Chapter 124

Fadir

To exist alone.
To stand alone.

A phrase that emphasizes the independent existence and absolute nature of God.

Compared to a God who can exist alone, all living things perish the moment their connections are severed.

Even the most basic acts—eating and sleeping—cannot be done alone.

To eat.
Something.

To sleep.
Somewhere.

From the moment they exist, from the moment they survive, all living things are bound in relationships.

Humans, in particular, are incomplete beings who have come to know far too much.

And so they sometimes choose ignorance of their own will, or create relationships and concepts that never existed—and believe in them.

…

Angels and demons, parents and children, God and creation, good and evil.

Which of these existed from the beginning?
Which were created?

No matter where they originate from—whether real or illusion—
humans live upon all of these relationships.

Through his conversation with Raphael, Isaac felt this clearly.

“Are you not leaving, Inquisitor?”
“I cannot leave.”

Vincenzio will burn Isaac first.
After that, Bishop Alquin and Inquisitor Raphael as well.
Through the violet flames that signify purification and judgment.

If that happens, Viscount Botmer can easily prove his innocence.
And Cardinal Vincenzio will receive an astronomical sum of support from Botmer.

What he desires is not religious reform, but religious revolution.
A revolution requires force, and force requires immense wealth.

Not only Botmer, but countless noble, royal, and imperial families, along with the cardinal, maintain such relationships.
They prepare the tools needed to fulfill his great undertaking.

“Your Excellency and I endure the world in the same way. You regard purifying corruption as your mission, and I regard serving you as mine. Otherwise, the suffering we endured would become meaningless.”

“I heard from the Cardinal. That you were reborn under the name Raphael. Is that why?”

“You have many questions. It would be better for you to leave now.”

“As you must already know, Inquisitor, I am a mage. I cannot ignore my curiosity, even if it kills me.”

Raphael already knew—from Vincenzio—that Isaac was a true mage who had ignited violet flames.

“Curiosity makes one lose paradise.”

“I’ve known paradise for a long time now. I feel like I’m only just beginning to understand magic—but when it comes to the human heart, I still understand nothing.”

Raphael stared into Isaac’s eyes.
He always judged truth by looking into the other person’s eyes.
Let me know only the truths I can bear.
He repeated that prayer silently.

What he saw in Isaac’s blue eyes was like a clouded sky—
the hidden and the revealed coexisted.

“…It seems Your Excellency misunderstands something. At first, it truly felt that way. As if a divine revelation had manifested before my eyes. It felt like I had lived for that very moment.”

“Does that mean it is no longer so?”

“Beneath your priestly robes, your body is covered in scars. Whether they were inflicted by Cardinal Montalto, or carved by your own hand in penance—the root of it is not so different.”

“…?”

“Rather, if you had truly been a being close to God, I would have been unable to overcome the doubts within me and would have left. But I soon realized—Your Excellency is, in the end, just a human like me. You are ‘Fadir.’”

In an ancient language, it means father.
It is also a word used to refer to a priest.

“Once, it was a word of reverence offered to God—a title filled with respect and fear. But now, it is no longer something sacred. It is like a coat placed over a child’s shoulders on a winter day, or a piece of bread offered when one is hungry. It is the root of my being, and the word that calls to aged shoulders.”

“…Are you a father?”

Raphael neither confirmed nor denied it.
He only told him to leave.

“Baron, you are young. Your personal mage is young as well. When the plague took my children, I was a soldier who had only just retired. The plague was, in the end, something brought about by war. It was not unrelated to me. It was my sin as well. I have judged many people, but I have never judged children. Today is no different. I do not wish to judge you. It is already too late. Leave.”

With those words, Raphael rose from his seat.
Perhaps the alcohol had taken hold—his steps were unsteady as he left the room.
His irregular, precarious footsteps echoed through the inn’s corridor.

***

Raphael knows.

Vincenzio is human.
And a weak human at that.

Even now, he often touches the back of his neck—
as if trying to erase an old touch, rubbing it with his palm.

At times, he blinks and stares into empty space, then shakes his head.
When walking down the dark corridors of the cathedral, he mutters to himself,
“Still here, aren’t you.”

He checks multiple times whether his door is locked before finally sleeping.

Though he was given a splendid residence by the Pope, he visits it only about once a year, if at all—and he ordered that every mirror in the place be removed.

His wrists are always bruised,
because whenever his heart is in torment, he grips them with all his strength and twists them.

Raphael knows.
Vincenzio has still not escaped the shadow of Cardinal Montalto—
even now, in his middle age.

“Where is the Grand Inquisitor?”
“He is praying in the crypt.”

At the Sancta Monastery, a monk answered Raphael’s question.
The crypt was a place for prayer and meditation, and also where the remains of saints were enshrined.

