Chapter 28

Witch’s Sacrament

The incident only came to an end in the early afternoon. Oxana Narses—the lord’s second wife and a mage—had died in the middle of the night, yet she left behind far-reaching consequences.

Oxana had attempted to turn the lord’s daughter, Marika, into a young foal and slaughter her. In this process, there were quite a few who knew the truth and still went along with it. Instead of the frail Marika, they chose the outwardly youthful second wife, who shared a deep affection with the lord.

Of course, there had been resistance. The attendants who disappeared along with Marika were proof of that. Lord Matthias had assumed his daughter’s disappearance was merely a case of running away, so he paid little attention even when her attendants vanished. He thought they had simply followed her out of concern for the pitiful girl. In truth, they had all been killed by Oxana.

When the full story was revealed, Matthias was left speechless. The entire incident had occurred during the mere few days he had been away. And yet he had noticed nothing. Had Oxana disposed of Marika immediately like the other attendants, the truth might never have come to light.

Why had she gone out of her way to alter Marika’s form? If she had not intended to offer her as a sacrificial tribute in a ritual, she would never have been discovered.

“Perhaps… it was because Marika’s mother had been a nun.”

According to Matthias, Oxana had once had a romantic entanglement with his former wife. Because of this, she had been unable to meet him while his first wife was alive, and only after her death had they been able to unite.

Roberta scolded the lord for being far too complacent. He may have believed that affection would strengthen their relationship, but the result spoke for itself.

As they left Castle Kir, Fritz glanced at Marika, who had come out to see them off alongside the lord. The sixteen-year-old boy seemed unable to keep his eyes off a girl his own age. The girl, not displeased by the attention, offered a faint smile on her pale face.

Ulrich watched the young boy and girl for a moment before nodding toward the lord. Matthias, who had not slept all night, looked visibly exhausted, yet he forced a smile and bowed deeply in farewell.

The three of them rode off, leaving the farewell behind.

Their next destination was Witten, the central city of Count Meyer’s domain.

“……”

After riding for some time, once Castle Kir was no longer visible, Fritz looked toward Roberta. He rode side by side with Ulrich, while she lagged slightly behind.

It was not that she was deliberately keeping her distance. Her head was slightly lowered, her gaze unfocused. She seemed lost in thought.

“You seem troubled, Roberta.”

Ulrich spoke without turning his eyes from the front.

“Pardon? Ah… yes… I can’t help it. Even if I try not to think about it.”

“It’s because of the council, isn’t it?”

“Yes…” she answered, trailing off.

The council—simply put, a religious assembly.

It was a gathering of clergy who discussed a given subject. However, what made a council significant was that its conclusions were formally applied to doctrine.

As far as Roberta knew, since the establishment of the Pantheon, councils had been rare—but each one had caused tremendous upheaval.

The elevation of Hestio to a divine being, the compilation of the scriptures, the designation of the first heresy—all had been matters decided in council.

That was why the very fact that a council had been convened was extraordinary. The fact that she had not even heard of it was absurd. And yet, this time, the one who convened the council was the Emperor, and the subject was a change to the papal election rights.

“The absolute beings we call gods once existed, and priests serve as the link between their legacy and humanity. And the highest among priests is the Pope—yet now they intend to change the criteria by which that position is chosen.”

“It’s hard to believe…” she murmured to herself.

Conflicts between secular rulers and the Pope had long been frequent. The Pantheon had undermined its own authority through repeated missteps. Seizing the opportunity, rulers interfered in clerical appointments and even seized temple assets, committing all manner of abuses.

Even so, such actions could still be dismissed as deviations—excessive, perhaps, but still within bounds. At the very least, the Emperor had stood with the Pantheon, declaring that interference with divine authority would not be tolerated.

But now, without her knowing, that stance had changed.

“What has come was inevitable.”

“What do you mean?”

“Think about it. What is the root of all these problems?”

Because a single family monopolizes the right to elect the Pope.

“Including the selection of candidates.”

“Yes… only those from the Kormilius family can become papal candidates, and after deliberation within the family, one among them is chosen as Pope.”

“In other words, the public church itself is nothing more than the private organization of a single family.”

Roberta fell silent.

“What person would not feel envy when a single family holds the highest authority in the world? They have enjoyed power for over a thousand years. It is almost astonishing that discontent has only now begun to erupt.”

“……”

“Furthermore, consider what they have done. They replaced more than ten emperors simply because they did not suit their tastes. They raised the tithe from a tenth to a fifth. They even sold indulgences. And yet, no one dared to rebuke the Kormilius family. At most, they criticized the Pantheon itself.”

How could that be?

Even though the Creator undeniably existed and priests served them, priests were still only priests. They were meant to connect gods and humans—not to act in place of the gods themselves.

People were not fools. Not many would tolerate everything simply because it bore the name of the gods.

Yet, as Ulrich said, the Kormilius family had committed the intolerable—and had still been tolerated. Until just recently.

“Tell me, Roberta. Why is that?”

“…Because the founder of the Kormilius family was the Emperor.”

She hesitated before answering.

“Correct. Because people believe they are the legitimate bloodline of Hestio.”

