Chapter 99

Legacy of the Living

What is this? Archbishop Giacomo slightly frowned.

A young man was walking forward, step by step, ascending the platform.

If he recalled correctly, the young man’s name was Elmar. He had claimed to have met an inquisitor by chance and traveled with him, but it turned out he was merely a servant. He looked around twenty, yet spoke like an older man.

Giacomo had only met him twice. He hadn’t thought deeply about him. Judging by his manner of speech, he seemed older than his appearance suggested, and having made it all the way here, he seemed at least somewhat capable.

The inquisitor has quite a talented subordinate. It would be a waste to kill him—better to take him in if possible. That was about as much thought as he’d given him.

But now, as Giacomo looked at the young man before him, he felt both doubt and unease.

The mana emitted by the crystal sphere should have bound his body. And yet, the young man was walking forward naturally.

Thinking he might have mishandled the relic, Giacomo tightened his grip on it once more. The crystal sphere glowed red and stirred the air.

The third time.

And then—the young man stopped.

“…Good.”

Relieved it had merely been a mistake, the archbishop relaxed the crease between his brows.

“You said you had received grace, didn’t you, Giacomo?”

But then the young man spoke.

Giacomo frowned again.

He had not been affected by the relic. If mana had truly bound his body, he wouldn’t even be able to breathe, let alone speak.

“Then… do you know the principle behind it?”
“The principle? You mean how that ‘grace’ works?”
“Yes.”
“I just told you. I was granted qualification by one who bears Father’s blood.”
“That alone isn’t enough of an explanation. What does Hestio have to do with the relic?”

The young man continued.

“When was the last time the name Hestio was used? And how many relics have been made since then? Even relics created by those unrelated to that name still react to Hestio’s blood—as if that blood were some kind of master key. Giacomo, have you ever questioned why?”

Just as he was about to answer, a rough breathing sound came from behind the young man.

The six people standing behind Elmar began to move. As those who had stood frozen like statues gasped for air, color returned to their pale faces. The mana binding their bodies had been released.

Was there a time limit? Or had his concentration faltered without him noticing?

In a panic, the archbishop poured mana into the crystal sphere again.

There was no response.

The sphere that had worked three times just moments ago didn’t react at all. The red glow that had filled it had vanished. The relic had become nothing more than a colorless chunk of quartz.

“…Archbishop, what is going on?”

Beside him, Marquis Olnef asked in a low voice.

Giacomo opened his mouth to answer, then stopped.

It wasn’t that he didn’t know.

Rather—he could guess.

And that was why he couldn’t say it.

He stared wide-eyed at the young man below the platform.

A person must undergo the rite of baptism to handle mana.

Mana is not something that exists naturally in the world. It was scattered by the gods who created the world—a force originally wielded only by them.

The rite grants created beings the qualification to handle mana, and priests are those who have the authority to perform that rite on others.

Then who granted that authority to priests?

If one traces it back, it leads to a human who once lived in the heavens. After the gods departed, and before the age of dwarves rose, he bestowed that authority upon the beings left in the world.

That is why Hestio’s blood is a master key.

Relics, in the end, are merely tools that manipulate mana.

No matter who created them, they cannot defy that origin.

“Archbishop…?”

The moment his thoughts reached that point, the strength left his hand without him realizing it.

The crystal sphere slipped from his grasp, rolled across the floor, and came to rest at the young man’s feet.

“Have you finished thinking?”

The young man picked up the sphere.

At that moment, the quartz flickered with a white light.

The relic had not lost its power.

Its ability remained intact—Giacomo simply could no longer draw it out.

Giacomo had lost the grace—no, the qualification.

How?

Could that young man be of a legitimate lineage unknown to him?

No.

Grace is one of the sacraments—an act recorded in the heavenly register.

Even if the Pope were to excommunicate a priest, he could not revoke a sacrament once granted. No one could alter that record.

Not even a legitimate heir.

But if there were someone capable of doing so—if such a person were human…

“Who… are you?”

His voice trembled violently.

“I believe you already know the answer. But saying it outright would be meaningless.”

While examining the crystal sphere, he continued:

“What do you think of the name Ulrich? I imagine you would recognize it.”

“…Duke Dithmarschen?”

“That’s right.”

Giacomo swallowed.

That name had been the decisive cause behind the division of Kormilius and Jokuster.

He knew that the Kormilius family had offered the imperial crown to the Duke of Dithmarschen. He also knew they had deeply intervened in the Osnober civil war to do so.

Very few within the Pantheon knew this. Even those who did didn’t understand the reason, so everyone except the Kormilius lineage had opposed it.

And yet—the man before him claimed to be that very person?

The mismatched pieces in his mind clicked into place.

“That’s impossible… How could such a thing…”

Ulrich lifted the crystal sphere and stepped onto the platform.

As he approached, the archbishop flinched and stepped back.

Marquis Olnef and his retainers moved aside to either side.

“My apologies. We were never meant to meet, but circumstances left me no choice.”

The archbishop covered his face with both hands.

