Chapter 120

Sacred Work (1)

“So, it really was you.”

Vincenzio withdrew the violet flames.
Though he had only summoned them briefly, his hair was damp with sweat.
His gray-brown eyes stared quietly at the flame Isaac had produced.

“Then the divine power Raphael mentioned must also have been yours.”
“That’s correct.”

Isaac extinguished his own flame as well.
Unlike the exhausted cardinal, he showed no sign of agitation.

With the Wolf King’s senses, six multi-circulation circuits, and endless imagination,
he had already drawn out optimal efficiency from the violet flames.

“I thought as much. That young mage girl didn’t seem to possess the mana required to produce such flames. How did you reach such a level at that age?”
“Is there any special reason? I was simply born with it.”

That was Isaac’s answer.

Of course, that wasn’t all.

Whenever he had been trapped within the mage’s well, what filled his mind had been the futility of life—and endless imagination about magic.

Decades of confinement underground had given him something.
Cut off from the outside world, unable to see or hear anything, the landscapes within his mind had become vivid and intricate beyond measure.

When imagination, as real as reality itself, is repeated countless times, fantasy becomes reality—
like an artist who has painted a masterpiece in their mind thousands of times completing it in a single brushstroke.

Even the light magic he had used before felt familiar, as if he had cast it thousands of times, despite never having done so once.

And as for a flame he had already ignited once—there was nothing more to say.

“How did you know it was me?”

Vincenzio asked.
He was asking how Isaac had come to realize he was the one burning the clergy.

“When I sought, a path opened.”
“That would naturally be the case. But I’m quite curious how that path came to be.”
“I didn’t know at first. But I did think the speed at which the corruption of the victims was revealed was too fast. As if someone had been waiting for that exact moment.”

“Then when did you realize it?”
“When you came in person. If you had nothing to do with the incident, you would have dragged me and Enette straight to the torture chamber. After all, you had heard Bishop Alquin’s testimony about the violet flames. But you didn’t.”

Isaac briefly explained his reasoning.
He couldn’t very well say that he knew from reading a historical record of the future.

“…So it wasn’t I who held your life in my hands—it was you.”
“There’s no need to worry. I have something I want, so I have no intention of harming you.”
“I’m grateful for that.”

Vincenzio smiled faintly.
It was the kind of smile that disarmed anyone who saw it.

“I’ve investigated everything worth knowing about you. You were called a prodigy until the age of ten and could have entered the academy at the youngest age, but after your peculiar constitution manifested, you became a burden.”

“I was a delinquent.”
“How interesting. That peculiar constitution—could it be similar to that of Sieg von Goethe?”
“I’m honored that you would take interest in such an insignificant vassal family.”
“Insignificant? Anyone seriously interested in power has heard of Goethe at least once. It seems God has sent you to me.”
“If that makes things easier for you.”

“There are many things I’d like to ask about why a genius like you is treated as a wastrel—but first, let us pray.”

The cardinal walked slowly into the prayer chamber.
The stone room, built for prayer, was somewhat cramped for two.

Vincenzio knelt first, and Isaac followed beside him.

“Ask the Lord for what you desire. And it shall be given.”

With eyes closed and hands clasped, Vincenzio spoke in a low, almost secretive voice—
like someone murmuring a prayer.

“I pray that the Lord will save my family from wicked hands.”

Isaac whispered the words with his eyes closed.

“The Lord has heard your prayer and sent me.”

“And what do you ask of the Lord, Cardinal?”
“I ask that the Lord purify this sacred land. Until now, I have carried out that sacred work with my own hands, but wicked forces oppose me and cast suspicion upon me.”
“The Lord has heard your prayer and sent me.”
“The wicked hand reaching toward your family is deeply connected to the Church. At best, I can buy you time.”
“That will suffice. There will be three purifications. Give me three names.”
“The vigilance of those wicked men grows stricter by the day. Is that truly possible?”

“That is the trial and mission given to me. You only need to grant what I ask.”
“Prayers are better when they are specific.”
“When the first purification occurs, have the wicked one put on trial, and collect donations from him in exchange for absolution.”
“And for the second purification?”
“Grant the Light of Atonement.”

Vincenzio opened his eyes.

“That is a second-grade holy relic.”

A second-grade relic was an item once used by a saint.
The Light of Atonement was an old necklace once worn by a fallen saint.

“As it is a holy relic, isn’t it only fitting that it be used for sacred work?”

Isaac replied.

“…Is that all?”
“There is one more thing.”

The deal between Cardinal Vincenzio and Isaac was simple.

Vincenzio was under suspicion from the imperial faction and conservative clergy.
With his every move being watched, he could not act freely.

If no further victims appeared, the suspicion toward him would only deepen.

In his stead, Isaac would burn corrupt clergy with violet flames.

In return, Vincenzio would restrain Botmer and provide holy relics.

And one thing—he granted immediately.

—

The northern outskirts of the Papal States.

The boy brought in a carriage was finally allowed to remove his mask and see the light.
He squinted heavily, struggling to adjust.

“You are…?”

Beltran looked at the man and woman before him with a puzzled expression.

“I’m Isaac. A baron like you.”
“I’m Enette. You saw me at the competition, right?”