The Emperor—meaning the first Emperor. He was the one who, immediately after Hestio’s departure, founded the first human empire and ushered in the age of mankind.

According to the scriptures, he possessed the divinity of Hestio. There has been much debate over the phrase “possessed divinity,” but it is generally interpreted to mean that he was Hestio’s direct offspring.

After all, despite being human, he ruled for over a thousand years. If his blood had not mixed with other races—if he were truly human—what other explanation could there be besides the blood of Hestio flowing through him?

If such a being were your progenitor?

It would mean that, in a world created by the gods, you inherited the blood of a god.

That was the source of the power enjoyed by the Kormilius family.

Who would dare criticize those who inherited the blood of a god?

“There was once a being called a god who looked down upon the world from the heavens. And there was also a human who lived in those heavens, whom his own kind came to revere as a god.”

“……”

“And now, among his descendants, it is said that someone carries that ancestor’s blood in its purest form. If that were true, who would dare oppose them? If anyone were to object, only Hestio himself could do so.”

“But,” Ulrich added, continuing his words,

“How much time has passed since then?”

Even without hearing the rest, Roberta understood.

The First Empire belonged to a time more than five thousand years in the past. The heavenly gods had departed in an age too distant to fathom, and they had never returned. Hestio was no different. Only the servants of evil gods had repeatedly brought calamity.

“Do you truly believe that the blood of such a distant ancestor still remains today? That even a single drop flows on? Tell me what you think. Am I wrong?”

“I…”

She could not dare to say it no longer remained.

Yet she could not answer that it did, either. She was a priest. A priest’s role was to serve the beings of the heavens—not to blindly follow their descendants.

That belief was precisely why, when she had been an ordinary priest at the Great Temple of Nua, she had not been well regarded. It was also why people said she would never have become a priest without the backing of Bishop Alonso.

Among all the priests she had met, the only one who denied the sacred blood flowing through the Kormilius line was Alonso alone.

After a long silence, she finally spoke again.

“…There are many who believe it remains.”

“That is not your own thought. Still, yes—most people think that way.”

Ulrich gave a faint smile and continued.

“Because they refused to mix their blood with anyone outside their kin.”

He was ahead of her and did not even look back, yet she felt as though his gaze was upon her, and she lowered her head. It was an uncomfortable truth.

Because of the sacred name Hestio, it was tolerated—but the fact that a single lineage had maintained itself through marriages among its own kin was not something that could be viewed favorably.

“Some praise the obstinacy of the Kormilius family. They say it was a sacrifice made to preserve the divinity of the father who brought fire to mankind. Do you truly believe that? Are their actions truly just?”

Once again, Roberta avoided answering.

“I do not think so. The blood of Hestio is nothing. There is no power that manifests simply because one possesses it. One should not cling to such things. The heavenly father and mother have long departed, and in a world where only fragments of the order they built remain, one must forge the will to stand on one’s own.”

She swallowed. There could hardly be a greater blasphemy before a priest, short of directly cursing the gods themselves. And yet, after swallowing, she felt no strong reaction. She was surprised—no, even that surprise felt like an act, as her heart remained strangely calm.

“Have you ever seen a true Kormilius?”

“I have seen His Holiness the Pope.”

“Marcello—that child is not considered pure by Kormilius standards. Those who bear that name and step outside are merely actors hiding their own deficiencies. Do not think of Kormilius by looking at him.”

She had heard something similar before.

Bishop Alonso had once told her:

“Even within the Kormilius family, those who truly inherit Hestio’s blood cannot be met freely. They hide them away as if they were some great treasure.”

That had been the day Alonso returned after being summoned by the Pantheon. He had been appointed as bishop and said he had met the legitimate bloodline of Kormilius.

At the time, Roberta had asked what kind of person possessed such sacred blood. Instead of answering, Alonso had simply smiled.

Her memory was unclear. But for some reason, the smile she recalled seemed bitter.

“Have you seen them, my lord?”

She came out of her thoughts and asked Ulrich.

“Yes. Far too many times.”

She did not question how. It was Pope Marcello—a Kormilius—who had sent her, an ordinary priest, to Ulrich, the lord of Dithmarschen.

What puzzled her was Ulrich’s relationship with the Kormilius family. What kind of man was Ulrich, that he had seen them—those whom even Bishop Alonso had met only once—so many times?

She did not suspect lies or exaggeration. Reason still tempted her to doubt, but when had reason ever truly been right?

Roberta silently waited for Ulrich to continue.

And within his words, she sensed a deep weariness.

“Richard must have seen them as well. That child is my adopted son. The Kormilius would not have left him alone.”

“The Emperor… perhaps not,” he muttered to himself.

“And you, too, will see them someday.”

She did not need to ask why. The relationship between Kormilius and Ulrich was, at a glance, profoundly deep. Just as Alonso had been summoned, she too would be called one day.

As a human, even before being a priest, meeting the true bloodline of the great progenitor was like a lifelong aspiration.

And yet, once again, she remained calm. The excitement that would once have filled her heart was gone.

Moving her dry lips slightly, she guided her horse forward to ride beside Ulrich.