Ch.167167. Ilroy (3)

There was faith.

Andre Zabine is a fanatic. No, perhaps he’s just pretending to be crazy. Most people who kill in the name of God are like that. Andre Zabine is a former inquisitor. He was raised as a machine devoid of emotions. Time taught him the theory of emotions, but failed to instill any feeling other than reverence for God. Really, is that so? Was that how it was?

He killed. Without the slightest doubt. Without regret. Because he had prevented crises of the Blue Orthodox Church and of faith with his own hands many times. God existed, and those who inherited the will of light existed too. Therefore, the bishop thought that punishing those who opposed that will was an act of setting the world right and embracing it with light. Even if it meant he would fall into hell, the Blue Orthodox Church would continue to exist.

“You who are light, word, and parent.”

There is no hesitation. No doubt. The roots of faith do not waver. He only yearned. But now? Bishop Andre recited prayers under the pale sunlight seeping in.

“Forgive our sins.”

The light before the cross flickered.

“Lead us not into temptation.”

The window rattled again in the wind.

“Deliver us from evil.”

Silence enveloped the room. The incense on the altar snapped and fell into the jar. Andre Zabine rose from his seat. Winter was approaching. The church was filled with cold. The aisle he walked down seemed unusually long. The bishop opened the church door. God’s messenger was waiting for him at the door. Whenever he met that gaze, the bishop couldn’t shake the feeling that he was facing the final judge.

“Let’s go, Bishop.”

Andre Zabine nodded. He still couldn’t hold his head high under those eyes.

“Yes, Holy Sword.”

==

With the clanking of chains, the elevator slowly began to descend. The light from unusually red torches flickered. They were probably lanterns embedded with magic stones. As they created the prison’s oppressive atmosphere, guards walked along the railings, glancing into the cells.

“Is this your first visit to a prison?”

The warden asked. I slightly frowned as I watched a prisoner’s skeletal arm reaching out through the bars. A guard’s club was mercilessly flying toward that hand.

“Yes. I’m having trouble getting used to the atmosphere.”

“I heard you were an adventurer before being selected as the Holy Sword.”

It’s not uncommon for adventurers to frequent prisons. If you’re a renowned adventurer, it’s considered normal to have been behind bars at least once. The warden looked at me with an expression suggesting he knew everything. Of course, his eyes held smugness rather than contempt, as if he was facing someone familiar.

“I don’t think I’ve caused any notable incidents. I’ve never considered adventurer Ilroy to be famous.”

“Hahaha, I was just making conversation. It’s common for adventurers to end up here for minor issues. You know, like getting arrested for starting a big fight in a tavern.”

Drrrr. The chains continued to descend, and the prison seemed endlessly deep. The number of cells was noticeably decreasing. The prisoners’ figures were also becoming sparse, with only their outlines visible. They were emanating a heavy, viscous killing intent toward the elevator, palpable on the skin.

“The more heinous criminals are imprisoned as we go deeper. Most are just waiting for their execution date. The worst ones are already dead, so I don’t think you need to worry too much. They’re just all bark and no bite.”

The warden spoke, mocking the killing intent directed at them. Up close, he seemed skilled enough to make such claims. A skinny body, sunken eye sockets and cheeks. Prominent cheekbones. A pitch-black uniform and a club at his waist. He must be at least knight commander level.

“What about you, Bishop? This place can’t be too unfamiliar to you.”

Andre Bishop, who was descending beside me, nodded with a smile.

“Our prisons are much smaller. We often executed immediately, and excluding those cases, imprisonment was unnecessary in most situations. Still, this atmosphere is quite familiar.”

Except for the absence of screams from all around, the bishop added.

“Haha, our soundproofing is quite good. I can’t say such rooms don’t exist at all.”

Clank, clank. The elevator was gradually slowing down. There were fewer cells, and the elevator finally reached the bottom of the prison. Guards waiting at the bottom saluted the warden as they approached. The warden acknowledged their salute with a wave of his hand, and the guards began to guide us, leading with red torches.

“By the way, I’m impressed that you want to personally interrogate that mercenary. I heard it was solely thanks to you, Holy Sword, that he was captured alive.”

The warden turned to look at me as we walked down the corridor.

“He’s probably the strongest prisoner ever held in this prison, and the one who committed the most heinous crimes in the shortest time. I’m embarrassed to admit it, but I found it difficult to even look him straight in the eye.”

The warden wore a mechanical smile. He drew his club and tapped the bars of an empty cell: tap, tap. The sound of the club hitting the bars was both a command to intimidate the prisoners and a warning not to misbehave.

“I think you might be the only one who can properly face him, Holy Sword.”

And soon, we reached the deepest part of the prison. At the end of the corridor loomed bars about 3 meters high, like a crouching whale. The warden looked at the bars and gave a low laugh.

“Do you know how many years it’s been since this cell received an inmate?”

The prison wasn’t locked with a key. Two guards each took out a long rod from their chests and went to opposite ends of the door. The warden watched with satisfaction.

“A full 60 years. This cell hasn’t received a single guest during that time.”

When the two guards looked at the warden with their rods ready, he nodded. The guards simultaneously inserted the rods into holes in the wall. The door didn’t open; instead, the wall split to reveal a metal plate. The warden removed his gloves and approached the plate, placing his hand on it.

“It’s a magic identification. The door only opens to the magic of the ‘living’ warden.”

“…What happens if you die?”

“The authority automatically transfers to the queen. No one else can open this cell.”

I think Aryen could force his way out if he wanted to. I thought as I looked at the bars. Kugugung. The sound of the door shaking echoed. The warden put his gloves back on and approached the opening bars. The guards extended their torches inside. The red torchlight seemed less helpful than fireflies flying in the night sky.

