Chapter 97

Legacy of the Living

“I’ve heard nothing about him.”

Archbishop Giacomo narrowed his eyes, as if trying to grasp the meaning behind the words.

“Nothing at all? Not even talk of manifestation or return?”

“Any faction spouting such nonsense is no different from heretics.”

“I see.”

Roberta stared at the square opening where the torchlight flickered.

She wanted to see Ulrich’s reaction, but from her position, everything beyond the opening was pitch black.

“Do you find my reason for opposing Kormilius suspicious?”

“To be honest, yes. I thought there might be another reason.”

“You said your name was Elmar, didn’t you? Let me clear up a misunderstanding—I wasn’t swayed by such nonsense. Nor have I come to serve some evil god. Do you know how much nonsense I’ve heard to reach this position? Do you think I’d fall for something so trivial now?”

The archbishop snorted.

“Then, Giacomo—your goal is solely Kormilius?”

“To bring down that corrupt lineage and restore order.”

“By putting forward Hestio’s true bloodline.”

“Exactly!”

The archbishop suddenly raised his voice.

“You haven’t seen them, have you? The true bloodline of Kormilius. You don’t understand what they’ve done to preserve that blood during the long years since our Father departed.”

Since the founding of the Holy Church, that lineage had never shown itself to the outside world. Only a select few were granted audience, while external affairs were entrusted to collateral branches. Pope Clemens, for example, was from such a branch.

The justification was that their sacred bodies could not be revealed lightly—but Roberta had her own suspicions. The true bloodline of Kormilius likely bore a form that could not be shown openly.

Naturally so. To preserve purity, with whom would they mix their blood? As the archbishop said, over a long, long time, they had interbred among close kin. The result was obvious.

And yet, no one had ever pointed it out. After all, it was the blood of Hestio. People believed divine blood must be different.

Just as Roberta herself had, before meeting Ulrich.

“I have seen them.”

At that unexpected answer, the archbishop faltered.

The torchlight revealed his startled expression.

“You’ve seen them?”

Giacomo asked in disbelief.

There were very few who could meet the true bloodline of Kormilius. For Ulrich to claim he had seen them—it was only natural to doubt him. Bluffing? Or perhaps he had seen something similar? The archbishop’s thoughts were clearly written across his face.

“Giacomo, I understand what disappointed you. You believed in Hestio as a god, and so you followed his descendants—his legacy. You took the hidden bloodline beyond the veil as your ideal.”

This world had been created by gods and was filled with their remnants. Their existence could not be doubted. And following the teachings of the Holy Church, they worshipped Hestio as a god—so how could they not revere the blood he left behind?

“But at some point, you must have realized. That bloodline is not an ideal, but the product of greed. Isn’t that so?”

“…Yes. Because I believed in Father, I thought it natural to follow his legacy. I believed that beings of the heavens were different from us—and so their descendants would be different as well. That’s why I revered them.”

The archbishop let out a long breath.

“But look at them. If the beings we worship as divine are nothing but greed itself, can that faith truly endure?”

The Kormilius lineage had committed tyranny.

Of course, they had not always been tyrannical. For far longer, they had ruled justly. The reason the Third Age of humanity had endured for nearly two thousand years was because of the order they established.

But over the past several centuries, Kormilius had fallen into ruin.

In what some called the “Age of Pillow Politics,” they replaced emperors through whispered intrigues, sold indulgences, and even revived slavery.

Was that something befitting those who carried divine blood?

Reform had begun under Pope Clemens, but once authority is lost, it does not easily return.

“Until now, we had no choice but to endure. There was no alternative. But now—there exists one who carries our Father’s blood without carrying theirs.”

“You’ve seen the child?”

“Of course I have. Otherwise, how could I be certain? That person came to me personally.”

So the true bloodline of Hestio had come in person.

One of those who traveled with the fairy Mocle, most likely. There had been no reports of Archbishop Giacomo leaving the Bishopric of Langen after meeting that fairy. His attitude had changed afterward—so it must have been then that he met Hestio’s descendant.

Bold. Something Kormilius would never do.

Fairies were likely non-theists, and their ideology was the very force that could oppose Kormilius—yet he brought such a being along.

“And they bestowed grace upon me. The very thing only the true bloodline of Kormilius could grant. How could I doubt them after that?”

Grace… how was that different from a blessing?

Roberta pondered, but nothing came to mind. Kormilius held too many secrets. She had never even heard that they could grant such grace.

“Interesting.”

Ulrich spoke in a flat tone.

“It’s been over five thousand years since the name Hestio last appeared, and now suddenly there’s a descendant. Judging by your reaction, it doesn’t seem like they went through absurd efforts to preserve purity like Kormilius did. So how is that possible?”

By repeatedly mentioning Hestio, he hinted at something beneath the surface.

But the archbishop, seemingly unaware, chuckled softly and nodded.

“You can only doubt because you don’t know the hidden history. Elmar, there’s one secret you’re unaware of. Kormilius didn’t always interbreed among themselves. There were times in the past when they accepted outside blood. The last time was nearly a thousand years ago.”

“Oh?”

Ulrich let out a quiet exclamation.

“So they tainted their purity?”

“No. A distant descendant of that person awakened the blood, so they were brought in.”

“Awakened the blood? That’s quite an elegant way of putting it.”

“You may doubt it, but it’s the truth. That descendant is the current true bloodline—and they’ve proven it as well.”

This time, Ulrich laughed.

