Chapter 52 : Chapter 52
Chapter 52: The Inquisitor’s List
A knife-like wind swept across the assembly square.
The young Temple Knight Gabriel stood within an iron formation of two thousand brothers-in-arms.
His entire body was encased in full Deathbird plate armor. Under the light of the ever-burning sacred flame braziers at the edge of the square, the huge scales-and-sword emblem on his breastplate reflected a holy yet merciless gleam.
He could smell weapon oil and cold steel in the air. Every breath felt as though he were inhaling frost.
“Another purification, kid.”
Beside him, an old soldier missing half an ear muttered in a hoarse voice.
“Let’s hope these heretics aren’t like those blood rats from the western frontier. Bastards still had to take a shit on the ground before dying.”
Gabriel said nothing. He only tightened his grip on the Codex of Judgment in his hands.
He did not like old Joseph’s cynicism, but he also knew that only men like Joseph—those who treated “purification” as no more than hauling out the trash—could survive one bloody mission after another without being devoured by nightmares.
No one spoke. The square held only the sound of the wind and the occasional faint clink of armor plates brushing together.
Two thousand knights of the Blade of Purification stood there like two thousand statues of slaughter.
They were the Church’s wrath, the Father God’s sword swung against the world.
Their lexicon held no mercy. Only purification.
Gabriel’s gaze passed over the motionless forest of steel before him and fell upon the raised platform at the far end of the square.
There stood a single man.
The red-robed inquisitor, the Scourge of Blasphemers—Augustus.
He wore only a deep crimson clerical robe, impeccably cut. His face was lean, and his skin was pale as the finest parchment.
He merely stood there, holding a massive tome in his hands, yet he became the center of the entire world.
A presence that mingled the majesty of holy light with iron-blooded slaughter spread from him, weighing so heavily on the assembled knights—men steeped in bloodshed—that even they found it hard to breathe.
Gabriel had seen him once before, three years ago.
During the Purification War against the Blood Chalice heresy, a six-armed serpent demon had been summoned. With a single blow, it melted an entire knightly shield wall.
At the height of that despair, Lord Augustus had walked alone to the front, opened the tome, and in a tone so calm it was almost horrifying, recited the abyssal lord’s crimes.
“…In violation of the Father God’s laws, you departed the Abyss without leave. You are guilty.”
The moment his words fell, a massive golden cross descended from the heavens and silently purified that overbearing serpent demon into ash.
That was the moment Gabriel understood that before true holiness, mortal power was laughably insignificant.
Now, Augustus slowly closed the tome.
Click.
The slight sound rang across the deathly silent square like thunder.
“The Eastern Territory. The Wailing Wastes.”
His voice was not loud, but it pierced every ear like a steel needle.
“A land forsaken by the Father God, where a blasphemous plague has taken root.”
“A nest of insects calling themselves the Lord of White Bone is there, staging a pitiful parody of divinity.”
“They awaken the dead, enslave souls, and defile the Father God’s creations.”
Augustus raised his eyes and swept his deep gaze across the forest of steel below.
“His Grace the Archbishop has grown tired of their little game.”
“The Father God, too, is enraged.”
His voice did not rise or fall, yet Gabriel felt his blood beginning to burn.
“This expedition has three objectives.”
“First: find them, crush them, purify them.”
“Grind their bones into powder and scatter them over the saline earth until every trace of their existence is erased.”
“Second: find every living thing on that land tainted by the plague, whether man, beast, or even a single stalk of wheat.”
“In the Father God’s name, grant them… final peace.”
“Third…”
A cold curve touched the corner of Augustus’s mouth.
“Determine the source of the plague, and its connection to every ‘anomaly’ upon that land.”
He did not explain what he meant by “anomaly,” but an inquisitor’s words were scripture.
“Now.”
Augustus slowly raised the tome.
“In the name of Holy Light, and by the authority of judgment—march!”
“—CLANG!!!”
Two thousand Temple Knights struck their breastplates with their sword hilts in perfect unison.
