< 76. Funeral Rite >
*
It rained that day. The damp and gloomy raindrops covered the Dragonspine Mountains so heavily that even from the highest spire of the Inquisition Keep, the long, straight mountain paths were barely visible.
Fernandez woke up early in the morning, washed himself clean, and donned his monastic robes. Due to the fasting decree, there was no breakfast that day, and neither was there Diemonica’s morning exercise. A solemn silence filled Diemonica’s hall.
-Creak.
With a rosary wrapped around one arm, Fernandez carefully opened the old door. The spring in Dragonspine was cold and heavy. The morning rain made it even more so.
The rain tapped against the coniferous forest, releasing a clear, damp, and heavy scent. Diemonica’s sense of smell detected the aroma of incense wafting through the entire fortress. He watched the monks walking through the rain beyond the wooden window frame.
Each of them held a rosary or an incense burner, heading toward the courtyard. To the Keyblade Sanctuary. A sanctuary that was never opened except under very special circumstances.
A very special circumstance meant the return of an Inquisition Officer whose remains had been found. All Inquisition Officers made the darkest and most dangerous places in the world their battlegrounds, and thus, most of them never had their remains recovered.
Today was a day of fasting.
A day when emotions were permitted for Inquisition Officers, who were supposed to be emotionless.
A day for the dead brothers.
Today was the day of the funeral.
*
The raindrops grew heavier. In the cold rain at the Keyblade Sanctuary, the Inquisition Officers stood still as if turned to stone, gazing at the platform.
On the platform of the Keyblade Sanctuary, there was a massive Keyblade fragment, surrounded by small, unextinguished lamps. Each lamp had a rosary hanging from it. Rosaries engraved with the names of the fallen brothers.
Directly in front of the Keyblade stood a brazier large enough for a person to lie on. Wooden logs soaked in oil glistened in the rain. A body wrapped in linen lay atop it.
Around the body, parchments filled with prayers were lined up. Beorn stood before them, silent for a moment.
“Burn the demons, the heretics, the witches.”
“Glory to Vaitas.”
At Beorn’s words, the Inquisition Officers whispered in unison.
“We stand in the mire, brothers. Buried in the abyss, always walking with our ideals in mind. Hoping that peace will finally come to us all, we willingly wander the places farthest from peace.”
“Glory to Vaitas.”
Beorn removed his monocle and tucked it into his robe. He dipped his thumb in holy oil and let a drop fall on the linen-wrapped corpse, marking the forehead, cheek, and shoulder.
“We shall not seek rest. For we do not seek rest. Our path is paved with blood, flesh, and the corpses and deaths of our brothers. We only hope that there is an end to this path, that at the end of this path, at least one righteous person stands whole. We only hope that when the Lord acts, our names will be closest to Him.”
“Glory to Vaitas.”
Fernandez whispered along with the other monks, closing his eyes. It was a prayer he could not empathize with, but neither could he belittle it. His purpose lay elsewhere.
-They really pick the most empowering words.
Faijashi sneered. Fernandez remained silent, eyes closed. He prayed fervently. Hoping that at the end of this path, built upon the corpses of his brothers, his purpose would stand whole.
“Here lies our brother. Brothers, do not pray for him. Only bless him. For he has closed his eyes in place of our future. May we too become the path for our brothers.”
“Glory to Vaitas.”
Beorn stretched out his arm. The attendant kneeling beside him quickly handed him a torch. Beorn stood by the brazier, torch in hand. He gazed at the prayers wrapped around the remains with burning eyes.
“Burn the heretics, the witches, the demons. Brother, our epitaph has always been the same. ‘Courage and Sacrifice’. The ashes left behind prove that we once shone.”
“Glory to Vaitas.”
The ancient Gaelic words inscribed on the linen hanging from the massive crossguard of the Keyblade fluttered. [Pectus], [Incensum]. Courage, and Sacrifice.
“So now, rest in peace as ashes, brother. Surely there is a place for us in heaven.”
“Macto.”
“Macto superlaudo.”
