Chapter 21

Bigger Fire (1)

“…That’s everything I know.”

Having finished his confession, Deacon Silvio squeezed his eyes shut.

“Hah… so it all turned out exactly as the young master predicted.”

Randolph let out a hollow laugh.
When he first heard Isaac’s theory, he thought it was absurd.
But now, every piece had been stamped with the seal of truth.

A connection between the Old Religion and the cultists.
And caught in the middle of it all—Niers, and even Randolph and Fikel themselves.

The bishop had created villains to expand the Old Religion’s influence in Goethe.
And to nurture those villains, he had used the tithes collected from Goethe.
Of course, the bishop and his associates never forgot to line their own pockets.

The trembling deacon before them had taken the theology he learned from the Old Religion and twisted it into a new doctrine, inciting vagrants and beggars to form a cult.

“…That’s one hell of a confession.”

Randolph muttered, incredulous.

Silence fell over the prison.
At the end of that silence, all eyes naturally turned to one person—

Isaac.

“What will you do?”

Carlson asked.

“Tomorrow, we’ll go to the cathedral with the deacon. I’ll settle things there.”
“Then our job here is done for now.”
“Not quite. Sir Randolph, Carlson—do you have time tonight?”

“…Pardon?”

Randolph and Carlson looked at Isaac in confusion.
They had just relaxed after securing the confession.

“We’ll likely have guests to welcome.”

Of course.

There was no way the bishop would remain idle after having his tail stepped on.

Isaac looked quietly at the deacon.

“Don’t think you’ve won. This time, our sacred work was obstructed by the count’s cunning scheme—but Goethe will pay the price! The bishop will make sure the count is severely punished—!”

“Not the count. The young master, Isaac.”

Carlson corrected him flatly.

“…What?”

“I came up with this plan. So if you’re going to demand payment, you should come to me. Though I doubt you’ll get the chance. Now then—let’s talk.”

Isaac gestured to Randolph and Carlson and left the interrogation room.
The deacon could only stare blankly at their retreating backs.

—

Late at night.

The sky was thick with clouds, and the moon barely showed itself.

“Ever heard of the cannibal pig farm in the southwest of Bern?”
“I’ve heard that story more than ten times already.”
“Ah, have you?”
“I’m gonna go take a piss.”
“Don’t wander off. Come right back.”

One of the guards waved his hand and stepped into a dark alley.

But even after some time passed, he didn’t return.

“That bastard… don’t tell me he ditched us to drink somewhere. Hey, Vernon!”

The guard at the entrance moved in the direction his subordinate had gone.
But before he could take more than three steps, his vision went black.

Five shadows silently appeared over his fallen body.

They were covered head to toe in black cloth, blending into the night.
Exchanging glances, they moved into the holding facility.

A jailer idly tossing dice alone had a dagger driven into his throat.

Crack—

The neck of another guard at the entrance to the second underground floor twisted at an impossible angle.

The five shadows moved with precision, checking the identities of those inside the cells.

At the far end of the second underground level—

The interrogation room door was open.

Inside, the deacon sat slumped in a chair, bound.
One of his eyes was swollen shut, nearly unrecognizable.

One of the shadows stepped forward, raising a dagger to stab him—

Thud!

Before the blade could reach him, the attacker felt heat bloom in his side.

There was no pain.
The arming sword that had crushed bone and muscle was pulled free—
and then cleanly severed his neck.

The remaining four shadows did not panic.

Sensing movement instantly, they split into two pairs and charged toward the blind spots on either side of the entrance.

Carlson and Randolph—who had already taken down one—were waiting there.

Randolph deflected the thrusts of two rapiers and sliced through one man’s shoulder.

“Ghk—”

The groan was faint compared to the severity of the wound.

One of the injured shadows suddenly turned and fled out of the interrogation room.

“Ralph!”
“I know!”

At Carlson’s shout, Randolph responded.

Not a single one could be allowed to escape.
It was Isaac’s order.

They couldn’t give the bishop time to think.
This had to be resolved quickly.

Clang!

Aura flared from Randolph’s arming sword, and the rapier of the man facing him snapped in two.

“—!”

The blade bit into the man’s neck.
Randolph kicked the corpse away, yanked his sword free, and chased after the fleeing shadow.

Carlson, facing the remaining two, shifted his position in front of the deacon—
blocking any path to him.

Two rapiers and one arming sword clashed, sparks flying.

Carlson held the advantage in swordsmanship,
but unlike Randolph, who used aura, he couldn’t overwhelm two opponents outright.

The stalemate was broken by an unexpected variable.

“Move!”

Thinking they had come to rescue him, the deacon stood up—still bound—and shoved Carlson aside.

“Ghk—w-why…?”

But it was a mistake.

The shadow drove a dagger into the deacon’s chest.

Carlson regained his footing and tried to strike,
but the shadow used the deacon as a shield, pressing a blade to his throat.

For a split second, Carlson hesitated—

And in that instant, the shadow slit the deacon’s throat.

“Kh—kh—!”

The deacon clutched his neck, making choking sounds.
Blood poured endlessly through his fingers.

As Carlson checked his condition, the two remaining shadows had already fled the room.

Confirming the deacon was dead, Carlson immediately gave chase.

—

Silence fell over the underground prison.

Creak—

The iron hinges groaned.

The one who made the sound was Isaac, who had been watching everything from the cell beside the interrogation room.

