You all know nothing.
A massive pit that occupied most of the reformatory grounds.
From the underground prison carved into its outer wall, the sound of footsteps echoed out.
Clank. Clank.
The sound of greaves reinforced with iron plates colliding together.
The footsteps gradually drew closer to the cell where he was imprisoned, before finally stopping at one spot.
It was in front of Garrison Berkman's solitary cell.
"You've somehow managed to stay alive until now, Father Garrison Berkman."
At the rough, hoarse voice, Garrison regained consciousness.
His bare upper body was fully exposed.
The traces of torture engraved across it were utterly horrific.
"Seriously, I told them not to kill you, yet they always go overboard with the torture…"
Ben sneered as he raised the lantern and inspected Garrison's body.
"If you get this weak, we can't even use you as feed anymore."
Half a month of torture without even a sip of water.
Yet despite that, Garrison still retained some strength, making Ben mutter under his breath.
"Ben… Drake."
"Oh my, so you were awake?"
The moment Garrison called his name, mocking laughter echoed back.
"So, do you regret it now?"
As he spoke, Ben once again took in Garrison's miserable appearance.
"To think you laid hands on a cardinal. And of all people, Cardinal Palliman himself."
"..."
There was no reply.
And Ben never seemed to expect one in the first place, as he spread his arms wide and continued.
"The symbol of goodwill said to be the reincarnation of Saint Gaul. Palliman El."
What he spoke of were the many titles used to praise Palliman.
Palliman El.
A priest born in the slums who possessed neither overwhelming martial strength like Garrison nor the tremendous holy power of the Pope and high-ranking clergy.
And yet, he had become one of the most influential figures within the Order.
His greatest weapon was his character.
With his unique eloquence, he drew countless nobles and wealthy patrons to his side.
Using their support, he established numerous relief organizations, earning fame by rescuing refugees and the poor throughout the land.
The number of people directly saved by him alone numbered in the hundreds of thousands.
And the wealthy elites and commoners who supported his actions were beyond counting.
"When a man serving as the Order's executor tries to harm someone like that, it's only natural for public opinion to erupt."
Garrison had already executed countless clergymen under the pretext of heresy.
And in such a situation, he had attacked a member of the College of Cardinals.
Not just anyone, but Palliman, whose virtue was renowned far and wide.
The Order could only be horrified.
"Even clergy from other dioceses have begun raising objections, so before long, your position as executor will—"
"They know nothing about him."
As though he could endure no more, Garrison finally spoke.
"He disguises himself as a good man, acts out benevolence, and presents a mask-crafted image to the public."
Just as Palliman understood Garrison, Garrison also understood Palliman.
They were comrades who had crawled through the same hell together.
The childhood they shared was not something time could erase.
"Taking in refugees? Saving the poor? Meaningless nonsense."
Garrison's voice was steeped in deep fury.
"What he saved were not helpless people in need, but materials for his experiments."
The grin vanished from Ben's face.
"You…?"
A question asking how he knew that fact.
But Garrison ignored it and continued.
"More than half the prisoners brought into this reformatory come from the refugee camps he oversees, do they not?"
"...!"
Ben's eyes widened, and his tightly shut lips slowly parted.
"So that's why…! That's why you…!"
The crude prison walls and the enormous pit at their center.
Thinking of the corpses buried within that abyss, Ben's body trembled violently.
After shaking for a while longer, the face hidden in shadow was finally revealed.
"That's exactly why you have to die here, Garrison."
It was grotesque laughter overflowing with maddened insanity, like that of a beast.
"Director."
At that moment, one of the inquisitors accompanying him spoke up.
"I told you not to speak while I'm interrogating someone, didn't I?"
Clearly irritated at being interrupted, Ben glared fiercely.
The inquisitor flinched at the chilling gaze, but soon lowered his head and spoke.
"At the underground lift station… the researchers are coming up."
Researchers from underground.
The moment he heard those words, Ben frowned as well.
"Tch. What is it this time?"
Spitting out the irritated remark, Ben turned around.
"With his body in that state, he won't last much longer anyway.'
Thinking that as he looked at Garrison's ruined body, Ben shifted his gaze outside the cell.
"What about Young Master Klein?"
"No issues. They say he collapsed while still conscious."
Heh.
One corner of Ben's lips curled upward.
"He acted all arrogant, but in the end, that's all he amounted to."
Saying that, Ben looked back toward where Garrison was.
"Once I hand over the young master and kill you, your position will become mine, Executor."
With those words, Ben's footsteps gradually faded away.
Boom—!
With a heavy metallic crash, the iron door shut, and silence settled over the prison that had once been filled with mockery.
How much more time had passed after that?
"Father, does it hurt a lot?"
Just as even his memories were growing hazy in his blurred consciousness, the voice of a young girl awakened him.
"Arin…?"
Someone who could not possibly be here stood before his eyes.
Someone who absolutely should not be here stood before him.
"Hehe!"
His own body was in ruins, all four limbs bound.
This was the cursed place lingering in his oldest memories.
And yet, why was this girl here?
Why had she returned to the hellish place that had given birth to her?
Clang—!
Before he could even finish his thoughts, Arin acted first.
