Chapter 20

Old Religion (2)

“…That was easier than expected.”

Following Isaac’s orders, Randolph and Carlson only used force against those who posed a threat.
They didn’t even need to draw their swords.
Most of the cultists who worshipped the Goddess of Fire were nothing more than vagrants from the sewers and slums.

When Randolph grabbed one and beat him into a pulp, the rest, overcome with fear, fled in terror.

“If you turn your back on the Goddess, you will be cursed! You will be—!”

No one listened to the old woman’s desperate warning.

“Anyone who wants to die, step forward. I’ll send you off before you even feel pain.”

When Randolph drew his sword and released his aura, the terrified cultists trampled over one another—including the old woman—as they fled the catacombs.

“I wondered what kind of people Niers had gotten involved with. Turns out they’re just blind beggars.”

Randolph let out a hollow laugh as he watched them scatter like a receding tide.

“Someone must have fabricated this religion deliberately. Can you stand?”

Carlson placed a staff into the old woman’s hands.
Her face was covered in blood, and she stared blankly into space, gripping it.

“There’s really nothing here. Just chunks of meat they treat as sacrifices.”

After searching the room where the cultists had been performing their ritual, Bill spoke.

“Search the other rooms too.”

Isaac looked around the chamber, stained with dried blood.
It was the largest stone room in the catacombs.
Dried gore coated the walls and floor, swarming with flies and maggots.
The underground warmth made it an ideal breeding ground for insects—flies, beetles, cockroaches, ants—all thriving.

“At least for the bugs, this is paradise.”

Watching them feast, Randolph clicked his tongue.
If it were up to him, he would have left this dreadful place immediately, but they still hadn’t found what they were looking for.

“What about these two?”

Randolph gestured to the battered vagrant and the old woman.

“We’ll take them with us after the search.”

“Yes, sir.”

The four of them searched throughout the catacombs.
They were looking for one thing—

Evidence connecting this place to the Old Religion.

‘This was around when it started…’

The cult that would later be known as the “Darkside Sect” began to rot Goethe from within.
The reason the Old Religion’s influence grew in Goethe was because of them.

Their grotesque murders and incomprehensible rituals spread fear among the citizens of Bern.
And the one who benefited the most from that fear was the Old Religion.

They gathered inquisitors, rooted out the sect’s fanatics, and held public burnings in the square, declaring a holy war.
At the same time, under the guise of charity, they provided food and education to the people.

Naturally, public sentiment began to shift—from the lord to the bishop.

Compared to a lord who stayed in the fortress defending the land, it was only natural for people to favor the bishop who showed mercy right before their eyes.

From that point on, the bishop began making increasingly unreasonable demands of the count—
Doubling the tithe each month,
Requesting manpower for expanding cathedrals even during active defense efforts,
Forcing serfs into labor for the church.

The result was inevitable: food shortages and the weakening of fortress defenses.

“The dark magic Niers was obsessed with and the Darkside Sect share many similarities. They both talked about souls and openly practiced cannibalism.”

Randolph and Fikel had only extorted money from Niers’ group.
They never knew exactly where his wealth came from.

Though he claimed it was slave trading, selling one or two slaves a month couldn’t possibly sustain supplies for two full companies of soldiers.

That’s where Isaac’s reasoning began.

Niers had another source of income—one Randolph and Fikel didn’t know about.
Moreover, the silver coins they extorted were high-quality currency minted directly by the royal family.
Randolph testified that it wasn’t just once—it was every time.

So where was Niers getting such fine coinage?

The questions piled up.

Isaac pieced together the scattered clues like a puzzle.
A way for Niers to consistently obtain royal currency…
There was only one conclusion that fit:

A connection between Niers, the Darkside Sect, and the Old Religion.

“There’s nothing here.”
“Even if you turn the place upside down, nothing. Maybe you got it wrong?”

Randolph and Bill reported back.
Carlson also shook his head—he had found nothing.

“…I see.”

Isaac considered the possibility that his deduction was wrong.
Where had his reasoning gone astray?

As he retraced his thoughts—

“Alright, let’s go. Where’s your home?”
“Dear, where is this place? Please don’t hit me… please…”

“…?”

Just as Carlson was helping the old woman up, she suddenly spoke incoherently.

“W-what is this? Please… don’t kill me…”

Seeing the dismembered corpses, half-rotten bodies, and skeletons, the old woman curled up and trembled violently.
She looked nothing like the frenzied preacher from before.
Urine seeped out beneath her as she sat.

“Has she lost her mind?”

Bill clicked his tongue in disbelief.

“Please… spare me… Deacon, please save me… My husband beats me like he’s trying to kill me… please… Ah, apostle of the Goddess… save me… save me…”

Her voice was frail as she begged for her life, her memory clearly fragmented.

“Grandmother, where is your home?”

Isaac asked.

“…Ha.”

“…She’s insane.”
“Unbelievable.”

—

Southern Bern.
A house in the red-light district, not far from the slums.
Every step made the worn wooden floorboards creak in protest.

In the attic of that house, Isaac and his group found a chest.

Inside were stacks of coins minted by the royal family—and silver bars.
At a glance, there were thousands of coins and dozens of ingots.
Enough to buy even a minor noble title.