The deacon lay dead, eyes still open.

Isaac closed them.

The deacon had been a witness who could expose the bishop’s crimes.
At the same time, his testimony itself was already firm evidence.

They had secured enough physical proof.

It was unfortunate—but whether the deacon lived or died, he still served his purpose.

“…That doesn’t mean I like this outcome.”

Watching someone die was never pleasant.

Perhaps Isaac could have saved him with magic.
But if it became known that he could control mana, the consequences were unpredictable.

Eventually, the truth would come out—
that he possessed the same abnormal constitution as Siegfried von Goethe, who once burned the royal capital.

Every royal and noble in the kingdom might come to fear—or even oppose—the House of Goethe.

Sadly, the deacon’s life was not worth taking that risk.

“Oh? And who might this be?”

Isaac’s thoughts were broken by an unexpected voice.

“Isaac, isn’t it?”
“…I didn’t expect to see you in a place like this, Bishop Levonius.”

Isaac rose and looked toward the man standing at the entrance of the interrogation room.
The man wore a shabby robe pulled over his head, yet even it couldn’t hide his bulging belly.
A dignified lower face, a gentle smile worn out of habit—

The very bishop who had orchestrated everything.

“You don’t seem surprised to see me. Perhaps the child of a margrave truly is different from a young age?”
“I’m the one who’s surprised. I didn’t expect you to come personally.”

Even for Isaac, the bishop’s appearance was unexpected.

“I’m surprised as well. To think Goethe’s tricks would ruin things to this extent. They say all effort bears fruit, but perhaps mine was lacking. So I came to put in some effort myself—and it seems it was worth it.”

The bishop smiled faintly.
Though his expression revealed nothing, Isaac understood its meaning.

“You look like someone who just picked up gold on the street.”
“Does it seem that way? I raised Deacon Silvio like a son from the time he was an orphan. I am grieving now.”
“Do you feel even the slightest guilt over his death?”
“No. I grieve his corruption. To think he would so easily submit to evil. Still, he was a loyal one—bringing you here like this.”

“So you intend to kill me as well.”

Isaac spoke calmly.

“Such fearless eyes. Isaac, do you remember when I baptized you?”

The bishop opened the old book tucked under his arm.

Isaac recognized it at once.

A grimoire.

Within the Empire’s Old Religion, persecution of mages was at its peak.
Thousands of magical artifacts had been confiscated by the Papacy.
The book in the bishop’s hand was one of them.

“I don’t remember.”
“Of course not. You were just a newborn. I never liked your origin. A child born between faithless Goethe and barbarian heretics.”

The bishop shook his head.

“In a way, it’s only natural you were cursed. You are the product of a union that defied divine will.”
“….”
“Isaac, you should never have been born. Had you been normal like your sibling, it might be different—but your very existence proves that the union between Goethe and the barbarians goes against God’s providence.”
“You say such hurtful things so casually—for a bishop.”
“I tell you because I pity you. You are a soul that cannot be saved.”
“And what do you gain by killing me?”
“You will die here today at the hands of cultists. Through that, the unholy union with foreign heresy will be severed—and this land will be purified.”

“…So that’s how it is.”

Isaac’s gaze turned cold.

The final piece had fallen into place.

The reason the cultists had been made to offer him as a sacrifice—
It wasn’t just to stir unrest among the people.

Most of the cultists, including Niers, were vagrants.
And most of those vagrants were remnants of tribes shattered in the borderlands.
Those tribes had been destroyed for opposing the peace between Goethe and the major tribes.

If they slaughtered Isaac as a sacrifice—

The fragile peace the count had built would shatter.

I thought I volunteered myself as bait… but they were targeting me from the start.

Around this time in his previous life, there had been an assassination attempt on Isaac.
The assassins had killed themselves upon failure, leaving no clues.

Back then, he assumed it was due to resentment over his mana explosions.

Now, the outline was clear.

“You shouldn’t expect your knights to return. The five I sent here were only bait. Thirteen holy knights are waiting outside—men who cannot afford to show their faces in a place like this.”

The bishop pulled a stake from a pouch at his waist.

“I hear barbarians use stakes like these during sacrifice rituals—to hold offerings in place so their many gods can feast more easily. Truly savage, isn’t it?”

Whoosh—

The stake cut through the air toward Isaac—
aimed precisely at his forehead.

Kiing!

But before it could reach him, it struck something unseen and veered off course.

“A grimoire inscribed with phase-shifting magic, I assume.”

The stake embedded itself into a distant wall.

Isaac kept his expression neutral, but inwardly, he was surprised.

As expected of a grimoire…

A simple shift in phase—yet the power was immense.
Even after colliding with an ice construct, the blunt stake had pierced solid stone.

But Isaac wasn’t the only one shocked.

“…Why… can you use ice magic?”

The bishop’s face twisted in disbelief.

Not only had Isaac used magic—
he had precisely intercepted a fast-moving projectile.

This was far beyond the bishop’s expectations.

“Well… I must have sold my soul to a demon.”

The blood of Deacon Silvio, still warm on the floor, began to stir.

Droplets rose against gravity, gathering together in midair—

Crack.

And formed into jagged ice.

“I pity you, Bishop. So I’ll tell you why you must die. It’s because… it would be inconvenient if people found out I can use magic.”

Whoosh—

The ice shards, formed from Silvio’s blood, shot toward the bishop with deadly force.