Chapter 170 : The Inquisition (4)
Meanwhile, in the heart of the Demonic Realm.
“Ahh… how tedious.”
At the obsidian Round Table, the Twelve Nobles sat, their immense presences weighing on the very air of the chamber.
“Isn’t it time we made our move?” one asked.
“The Abyssal Bloom has progressed far enough,” another agreed. “It should be safe.”
The Abyssal Bloom—a parting curse from the dying Viscount of Sloth, Solamio.
It had warped the fabric of the Demonic Realm, rewriting its ecosystem from the ground up. Monsters evolved into sentient Demonkin, and the native flora and fauna twisted into new breeds of darkspawn, a fresh threat to humanity.
In the past, the knights of the North would have scoured the realm, eradicating such creatures before they could multiply. But the Bloom had made the land itself hostile.
Now, not even Imperial expeditionary forces or the hardened Northern warriors could scout the territory.
To make matters worse for the humans, their Grand Duke was bedridden.
The Demonic Realm was no longer a wasteland to be cleansed.
It was a fortress.
“So, what are the esteemed Duke’s thoughts on the matter?” Myu, the Countess of Slaughter, a woman with sharp, feline features, directed her question to Crio.
Crio drew in a slow, deep breath, a benevolent smile gracing his lips. “Hmm. A fine vintage of air, no matter how many times I breathe it.”
“Spare me the poetry. I asked what you were thinking,” Myu snapped, her voice a low growl of irritation.
Maintaining his serene smile, Crio replied, “What is there to think? The time to move is upon us, of course.”
Clink. The rosary beads around his neck shifted, their soft clatter a pleasant, chilling counterpoint to the tension in the room.
Crio, the Duke of Benevolence.
He slowly opened his eyes, his gaze sweeping over the figures at the Round Table. “We who began as twelve are now but six.”
“Eight,” Myu corrected bluntly. “Two of them are just sleeping.”
Crio’s smile widened. “I am well aware. But they are not with us in this moment, are they?”
“…Tch.” Myu conceded with a reluctant nod and leaned back in her throne-like chair.
Crio offered her another gentle smile before continuing. “It has been a short time, and yet an eternity. From our defeat in the Great War to hiding in this realm, clinging to life… it has been a very long time indeed.”
Silence answered him.
“You all remember it,” he said, his voice dropping. “Those moments of humiliation when humans dared to hunt us. To slaughter us. To annihilate our children.”
Crio’s smile remained fixed, but his eyes burned with a potent hatred, the memory of his persecution a physical sickness he could barely contain.
“I wanted to die. I wanted to pry open their skulls and devour their brains that very instant. But what could we do? We were powerless in the aftermath of the war.”
“…We were sleeping. It couldn’t be helped,” a voice muttered.
“Ah, yes. I am well aware that those who suffered the most grievous wounds fell into a deep slumber. I speak of our situation as a whole.”
Crio rose from his seat and began to pace around the table, his movements deceptively placid.
“In any case, we endured a dark age. But the era has changed. The heroes who led the Great War have died of old age. Those who survived suffered such immense losses that they can no longer wield the power of their past. What’s more…”
Crio paused, inhaling deeply again. His smile never wavered.
“Our proud Solamio has made the Demonic Realm so very beautiful for us.”
“So what is your point?” Myu pressed.
“Haha. Lady Myu, ever so impatient. Very well, to the heart of the matter… our time for patience is over.”
A dangerous glint sparked in Crio’s eyes.
RUMBLE!
The demonic energy around him began to boil. The rosary at his neck trembled violently before the cord snapped, its beads scattering across the stone floor with a final, sharp clatter.
“There is no longer a need to endure. The time has come to deliver judgment upon the insects who dared to threaten us, to persecute us.”
Crio’s red pupils dilated as his mouth curled into a true grin, all benevolence stripped away. The demonic energy at the Round Table surged, swirling with savage intensity.
“Now, we will show them. We will carve our greatness and our terror into their insignificant lives. And the first step on that path…”
Crio gestured, and a map of the continent manifested in the air, woven from pure demonic energy. He pointed to a specific region, his finger tracing its borders with predatory care.
“…is here.”
The Holy Kingdom. Homeland of faith, wellspring of believers.
“All of you, prepare for war. It is time to herald the beginning of the Second Great War.”
As Crio’s declaration hung in the air, the Nobles at the Round Table let loose predatory smiles.
A colossal wave of power—thick with excitement and anticipation—pulsed outward, shaking the very foundations of their fortress.
The war had already begun.
* * *
…What is this?
The Imperial Rangers monitoring the borders of the Demonic Realm watched in horror. Something was wrong.
After the Abyssal Bloom, the realm had fallen eerily quiet.
Now, it stirred.
THUMP. THUMP. THUMP.
A rhythm began, a unified pulse. Demonkin and darkspawn started to move in unison. The shimmering veil that had concealed the realm since the Bloom began to part, as if a great curtain was being drawn for a bloody stage.
“Something’s gone terribly wrong,” one of the rangers muttered.