Vincenzio had an unusual fondness for the crypt of Sancta Monastery.
Past a small garden, through a long corridor, and down a stone staircase for quite some time—there it was.

The air was cold.

Shadows cast by candlelight danced along the walls.
Stone coffins containing the remains of saints lined the damp floor.

Even the faintest footsteps or breaths echoed.
The scent of wax and incense lingered softly.

Raphael carefully stepped inside.
The stone floor, worn down by countless monks over the years, bore deep indentations.

Among them, he saw Vincenzio—kneeling, head pressed against the cold stone floor, praying.

As Raphael drew closer, Vincenzio’s murmuring voice became clearer.

Raphael could not understand most of his prayer.
Vincenzio was praying in an ancient language, mixed with archaic words no longer in use.

But there was one phrase he could understand.

“…Gef tu sofa i fridr.”

Grant them peaceful rest.

It was something Vincenzio always included in his prayers.

For a long time, Raphael had thought Vincenzio prayed that way because sleepless nights troubled him deeply.

But the prayer he uttered before the relics of the saints was not so simple.

Without a word, Raphael knelt beside him, clasped his hands, and closed his eyes—
waiting until Vincenzio finished.

For a long time,
he prayed for the peace of his nights.

***

Until the day before the sacred relic bestowal ceremony,
Isaac met Vincenzio every single day.

Their conversations were nothing extraordinary.

They did not speak of the violet flames, nor of Botmer, nor of the Papal State’s affairs or the kingdom’s situation.

They spoke only of magic.

The two had much in common—
their perspectives on magic, their insight, even the way they thought.

When discussing magic with Isaac, Vincenzio would set aside the notion of divine “authority” and focus purely on magic itself.

In particular, he greatly enjoyed discussing Isaac’s Five Stages of Magical Development Theory from the academy.

“Hahaha, I can just imagine the expressions of the students and professors.”
“It was probably too radical for them to accept.”
“The fifth stage, especially, is hard to accept. To think magic could be used without knowing the ancient language.”
“To be precise, it’s the direct conceptualization of magic. Language is inherently an imperfect tool. It persists only because there is no complete substitute.”
“Then what do you think the final form of a mage is?”
“I’m not entirely sure myself.”

Like a man starved for conversation, Vincenzio devoted everything from early breakfast to late lunch to Isaac.

Though he was middle-aged, when he spoke of magic, he seemed like a boy—
his voice slightly excited, his eyes shining with innocence.

“I wish I had met you a little sooner.”
“Well, we’ve met now—that’s enough, isn’t it? Besides, if I had met you earlier, Your Eminence, I probably wouldn’t have been able to speak properly.”
“Haha, that’s true. I keep forgetting—you’ve only lived twelve years.”

Again and again, Vincenzio expressed regret that he hadn’t met Isaac sooner.

Each time he said it, a trace of loneliness passed over his face.

Isaac understood what it meant—but pretended not to.

Their conversations were not merely intellectual exchanges.

Through their discussions of magic, they could gauge each other’s depth of understanding.

There was no need to demonstrate magic itself.
The knowledge and thoughts expressed in words already revealed the speaker’s level.

The Cardinal planned to burn Isaac during the relic ceremony.
To do that, he needed to assess Isaac’s abilities.

Isaac, with his unique constitution, had not formed a mana circuit, making it impossible to estimate his level.

And yet, he had ignited violet flames with ease—so Vincenzio needed confirmation.

“My, look at the time. When I talk with you, I lose track of it.”
“That’s true.”
“If things were different, regardless of religion, you and I would surely have become friends. It’s truly unfortunate.”
“I feel the same way.”

In the afternoon, Vincenzio resumed his duties as Grand Inquisitor, and Isaac returned to his lodgings.

But even there, Isaac could not escape discussions of magic.

“Why do people here call magic ‘authority’?”
“What’s the difference between magic and authority?”
“What exactly is written in the scriptures that makes mages unable to resist being burned alive?”

After arriving in the Papal State, Enette had been studying the ancient language with great dedication.

The conflict between theology and magic had become a reality here.

She herself had once been dragged to the Inquisition,
and had witnessed mages being hunted and burned before her eyes.

It had shaken her deeply—and raised countless questions.

She was no longer studying the ancient language out of obligation to Isaac.

As a mage, she had begun seeking answers—for her own existence, and for survival.

Finding that quietly admirable, Isaac answered her questions sincerely.

Before they knew it, evening would arrive.

***

Three days passed like that.

On the fourth day, Isaac sent Enette back to Vinfelt.

And then came the morning of the fourth day—
the day of the relic bestowal ceremony.

Snow fell heavily.

Even the faithful, who had longed for unseen salvation and redemption, could not endure the bone-piercing cold.
The plaza of the Lorenzio Cathedral stood empty.

That day—
violet flames engulfed the cathedral.