Chapter 19

Old Religion (1)

“Sir Randolph, do you think what the young master said is true?”
“I don’t know. But how long are you going to keep using honorifics, Carlson? At this point, both you and I are nothing more than the young master’s hands and feet. Can’t you treat me like before?”

Randolph spoke as they walked through the streets of Bern.

“But a knight is still a knight, and I’m just a foreigner. The only reason I spoke casually before was because I thought you were a commoner.”
“I don’t really care about that. It just feels bitter that a friend is distancing himself from me because of my own mistake.”
“…….”

Carlson looked at Randolph.
Randolph still had bandages wrapped around his head. The bleeding had stopped, but where one ear used to be was now flat and empty.

Carlson, Randolph, and Fikel had been comrades since their trainee days.
Carlson had never cared about earning merit, and as a result, there had been a gap between him and Randolph in rank—company commander and platoon leader.
Now, it meant nothing.

“Chest out. Walk with confidence, boss.”

Perhaps feeling awkward under Carlson’s gaze, Randolph spoke to Bill, who was walking ahead.
Bill turned back with a pale face. His eyes were fixed on the leather pouch Randolph was carrying. Flies kept swarming around it.

“Even a pig being dragged to the slaughterhouse would walk with more dignity than that.”
“That’s because the pig doesn’t know it’s going to die.”
“Who’s dying? Don’t you trust our skills?”

Randolph smiled faintly. He almost seemed to be enjoying the situation.

“Aren’t you the new boss who took the head of that infamous Niers? If he saw you groveling like this, his reputation would weep.”

“Yeah, yeah. It’s all because I’m lacking.”

Bill let out a string of sighs. His upper body sagged completely, his back bent so far his arms nearly touched the ground. It looked as if someone had tied a rope around his neck and was dragging him along.

Then suddenly—

Randolph and Carlson stopped walking, and when there was no movement behind them, Bill also came to a halt.

“My lords?”

“Fikel……”

The square of Bern displayed severed heads mounted on spikes.
They belonged to criminals—murderers and robbers.
Most had been pecked apart by crows beyond recognition, but Fikel’s head, displayed relatively recently, was still identifiable despite being torn in places.

“…What a shame,” Carlson muttered.

“He was always the kind who’d end up like that. He used to say it himself—that he was born a stray dog with nowhere to return.”
“…And that he’d die like one, too.”
“Yeah.”

“Ralph.”

Carlson suddenly dropped the honorific and called him familiarly.

“Hm?”

“Don’t end up like that. You’ve got a family to protect.”
“I know.”

Randolph nodded heavily.

“Dark magic is spreading like a plague! Apostles of evil hiding in the shadows are violating women and feeding on children!
The sins and malice that began with Goethe’s ancestors have taken root in this land, and demons crawling out of the demonic realm are casting darkness over this city! Thus, His Holiness Pope Anastasius has personally sent sacred soldiers to purify this land!”

Cheers erupted.

On one side, heads were impaled on stakes; on the other, a man in priestly robes was preaching in the street.
Around him stood men in plate armor with solemn expressions, and dozens of citizens gathered nearby, their faces filled with hope.

“Practice your faith and be saved! Your belief will be answered. God will protect you from evil! Do not rely on a lord who does nothing—believe in Him and depend on Him!”

“Hear, hear!”

A loud voice rose in agreement from the crowd.

“….”

For once, Carlson, Randolph, and Bill shared the same sentiment.

“It’s hard to believe that a tenth of Goethe’s revenue goes to those charlatans.”
“And that a religious zealot can openly insult the lord like that.”

Bill nodded at Randolph’s words.

“If Fikel were here, he’d probably ask me how many silver coins we could get for selling that preacher.”
“I’m already starting to miss him.”
“Let’s go. It’s not worth listening to.”

The three of them headed toward the sewer.
Through the market district in southern Bern, down past the red-light district and the slums, then slightly west to the sewer entrance.

“Boss, you know the way, right?”
“Yes, I do.”

Bill looked like he had just swallowed something foul.

“From here on, watch your tone. Speak down to us. We’re your capable subordinates—skilled swordsmen under your command.”
“Yes, si—”
“Informal.”

Randolph smacked the back of Bill’s head.

“…Got it, you bastards.”

“….”

The moment Bill said it, Randolph instinctively reached for his sword.