A laugh that echoed through the underground chamber—whether it was genuine or an act, it was impossible to tell.

“If blood from over five thousand years ago can awaken, then Hestio truly must be a god.”

Only then did Roberta become certain—Ulrich was mocking him.

There was no way blood from such a distant ancestor could remain until now. Someone like the archbishop, who regarded Hestio as a human god, might believe it—but Roberta did not.

And Ulrich… clearly didn’t either.

Wouldn’t it be said that his nature is hardly passed down to his children?

The truth was not some absurd tale like “awakening the blood.” Ulrich—he had once lived under another name, formed ties with others, and left behind descendants. It was likely that Kormilius had found those descendants. Then, by mixing blood with them, they reconnected a lineage that had once become unrelated to Hestio.

“Don’t you wish to meet them as well? That person is different—truly different from Kormilius.”

The descendant the archbishop served was one Kormilius had failed to find. Most likely, the non-theists had discovered them first.

“I would like to see them. But given what I’ve just said, I’m hardly in a position to do so, am I?”

“Not for now. But if you remain compliant, you may have the opportunity.”

The archbishop turned his back.

“We’re short on hands. It can’t be helped, as it’s not yet time for that person to reveal themselves. So if someone like you—more perceptive than an inquisitor—offers help, it’s difficult to refuse.”

Ulrich paused as if considering, then replied:

“I’ll think about it.”

Saying he couldn’t wait long, the archbishop smiled and ascended the stairs.

***

“He’s a fool.”

After the archbishop left and darkness settled once more in the underground chamber, Fritz broke the silence.

“Lord Ulrich kept giving him hints, but he didn’t notice at all.”

Roberta let out a faint, bitter laugh.

“That’s only natural. It would be stranger if he had noticed.”

“Is that so?”

“He wasn’t trying to talk about himself in the first place.”

Though she couldn’t see him, Roberta imagined Fritz tilting his head in confusion. She moved closer to the door.

“What Lord Ulrich wanted to know was how much the archbishop actually knows, right?”

“To be precise, it was the relationship between the archbishop and the group you call non-theists.”

Fritz asked again:

“Was it necessary to mention Hestio?”

“Not all of them, but the leaders likely know that name—and my connection to it. If the archbishop reacted to my question, then he must also have a close relationship with them.”

“In other words, it also means he knows Hestio is alive.”

Roberta added quietly.

“…Ah. Then that makes things a bit strange.”

According to Ulrich, the non-theists already knew his identity—likely far more and far longer than Roberta did.

They knew Hestio was alive and still existed in this world. Then why go out of their way to put forward his descendant to overthrow Kormilius?

One could argue that Hestio did not wish to reveal himself and instead put forward a proxy—but would non-theists really take such a restrained approach? That seemed unlikely.

“Could it be that it wasn’t the non-theists who contacted the archbishop, but some other faction?”

Fritz asked.

“No. They wouldn’t be able to find my child before Kormilius. There is no other group capable of that.”

Which meant it was far more likely that the non-theists had not told the archbishop about Ulrich.

“So… they deceived him?”

Ulrich continued:

“Fritz, suppose someone reveals me. Imagine someone you trust writes my former name. Who do you think gains the initiative then?”

“It would go to you, Lord Ulrich.”

“Exactly. No matter how much they try to persuade him, it would ultimately lead to sending people to me.”

Whatever the non-theists’ goal was, it was clearly entirely different from Ulrich’s. That meant they could not allow the initiative to fall into his hands.

“So in the end, the archbishop is being used as well.”

Roberta murmured.

“It’s not easy for someone in his position to be completely manipulated. He must be considering that the other party hasn’t shown their full hand—or that they may have approached him with another hidden intention.”

The problem was that the opponent’s hand exceeded imagination itself.

Why had the archbishop failed to grasp even a hint, despite Ulrich giving such clear clues? Because, in ordinary terms, it made no sense. Who would ever think that the being they worship still lived—and stood before them?

Inquisitor Beatrice had been similar, but she had encountered far more clues than the archbishop.

***

Time passed in silence.

With no light entering the cell, it was impossible to tell day from night. The guard had brought food four times—it seemed two days had passed.

The sound of the door echoed.

Another meal?

Had that much time passed again?

The hurried footsteps descending the stairs immediately denied that thought.

“Hey—are you still in there?”

“Brother Karal?”

Roberta jumped to her feet and moved toward the opening in the door.

“Not too late, then.”

Karal approached, holding a torch.

“What happened?”

“What else? I told a few lies.”

He shrugged.

“You didn’t follow the margrave?”

“Well… I heard quite a story, but this time, it seems Lord Olnef is the one who’s wrong.”

Jingling the keys on the ring, Karal unlocked the cell door.

“The owner of a relic is predetermined. Unless the owner dies or the living owner amends it, it neither increases nor decreases. Therefore, to use a relic means—”

His words were cut off by the sound of chains snapping.

The door of the cell diagonally across from hers shook violently, then its hinges broke, and it fell forward.

Ulrich stepped out.

“…So you really did get captured on purpose.”

Karal muttered in disbelief as he removed the restraints from Fritz and Roberta.

“What’s happening outside?”

“Lord Olnef left in a hurry yesterday, taking the archbishop with him.”

“They must have gone to retrieve the relic. Was there anything else?”

After a moment’s thought, Karal spoke again.

“Uh… I did hear something about an important guest arriving…”

Ulrich tore off his shackles and tossed them aside.

“Let’s go. Beatrice will be waiting.”