Chapter 123
Purple Flame (3)
Isaac’s conversation with Vincenzio continued.
“As the nobility mystified magic, the Church too has named it ‘divine power’ and dressed it up as something sacred. Doesn’t that obscure the true nature of magic?”
“Then do you believe magic is a pure discipline, unrelated to God?”
Vincenzio asked with a gentle smile.
“All magic is the interpretation and reconstruction of natural laws through will. Assigning anything beyond that, I think, is excessive.”
“In my view, faith and magic are not contradictory concepts. If faith is humanity’s effort to understand God’s will, and magic is a way of understanding the world, then they are simply different paths toward the same question.”
“But faith closes questions, while magic continues to ask them.”
“I don’t see it that way. Faith, at its core, is the process of seeking God—a continuous questioning. It’s just that, at some point, the Church began to fix the answers. Much like how the nobility tried to monopolize magic through ancient languages.”
Vincenzio’s responses to Isaac’s arguments flowed without hesitation.
They were not answers rooted purely in doctrine, but in Vincenzio as an individual.
That was what made him so intriguing to Isaac.
It was rare to find someone who had studied all their life yet was not consumed by that knowledge.
“Doesn’t the old Church reject magic?”
“The Church does not seek to reject magic—it merely wishes to place it under its authority.”
For a long time, Isaac and Vincenzio debated, refined, and supplemented each other’s arguments.
They lost track of time, speaking endlessly about magic.
“Strange. Watching you feels like looking at a scholar who secluded himself for years, devoted solely to magical studies.”
“I feel the same. The only difference is, Your Eminence, you’re a scholar who goes to church on weekends.”
“Hahaha, is that so?”
Vincenzio burst into laughter.
It was clear and unpretentious.
“Your Eminence, it is time for confession.”
The elderly abbot personally stepped into the chamber to inform him.
“Has it already been that long?”
Vincenzio rose to his feet.
“I never expected I would be able to have such a conversation. Whether it is God’s will or mere chance, I am simply glad to have met you.”
“The feeling is mutual.”
Isaac stood as well.
“You may not agree, but the way you and I view the world is quite similar. It is rare to find someone with whom one can speak as an equal. Baron, I hope our friendship lasts.”
There was warmth in Vincenzio’s voice.
“If you wish it, Your Eminence, I will gladly be your conversational partner anytime.”
“Fridr drokh geilt te maha.”
With a smile, Vincenzio offered a blessing before leaving the chamber with the abbot.
May the Lord’s peace be with you—that was its meaning.
***
Another priest was consumed by the purple flame.
He was a man known for his lust, with multiple mistresses.
Even before entering the clergy, he had been a wealthy noble’s son, infamous as a libertine.
He claimed the purple flame was not divine judgment, but a heretical conspiracy.
Because of this, he barricaded himself atop the bell tower of the Grand Cathedral of Laurenzio.
He destroyed the wooden ladders and spiral stairs leading up, isolating himself.
Food and waste were managed with baskets and ropes.
His lovers and followers aided him.
“I will not be deceived by heresy! Look! The wicked flames cannot even burn the hem of my robe!”
His bizarre defiance continued for over a month.
His voice only grew louder with time.
While other corrupt clergy burned to death, he openly boasted of his sins—yet lived.
“My love will be judged by God—not by some heretical flame! Brothers and sisters, behold! God knows true love!”
The cathedral had become utter chaos.
Atop the bell tower stood a lustful priest proclaiming the purple flame a delusion,
while below, the square was filled with believers tearing their clothes and whipping themselves bloody in acts of penance.
But on the fifth night after a young priest burned to death at Count Farnese’s banquet—
“I only loved! God has not condemned my love! My love burns hotter than that heretical flame—and greater still is the Lord’s love!”
Someone had sent him alcohol in a basket.
Drunk, the priest shouted wildly from the tower in the dead of night, then began singing a hymn in broken ancient language.
At some point, he fell silent.
No one in the square paid him any mind.
They were too absorbed in their own acts of repentance.
Then—
A scream broke out.
Everyone looked up.
Something atop the tower ignited in brilliant purple flames—
And fell.
Crash!
With a grotesque sound, burning ash scattered like sparks.
The purple fire continued to burn for a long while after hitting the ground.
When it died out—
Nothing remained but ashes.
The priest was gone.
Those in the square fled in panic—
or prayed even louder.
***
Days later, the Grand Inquisitor returned from his retreat at Sancta Monastery, where he had secluded himself in confession and meditation.
He gathered the inquisitors and resumed their activities with a brief address.
“An inquisitor must first examine himself before judging others. One must not look only at human sin, but also toward Him.”
Even during his absence, the victims of the purple flame had continued to increase.
Even the conservative and pro-imperial cardinals could no longer simply doubt the Grand Inquisitor.
The Papacy’s urgent priority was stabilizing its domain.
Whether by interpreting the purple flame theologically to justify it,
or by uncovering its cause and stripping away its false sanctity—
They needed a solution before the Church tore itself apart in chaos.
**
“That’s the situation.”
