Chapter 126

The Violet Saint

Isaac stayed at the inn for several days, preparing for Raphael’s retaliation.

Leaving the Papal State after revealing his identity would not solve anything.
If anything, it might be seen as fleeing and make matters worse.

So he wrote a confessional record, dozens of pages long.

Naturally, it was written in the ancient language,
and it demonstrated a profound understanding of patristic philosophy.

At the same time, he described divine revelations he had never actually experienced—
in great detail.

Every line was crafted to strengthen the authority of the Church.
There was no way the Holy See would view it negatively.

If he further framed light magic as divine power
and acknowledged magic as “authority,”
even the Inquisition would not be able to touch him.

Nor would the royal court.

The kingdom was a vassal of the Empire,
and the Emperor’s legitimacy ultimately came from the Pope.

And Isaac would have the Papacy behind him.

‘It has its pros and cons… but there’s no other choice.’

If it came to that,
he could use that power to stop a war with Botmer.

Still, it was far from ideal.

Borrowing the Papacy’s power meant being bound by it.
Even the Goethe family might lose its independence.

The best solution would be for Goethe to defeat Botmer directly—

But those concerns turned out to be unnecessary.

‘Why aren’t they coming?’

Isaac had expected Raphael to arrive with inquisitors or papal troops to arrest him.

But one day passed.
Then two.

No one came.

The inn remained crowded with believers and pilgrims,
and the main topic of conversation was, of course,
the fire at Lorenzio Cathedral.

“I’m telling you, it’s true. I didn’t see it myself, but my brother-in-law is a monk—he was in the choir that day. They say His Eminence didn’t burn at all. He just knelt there, calmly praying.”

“Then… does that mean he’s still alive?”

“No, not exactly. There’s no body left… but the monastery says he didn’t die—he ascended.”

“Well, considering his virtues, that’s not hard to believe.”

“Oh, I heard something too. They say in the crypt at Sancta Monastery, even when no one is there, you can still hear him praying.”

“I heard that on the day the cathedral burned, a leper on the verge of death suddenly stood up, completely healed.”

“If that’s not a miracle, what is? That fire was enormous, but no one died. Only the Cardinal and the cathedral burned.”

“I’ve never seen flames that large in my life.”

Isaac found it somewhat surprising.

Cardinal Vincenzio’s reputation had been immense.
Even though his violet flames had burned corrupt priests,
most people did not see the cathedral fire as divine punishment—

but as a miracle.

Of course, unlike others who burned,
Vincenzio neither struggled nor screamed.

He simply prayed—
and turned to ash.

Without the life he had lived,
he would never have been judged this way.

Even the stories Isaac overheard were extraordinary:

As an inquisitor—merciless, yet fair.
As a priest—upright and devout.
He gave away his wealth to support monasteries and churches.
He founded orphanages and personally taught children.
He never lost a theological debate against heretics.
He freed the possessed.
He traveled to villages plagued by monsters and saved them.

And beyond that—
stopping a sinner’s bleeding, restoring sight to the blind, banishing demons…

There was no shortage of miracles.

***

By the fourth day, as Isaac finished writing his confession,
he also heard news about Raphael.

“They say the new Grand Inquisitor is Raphael. I heard his hands are stained with blood.”

“The blood of sinners, no doubt. Heretics tremble just hearing his name. Of course they do—he was the only one who stood by the Cardinal to the very end, even in the flames.”

“They say he delivered the Cardinal’s final words to His Holiness. That no one will burn by violet flames anymore.”

“Keep this between us—but there are rumors the Cardinal will be canonized as a saint.”

Their voices dropped to hushed whispers.

“What? Isn’t that only possible five years after death? They have to investigate his life, and theologians must review it.”

“The miracle is too clear. His virtues are beyond dispute. And besides—nothing else could calm the chaos here right now.”

“I’ve never heard of someone being nominated for sainthood in just four days.”

“There probably never has been—and never will be again.”

***

From his second-floor room, hearing all this with the heightened senses of the Wolf King,
Isaac let out a quiet laugh.

The name Vincenzio meant:
the conqueror, the one who triumphs through faith.

“…So it turned out that way.”

With those words, Isaac closed his eyes and entered meditation.

He had held himself back dozens of times while writing the confession.

Now—

it was time to use the Light of Atonement.

Sieg von Goethe had once realized
that due to his unique constitution, he could not form mana loops like other mages.

After that, he began collecting rare artifacts from across the continent.

The wealth of House Goethe, once vast, dwindled rapidly—
but no one dared criticize him.

Because he was, undeniably, the greatest mage on the continent.

Even the Empire’s most renowned mages traveled great distances
to seek his guidance.

Some even came from beyond the continent—
mystics and sorcerers alike.

Sieg von Goethe was said to always carry numerous artifacts on his body.

At first, Isaac believed they served as buffers—
to prevent mana overflow and the destruction of the vessel.

That idea led him to develop rune stones that intentionally damaged mana circuits,
creating multi-circulation paths.

But after returning to the past and reflecting,
Isaac realized there was another reason.

Sieg had never feared mana overflow,
nor the destruction of his vessel, nor explosions.

What he feared was something else—

That his vessel would become too stable,
and that his magical growth would cease.

That was the very wall Isaac now faced.

