Ch.35Devotion Offered by the Sword (10)

A commotion broke out. But Kain only looked at Malachia. Judge Malachia’s face had turned pale, and the sound of wood splintering came from the armrest. The inquisitors bowed their heads to recite prayers of mourning, and only after Heinrich had calmed down somewhat did Kain speak.

“You said the Demon King cannot draw out what isn’t within oneself. This is what I saw…”

Everyone listened to his words—those who felt empty, those still trapped in delusion, and those like Judge Malachia who watched Kain with sharp eyes. Kain recounted the dead man’s final actions as calmly as possible. About the vine-like tongue, the closed monastery doors, the Mercy Knights’ standoff, and the Curse of Mockery.

“Father Haspel said that William of Chastity was afflicted with the Curse of Mockery. The movements shown by William after shedding his skin were lewd, bizarre, and exaggerated.

The Father tried to awaken William until the very end, but eventually that grotesque creature pierced through the Father’s body.

‘It’ raved that it wasn’t responsible for its own downfall, that everything else had seduced it, and the Father declared that if that was truly the case, God would judge, and then burned everything with holy fire.”

Kain fell silent. Those horrific scenes flashed through his mind again. He recalled the expressions on the faces embedded in the stone walls, relieved that their long and terrible suffering had finally ended.

Lily gently grabbed his arm, then let go. Kain took another deep breath.

“Yes. That’s what we saw.”

“…I was the one who sent Haspel there.” The judge’s voice cracked like a dried-out branch.

“When news came that the Archbishop had been attacked, His Holiness immediately ordered an investigation. He personally commanded that the victims be moved to the sealed monastery and dispatched the Mercy Knights and others.

I sent Haspel to the Archbishop’s diocese. But his report was utterly confusing—had it been from anyone other than Haspel, I would have torn it up immediately.”

The building itself was not an ordinary Archbishop’s residence. It was more like a small fortress than a dwelling, with trained guards who answered to the Archbishop himself. Every door had fortress-grade specifications and locks. There was an obsessive fixation with light.

The Archbishop’s own room was in disarray. The floor was covered with melted candles and broken mirrors. William’s large hammer, which should have been displayed elegantly on the wall, was rolling on the floor. Haspel, who had been a crusader, recognized this as the method used against the Demon King’s shadow during the Fifth Crusade.

“The Demon King’s shadow. I couldn’t believe it.

There was no doubt that the Seven Heroes had defeated the Demon King. At that time, the nightmare shadows that had blinded the crusaders’ eyes and broken their spirits disappeared.

There’s no way to explain the brilliance of that sunlight. Even the heathens thrust their swords into the ground and offered prayers of gratitude.

But now, more than ten years later, someone had attacked one of the Seven Heroes, and the hero had confronted them as if they were ‘the Demon King’s shadow.’ It was unbelievable.

Either someone was imitating the Demon King’s sorcery or—though I hate to think it—the Demon King had been resurrected. I sent that report to the Papal Office.”

“What happened then?”

“His Holiness the Pope announced that he would canonize all Seven Heroes.”

The veins on the judge’s forehead bulged.

“To recognize someone as a saint requires an investigation into their entire life and trajectory. At first, I thought it would be a comprehensive investigation into the suspicious activities of the Seven Heroes.”

Kain was startled. Wasn’t this exactly the conversation he had with Lily? That through the canonization process, an unlimited and legal investigation would be possible. But Judge Malachia’s words had a slightly different nuance.

“But that wasn’t it?”

“…No. As I said earlier, His Holiness wants to elevate the Seven Heroes to a position from which they can never be brought down.

Perfect heroes who never made mistakes, or if they did, overcame them—literally heroes. Stuffed specimens that wouldn’t release a speck of dust even if shaken. To do that, all the dregs had to be found and incinerated.”

Kain gritted his teeth. Malachia also recognized Kain’s anger. He too was indignant.

“That’s right. His Holiness is trying to deny, incinerate, and burn away all suspicions as if they never existed.”

“Why on earth would he do that?”

“Faith.”

Malachia closed his eyes. He dispersed his anger. In the place where anger had suddenly extinguished, only a streak of resignation remained like soot.

“For the sake of ordinary people’s simple faith and daily lives.

The Veneration of the Sword Park… all those folk tales and expectations about the Seven Heroes. Hope. The sense of shared experience that everyone fought under the same flag. The knowledge that despite our quarrels, we were once united.

What would happen to people if they learned that dream was a betrayal and deception? They would collapse, divide, fight, blame, defame each other, and finally stab each other to death. Greater conflicts than ever before would arise. Feelings of being deceived, tricked, and unable to trust anyone would prevail.

If there had been nothing at all, perhaps it wouldn’t matter. But the misery that follows a brief happy dream torments people even more. The cruelest thing you can do to a thirsty person is not to give them no water at all, but just enough to wet their lips.

