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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 19
Chapter Title: The Inquisitor's Time
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Merlinport's [Pantheon Street] was somewhat biased. The grand cathedral bordering the central avenue belonged to Maclaren, while those for other gods were relegated to the outskirts of the street. It gave a clear sense of the Maclaren Church's dominance in Merlinport.
The blue sky, clear air, and salty sea breeze felt refreshing. Last night's commotion seemed like a lie. Fernandez thought this as he pushed open the door to the Maclaren Cathedral.
Merlinport was currently being ravaged by a three-way war between the Maclaren Cathedral, the Bronze Scales, and the ancient lich Kian-Kel.
From the outside, the city's functions appeared to operate normally, but it wasn't normal for werewolves to commit murders every night while night watchmen and guards fled at the sound of screams.
'Why on earth haven't they requested an inquisition?'
It was truly bizarre. The Holy Pantheon of Good Gods had entrusted the inquisitorial authority to the Beitasser Church.
Yet the Maclaren Cathedral in Merlinport, right next to the Inquisition headquarters, had not initiated any inquisition.
"Ah, brother. Mass has already ended..."
A Maclaren priest emerged and addressed him. Fernandez held up Beitasser's holy relic.
"Macto Supelaudo. Brother. I wish to see His Excellency the Bishop."
"Hm...? You're a priest of Beitasser?"
"Inquisitor Angelo of Religiosa Demonica."
"Inquisitor...? Here to provide reinforcements?"
"Depending on the circumstances."
The priest seemed to be seeing an inquisitor for the first time. He told Fernandez to wait a moment, then paled and hurried away.
Soon, Fernandez was granted a private audience with Merlinport's bishop. The bishop's receiving room was lavishly ornate and decadent.
Maclaren's doctrines were far from asceticism; they placed considerable value on worldly wealth.
Maclaren of [Gold], [Sea], [Commerce], and [Fishing]. In port cities serving as trade hubs, they invariably boasted great influence.
Their shocking doctrine—that accepting bribes was merely part of commerce—earned them tremendous support from merchants.
After all, pay enough money, and they'd promise salvation to some degree.
Thus, even the bishop's crimson vestments were made of luxurious eastern silk. Merlinport's bishop sat with arms crossed, eyeing Fernandez.
"Is there something on my face?"
"You're really Demonica?"
"...? Yes?"
The bishop spoke abruptly, then sipped his black tea.
"You give off a Demonica vibe... but you look slimmer than a Heretica."
"..."
It was a sudden question, dripping with mockery. As Fernandez sat silently, the bishop chuckled.
"So, why have you come to this cathedral, Inquisitor?"
"I request your cooperation in the investigation."
"The werewolf? I heard from my guards that last night, a corpse with its throat slit was found."
"I'm not here in this city just because of one lycanthropy patient, Your Excellency. This city reeks of heresy."
At Fernandez's words, the bishop's eyes sharpened.
"You dare say such a thing in my diocese?"
"Dare? Your Excellency, a Beitasser inquisitor outranks a bishop."
Fernandez pushed the black tea aside and slowly placed his clenched fist on the table.
"This is a formal request. Exorcism territorial rights, religious tribunal jurisdiction, heretic execution license. I will exercise the authority guaranteed by the Holy Pantheon."
"I refuse."
The bishop sank deeply into his chair. His vestments bunched up in wrinkles against the sofa's plush cushions.
"Even if Paul IV himself requested it. Show me evidence, not just suspicions. A heresy trial! Have you considered the damage it would do to Maclaren's commerce?"
"You're judging heresy by worldly standards?"
What the hell is this damned bishop saying? Fernandez was flustered.
"I'll grant that donations from merchant guilds fatten the cathedral. But if merchants and the faithful grow disillusioned, won't heresy seep in through those cracks?"
"You're saying you'll ignore evil right under your nose out of fear of potential evil?"
"For example, that is. Just for instance."
The bishop smirked and took another sip of black tea.
"Look here. To request the cathedral's forces and the city's guards from me, you need evidence, naturally. All you've told me is that it 'smells like heresy'!"
The bishop leaned toward Fernandez. A faint... somehow familiar... sweet scent emanated from him.
"What heresy have you identified?"
"The Bronze Scales. A cult led by Dale Pertus. And an ancient lich. Those are the major heresy cases infiltrating this city."
"Hoo... an ancient lich..."
Fernandez slowly slipped his hand into his bosom. He felt the censer in his grasp. His longsword...? He'd left the longsword at the cathedral entrance.
"You're saying this ancient lich is behind the werewolf incidents in Merlinport right now?"
"...Why do you think that...?"
"We're deliberately leaving the Bronze Scales alone. It's not time to stir them up yet."
The distance from the bishop's receiving room to the nave was 10 meters. Crossing the nave to the main entrance was another 25 meters shortest path. At full speed...
"Inquisitor Angelo. Where is the attendant who came with you?"
"...I came alone."
The bishop smiled, tracing the rim of his teacup with his index finger. His bony, gnarled fingers protruded unevenly.
"That catfolk woman from your inn left somewhere this morning. Where did she go?"
Fernandez shot to his feet at those words. The bishop was still grinning slyly. A bluish soulfire flickered in his pupils.
"The tea was good, Your Excellency. I'll await your reply through the Church."
Fernandez slowly rose and walked toward the door. The bishop remained seated, simply smiling.
'Damn it... the Maclaren bishop of all people...'
A technique to detect a living being's life force. The lich's [Life Detection] and mana-sensing [Arcane Sight].
