Chapter 94

Legacy of the Living

Karal looked around the dining hall, then found an empty seat and sat down.

The only available spot was right next to the front door, and even when it was closed, a cold draft still seeped in.

“This damn door still isn’t fixed,” he muttered, placing his order with the innkeeper.

The innkeeper, who had been greeting customers with a stiff expression, seemed to recognize him.

“You again?” he said, striking up a casual conversation, and the two exchanged a few idle remarks.

After finishing his meal, Karal headed upstairs to the second-floor rooms.

Meanwhile, Roberta pretended to converse with Fritz and Ulrich as they waited. After some time had passed since Karal went upstairs, the three followed.

The sixth room down the corridor, as the innkeeper had said.

When they carefully knocked, Karal opened the door. Ulrich entered the room in his place, while the remaining three went into a nearby room that Roberta had rented.

“…I think we’ve been discovered.”

As soon as they entered, Karal spoke in a low voice.

“Yes. Judging by their reactions, they know you, Brother.”

“Should we assume the lord betrayed us?”

Roberta murmured, “Hard to say,” and paused.

On their way from the village of Lecce to the meeting point, Ulrich had made a suggestion: they would enter separately, pretending to be strangers.

Just as they had found Karal, if Archbishop Giacomo had found that knight, then it was likely his subordinates would be lying in wait at their meeting place.

The ominous suspicion had proven correct.

In the inn dining hall they had designated as the meeting point, there was a suspicious group. The ones claiming to be monster hunters kept glancing at Karal the moment he entered, tension evident on their faces.

They knew him—and they were targeting him.

In the Bishopric of Langen, the only one who knew Karal was “that knight lord.” It was unlikely that the mercenaries Ulrich had pursued had revealed information about Karal. This place was a meeting point known only to two members of the Dawn Society. Even if mercenaries recognized Karal’s appearance, they wouldn’t know about this location.

Given the circumstances, it had to be that knight who spoke.

Whether he had defected to the Archbishop’s side or not was unclear. He might have revealed the secret unintentionally.

But one thing was certain—the Archbishop was one step ahead.

“For now, that knight—”

Beside her, Karal corrected, “Sidoar.”

“…Sir Sidoar must already be in the Archbishop’s custody. There’s no reason for us to stay here.”

“Right. Since he talked about me, there’s no guarantee he didn’t reveal our base as well.”

“The Archbishop got ahead of us.”

Clicking his tongue in irritation, Karal sat down.

“I had a bad feeling about this…”

Roberta slightly opened the window and looked outside.

Beyond the inn, the village streets were empty, swallowed by the night.

In a city, oil lamps would be lit and people would still be moving about—but this was a small village. The only light came faintly from the inn’s first-floor dining hall, and the rest was illuminated only by moonlight filtering through the clouds.

“…About that man named Armin.”

Closing the window, she turned to Karal.

“He’s not a half-breed or a short-eared fairy, is he?”

“No. Armin is human. There’s no mixed blood from other races.”

Karal shook his head.

“…I see.”

He looked as though he was about to say something, then stopped himself. Roberta frowned slightly.

“Is there a reason you’re asking?”

“Just curious.”

As if that were true.

Roberta inwardly dismissed it as an obvious lie.

Karal harbored doubts about Ulrich.

She didn’t know what those doubts were. Karal followed Ulrich because Ulrich had revealed part of himself—but Roberta didn’t know what kind of connection existed between Ulrich and Karal, or the Dawn Society.

The old fence and his son had followed Ulrich because their ancestors had ties to him, and because of a story passed down through generations.

Karal seemed to have something similar, yet unlike them, his faith was not firm.

Perhaps whatever connection he had was different—something that made it hard to fully trust, yet impossible to dismiss.

She wanted to ask what it was—but the opportunity never came.

“…!”

All three turned their heads toward the door.

The wooden corridor creaked—creak, creak. Someone was walking outside, and not just one person.

Roberta glanced back. Fritz gripped a branch of the spirit tree, and Karal held the hilt of his sword. They exchanged silent nods.

Step by step, careful footsteps approached… then stopped.

As if they had reached their destination, everything fell silent.

Then—

Clack. The sound of a door opening.

Hurried footsteps followed.

“W-What the—?!”

A startled, alarmed shout rang out in the corridor.

“Get outside.”

Taking that as her signal, Roberta flung open the window and jumped.

Fritz and Karal followed after her. The three quickly scanned their surroundings—no one in sight—and immediately ran toward the inn’s front entrance.

The door was closed. No light leaked through the shuttered windows, but from within, the murmur of many voices could be heard.

As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, Roberta suddenly threw the door open and rushed inside.

Eight people.

All of them stood with their backs turned, staring toward the stairs.

Roberta struck the nearest man on the back of the head with her scabbard.

Crack.

The man collapsed without even a scream.

“Behind us! Watch behind!”

“Who is it?!”

As the remaining seven turned in alarm, Fritz murmured softly,

“Light.”

A burst of white radiance exploded outward.

“—!”

Even in broad daylight it would have been blinding—what would happen when eyes accustomed to darkness faced it directly?