The heavy restraints binding his limbs.
Yet something emerging from Arin's shadow sliced through them cleanly.
BOOM—!
With a thunderous crash, the stone floor caved inward.
Ben Drake, the warden of Kripel Reformatory.
The restraints he had specially prepared for Garrison were severed effortlessly.
"It doesn't hurt anymore now, right, Father?"
Arin's voice rang out again.
Garrison, who had been staring blankly as though unable to process everything, finally managed to clearly understand the situation.
"How did you get here, Arin?"
At the question, Arin puffed out her cheeks in annoyance.
"I was playing with my friends downstairs, but then they suddenly told me to leave."
"Downstairs… with your 'friends'…?"
Still dumbfounded, Garrison asked back, and Arin nodded her head.
"A scary mister is coming, and they said we mustn't get caught. They said it hurts reeeally badly!"
Down below.
Friends.
A scary mister.
Pain.
As Garrison mulled over those words, he forcibly suppressed the urge to vomit.
Because he had glimpsed the method by which the Order produced Holy Blood.
"Arin."
The moment Garrison called her name, Arin brightly raised her hand in response.
"…Did Klein come here?"
Whenever he looked at her childish appearance, no different from any ordinary young girl her age, he always felt indescribable emotions.
But right now, information mattered more than sentiment.
"Yes!"
A clean, immediate answer.
She looked far too pure for anyone to imagine she was lying.
"Then, since that person arrived…"
"Ten nights passed already!"
As she said that, Arin spread both hands wide toward Garrison.
'Ten days. Then there really isn't any time left.'
The necromancy Klein used belonged to none other than Archimond himself.
If the Order obtained that knowledge, the completion of the Holy Blood would only be a matter of time.
'If things have come to this, then only one option remains.'
Clenching his fist tightly, Garrison made his decision.
'Before the Order secures him… I have no choice but to kill him.'
Having reached that conclusion, Garrison rose to his feet.
Crack—! Crack—!
The chains wrapped around his body snapped apart, revealing his massive, bear-like frame.
"Arin. Where is Klein right now?"
When he asked with a grave expression, Arin answered while still smiling.
"Are you going to kill him?"
The innocent tone of a child casually asking about the weather.
But at her words, Garrison stopped himself from leaping forward and met her gaze.
"I am going to kill him."
Dense killing intent filled the air.
Yet instead, Arin asked him:
"Is Young Master a bad person?"
At that single question, Garrison's fist clenched tightly.
"He could become a bad person."
"Then that means he isn't a bad person right now, right?"
For a moment, Garrison found himself speechless.
Seeing that, Arin placed a hand over her chest.
"Young Master told me this. Even if someone is born to become a bad person, they can still choose to become a good person."
What defines a person is not the nature they were born with, but their choices and actions.
It was a saying of the first Duke of Leinrant, and words Klein repeated like a habit.
"However, there are beings whose very existence is a sin."
The cursed name that had driven his entire life into ruin—Archimond.
Remembering it, Garrison ground his teeth.
"Cursed beings… whose mere existence drags countless people into misery."
Those who cried out his name had tried to kill him.
Under that name, his heart had nearly been stolen.
His own parents, chanting his name, had told him to die.
While invoking the name of Archimond.
"I have lived for that purpose alone."
Kill necromancers.
Kill all those who invoke the name of Archimond.
Kill Archimond himself, the root of their twisted ideology.
That was the foundation of his faith.
And the very meaning of his existence.
KWA-BOOOOM—!
Just as the conversation between Arin and Garrison was about to continue—
An enormous explosion erupted from the exact direction Arin had pointed toward.
"So the upper detention block finally caused trouble!"
The clash of weapons, hurried footsteps, and screams.
Realizing battle had broken out, Garrison immediately grabbed the prison bars.
Creeeeak—!
With the sound of twisting steel, the iron bars bent upward.
Slipping through the gap, Garrison flooded his entire body with holy power.
Woooooo…!
The pebbles scattered across the ground beneath his feet trembled violently.
'No matter how powerful a necromancer is, he can't possibly face hundreds of inquisitors.'
Garrison had personally witnessed all of Klein's abilities during the civil war.
His talent was astonishing, but it could not overturn such an overwhelming difference in numbers.
According to Garrison's expectations, it would only be a matter of time before Klein was subdued.
'Don't worry.'
The moment he thought that—
"I never fight battles I can't win."
The voice of the boy from long ago brushed past his mind.
A fragile child dragged here at far too young an age.
And yet, an incredible child who had walked out of the reformatory with pride despite that tiny body.
He could not allow himself to think further.
Casting aside those thoughts, Garrison focused his mind.
'If he's subdued, there won't be any chance to escape. And then everything will be over.'
If the Holy Blood were completed, the Order and the Empire would use it for war.
A cursed liquid created through evil necromancy.
There was no way to know how many innocent lives would be sacrificed to produce it.
'I'll kill him before that happens.'
Firming his resolve, Garrison launched himself out of the prison.
KWA-BOOOOM—!
The ground split apart from the recoil of his leap, and the wind pressure whipped Arin's skirt about wildly.
But Arin merely smiled as though none of it mattered.
"That's a lie."
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