With those final words, the eulogy ended. Beorn threw the burning torch into the brazier. The rain-soaked wood crackled and burned, sending up thick black smoke. Soon, a massive flame surged upward.
Beorn knelt right beside the brazier, where sparks flew, and remained there. After the brief memorial, they dispersed in small groups.
*
Beorn sat in his office chair, rubbing his tired shoulders. He longed for a sip of tea. During the fasting period, the monks were only allowed a glass of water.
He reached out to flip through some documents but soon clenched his fist and tapped the desk. His scarred, firm fist trembled slightly.
-Knock knock.
“Who is it?”
“Head of the Monastery. It’s Lady Angela.”
“…Ah. Angela. Come in.”
The door opened. A sharp-featured woman with flowing red hair entered, her vibrant green eyes sparkling with mischief.
She gave a slight nod to Beorn and strode over, sitting across from him. Her tight leather outfit left little to the imagination. Beorn frowned at the sight.
“This is a monastery, Lady Angela.”
“Is this a no-smoking zone?”
“Is that how you ask for a favor?”
“A favor? Hehe, a favor.”
Angela slowly crossed her long, slender legs and chuckled softly. She adjusted her fur-trimmed shawl and leaned closer, resting her hand on Beorn’s desk.
“More of a suggestion, really. Information sharing, resource sharing. You know, Head Shieldbane. We both know we need each other.”
“We don’t need the help of the secular world. Rather, the secular world needs our…”
“I’m not here for that tired old talk. I think you’ll be interested.”
Beorn frowned. His hawk-like eyes narrowed. His sharp, cold expression, honed over decades of service as a Heretic, was intimidating, but Angela smiled softly.
“I hear there’s quite a bit of discontent at the Shield Church. For now, Dane…”
The Vaitas Church reaching out directly to the kingdom would surely bring diplomatic burdens. But aren’t you curious? You must be curious.”
Angela chuckled softly and pulled out an old disc from her pocket. It was a relic made of bronze, covered in intricate patterns. Beorn instinctively frowned at the intense magical aura emanating from the artifact.
“How dare you bring such a corrupted object into the monastery?”
“Corruption can be a useful tool, depending on how you use it. Shieldbane Monastery Head. Why not look at the forest instead of the trees?”
“What do you need?”
“Ah, the terms of the deal.”
Angela’s smile deepened. Her laughter carried the scent of a fully bloomed rose.
“The Necropolis. Aren’t you curious about that damned lair of wraiths from legends? We can’t let those pesky boogeymen keep giggling under beds and inside closets forever.”
“Are you requesting the extermination of heretics?”
“I’m asking for support in the main branch’s heretic extermination. Let me add a spoonful to the table you’ve set, Beorn Monastery Head. I’ll gladly share what our special task force has discovered.”
Angela placed the bronze disc on the table and spun it. She extended a smooth finger and manipulated a corner of the disc.
-*Click*.
The disc opened, revealing intricate clockwork mechanisms. The devices began to rotate on their own, shaking a thin needle. The needle soon fixed in one direction. Angela lightly placed her index finger on the sharp tip.
“It’s a compass pointing to the entrance of the Necropolis. Inside… they say a Great Demon sleeps. A Great Demon. Huhu, no era has ever recorded the defeat of such a being. Our era might just write that legend.”
“You wouldn’t move for honor, would you?”
“Do you know why those damned Kirzat bastards and the Empire are at each other’s throats?”
“Resources?”
“And what’s densely packed beneath those blood-soaked battlefields?”
“Magic stones, I suppose.”
“And where are those?”
“….”
Angela giggled. She pointed at the large map hanging on the wall behind Beorn.
“That place where the magic stones are densely packed, screaming to be used, is exactly where those Necropolis bastards are sleeping. The Vaitas Church? Honor and fame? Heretic purification? Take it all. The Empire will take the secular things.”
“What support do you expect from us?”
“Your treasure.”
Angela rolled her seductive green eyes softly. Biting her red lip slightly, she spoke in a sticky voice.