“Hey, you told me to!”

“Ralph.”
“I know.”

At Carlson’s restraint, Randolph took a deep breath.

“Good. Keep it like that, boss.”
“Alright then, let’s go, you bastards.”

Bill said it again and hurried ahead as if fleeing.

“Carlson.”

Randolph placed a hand on Carlson’s shoulder.
Carlson had unconsciously gripped his sword hilt.

Fortunately, Bill reached their destination before losing his head.

“We’ve come from Niers to make a deal.”

Somewhere in the maze-like sewer, in a darkness even vagrants avoided, a figure in a black robe crouched.

“Niers?”

Bill tilted his head, and Randolph tossed the leather pouch.
The robed figure opened it, revealing a head crawling with maggots and flies—
the rotting head of Niers.

“I’m Niers now.”

Bill spoke, his voice trembling slightly.

“Is it really necessary to go this far? We could find another bait besides you.”
“This is my choice. With Carlson and Sir Randolph here, it’ll be fine.”

—

On a sunny day, Isaac and the count walked through the garden.
How long had it been since father and son had done this together?

The count searched his faint memories.
Back when Jonas was still in the womb, he used to give Isaac piggyback rides whenever he visited the estate.
Adele, her belly gradually swelling, would watch anxiously, worried Isaac might fall.
The count had enjoyed teasing her—
that fierce woman who looked like she could cut down any monster with a sword, yet fretted endlessly over even the smallest scratch on Isaac.

Now, that child had grown enough to walk beside him.

He had thought Isaac would remain an outcast forever.
He had worried that Isaac’s unusual constitution—too much for a child to bear—would keep him confined indoors for life.

But now, that child was worrying about the family.
He was even prepared to throw himself into danger for its sake.

“…So to them, there’s no better sacrifice than me. A child with as much mana as I have is rare, and as the eldest son of Goethe, I’ll attract attention. They need notoriety. From the cultists’ perspective, I’m the perfect prey.”

“You really take after your mother.”

The count said this after hearing Isaac’s explanation.
The calm way he listed reasons for offering himself as a sacrifice—it was just like Adele.
Logical. Rational.
And above all, sharp and bold.

“Is that so.”

According to the Old Religion’s doctrine, even interest-taking or currency exchange fees were considered sinful.
Bound by that doctrine, Goethe could not accumulate wealth.
If they tried to sever ties unilaterally, the Papacy would not stay silent.

They needed justification—and Isaac had found a way to create it.

“Oh dear, my lord, young master—please forgive me, forgive me.”

As they completed a lap around the garden, servants who spotted them hurriedly bowed and fled, apologizing profusely for no clear reason.
They looked startled at the count—and frightened when they noticed Isaac beside him.

“Father, may I ask something?”

Isaac watched the servants retreat.

“What is it?”
“If I stop causing mana explosions… will Mother come back?”

“….”

The count stopped walking.

Adele was traveling across the continent in search of a cure for Isaac.
It was the path she had chosen as a mother.
The count had never imagined Isaac was troubled by it.

“Yes. If you recover, then she will.”

“…How can I prove that?”

“What do you mean?”
“I mean proving that I won’t cause mana explosions anymore.”
“…What are you talking about?”

The count asked, his face as if he had just heard a bad joke.

—

A few days later, at dawn under a sky thick with clouds,

A carriage departed, seen off by Hans.
The count, who rarely slept late, stood by the window watching it leave the estate.
His face was full of worry.

“Please don’t worry. Carlson and Sir Randolph are with him, aren’t they?”

Schiller said.
Despite the early hour, he was fully dressed in uniform without a single crease out of place.

“I suppose so. Those two were among the best even in Winterband.”
“Is there something else troubling you?”
“Isaac… is he twelve this year?”
“Yes.”

“…He’s growing up far faster than I expected.”

The carriage had long since disappeared from the count’s sight.

Hiss.

The count sat at his desk and lit his pipe.
Through the rising smoke, his gaze settled on a silver coin lying on the table.
Stamped upon it was the royal crest.

—

In the southern forest of Bern stood a ruined monastery.

Once, monks of the New Faith had formed a community there, but after persecution by the Old Religion, it had become a place where no one lived.
Weeds had grown wild, and birds, insects, and wild animals had taken root where people once dwelled.
Burn marks and charred remnants still scarred the broken structures.