In the silence, with only the footsteps of five people audible, Aryen’s voice suddenly rang out.

“…Is that Ilroy?”

Using a bit of magic to see ahead, I saw Aryen sitting at a small table in a condition that couldn’t be called fine. He was noticeably thinner, and wore a large eye patch. It probably wasn’t just to block his vision. It must be for blocking or disrupting magic itself.

“You look quite ridiculous. To think I’d have to face you in such a state.”

“Holy Sword, what would you like to do?”

The warden asked from beside me. I closed my eyes tightly and let out a deep sigh.

“I’m sorry, but could you and the two guards leave us alone? I’d like to speak with him privately.”

“In that case, I’ll provide you with a private room. We have a separate room for interrogations.”

“I’d prefer if you didn’t eavesdrop.”

The warden let out a small laugh at my words.

“I value my life too. I have no intention of doubting you, Holy Sword, nor do I wish to interfere with this interrogation. Please take as much time as you need.”

The warden gestured toward Aryen, and the guards approached him with tense expressions, placing restraints on his arms. Aryen quietly accepted the restraints and stood up. Since his right arm was missing, only his left arm was tightly bound to his body.

“The bishop is here too. It’s been a while.”

Aryen casually turned to Andre Bishop and greeted him. The bishop returned the greeting with a somewhat pained expression.

“Are you eating well? You seem to have lost weight.”

“If your goal was to mock me, you’ve succeeded, Bishop. As if food in a place like this could taste good.”

The interrogation room door opened. The room was brightly lit with lamps. The warden stood at the doorway, silently asking what to do next.

“Please remove his blindfold and leave. I’ll take full responsibility for whatever happens afterward.”

“As you wish.”

Without argument, the warden removed Aryen’s eye patch. Aryen’s cloudy, pitch-black eyes were revealed. His pupils, seeing light after a long time, contracted and then returned to normal after blinking several times.

“Then, we’ll wait outside. Please take your time.”

The warden closed the interrogation room door and left. I, Aryen, and the bishop sat at the desk facing each other. The eyes of the two men were saying a lot. I thought my eyes probably looked the same.

“I never imagined you would come here too.”

Aryen said to the bishop.

“There are things I couldn’t ask. I need to know.”

“You were the one who took me away to tell me something when I was wandering.”

“Is there a law saying I can’t wander too? Everyone wanders. If not, they’re either not human or they’re God.”

The bishop spoke like a bishop. His emotional state seemed to have calmed down considerably.

“Why did you block me that time?”

The bishop asked, almost pleadingly. That question, and all the tragedies caused by Aryen’s action, seemed to be holding the bishop captive.

“I tried to find my own answer, but… I couldn’t think of a satisfactory reason. I prayed, I begged for an answer, but nothing came to mind.”

Why did you do it?

The bishop’s final question was a bitter reproach. Aryen listened to the bishop’s question expressionlessly but attentively. Then he remained silent. He seemed to be organizing his thoughts.

“It wasn’t a wise action. I should admit that first.”

Aryen began.

“I can’t logically explain why I acted that way. But, Bishop, if you had taken that attack, you would be the one sitting here in restraints.”

When the bishop said nothing, Aryen smiled, raising one corner of his mouth.

“There’s no need to overthink it. I did what I thought I had to do. If you want to think it was God’s will, that’s fine. If you want to consider it my mistake and blame it all on me, that’s fine too.”

“Even though it wasn’t your will that led to this, you accept your current situation?”

“Those who died in Barktins and the capital didn’t die by their will either.”

Aryen shrugged.

“Bishop, you’ve been given an opportunity. It’s good to ask me questions and fall into contemplation, but also think about what you can do now that you can stand in that place again. I’m not your teacher, and you don’t intend to learn anything from me.”

“…I know that, but it’s not as easy as it sounds.”

The bishop still answered in a weak voice.

“Would you prefer if I blamed you and criticized you, saying this all happened because you couldn’t dodge the attack? I didn’t think you were that pitiful.”

“Perhaps I would have felt better if you had.”

The bishop laughed bitterly, but Aryen’s expression remained unchanged.

“Then continue to worry and question. Whether I would have made that choice in that moment. Why you’re standing there perfectly fine, and why I’m here waiting for my death.”

Aryen leaned back in his chair.

“I won’t give you an answer that will ease your mind. That’s your burden, not mine. Don’t try to find an easy answer. You’re wearing those clothes of a clergyman. Surely you didn’t really think killing people was your true calling.”

As Aryen tilted his chin, the bishop’s laugh changed from bitter to incredulous.

“Even in this situation, you’re still showing off. That’s just like you.”

“Better than acting out of character and whining.”

Aryen ended the conversation, but the bishop seemed to have received an adequate answer, changing his expression to his usual mask-like, benevolent smile. Aryen glanced at the bishop, clicked his tongue, and turned to me.

“…Well. Setting aside that church man, you really came to interrogate me.”

“I was wondering if you had more to tell me.”

“Well… I can’t say I don’t.”

Aryen glanced at the bishop.

“But I don’t want someone else to hear it.”

The bishop stared blankly at the two of us, then rose from his seat with a resigned expression. The door opened, there was a brief conversation, and then the bishop’s presence disappeared as the door closed. Aryen stared sharply at the closed door for a while before turning back.

“…So, where should I begin and what should I talk about.”

Aryen tapped his foot and met my eyes. I seemed to know what I should ask now. I took a deep breath and made my decision.

“The other you that you met.”

Aryen opened his eyes wide, as if he hadn’t expected me to speak first.

“Tell me all your impressions about that thought entity.”

If it can exist transcending time and space, I can overcome it the same way. If I can exist like that,

I’ll be able to go rescue the Holy Sword trapped in that space.