“That great saint of yours who single-handedly wrecked the Necropolis Conclave. The saint of Vaitas and Shield. The earthly representative of King Dane. Well, how much of it is true? It seems one of our cute recruits was ‘deeply impressed’ by him.”
“How much do you know?”
“There’s no information in this world that Leviathan Iron Side doesn’t know.”
Angela laughed heartily.
*
-*Knock knock*.
“Brother Fernandez. Come in.”
“You guessed it like a ghost.”
The wooden door opened, and Fernandez entered Zephis’s private room. The eerie scenery remained. The bleak room of the Inquisition Officer was filled with all kinds of weapons, experimental tools, and stacks of reports and reference materials.
“Sit.”
“Will this chair hold?”
“Probably.”
Fernandez carefully cleared a chair piled with documents and sat down. The old wooden chair creaked. Zephis watched him for a moment, arms crossed.
“Brother, may I ask you a few personal questions?”
“…? As you wish.”
“If the Sernerd Barony were to burn, what would you think?”
Fernandez was silent for a moment. He quietly looked into Zephis’s eyes. Zephis had clear, upright eyes.
Breaking the silence, Fernandez spoke.
“How many lives can be saved?”
“…What?”
“By saying that, you’re assuming I’ve abandoned the burning Sernerd Barony and been dispatched elsewhere. So, how many lives can I save with my mission?”
“…Huh.”
Zephis was impressed by his words. How many lives? In that moment, Fernandez was weighing his homeland, the territory he so desperately wanted after killing his uncle and cousin, and the lives of strangers with no connection to him.
Zephis’s eyes grew heavy. Cold calculation. Precise and cold.
“When I was in charge of the lordship, the population of the Sernerd Barony was 258, plus five unbaptized children. A year has passed, so even with some population changes, it should be around 300.”
“…And?”
“If I must simply watch my territory burn, that time must be spent on something more valuable and significant. So, in return, how many lives can I save?”
“How old are you?”
Fernandez paused at Zephis’s question. Zephis slowly unfolded a report in front of him, so Fernandez could see it too.
It was Fernandez Sernerd’s personal record. Meticulously researched, detailing his birth year, education, and life.
“Seventeen.”
“Really?”
Zephis’s eyes sharpened. What kind of strategic thinking could a seventeen-year-old have? At that age, Zephis was only thinking about smashing heretics’ heads with a morning star.
A genius? Could he be described with such a term? It wasn’t just talent but a judgment born from absolute experience and a life actively utilizing such judgment.
Fernandez narrowed his eyes and spoke.
“You doubt me.”
“How could I doubt a saint?”
“Not the saint, me.”
“The Sernerd Baron’s actions are somewhat… unusual.”
“What happens to me? A heresy trial?”
“I can’t hang a saint on a stake. And personally, I don’t want to do that to you, brother. I don’t smell the stench of a demon on you. I’m just personally curious. About your true nature.”
Fernandez leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. The old wooden chair creaked loudly.
“What if I can’t tell you now?”
“Just tell me one thing for sure.”
Zephis looked at Fernandez with tired eyes. He was afraid of Fernandez. What if he was a heretic? A demon’s pawn? Wearing Diemonica’s flesh, bearing stigmata, and solving all recent incidents.
And this young Inquisition Officer with the political and diplomatic acumen to meticulously orchestrate all those events. If such talent became an enemy of civilized society?
If this young man grew for another ten, or twenty years? Who could stop him?
“Do you share our goals?”
“No.”
At Fernandez’s words, Zephis’s fists tightened. Fernandez chuckled at the sight.
“I have a more precise and certain goal, Brother Zephis. I aim not to exterminate heretics but to save the world.”
After breaking the schemes of the five Great Demons and their thousands of plots, to finally write a new, unshakable history where no heretic can set foot in this civilized world.
Not for the greater good or justice, but for himself. For his son.
![[TS] Obsessed Gamer: The Ultimate Return](https://i3.wp.com/novelhitam.com/wp-content/uploads/2025/01/TS-Obsessed-Gamer-The-Ultimate-Return2.png?resize=85,105 "[TS] Obsessed Gamer: The Ultimate Return")