“Where the hell did this much money come from…”

Randolph, who held a quasi-baron title, was especially shaken.
It was enough to buy two or three estates like his own.

While the others were stunned, Isaac’s lips curled slightly.

He couldn’t verify the silver content here, but the coins bore the royal crest clearly.
The craftsmanship was so fine that even the texture of the lion’s mane could be felt.
It was far beyond the ability of counterfeiters.

At that moment, Isaac’s theory was confirmed.

Goethe had now gained the leverage it needed to cut ties with the Old Religion.

“Brother… are you here?”

At that moment, a young man’s voice came from downstairs.
Randolph and Carlson exchanged sharp glances.

Isaac peered through a gap in the attic floor.

Snake-like eyes. A patchy goatee.

A face he had seen before.

“Ah… Apostle…”

The old woman, lying on the bed, looked at the visitor with vacant eyes.
The man wore the robes of a priest of the Old Religion.

“How did it go? Did you meet the Goddess?”
“Yes… I did.”

The old woman smiled gently.
The goateed man held her hand.

“Then… was the ritual successful?”
“Ah… that…”

Her smile slowly faded.

Suddenly, her eyes widened.

“The demons… demons! They trampled the altar and slaughtered all the believers! Apostle, please… grant us another miracle…”

“Demons? What do you mean? Tell me in detail!”

The man’s expression stiffened.

He grabbed the old woman’s hands and shook them, urging her to answer—but her eyes suddenly changed.

“Deacon, deacon… my husband is beating me to death… please save me…”

“…Damn.”

The goateed man released her hand.
He realized there was nothing more to learn from a senile old woman.

“…Those bastards…”

As he muttered through clenched teeth—

Creak.

A sound came from the ceiling.
The noise of old wooden boards shifting apart.
Not something that could be caused by a rat or a cat.

Someone was in the attic.

The goateed man quietly gathered mana at his fingertips.
According to the doctrine of the Old Religion—
magic was a power permitted only to the clergy.
All others were heretics.

Of course, in reality, many impure elements still remained in the kingdom due to the balance of power.
But they would all be eliminated in time.
It was a sacred duty.

His eyes flicked toward the old woman.

That senile hag was no longer of any use.
If the secret leaked here, everything would be over.
It was a shame about the offering in the attic, but the Old Religion was wealthy.
If necessary, they would provide more.

Fwoosh.

Flames ignited from the mana he had gathered.

His chosen method—
to purify this place with holy fire.

But the flames he had kindled failed to spread anywhere.

Something cold and sharp touched his neck.

“They say demons hide in the light.”

Carlson spoke from behind, a blade pressed to the man’s throat.

“W-who are you?”
“Try anything, and your head comes off.”

The goateed man withdrew his mana and raised both hands.

“S-spare me. If you kill me, the Papacy won’t stay silent.”

His eyes darted nervously as he spoke.

And then—

Creak… creak…

A boy descended from the attic ladder.

“Now I remember. Hello, Deacon Silvio. Have you been well?”

“…!”

The goateed deacon’s eyes widened.

“I believe this is our first meeting since Elder Yohant’s last rites.”

Isaac said with a smile.

—

Deacon Silvio had tried his best.

He had prayed countless times that he would not bow before heretics.
But in the end, he let out a sigh.

How fragile the human body was.
And how treacherous the human heart.

He had sought God, asking for strength not to be swayed by heretical violence.
But God did not answer—not until his patience ran out.

And his patience turned out to be far shorter than he had believed.

Soon, he began to resent the God who did not save him.
And then, he cursed the bishop who had orchestrated everything.

All of these changes in Deacon Silvio’s state of mind had been brought about by just three punches from Carlson.

Carlson rarely used violence.
He didn’t shout or threaten.

“You think anyone will know if you stay silent?”
“If you keep your mouth shut, your superiors will be pleased. Clean and tidy—cutting off the tail.”
“Let me tell you what’s going to happen until you open your mouth. I learned a lot from your inquisitors. You probably know it better than anyone, right? First, we’ll pull out your fingernails and toenails one by one. Then your teeth. After that, we’ll start breaking your bones—one by one, starting from your toes. Then we’ll tear open your asshole and let rats crawl in.”

Carlson spoke calmly, almost gently—
and it was horrifying.

It was so detailed, it felt as though he had witnessed such torture firsthand.
More than anything, what terrified Silvio was that Carlson looked fully capable of doing it.

There was killing intent burning in his eyes.

“Why do you think I know all this? Huh? Even if I chewed up every last one of you Old Religion bastards, it wouldn’t be enough. Maybe one in ten people waiting outside would show mercy for your testimony—but me? Not even one in a hundred. I want to see just how far your precious faith goes.”

A demon.

In Silvio’s eyes, Carlson was nothing less than a demon.

To a man pushed to the edge of terror, each well-timed punch felt dozens of times more painful than usual.
By the third blow, Silvio already felt as though his body had been reduced to a lump of minced meat.

He had seen the very bottom of himself.

“S-spare me… I’ll tell you everything… just please, no more…”

Silvio’s voice trembled as he begged.

By the time Isaac arrived at the underground prison, the goateed deacon had become extremely cooperative.

“…What did you do to him?”

Isaac asked.

“I just hit him a few times. He said he’d cooperate.”

Carlson shrugged.

“Guess his faith wasn’t strong enough.”