Years ago, the monks of the New Faith had been trapped there and burned alive.
It had been an act of force carried out by inquisitors sent by the Old Religion.

Because of the overcast sky, the monastery looked especially desolate today.
The carriage slowly advanced toward that place, where not even a shadow of a person could be seen.

As it reached the entrance, a figure in a black robe appeared from somewhere.
Holding a lantern even in broad daylight, he silently watched the carriage.

When the driver pulled the reins and stopped, the robed figure spoke.

“Kiss the entrails of the black calf.”

“….”

“When the black calf kisses the entrails.”

When the driver did not answer, the robed figure repeated it.

“…Joy shall toy with you.”
“Bring forth the offering for Him.”

Two armed men stepped down from the back of the carriage, followed by a boy bound with rope and gagged.

“In the name of the Goddess of Fire, welcome, you who suffer.”

“Cut the bullshit and take us to your leader.”

The driver replied bluntly.

“…Is that boy truly the promised offering?”

The robed figure looked at the boy, whose hands and feet were tightly bound and whose mouth was gagged.
Ash-gray hair, blue eyes—just as described. He certainly had an air of nobility, but it was difficult to be sure he was truly the promised sacrifice.

More than anything, what unsettled the robed figure was how calm the boy was.
There was no fear or anxiety in his eyes.
It was as if he had already accepted everything.

“Damn it, you can’t even tell and you still hired us?”

The driver grumbled.

“If you keep nitpicking, we’re just leaving.”
“We must confirm from our side as well. Especially if we are to provide the reward you seek.”

The robed figure spoke calmly.
Part of his face was visible—he had no nose, and his lips were gone, exposing his teeth.
The driver flinched, but hid it.

“Your boss ordered it, didn’t he? Then your boss will recognize him, right? What, you expect some noble brat to carry around a certificate saying ‘I’m a noble’ in case he gets kidnapped, you idiot?”

“….”

As the robed figure glared, the driver casually looked away.
It was the kind of face you’d have nightmares about.

“The promised offering has arrived. Present the true gift, child. The Goddess of Fire will gladly accept it.”

At that moment, an old woman with a cane emerged from the ruined building.

“As the Goddess wills.”

The robed figure bowed his head.

“Follow me.”

—

Following the robed figure, the group stepped into the ruins.

“This way.”

The robed figure with the lantern and the hunched old woman led them underground.

It was a catacomb.

—

“I didn’t expect them to set up base in a place like this.”

Randolph muttered.

The catacombs were like an anthill, with narrow stone chambers branching endlessly.
Aside from the lantern carried by the robed figure, everything was swallowed in darkness.

“This is where it all began. When the fanatics of the Old Religion burned this place, three saints survived the flames. Their bodies were covered in burns, but together they spoke of witnessing the true form of God at the boundary between life and death. She was a goddess of indescribable beauty.”

The old woman spoke without being asked, quickening her pace.

“The human body houses a soul. By consuming flesh that contains a soul, they are reborn within us—their intellect, their abilities, their vitality, even the pain and joy they experienced in life. Frail humans thus attain eternity. This… is the teaching of the Goddess.”

At the far end of the catacombs,
a room that shone with unnatural brightness came into view.

And when the group entered that room—

Bill cursed without thinking.

At least Niers had been civilized.
He had cooked human flesh before eating it.

Crunch!
Crunch!

If hell existed, perhaps it would look like this.

Naked cultists were tearing apart a dismembered human corpse on an altar, eating it raw.
The face of the corpse—its torso already being devoured—was twisted in extreme agony.
It had long since stopped breathing.

“Hear me! The prophesied offering has arrived! Consume the noble soul and become noble! Consume the wise soul and become wise! Consume the pure soul and become pure! Today, we bring to the house of the Goddess a soul that possesses all three! Rejoice! Rejo—”

“Yeah, I’ve had enough of that crap.”

The driver kicked the old woman, cutting off her frenzied speech.

The cultists, in the middle of their grotesque feast, all turned their gaze toward them.

“How long do we have to keep this act up, young master?”

The driver asked the boy.

“…Hah. You finally snapped.”

One of the accompanying men clicked his tongue at the driver, while the other untied the boy.

The boy removed his own gag and spoke calmly.

“Only deal with the ones who attack. Don’t forget the objective.”