They had to report this. To the Emperor, to the Grand Duke, to the Grand Masters. They had to warn someone that the gate of hell was opening.
“All units, withdraw from this positio—!” the ranger captain began to shout.
Just then, a sweet, feminine voice echoed from nowhere. “Hm? What’s this?”
The captain tried to turn, but his body wouldn’t respond. His head was already gone from his shoulders, held aloft by a delicate hand.
The woman holding it, Myu, hummed a little tune as she surveyed the area. “So many little humans.”
Her voice was laced with a chilling excitement. The rangers, realizing in an instant that this woman was a predator far beyond their comprehension, scattered into the trees.
They vanished in blurs of desperate motion.
Watching them flee, Myu’s eyes crinkled into a smile. “Oh, are we playing hide-and-seek?”
Her cat-like ears twitched in delight.
CRACK!
The muscles in her thighs coiled and released, launching her into the forest like an arrow.
“That’s one.”
SHINK!
The head of another ranger flew from his shoulders, severed clean.
Myu caught a drop of blood from the dead man’s neck on her tongue, her smile widening.
The taste of their final terror… yes, the hunt suited her.
“To think I’ve been holding back from something this delicious for so long.”
She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, her eyes locking onto the distant figures of the remaining rangers.
“Don’t get caught too quickly, now.”
It had been a long time since she’d had a proper hunt.
Myu set off once more, hoping it wouldn’t end too soon.
* * *
Around the time Myu began her sport, Louis Berg was observing a festival thrown in his honor by the Holy Kingdom.
It was a celebration of the Saint’s arrival, a holy day marking a new beginning. It wasn’t something Louis had asked for, but as the guest of honor, his attendance was required.
“Saint!”
As Louis sat in a high-backed chair befitting an honorary cardinal, a small child ran up and shyly offered him a flower.
A wildflower. The same kind he had once given to Lea.
He realized he hadn’t spoken with her much since arriving. She was busy nursing the Grand Duke, of course, but he had also been avoiding her.
It can’t be helped.
For him and Lea to grow any closer would be a mistake.
He was already drowning in guilt; the Grand Duke’s condition was his fault. If he had only been stronger, the Grand Duke would never have fallen.
…Useless thoughts.
Louis shook his head, clearing his mind.
He turned to the child and offered a gentle smile. “Thank you.”
“Hehe, you’re welcome!” The child giggled before darting back to his parents.
“Must be nice,” Lancelot remarked with a smirk as Louis held the small flower.
While Louis had been dealing with Cardinal Key, Lancelot and the others had been confined to their lodgings.
Louis had ordered them to protect Lea, but Lancelot clearly felt he’d been benched.
“One of us gets to be a hero, and the rest of us are slackers stuck in our rooms. Such a sad comparison.”
“…I’m with Lancelot on this one, Young Master,” Kai added quietly.
“See? Even Kai gets it.”
As Lancelot grumbled, Kai nodded in agreement. Normally, he would have jabbed Lancelot for the insolence, but it seemed he shared the sentiment.
They were worried, Louis realized.
As if on cue, Roxen spoke up, his expression etched with concern. “My liege, the dangers you face are too great. Please, I beg you, allow us to accompany you next time.”
Did they even know he was a Grand Master?
…Come to think of it, I might not have told them.
As Louis pondered this, Hans and Mihaila chimed in.
“Th-that’s right! Surely we could be of some help.”
“Hm? I couldn’t.” Mihaila, of course, was utterly unconcerned.
“Hah!” Lancelot scowled at her. “Didn’t expect anything from you, heretic. What kind of Saintess spends her entire time in the Holy Kingdom getting drunk?”
“Takes one to know one,” she shot back without missing a beat.
“What?”
“Your ugliness might be contagious. Please keep your distance.”
“Why you little—!”
As Lancelot and Mihaila descended into their usual squabble, the Pope approached, his presence silencing them.
“The Grand Duke’s treatment is finished.”
Louis straightened. “Is that so?”
“Yes. However, it will take some time before he regains consciousness.”
Louis nodded.
The treatment was complete. That was a relief. They no longer needed to be stationed here indefinitely, which was more than enough for now.
“That is good news. Then we will begin preparations to leave.”
“As you should.”
Without meeting Louis’s eyes, the Pope turned and walked back toward the cathedral.
Ever since the incident with Cardinal Key, he had kept his distance, secluding himself in the sanctuary. He had even ignored the Inquisitor-General’s questions about Louis’s halo, as if betrayed by the very man he had proclaimed the Saint.
…Nothing to be done about it.
Louis suppressed a sigh.
It was disappointing, being treated like this after saving the man’s life, but the Pope had lived his entire existence within the rigid confines of faith.
His worldview was fundamentally different.
He probably wished I were a true saint.
But he wasn’t. He was just a man driven by vengeance.
Louis offered a bitter, internal smile and shook his head.
In any case, their business here was done. It was time to move.
“Everyone, on your feet—” Louis stopped.
Something was wrong.