He had used rune stones to damage his mana circuits,
forcing the formation of multiple circulation paths.

But rune stones were ultimately artificial constructs.

Once the circuits stabilized beyond a certain point,
their stimulation diminished.

Which meant—

Isaac’s system would remain stuck at six circuits,
unable to grow any further.

What he needed now was an object deeply imprinted with will—
something that had passed through the entirety of someone’s life,
carrying within it a deeply engraved magical sense and intent.

In magical terms, it was an organic residual circuit.

And what fulfilled that condition—was a relic.

The Light of Atonement, in particular,
was an artifact the fallen saint had carried from his days as a high-ranking mage
until the very moment of his death.

Even as he lived as a monk,
he never ceased his prayers, anguish, meditation—
or his training in divine power.

His will and mana remained intact within that old wooden cross.

‘Now I understand why Sieg von Goethe collected this necklace first.’

The foreign circuit of the relic entered Isaac’s own,
interfering—then clashing, then resonating.

The boundaries of his existing circuits wavered,
and new flows of mana began to form.

Unlike rune stones, which required guidance,
this force moved on its own—
as if it possessed a will.

‘It feels… alive.’

The mana flowing from the Light of Atonement
was like a beast.

Invisible, untouchable—
yet undeniably present.

It crept into his mana circuits,
tearing through them as it moved.

It seemed to search for new ground,
to remain cautious,
or even to recoil at encountering a completely different will.

To Isaac, the sensation was utterly alien.

It was like an animal pouring out emotion without language—

Cold yet hot,
soft yet sharp,
rampaging freely through his vessel.

Giiiiiiing—

His circuits began to resonate, one by one,
defending their domain.

Mana from different sentient origins does not blend—
it collides.

And the stronger it is,
the greater the collision.

Within a single vessel,
two wills began to clash—

Wills from entirely different worlds.

Cold sweat soaked Isaac’s forehead.

It felt as though lightning were endlessly raging inside him.

He could not see it directly,
but in his mind’s eye,
each circuit must have been erupting with violent sparks.

The foreign mana tore through him,
pressing down on his consciousness.

Memories.
Beliefs.
Guilt.
Confession and prayer.
Regret.

The emotions and concepts the fallen saint had defined over a lifetime
poured into the gaps of his circuits—
testing the very core of Isaac’s being.

…

The centuries of sensation contained within the Light of Atonement
were awakening inside him.

There was no real sound—

And yet, Isaac heard it.

“Ghh…!”

Clutching his splitting head,
Isaac forced himself upright.

“Are you alright?”

It was night.

Moonlight streamed through the window into the room.

Raphael sat there,
drinking straight from a jar without even a cup,
basking in the pale light.

“…What brings you here?”

Isaac glanced around.

There were no inquisitors.
No papal soldiers.

Bang.

Only Raphael and Isaac
stood in the room.

“Why didn’t you leave?”

“There was no reason to.
Aren’t you here to arrest me?”

“Why?
Did you commit a crime worthy of the Inquisition?”

“…Didn’t I?”

Isaac asked back.

His mind was hazy.

He could not tell whether this was reality or a dream.
It felt like something he had seen before—yet not.

Fortunately—

it seemed real.

“It wasn’t the Baron who burned His Eminence.
It was His Eminence himself.
Or…”

Raphael’s voice trailed off, growing quieter.

It sounded less like he was speaking to Isaac—
and more like he was murmuring to no one.

“I have a request.
Bear witness to the miracle of his immolation.”

“…It might be the flame I’ve been waiting for.”

Thousands gathered in the plaza.

The cathedral still lay in ruins.

Between the gray stone walls,
shards of glass glinted in the sunlight.

The sacred ceiling had collapsed,
the cross had fallen—
but a temporary altar had been raised,
creating a new kind of sanctuary.

All the cardinals and archbishops of the Papacy stood in formation.
Guards lined the area.
Delegations from the north, south, and east had gathered.
Noble houses and knight orders were present.

And thousands of believers and monks
knelt, filling the square.

The snow had stopped,
but the sky remained heavy with clouds,
with occasional rays of sunlight breaking through.

On the raised platform,
papal banners and crimson flags fluttered.

The Pope—wearing golden vestments and the papal crown—
stood firm upon the stage.

Though he appeared frail,
that very frailty seemed sustained by divine grace.

“This place stands upon a fallen sanctuary.”

His voice echoed across the square.

“In the flames, one man burned himself.
He interrogated more than anyone,
witnessed more sin than anyone—
and in the end, embraced that sin and set himself ablaze.”

“Because he burned,
we survived.”

A bishop stepped forward, holding a crystal reliquary.

“Therefore, as the representative of God, I declare:
Cardinal Vincenzio—
he is the atoner of this land, the one who bears its sins,
and a saint of the Church.”

“He shall be known as the Violet Saint,
Vincenzio of Atonement.”

“From the day the flames were extinguished,
the altar that honors him shall be recorded as the Hall of Repentance.”

***

As the Pope finished speaking,
monks placed violet candles upon the wooden altar.

The flames were artificially colored—

but no one questioned it.

They were overwhelmed
by the sacred atmosphere.

Isaac, cloaked,
pushed through the crowd and left the plaza.

Mana flowed along a seventh circuit.

It was time—

to return.