-Tap, tap-tap.
Fernandez had been silently sipping tea in the Monastery Head’s office for 15 minutes now. Beorn, holding a report that had been read and reread until it was nearly falling apart, simply glared at Fernandez.
-Tap-tap.
Beorn nervously tapped the table, then finally set the report down.
“What was the first order I gave you?”
“Burn the heretics…?”
“And after that?”
“Investigate the Walker incident.”
“Let me hear it again, then. So, it wasn’t Walkers but Ghouls…? Well, they do look similar, so I can see how that mistake was made. Let’s say the initial investigation was flawed. The Franzrit… You knew the Franzrit clan was appearing in Baron Barbes’ territory, didn’t you?”
When the operation order was issued, Fernandez had asked Beorn if Baron Barbes’ territory wasn’t part of the Franzrit domain. Fernandez kept his expression as neutral as possible as he replied.
“I’m not well-versed in regional geography.”
“Good. So, the Franzrit vampire just happened to suffer from the Red Hunger there, was killed, and then this secret letter was found on him?”
“That’s exactly what happened.”
Beorn tossed the secret letter onto the table. It bore the Franzrit seal, written in chicken blood. Beorn tapped the letter as he spoke.
“Alright. So, this letter was delivered to the Serpent King, an inquisition was carried out, a dragon resurrection ritual was witnessed, the Franzrit were behind all of this, a battle broke out, and in the midst of it, the Serpent King died along with the dragon… And a god was resurrected?”
“…It may be hard to believe, but that’s exactly what the report says.”
“…Tch.”
Beorn had summoned Fernandez as soon as he returned. He needed to understand what all this nonsense was about. Fernandez, without even brushing off the dirt from his cloak, was enjoying an untimely snack in the Monastery Head’s office.
“…So, a god was resurrected, burned all the vampires, then disappeared, and the Elven Fleet abandoned their claim to Infermur and sailed back home?”
“Yes.”
“Do you even understand what you’re saying right now?”
Fernandez replied calmly.
“It means that within the near future, the Dane Kingdom might go to war with Phaeirn.”
“…What?”
Beorn’s gaze lingered on Fernandez’s eyes for a moment. He swallowed hard before asking again.
“What are you talking about?”
“The Phaeirn Royal Family has been tainted by heretical sects. Even if Brother Zephis succeeded, the kingdom’s power has declined too much to handle the heretical incidents that have occurred across the kingdom, including in Merlin Port, and to restore public trust.”
The Hundred Years’ War. No, at this point, it’s still the Fifty Years’ War. All civilized nations within the Leviathan Empire’s sphere of influence are currently deploying military forces in the war against the Karajit Sultanate.
Securing resource deposits, slave supplies, ideological conflicts, territorial expansion… There were countless reasons, but none of that matters now. According to Fernandez’s memory, the reason this meaningless war continues is due to the demon worshippers lurking behind it.
As they sent troops and supplies to this prolonged war, the Eastern Kingdom was slowly withering away. Public sentiment was more turbulent than at any other point in the history of civilized society, and bandits were rampant in the mountainous regions.
In such a situation, the Phaeirn Royal Family needed a clear enemy—one they could show to the people and use to solidify their rule. Fortunately, the Phaeirn Royal Family had the ‘Royal Griffin Knights,’ considered one of the strongest military forces on the continent.
“The Dane Kingdom’s naval power is pitifully weak. They barely have any ports worth mentioning. If the Elves of Infermur and the vampires of Serpent’s Isle have wiped each other out, opening up trade routes and initiating multi-trade along the eastern coastline, there would be no greater threat to the Phaeirn Royal Family.”
Moreover, with Merlin Port in decline, the Phaeirn Royal Family desperately needed a large-scale port to continue maritime trade. Coincidentally, Infermur was geographically very close to the Phaeirn Royal Family’s maritime borders.
All the conditions aligned. The Phaeirn Royal Family would soon declare war on the Dane Kingdom. The two pillars of the Eastern Alliance would clash, plunging the already desolate eastern continent into chaos.
“…Impressive.”
Beorn remained silent for a moment. He slowly gazed into Fernandez’s eyes. Sixteen years old. Far too young to be on the battlefield, to engage in combat, or to become an Inquisition Officer.
Yet, he sealed a demon on his first mission, saved the Phaeirn Royal Family on his second, and by his third mission, he had pushed back the Elves and vampires, expanding the territory of the Eastern Kingdom’s civilized society.
And now, his insight… Beorn paused for a moment before speaking.
“Then, what do you think I will order you to do next?”
“To burn the heretics.”
The politics of civilized society are not the domain of the Inquisition Officers. Their blades only hold meaning when directed at demons and their worshippers. If they began to meddle in politics, the very authority of religion would be at risk.
Beorn and Fernandez’s gazes locked for a moment. Beorn smiled deeply and nodded.
“You are now a Second-Class Inquisition Officer. Brother Marco will inform you about your authority. And visit the Heretica Sanctuary. You can now choose your missions.”
“It’s an honor.”
“I have high expectations for you. Go now.”
“Brother Marco.”
“Brother Marco Superlaudo.”
Fernandez bowed his head and stood up. As he grabbed the doorknob, Beorn’s voice came from behind him.
“Ah, you. You seem quite familiar with political diplomacy.”
“I am of noble birth, after all…”
“And geography too.”
“…Thank you for the compliment.”
Cold sweat dripped down Fernandez’s back. He turned the doorknob as calmly as possible. Beorn’s sharp gaze was fixed on his back.
“I am pleased with you…”
