Chapter 119

The spark that sets the whole mountain ablaze

Cardinal Vincenzio.

He was not merely a clergyman.
He was a man who, in the end, set the world aflame with his own convictions—and one who burned himself away in that very fire.

During the eight days Isaac was imprisoned in the Inquisition’s dungeon, he pondered again and again.
In that time, his sharp hearing caught countless voices.

“Do you truly believe that flame is His will?”
“It may be blasphemous to say, but I think Bishop Rodrigo’s death was closer to judgment. He committed too many sins.”
“About Father Fulio, who burned to death recently—the Inquisition’s investigation says he held banquets with prostitutes in the cathedral.”
“The Day of Judgment is drawing near.”
“They say Bishop Torque has entered a fast of prayer. Every night, he climbs the cathedral steps on his knees.”
“Cardinal Richelieu has gone to visit lepers. He tends to them as an act of repentance.”
“Have you heard? Inquisitor Paul has donated all his amassed wealth to the Holy See.”

Because of the Violet Flame Incident, events stirred both inside and outside the Holy See, along with countless unverified rumors.

“They say the pro-imperial cardinals have banded together to investigate the incident separately. That violet flame—it might be something the Grand Inquisitor orchestrated.”

“Isn’t that just a scheme born of jealousy toward the Grand Inquisitor? Cardinal Vincenzio has always been at odds with both conservatives and pro-imperial cardinals. After all, despite being born a commoner, he enjoys the Pope’s favor.”

“It’s not mere malice. By coincidence, the Grand Inquisitor was nearby when the incident occurred. And there’s no one who can testify to clear his innocence.”

“As you said, it’s just a coincidence. To my ears, it sounds like baseless speculation.”

“Still, it’s a fact that the Grand Inquisitor is more powerful than anyone. Isn’t it strange? Ever since he began staying at Sancta Monastery, no more victims have appeared. Armed monks from the imperial faction always guard his side.”

From these overheard conversations, Isaac aligned the history he knew with the present moment.

At present, Cardinal Vincenzio was favored by the Pope.
Recognized for his upright character, piety, and ascetic life, he served as the Grand Inquisitor.

The Papal States were gripped by rising fear due to the Violet Flame Incident—especially among high-ranking clergy.

Those with even the slightest guilt scourged their own backs with whips, climbed cathedral steps on their knees, fasted indefinitely, or confessed their sins before the faithful.

Some donated their entire fortunes.
Others sought out the sick and cared for them in acts of self-sacrifice.

Yet not all were consumed by fear—some were filled with elation.

Devout believers who had faithfully kept their vows in monasteries, young priests who had long frowned upon the corruption of the Holy See, and pilgrims disillusioned by a faith bought with money—all of them.

‘And then… it will lead to war.’

More victims would continue to be consumed by the violet flames.
The imperial and conservative cardinals would suspect Vincenzio—but find no decisive evidence.

The number of victims would rise to eleven.
The Papal States would be stained with fear and violence.

Inquisition chambers would echo endlessly with screams, and those who died under torture would far outnumber the victims of the flames.
Gravekeepers would prosper as never before, theologians would argue until they spat blood, clergy would tremble in fear, and the faithful would be swept into madness.

And then—the twelfth victim would appear.

As Cardinal Vincenzio walked through the square, violet flames would suddenly erupt from his body.

Yet none among the gathered crowd would scream or cower in fear.

A strange sight.

Though engulfed in flames, not a single thread of his garments nor a strand of his hair would be harmed.
He would not scream.
He would not struggle within the fire.

He would simply kneel quietly and recite a prayer.

A miracle. A divine sign.

Gasps would ripple through the crowd.
Someone, overwhelmed, would burst into tears.

The one acknowledged by the violet sacred fire that burns the corrupt.

He is pure.
On that day, Vincenzio would become a living saint.

The authority of the Pope would collapse.
Long-suppressed resentment toward the corruption of the old Church would explode.

Voices would rise, demanding that Cardinal Vincenzio be elevated as Pope.
A fracture would form among the clergy.

The Emperor would rage.

If the Pope’s authority collapsed, so too would the Emperor’s legitimacy, which depended on papal recognition.
The Emperor would declare Vincenzio and his followers traitors and enemies.

The Pope and Emperor would join hands and proclaim a holy war.

Anti-papal forces would gather.
Rulers who despised the Pope’s corruption or resented the Emperor would declare independence and resist.
New religious factions, reformist clergy, and republican city-states would unite.

The people, enraged by oppression, would support them.

The war would drag on for a long time.
Vassal kingdoms of the Empire would gradually fall into ruin.

They would be forced to supply troops and provisions endlessly, while taxes would only increase.
Relentless conscription, famine, disease, rampant banditry, and uprisings would follow.

Seizing the opportunity, the Second Prince would initiate a bloody succession.
Its aftermath would reach even Goethe.

The northern fortress of Winterband would fall once.
A result of manpower and supply shortages.

Countless lives would be sacrificed to reclaim it.

All of it—everything—would begin with the middle-aged man standing before him.

A single spark sets the whole mountain ablaze.

“What is it that you’re thinking so deeply about?”

It was a voice as warm as spring.