Raphael calmly finished explaining the events in the Papal State and drained the wine in his cup.
“It’s quite the mess.”
At Isaac’s casual response, Raphael glared at him.
His lips parted as if to speak, but in the end, he said nothing—
and simply refilled his cup from the jar of wine.
“Don’t you think you’re drinking a bit too much?”
“Moderation is a virtue. But there is no doctrine that forbids alcohol. In fact, wine is used in the Eucharist.”
Raphael drained another glass.
His face was flushed, yet his eyes remained sharp.
No—fierce.
Or perhaps defiant.
Or simply filled with tangled, restless thoughts he could not settle.
The gaze revealed through his drunkenness seemed far removed from that of an inquisitor devoted solely to faith.
“In two days, there will be a relic bestowal ceremony at the Grand Cathedral of Laurenzio. His Eminence will preside over it personally. It’s the Light of Atonement you wanted. A relic left behind by a fallen saint.”
“That’s good news.”
Isaac nodded as if it were only natural.
After that, silence lingered between them.
An uneasy stillness.
Both were men who had glimpsed truths too difficult to judge by any standard—
yet were bound to keep their mouths shut.
Isaac knew why Raphael had come all the way to his quarters to share a drink.
But he pretended not to.
According to the history he knew, Raphael would come to regret it.
By the time Raphael stabbed the cardinal’s heart, the religious war had already begun.
The gates of hell opened by the old and new faiths could not be closed by a single death.
‘Of course… I won’t let it go that way this time.’
Isaac moistened his lips with a sip of wine.
It was still bitter.
“His Eminence was not born a noble.”
As Isaac closed the window against the cold night air, Raphael began speaking.
It was Vincenzio’s story.
Abandoned at the monastery gates as an infant, Vincenzio was raised by monks.
He learned ancient languages, theology, philosophy, and canon law, displaying extraordinary intellect.
Ordained at a young age, he worked as a scribe and theologian.
With his striking appearance and talent, he was hired as a household priest by a powerful noble family and received their patronage.
He was courted by the family’s daughter, but refused, instead entering the Papal court as a scribe.
“And then he caught the eye of Cardinal Montalto.”
Montalto was one of the most powerful figures in the Papacy at the time, close even to the Pope himself.
He coveted Vincenzio—for his beauty and intellect—and made him his lover.
It was not a relationship Vincenzio chose.
It was forced.
“His Eminence came to realize that the trial placed upon him was part of God’s design. It was a mission of purification. The suffering he endured was proof of it.”
Vincenzio learned how to use Montalto’s desire.
Under his shadow, he gradually built his position within the Papacy.
Eventually, with Montalto’s backing and the recommendation of other cardinals, he rose to become the youngest cardinal.
“What happened to Cardinal Montalto?”
“He passed away. Not long after His Eminence became a cardinal.”
Raphael did not elaborate.
He didn’t need to.
Isaac could guess how Montalto had died.
“A common story.”
“Is that kind of life common?”
“There are countless lives far more miserable than the cardinal’s.”
“…Is that so? Perhaps you’re right.”
Raphael frowned slightly at Isaac’s response.
“Baron, I have something to ask you.”
He steadied his swaying body as he spoke.
His pronunciation remained clear.
“What is it?”
“There are two paths. One is the path you judge to be right. The other is the path you believe to be right. Which would you choose?”
“You’re asking me that?”
“I am.”
Isaac scratched his cheek.
Raphael’s eyes were bloodshot.
Meeting his gaze, Isaac replied:
“How should I know?”
He shrugged.
“I see.”
“…Heh.”
A crooked smile twisted Raphael’s lips.
It was clearly a sneer—yet it was impossible to tell who it was directed at.
“Leave.”
Clink.
A heavy pouch of silver coins was suddenly dropped onto the table.
“Don’t tell me where you’re going. Use all of it if you must—hire a carriage driver and go.”
“…What?”
“His Eminence and Viscount Botmer have known each other for a long time. Granting your request was merely a temporary delay of the war, agreed upon with Botmer.”
Raphael continued.
“Viscount Botmer will prove his innocence at the religious trial. And once you’ve outlived your usefulness, you will be consumed by the purple flame. You’ll take the blame for all of Botmer’s crimes.”
“But Bishop Alquin and your testimony—”
“You underestimate the symbolic nature of the purple flame.”
“…Ha.”
A beat late, Isaac understood.
And then he laughed—genuinely impressed.
Because of his interference, history had already been twisted.
Raphael was still Vincenzio’s loyal subordinate.
But he was no longer someone who would share in that future.
He had become expendable—someone to be sacrificed for the future Vincenzio envisioned.
It had been that way ever since he became entangled with Isaac.
“Since when did you know?”
“…Looks like we’re out of wine.”
Raphael did not answer.
He simply shook the empty jar.
He had known all along.
The cardinal intended to use not only Isaac, but also Bishop Alquin and Inquisitor Raphael themselves as fuel for the purple flame.
“Well… this just got interesting.”
Isaac drained the last of his wine.
It was still bitter.