47. The Cleric’s Stance on War
*
-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…”
“I’ll keep an eye on it. Brother Diemonica.”
“It’s an honor.”
-Squeak, thud.
Not familiar with the geography, so he mistook the dominion of Baron Barbes? No way. A guy with that level of insight wouldn’t make such a mistake. Beorn thought with a smile.
In the past, Marco explained that it was a composure and experience one couldn’t have at a young age. Is this what they mean by a saint bearing the Stigma of the Lord? Beorn took a sip of his tea and leaned back in his chair.
-Squeak.
The old chair creaked and turned heavily. His gaze fell on the continental map hanging on the wall. A huge map with red seals and black crosses chaotically drawn.
‘Lord, if only You had come down just 20 years earlier.’
The ten years since the sealing of the Temple of the Gods were still a stable period. The Inquisition Office had three times as many agents as now, and the number of heresy incidents was five times less.
If I had such an agent assisting me back then. If Fernandez had been one of my limbs when Beorn was still being deployed in actual combat.
Back then, I would have nurtured Fernandez with all my might. To make him a pillar of the Inquisition Office in the future. And then I would have stepped back with a smile. Maybe even volunteered for a training instructor role.
‘Please tell me there is still hope for us.’
Beorn prayed as he stroked the rosary. Seek righteousness. Desire goodness. Practice virtue. Surely, I have done so.
The red seals on the map represent reported heresy incidents, and the black patterns represent deceased Inquisition Officers. It looks like a forcibly stitched wound bleeding flesh. The continental map etched in Beorn’s mind seemed as precarious as a patchwork of rags.
May the Heavenly Father grant you justice. Beorn stopped praying and turned his head towards the desk piled with reports. He picked up a pen and began writing a report. To the Papacy.
Humans cannot know the will of God. So, all Beorn could do was his best.
*
‘Wow, did you see that old man’s eyes?’
-It’s a relief we’re not active in the same era.
‘You said it.’
Fernandez laughed as he crossed the monastery corridor. His superior sure knew how to throw tough assignments.
‘Prevent war without offending the royal family…’
-It’s not sane to assign such delicate political engineering to a 16-year-old kid.
Beorn’s intention was clear. Before the Eastern Kingdom gets engulfed in war, use heresy trials as an excuse to quell the war. But don’t provoke the scrutiny of each kingdom.
The authority of a 2nd-grade Inquisition Officer? The right to choose missions was just an excuse. It meant to figure it out and bring results since there’s no clear direction.
Fernandez couldn’t be sure if this was a trap set by a veteran Heretica agent or a genuine test of his abilities.
And it didn’t matter.
The war in the Eastern Kingdom Alliance was something he had anticipated even before returning to the Inquisition Office. And anticipating means…
‘It means being prepared.’
-Show-off.
Fernandez stopped at the entrance of the Heretica Sanctuary, spotting Allen watching him. Allen was leaning against the wall with his arm in a sling.
“Ah, Brother!”
“Brother Macto.”
As Allen greeted him, Fernandez smiled and approached him.
“Brother Macto Superlaudo. I’m glad to see you back.”
“Likewise, Brother. I heard rumors, but I couldn’t believe them.”
“What rumors have you heard?”
“I heard you rode a dragon and indiscriminately slaughtered elves and vampires.”
“…Haha.”
Why is that true? Fernandez paused for a moment. Allen chuckled and said.
“No one’s foolish enough to believe that. But it’s hard to believe such a thing.”
“I feel the same.”
“How about we cross swords, but I’m in no condition now.”
Allen lightly waved his bandaged arm. It didn’t seem like a serious injury, but unlike Diemonica, Heretica members are very, very normal humans. They need time to heal wounds.
“Take care, Brother. I have some business to attend to now.”
“In the Heretica Sanctuary?”
“Ah, am I now of the same rank as you, Brother?”
“…Huh.”
Allen nodded. Indeed, even if half the rumors were true, a promotion wouldn’t be surprising.
“Congratulations.”
“I’m delighted to receive congratulations from you first, Brother. The Monastery Head told me to choose a mission, and I was wondering where to go.”
“No need to beat around the bush. Follow me.”
Allen cheerfully led the way. After all, connections and impressions matter. Fernandez laughed. In his past life, one thing he couldn’t do was ‘make a good impression.’
-No, we had a good impression.
‘Don’t talk nonsense.’
-Hey, think about others. For a dark mage, we have a really good impression.
Fernandez and Faijashi bickered as they followed Allen.
*
Like the [Library] in the Enmagika Sanctuary and the [Outdoor Hymn Hall] in the Diemonica Sanctuary, the Heretica Sanctuary has areas with special purposes.
[Records Repository]. A place filled with records and information sent by Heretica agents and torchbearers scattered across the continent, along with investigation reports on heresy incidents.
In this damp and musty space, Fernandez was sorting through reports on the Eastern Kingdom.
“Your Excellency, I brought more!”
“Ah, thank you.”
Kirhas, who had almost buried herself in the stacks, pulled out another bundle of reports and laid them before him.
-Thud.
Dust rose and scattered into the air. Fernandez frowned, waved his hand, and began sorting the reports again. Phaeirn, Dane, Gloin, Gricken, Beldur. Fernandez’s hand paused as he arranged reports by kingdom in the Eastern Continent.
“…Oh?”
[Investigation Report: Closed Silver Mine in Cardus Barony]
-Flip.
Fernandez carefully picked up the dusty report. It detailed missing person cases near the abandoned mine and strange rumors, but aside from bandits, there was nothing particularly unusual.
-Cardus…?
‘This is it.’
The key to naturally connecting with the Dane Royal Family was here. Fernandez tucked the report under his arm and stood up.
“Ah, are we done? Can we leave now?”
“Yes, well done. Kirhas.”
Kirhas, disliking the dusty place, smiled brightly at the thought of leaving.
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