Beltran avoided Enette’s gaze.

In less than a few days, his appearance had become dreadful.

He was gaunt, his bones visible beneath his skin, his eyes those of a dead man.
A rotting stench emanated from his body.

“…Are you going to kill me here?”

“Would you like that?”
“If you’re going to kill me, then do it. I have no intention of making excuses.”

Beltran shut his eyes tightly.

There was nothing left for him now.

Valdek, who had led the rebellion, and the key figures of his family had all died during the carriage ambush.
What awaited him now was his older brother, who hated him yet burned with the desire to kill him—and the vassals who followed him.

Better to die here than to be hunted down by them and die in fear.

It was not something a fifteen-year-old could bear.

“Viscount Botmer will cut off the tail at your level. The attack on the inquisitor will be framed as your independent action. They’ll attach whatever reason suits them.”

Clink.

Beltran felt the weight lift from his wrists.
The thick demetrium shackles fell onto the floor of the carriage.

Isaac had unlocked them.

“If you stayed in the Inquisition, you’d have had little chance of avoiding execution by burning. You’d have been blamed for every crime—real or not.”
“…What are you doing?”
“This carriage will continue northeast as it is. It’ll take a detour to avoid any possible pursuit, so it’ll take at least ten days.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The destination is Vinfelt. Lodging and meals along the way have already been paid for.”
“Why would you—”
“If you keep riding this carriage, then you’re no longer the Baron of Büchtner, nor the second son of the previous Baron Büchtner. Naturally, you won’t be a noble either. Abandon your identity and start over in Vinfelt.”

Beltran blinked at Isaac’s words.

“If you don’t want that, you can get off and go wherever you wish.”
“…Why are you doing this?”
“There’s no time or reason to explain. Beltran von Büchtner has escaped the Inquisition, and the inquisitors will come after you. What you need to do now is choose. Let’s get off, Enette.”
“Yes.”

Isaac and Enette stepped down from the carriage.

“You’re not coming with me?”
“We still have things to do here. Will you ride?”

Beltran stared blankly at the distant landscape beyond the carriage.
The sky and air were dyed gray, the plains and pastures in ash and brown.
A lone oak tree stood in the distance, its leaves almost entirely fallen, its bare branches stark.

“…Doesn’t look like I have a choice.”
“You’ve chosen well.”

Isaac handed the coachman a small pouch of silver coins.

“Take good care of him.”

The coachman was a laborer who carried out discreet tasks for the Inquisition.
Since he had been provided by the cardinal, he could be trusted.

Clatter.

The carriage began to move.

“What do we do now?”

Watching it disappear, Enette asked.

“Let’s wash up and buy some clothes.”

Isaac walked in the opposite direction.
Beyond the plains, the grand buildings of a Papal city came into view.

“This is uncomfortable.”

Isaac muttered quietly.
He wore a velvet doublet embroidered with gold thread, and it constricted his neck.

“I can’t breathe properly.”

Enette, wearing a corset and a voluminous skirt for the first time in her life, struggled to draw a full breath due to how tightly it was laced.

“Just bear with it a little longer.”

The four-horse carriage they boarded next headed toward the Farnese family’s grand estate.
A social banquet was to be held there that evening.

Of course, attending the banquet was not their true purpose.

“My name is Jules de Saint-Esprit.”

Armed guards of the Holy See stood stationed at the entrance of the estate.
Isaac presented the invitation prepared by Vincenzio under his assumed identity.

The guards were suspicious of Isaac’s youthful appearance and voice, but the invitation and seal were genuine.
His aristocratic bearing, Enette’s noble attire, and the rich scent of ambergris perfume they wore—far too expensive for impostors—were convincing.

Veteran guards accustomed to estate security allowed them inside without much doubt.

Passing through a vast garden with fountains, they entered a marble hall adorned in gold.
Despite it being evening, the interior was dazzlingly bright.

Chandeliers and magical lamps cast dancing reflections across the polished marble walls.
Crystal goblets filled with richly scented wine clinked together, producing clear, ringing sounds.

Count Farnese, the host of the banquet, lounged heavily in a chair atop a raised platform, swirling his goblet.

“Glory to the Lord who has granted us abundance!”

A quintet of court musicians played on, and the count tapped his fingers to the rhythm.

“To not enjoy this would be to reject His will, wouldn’t you agree, Father?”

The count turned to a young priest seated beside him.

“Indeed, Your Excellency.”
“Bishop Lauren is far too frugal for his own good. That flame or whatever it is—he fell for the heretics’ deception and withdrew into some mountain monastery, unable to enjoy the Lord’s blessings.”

The count chuckled.

The young priest smiled politely.

“Please understand. At his age, he fears he may not enter heaven. Still, thanks to such fears, indulgences are selling like wildfire. A fortunate turn, I’d say.”
“Speaking of which, shouldn’t we raise the price of indulgences further?”
“Haha, as a matter of fact—”

Crash!

The goblet slipped from the count’s hand and shattered.

Whoosh—

A searing heat engulfed the count’s body.

But it was not he who burned.

From the young priest’s face, violet flames suddenly spread.

Perhaps his vocal cords had already melted—he made no scream.
Yet his body writhed violently as he burned in silence.