Normally, he would have shouted for such nonsense to stop. But now, unable even to meet his eyes, he spoke entirely different words:

“Have you… returned? Or were you never—”
“I never left to begin with. Well, I did set things down, but I never departed from the world.”
“Then… why have you appeared now? Why have you only watched until this moment?”

Ulrich placed the crystal sphere onto an empty display stand.

“I do not wish for this world to become a model garden.”

As the archbishop opened his mouth to question him, Ulrich raised a hand to stop him.

“Of course, you wouldn’t understand. You’ve traced its remnants through records and follow it through faith. You wouldn’t even be capable of the slightest doubt. To doubt would be no different from denying your entire life up to this point.”

“……”

“That’s precisely why I hid myself. But that wasn’t the only reason. I’ve already seen such a thing before—this world being swayed entirely by the will of a single person. It wasn’t a pleasant sight. We cannot repeat the same mistake.”

Giacomo lowered his hands from his face and looked at Ulrich.

“But you have come before me now.”

“When a problem is plainly in front of me, I cannot simply leave it be.”

Giacomo felt his body stiffen.

“Are you saying… that I was wrong?”

“At the very least, from what I can see, your intentions will lead to a different result.”

“…Why?”

The two fell silent for a moment, facing each other.

“The ones who sought you out—they know me.”

Giacomo’s eyes widened.

“And yet, they did not speak of me. Why do you think that is?”

To use you.
The words caught in his throat. He swallowed his answer, bit down on his teeth, and lowered his head.

“You said you would establish a new order, but their intentions differ from yours. After bringing down Kormilius, they will have entirely different plans. Giacomo—knowing this, will you still stand with them?”

Roberta watched as Giacomo’s face flushed red.

As if ashamed, he lowered his head, then dropped to his knees and pressed his forehead to the ground.

Marquis Olnef and his retainers stood a few steps away. The retainers looked bewildered, unable to comprehend the sudden turn of events, but the marquis seemed to realize something—shock spreading across his face. Soon, he too knelt, and the retainers followed.

“Giacomo.”

Ulrich looked down at the archbishop from just a step away. His expression was calm, but Roberta could tell he was inwardly reluctant. He lowered himself onto one knee and raised his bowed upper body slightly.

“Yes.”

“Tell me about them—the ones who came to you.”

Lowering his gaze, Giacomo began to speak.

“…The first to seek me out was a fairy. A fairy of the Landeyar family, named ‘Praselli.’”

Ulrich repeated the name under his breath.

“Did you hear which clan she belonged to?”
“I was told it was Erelbur.”

The Landeyar family was a branch of the Jokuster royal line, and Erelbur was the fairy clan that served them—the same house and clan as the young lord and fairy who had accompanied Ulrich’s party just before they arrived in the Langen bishopric.

“I see. Continue.”

“One day, that fairy named Praselli came to the temple. She asked to stay for a few days with her companions and requested rooms. Considering the relationship between Jokuster and Kormilius, it felt uneasy, but refusing them was not an option, so I accepted.”

And that night, the fairy came to him, bringing two of her companions.

“One of those companions… was her.”

“You mean a descendant of Hestio.”
“Yes.”

“What was the child’s name?”

“Kiara,” the archbishop answered.

“She was young.” Giacomo gestured toward Fritz. “Younger and smaller than that boy over there—so much so that she didn’t even look like an attendant. So I asked who she was. And they answered—this person here is the daughter of Father.”

He let out a long breath.

“To reach this position, I have seen countless madmen. From Kormilius’s illegitimate children to those claiming to be legitimate heirs—even those who call themselves the reincarnation of Hestio. Our world is full of such people. So when I first heard it, I thought Jokuster—or one of their branches—had fallen into heresy.”

But his doubt soon faded.

Because the girl who claimed to be Hestio’s descendant proved it herself.

The archbishop, having received that so-called grace, chose to believe her.

“Certainly… the grace she bestowed upon me was real. The kind of grace that only the legitimate lineage of Kormilius can grant. So I had no choice but to believe.”

Like a child caught in wrongdoing before their parents, Giacomo avoided Ulrich’s gaze, stumbling over his words.

“I understand. The sacrament she invoked was no lie. To me, that child—Kiara—does not feel particularly close, but it would be enough to claim legitimacy. So… that is why you chose to follow her?”

“The truth behind the group that Kormilius designated as heretics was also a reason. What we call non-deification… that heresy. I didn’t fully believe their claims, but knowing Kormilius, I thought it entirely possible.”

Ulrich nodded.

“And personal desire must have played a part as well.”

When the archbishop fell silent, Ulrich gave a faint smile and patted his shoulder.

“I am not here to judge your mistakes. There may have been exaggeration, but as you said, Kormilius has lost its way. It has upheld order for a long time, and now it seems to have reached its limits. The time has come to restore balance—one way or another.”

Perhaps because Ulrich had earlier said he was wrong, Giacomo blinked, as if he had expected him to defend Kormilius.

“And… there was also a dragon.”

He spoke hesitantly, lacking confidence.

Ulrich’s expression changed.

“Among that group?”

Even he seemed surprised, his brow narrowing ever so slightly.

“Yes. Though that is only according to their claim.”

“They must have come in a different form.”

Ulrich brought a hand to his chin.