Roberta felt the glare as well, but she stood with the light behind her.

While they clutched their eyes, screaming silently, she struck them down one after another.

Naturally, there was no resistance.

The innkeeper, who had woken late after hearing the commotion, wore a troubled expression.

It was only natural—tables, chairs, and fire pokers were scattered across the dining hall, and in their midst, seventeen fake hunters lay bound with rope.

But when Ulrich handed him a few gold coins, his face lit up instantly. He shooed away the villagers who had come to gawk at the late-night disturbance and shut the front door.

“Anything else you need help with?”

Rubbing his hands eagerly, the innkeeper asked in a servile tone.

“That won’t be necessary. We’ll take care of the rest. Would you mind leaving us?”

“Understood. Call me if you need anything.”

Once the innkeeper left, Roberta began searching the bound hunters, checking their belongings for anything related to their identity or purpose.

“Roberta.”

At Ulrich’s call, she looked up. In his hand was a familiar disc.

“A seal.”

It was a seal given to those ordained as priests by the Church.

The one carrying it was a man who looked to be around forty. Roberta approached him.

“Brother?”

The man she addressed did not answer. He merely lowered his head. He didn’t even attempt an excuse like “I only stole it.”

Ulrich pulled the priest to his feet and led him upstairs. Roberta left Fritz and Karal to deal with the others and followed.

Inside a room, they sat him down on a chair and shut the door. The priest flinched, then quickly fixed them with a resolute glare.

“…Are you going to torture me?”

Ulrich dragged a chair over, placed it in front of him, and sat down facing him.

“No.”

“Then what? You expect me to talk willingly?”

“In the end, I believe you will.”

The priest let out a scoff, about to speak, but Ulrich cut him off first.

“To be honest, there’s no need to ask. I can already imagine several possible motives. Whichever one it is, the process and the result are the same.”

The priest stared at him, unable to understand.

“Then why bring me here? If there’s nothing to ask?”

“There is someone beside me who needs certainty.”

Ulrich gave a faint smile and checked the seal in his hand.

The name Bonetti was engraved on it.

“Tell me, Bonetti. Do you regard Hestio as a god—or as a human?”

The moment those words were spoken, Bonetti’s expression changed completely.

To an outsider, it might sound absurd—or even offensive.

In this day and age, almost no one rejected the teachings of the Church, which proclaimed Hestio as the god of humanity. There was no room for doubt.

And yet, Bonetti reacted.

He had understood the meaning behind the question.

It was not merely “Is Hestio a god?”
It was “Are you a de-deificationist?”

De-deificationists were an old sect—or heresy—that regarded Hestio as human rather than divine. Even within the Church, only a handful knew of their existence and beliefs. As a mere priest, Bonetti should not have even understood the question.

If he truly didn’t know, he would have reacted as though hearing nonsense.

But he didn’t.

He was shaken.

That alone was his answer.

Bonetti quickly composed himself, but realizing it was too late, he glared at Ulrich.

“You’re a snake… The fact that you know this—are you an inquisitor?”

“I don’t concern myself with whether someone is a heretic or not. I have no interest in that.”

Leaning back in his chair, Ulrich continued calmly.

“And if anything, your logic is correct. The reason Hestio was deified is simply because Kormilius used his father for his own glory.”

“We’re right? Do you truly mean that?”

“Yes,” Ulrich replied.

The priest blinked, visibly taken aback.

“You know of us. You even share our thinking. Then why oppose us?”

“Unlike you, I don’t act based on belief. What matters is the event itself.”

“The… event?”

Ulrich muttered briefly, then went on.

“What matters more is understanding how this event relates to me—its cause and its purpose. From what I see, you act based on belief. Belief… is certainly a force that moves people. But even belief has a reason. There is no belief that arises without cause.”

Bonetti fell silent, waiting for him to continue.

With trembling eyes, he stared into Ulrich’s dark gaze, saying nothing.

“In the distant past, there were beings we called gods. And traces of them still remain even now. In such a world, why was the Kormilius family absolute?”

“Because people believed they inherited our Father’s blood.”

“Exactly. In a world where the existence of gods is unquestionable, could anyone truly defy a lineage that carried divine blood? And yet—you, the Archbishop, even the Emperor—all oppose that lineage. Why?”

Among those who opposed the Kormilius lineage was also King Richard of Osnover.

But he had reason.

His father was Ulrich.

And Ulrich… was the very figure Roberta suspected to be Hestio.

From Richard’s perspective, those who might not even carry a drop of that blood were rampaging under his father’s name—it was only natural he would find it absurd.

But what about the Archbishop? The Emperor?

Why were they so confident?

That was Ulrich’s question.

“…If you’ve thought that far, there’s no need for me to say it.”

In a low voice, the priest replied, lowering his gaze.

“Didn’t I say? There is someone beside me who needs certainty.”

“You mean to use me as a witness?”

“That would be the case.”

Both Ulrich and Roberta fixed their gaze on Bonetti’s lips.

Bonetti kept his mouth shut for a while, his eyes trembling as he struggled internally.

At last, he let out a heavy sigh—and spoke.

“…Because there was someone who truly inherited our Father’s blood.”