Officers had become unclear.
The Inquisition Office was the most extensive intelligence organization under the Vaitas Church.
If the office’s operations, which refined and reported the vast amounts of information gathered by numerous torchbearers, were suddenly cut off, the Pope would naturally feel anxious.
However, such a vast intelligence network couldn’t have simply evaporated with the destruction of the office. It’s just that the reporting system is currently broken, causing its functions to halt.
“Then, the Inquisition Officers might still be scattered across the country, isolated while carrying out their missions.”
“How do you plan to find them? That was only possible when the office was functioning normally, wasn’t it?”
“Aren’t there Inquisition Officers who don’t belong to the main office of St. Bartholomew Monastery?”
“…Huh?”
“Religiosa Maledika. The Sanctuary of the Cursed Ones. They are still fully functional.”
The three factions of the Inquisition Office—Heretica, Diemonica, and Enmagika—likely ceased functioning simultaneously with the destruction of the main office. It’s difficult to find each survivor, and even if they secretly established new bases, their locations couldn’t be determined.
Fernandez had only joined the Inquisition Office less than three years ago. He had no experience with protocols for emergencies like the destruction of the main office.
But sitting idly by, waiting for a contact that might never come, wasn’t his style.
Time is always the most precious resource, and even if he spends his remaining time leisurely, it’s no different.
When he suggested starting work again, Abel shook her head and sighed deeply.
“Maledika agents don’t relay information through the main office. Reports come and go only through channels permitted by me.”
Fernandez dismounted and spoke softly.
They were now on a sparsely populated mountain path. He glanced around, confirmed there was no one nearby, and then extended his fingers.
“I had high hopes for a leisurely walk, but you always exceed expectations.”
There were many church officials in the city, and to the people, he had to appear as a Knight of the Round Table, not a mage. A great and noble knight. Therefore, he could only attempt the spell after wandering deep into the secluded forest.
– Whoosh!
The magic circuit heated up, and soon sparks ignited the pile of winter leaves. Green embers coiled like snakes, flicking their tongues.
The image of a keyblade wrapped in a serpent’s form. The seal of Religiosa Maledika left a long trail of embers on the tree, and a low voice echoed from within.
[Master. Have you been well?]
The dark green flames hissed and writhed. Fernandez, with his fingers crossed, looked down and smiled faintly.
[Do you have orders for us?]
“I need to start a heresy incident.”
[Please specify the location and purpose. We will follow your command.]
“On the outskirts of Phaeirn, following the traces of the Crimson Brotherhood, along the northwestern ridge, about five villages should suffice. Within five days.”
What’s the easiest way to find hidden Inquisition Officers?
Naturally, by becoming a heretic.
Fernandez was, after all, closer to an expert in that field than anyone else.
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