Information that the Maclaren Church, supposedly keeping the Bronze Scales in check, couldn't possibly be unaware of the lich's presence.
The blue glow shining from within was undoubtedly an ancient lich's [Mana Heart].
And... that faint... very faint scent wafting from him.
'The fragrance of Amnesia.'
It was what Fernandez, in his previous life as his master's errand slave, had grown on orders from his master. A narcotic poison plant.
Q1. If the above conditions are true, what is the identity of the Maclaren diocese bishop?
A1. Ancient Lich.
-Thud.
"?!"
The entrance to the bishop's receiving room wouldn't budge even under Fernandez's strength—it was firmly locked.
Without any warning, Fernandez swung his fist.
-Boom!
"Urk!"
"Such violence, Inquisitor. An attack on Maclaren Cathedral... Are you serious?"
Fernandez's fist stopped in midair. A powerful force field had spread before his eyes.
The bishop's voice echoed from behind him.
"Leaving already?"
-Bang, bang. Bang. Bang.
From the nave to the chapel, sacrarium to the priests' quarters. Every door and window leading outside slammed shut violently.
-Crack!
Fernandez kicked the door with all his might. Fortunately, the force field tore, and the door shattered. He dashed toward the longsword hanging at the main entrance.
Excluding the censer in his bosom, that was his only holy relic.
"This is unexpected..."
-Indeed. We got caught off guard.
The Maclaren Church had fallen. Not to the Bronze Scales... but to the lich.
"Kian-Kel! How on earth?"
[Hahaha... Tearing a mana force field with raw strength? Impressive!]
Kian-Kel's laughter echoed from afar. Alarms blared in Fernandez's mind. He rolled forward swiftly.
-Kwaaang!
A black-glowing spear flew before his eyes and embedded in the floor. The arm-thick shaft quivered, then dissolved into smoke.
"Hup!"
-Boom! Bang!
Fernandez barely rolled to grab the longsword before the nave.
-Shing...
"Escape routes?"
-None right now... We can't dispel the mana force field at our level.
"Odds of victory?"
-None at the moment. If it were a magic battle, maybe.
Fernandez drew and gripped the longsword, glaring across the nave. The bishop was floating in the air, slowly approaching him.
A dark aura swirled at his side. He no longer seemed inclined to hide it.
"Kian-Kel... Impressive. Hiding as a priest... no, a bishop, of all things."
[So many questions for you, Inquisitor. You'll have to spare me some time.]
"Ah, tomorrow's pretty free. Can I book for then?"
[...You'll have to give up your life too. Far too insolent.]
-Shraaaang...
"Hup!"
Jet-black chains wrapped around Fernandez's arms. Instinctively, he recognized them: [Kasad's Black Manacles]. With even a handful of mana, dispelling them would be child's play... but he couldn't use magic now.
'Ha, there was a time when my dream was to kill my master in a magic duel...'
-Regrettable...
The black aura circling the bishop dispersed slowly. Beneath the crimson vestments appeared a skull of black bone. Blue soulfire flashed in the skull's eye sockets.
The lich raised its twisted, bone-fingered hand like a wand. Its jaw clacked.
[Inquisitor... Inquisitor... This is delightful. Welcome to my catacombs.]
-Kreeeak...
The chains coiling Fernandez's arms twisted, pulling taut as if to rip them off. His shoulders twisted with eerie sounds amid the pain.
Amid the agony, Fernandez sensed something off. Magic...?
"How... are you using magic?"
[What?]
"The holy relics here are genuine. This diocese is truly Maclaren's sanctuary. How is black magic functioning right in the middle of it?"
Holy spells were the antithesis of black magic. In this sanctuary meticulously built with holy spells, where the faithful gathered daily for mass to pray to their god—how could black magic operate flawlessly?
Moreover, Kian-Kel had lost Yekaset's divinity and blessing. Which meant... Fernandez chuckled.
'Feizashi. There's something you don't know.'
-What?
'About the mana force field. You said we couldn't dispel it at our level?'
-...?
'But we've already broken one. The one on the door.'
Even at full strength, if the mana force field had been properly active, Fernandez couldn't have broken it.
Force field spells weren't physical spatial control incantations but dimensional conceptual controls.
But if it was merely a wall constructed through mana without direct dimensional interference... possessing physical substance, it could be destroyed physically.
Feizashi hadn't imagined a lich resorting to such crude tricks, but Fernandez, who had kicked the barrier himself, was certain.
'Bluffing.'
Kian-Kel was undoubtedly a powerful ancient lich. That was fact.
But he'd clumsily failed to mask the Amnesia scent, infiltrating the Maclaren Church through forced disguise just to hide his identity?
'He's incurred Yekaset's wrath.'
"Kian-Kel. Yekaset's high priest... ancient lich who's lived 200 years. Ha... In 200 years, you've only undone two seals?"
[...How?]
"Did it really seem wise to meet an inquisitor alone, just the two of you, Kian-Kel?"
Fernandez pulled his arms together with all his might. The black chains strained against his force momentarily. His arms trembled violently. Muscles pushed to their limit screamed in pain.
The divinity racing through his veins boiled fiercely!
[Foolish. It's not a spell you can break with strength.]
"Pray."
[What?]
-Crack!
The chains binding his arms snapped strand by strand. They crumbled into black powder. Fernandez gripped his wrists and glared at Kian-Kel.
"To any god, any prayer. Earnestly!"
You're done for now. Fernandez wondered briefly if it was right to tell an undead that. He'd turn the Undead into Dead.
It was time for the inquisitor!
*