Vincenzio spoke with a painted smile.
Fine wrinkles lined his pale face, yet they only added to his charm—he was a strikingly handsome man.
His silver hair flowed softly like silk in the wind, and his balanced features—from forehead to nose to jawline—were flawlessly smooth.

“I’m not yet used to the sunlight.”

Isaac frowned as he replied.

It wasn’t a lie.
He had been dragged here from the prison, masked, without explanation.
The harsh sunlight stabbed his eyes, bringing dizziness and a splitting headache.

A body that had long been submerged in darkness could not adapt so easily—especially one whose senses had been greatly sharpened by the Wolf King’s legacy.

“My apologies. Inquisitor Raphael mentioned you repeatedly, but the position of Grand Inquisitor is not one that allows me to move freely.”

“Does that mean bringing me out here signifies that the verification process concerning me is complete?”

“Half of it. The other half… I intend to confirm now.”

Vincenzio’s voice was low and gentle.
It was hard to believe he was the highest authority of the Inquisition.

If not for the armed holy knights standing behind him, one might have mistaken him for a kind hermit monk.

The scenery of Sancta Monastery itself was equally peaceful.

“A mustard seed is very small. But when it grows, it becomes a great tree where all may rest.”

On a bench in one corner of the garden, a young monk was reading from a worn Bible.
Beside him, children taken in by the monastery listened to the gospel in relaxed postures.

The monk smiled warmly and drew soft lines in the dirt with a tree branch.

“Look—this tiny seed grows beneath the soil, nourished by sunlight and rain, becoming larger and larger.”
“Can we grow like trees too?”
“Of course. There are small seeds planted in your hearts as well. If you nurture them with love and faith, you will one day become wonderful people.”

A warm nature, rather than solemnity, permeated the young monk.

“This is a good place.”
“It is. Too good a place for conversations like this. A place I dearly love.”

Cardinal Vincenzio nodded lightly in agreement with Isaac.

“What is it you wish to confirm?”
“First, I’d like to remove your shackles. I hear you have a peculiar constitution. Is that true?”
“It is.”

“Then… do you still cause mana explosions?”
“At the very least, I haven’t caused one in the past six months.”
“Teo, would you kindly remove this boy’s restraints?”

At Vincenzio’s request, the holy knight silently unlocked Isaac’s shackles.
Isaac rubbed his swollen wrists.

The skin where the cuffs had been was peeled and bruised a dark bluish color, but fortunately, necrosis had not yet begun.

“Now then, with your hands free, check this first.”

The cardinal handed him a tightly rolled note.

“When did this arrive?”
“Two days ago. It may have reached its destination by now.”
“Not exactly welcome news.”

After reading it, Isaac voiced his thoughts.
It was a letter from Vinfelt.

It stated that Botmer’s eldest son was marching toward Vinfelt with a large force. By rough estimation, it numbered at least two thousand.

This was something Isaac had failed to grasp.
The Papal States and Vinfelt were too far apart to share senses with the hell wolves.

“From what Raphael told me, you came here because of Botmer’s violation of the duel code, the assassination of his second son Rutger, the instigation of a bishop’s murder, and the mutation of a guard knight. Is that correct?”
“Yes. I intend to prove those facts and request an appropriate response from the Holy See.”
“However, Bishop Alquin gave a rather curious testimony. That mutated guard knight—what was his name, Chevalier? He said the flames that burned him were violet. Is that true?”

“That’s correct. The flames were caused by my personal mage.”

“…I see.”

Vincenzio slowly exhaled.

“Father!”
“Oh, Dominico.”

As the young monk’s sermon ended, the children ran toward Vincenzio.
Some clung to his legs, others wrapped their arms around his waist.

“We listened to your sermon, so now play hide-and-seek with us!”
“I’d love to, but today I must speak with a guest about important matters.”
“A guest? This big brother?”
“Yes.”

Curious eyes turned toward Isaac.

“He has come from far away. But he is, like us, a child of the Lord.”
“Then… does that big brother also have a seed in his heart like we do?”
“He does. But it seems he’s still searching for where it has been planted.”
“Then he can just play hide-and-seek with us!”

“That might be difficult. This man has much to do today. Instead, how about playing with Teo?”

The holy knight made an awkward expression.

“I don’t think Teo is very good at hiding.”

The children were already clinging to the knight.

“Teo, I ask this of you. The small peace of this place depends on you.”
“But I…”
“It will only be a moment. I will say a prayer with this boy and return shortly. Baron, will you pray with me?”

Vincenzio rose naturally and took the lead.
They passed through an old cloister where vines coiled around stone pillars, then descended a stairway beside a heavy iron door engraved with a cross.

The children’s lively screams faded into the distance.

As they went down, damp stone walls stretched into a narrow passage.
Flickering candlelight revealed faded frescoes along the walls.

After descending for some time, the passage ended, and an underground chapel finally revealed itself.

“Do you have a place you love?”

Vincenzio’s voice echoed through the stone chamber.

“I do.”
“Love alone is rarely enough to protect such things.”
“I suppose not.”

“Then let us now discuss how each of us might protect what we love.”

Whoosh!

Suddenly, the cool air of the stone chamber grew hot.

“Before that… you have learned my secret. First, tell me why I should not kill you.”

At the tip of Vincenzio’s fingers, a violet flame ignited.

Whoosh—!

“Will this suffice?”

A violet spark flared at the tip of Isaac’s fingers as well.