That convergence of metal on metal sounded like an ancient dragon awakening with a heaven-shaking roar, even tearing a massive gap in the overcast sky above the Tower of Judgment.
…
Two days later.
On the eastern border of the Wailing Wastes, the scorched black earth exuded the stench of rot.
The enormous knightly host advanced across the dead land like a moving wall of steel.
They had just passed a village—or rather, the ruins of what had once been a village.
The houses had collapsed. What grew from the fields was no longer grain, but twisted black fungi.
Despair itself seemed to drift through the air.
“My lord, there are no living creatures in the village, nor any signs of undead activity. It was most likely abandoned during the early stages of the plague.”
A knight captain reported to Augustus.
Seated astride a magnificent white warhorse, Augustus rode over the scorched earth without a speck of filth touching him.
He glanced at the ruins and spoke as calmly as though discussing the weather.
“Polluted soil cannot yield fruits pleasing to the Father God. Purify it.”
“Yes, my lord!”
Soon, more than a dozen knights stepped forward with torches and set the entire village ablaze.
Towering sacred flames shot into the sky, reducing all corruption—and those former homes along with it—to ash.
Gabriel watched the flames rise and felt his stomach churn.
He knew it was necessary, yet seeing those houses—some of which might still hold children’s toys—consumed by fire still left him breathless.
“Don’t look, kid.”
Old Joseph’s voice sounded beside him.
“The more you see, the slower you forget.”
“We are swords. A sword doesn’t need to think. It only needs to cut.”
Just then, a warning came from the scout unit ahead.
They had surrounded a black-robed figure kneeling on the ground. It was one of the Silent Apostles sent by Elizabeth.
“Speak your master’s name, and tell us where your nest is!”
The knight captain’s sword burned with golden sacred flame as he barked the question.
The Silent Apostle merely lifted his head. Beneath the hood was nothing but darkness, with only two ghostly green flames flickering within.
He released a wave of mocking mental fluctuation.
The next instant, his body swelled violently.
“He’s going to self-destruct! Fall back!”
But they were already too late.
A golden chain, faster than lightning, shot from the rear. It wrapped precisely around his neck and yanked hard.
SPLURT!
The Silent Apostle’s head tore free like a rotten melon and flew into the air.
Its body, on the verge of exploding, instantly shriveled into dust.
Augustus extended a pale hand and made a grasping motion through the air.
The severed head was seized by an invisible force and slowly floated before him.
“In my presence, you do not even possess the right to end your own life.”
Augustus looked at the head, whose eye sockets still flickered with ghostfire, and spoke in the same calm tone as before.
He extended a finger. At the tip, a soft yet irresistible white glow appeared and touched the center of the head’s brow.
“Soul Search.”
A shrill scream of a soul being torn apart rang through everyone’s minds.
A moment later, Augustus withdrew his hand.
Now he knew of the Church of White Bone, Saint Elizabeth, Grayrock Town…
And he also learned things the letter had not contained.
For example, to the north of the undead, there was a newly rising human city. A so-called City of Miracles, built in only a few short months by an exiled young noble.
For the first time, genuine interest appeared on Augustus’s face.
A graveyard occupied by the undead, and a cradle of life growing wildly upon the wasteland…
“This land is far sicker than the reports described.”
He raised his head and looked not toward Grayrock Town, the undead nest, but toward the northwest.
That was where the City of Miracles lay.
“Before cutting out the most obvious malignant tumor, I must first examine exactly how many other… festering sores are hidden within this patient’s body.”
Augustus’s gaze seemed to pierce through space itself, falling upon the city he had never yet seen, but had already marked as an “anomaly.”
“Pass the order.”
His voice was not loud, yet the entire knightly host stilled at once.
“The whole army will change course. Our destination is the northwest.”
“I want to see with my own eyes whether that so-called City of Miracles is truly a miracle sent down by the Father God…”
He paused, and a chilling cold light flashed through his ice-blue eyes.
“…or another heretical breeding ground in need of purification.”