And above all, there’s no reason to cause a premature uproar over something uncertain…”

Malachia drew in a breath.

“If someone is merely imitating the Demon King, we simply need to eliminate them.

If the Demon King himself has been resurrected, the situation changes somewhat. People will be shaken, but they won’t lose hope. ‘The Seven Heroes are still with us.

And since we’ve defeated the Demon King once, we can overcome him again if we just try.’ With luck, they might even think, ‘Indeed, the Demon King cannot be easily eliminated,’ and become more motivated to root him out this time.

The worst case scenario is this:

The Seven Heroes fall one by one in misery, and their true forms were far removed from the heroes we thought we knew. They weren’t the heroes we imagined, but filthy, dirty beings whose humanity is questionable, and even their achievements… are suspect.

What if the Curse of Mockery covers the whole world? What would happen? If the Demon King’s nightmarish shadow overturns the world again, what would people rely on to live?”

Judge Malachia clearly looked exhausted. Kain thought he was trying to offer some kind of “help.” From the judge’s perspective, and in front of the other inquisitors, he couldn’t speak honestly.

Malachia himself knows that the current situation is flowing toward the third, most desperate worst-case scenario. Perhaps even the Pope knows it. That’s why the Pope is trying to forcibly push all this toward the first or second scenario.

They say the easiest way to predict the future is to create it yourself. The Pope is trying to create a dramatic position for the Seven Heroes “for the sake of ordinary people’s daily lives and happiness.” Burning away the shadows. Leaving only achievements in their place.

He was trying to stuff history.

But.

But?

“Then what becomes of Father Haspel’s sacrifice? The dead Mercy Knights. Those who were swept up beside Father William?”

Kain’s breathing grew rough. The time when rogue knights toyed with ordinary people at will. Ordinary people who had abandoned all expectations, mocking the Empire and the Order. Children singing that only the Seven Heroes remained with us.

“Is the Veneration of the Sword Park shrine really… truly worth that much?”

Malachia did not answer.

“What is Magdeburg?”

“Nothing.”

Malachia exhaled a long breath.

“Nothing at all.”

He struck the armrest, thump, thump.

“It is also a sewer. The largest sewer in the world. Every sinner in the world comes here to leave behind their filth of sin.

All the world’s filth is thrown here, and people return to their daily lives. Clean. Purified. Beautiful.

What enters the mouth benefits a person, but whatever leaves the body, no matter what it is, defiles them… Magdeburg and the Veneration of the Sword shrine are the world’s largest sewer.”

An afternoon ray of light breaking through the clouds separated Kain and Malachia.

“This religious court is the same. Those who come this far likely carry the most hideous and filthy things within them. We inquisitors merely gather the filth, burn it, and devour it.

We cannot imagine a better tomorrow. We cannot promise happiness to people. We cannot lead things in a better direction. However.”

The beam of light became clearer. Strength returned to Malachia’s body. It was both a verdict and a declaration. It was his firmness that had endured throughout his life.

“However, we can prevent things from going in a worse direction. As we have done until now, so shall we continue to do. And that is His Holiness the Pope’s will.”

“…So the Order never intended to provide support in the first place.”

Malachia flinched at Kain’s sudden words.

“Far from support, there will only be interference and destruction of evidence. The Order is equally ignorant about the detailed truth, but whatever it is, they don’t even want to dig it up. Because they don’t want to know.”

“Whatever you think, that’s your freedom.”

“The cooperation request sent to the Empire was probably meant to say, ‘We’ve done all we could. If we couldn’t find out anything, it’s not just our fault. It’s the Empire’s fault.’

If my colleague and I discover something, and if by chance it’s terrible enough to shatter people’s illusions, the Empire will have to bear all the consequences.”

“Whatever you think, that’s your judgment.”

“Does His Holiness intend to ascend to that high place with the heroes? To a place where no one would dare pull him down?”

“Just as you cannot rashly speak of the Emperor’s will, I too cannot speak of His Holiness’s intentions.”

The beam of light disappeared.

Malachia now looked as shabby as a dried-up tree trunk. He might once have been the base of a great tree, but what remained now was only the smallness of a tired old man worn down by the elements.

Even the judge of the religious court, who had once been too intimidating to look at directly, was just a human being. A person with clear limitations, who could do far less than he couldn’t do,

And who, like Kain himself, had thrown everything away solely to prevent things from getting worse. A person worn down to nothing.

“Why don’t you plant an apple tree?”

A small utterance. A mumble. Words barely audible to himself. However, Lily at least heard his words. She tugged at Kain’s clothes again. She slowly shook her head.

Malachia leaned back. His exhaustion was evident.

“…I wish you luck in your investigation. May God illuminate your path. But you must hurry. Before sunset falls. Before everything is plunged into darkness, create a spark. Prepare for the night that will descend.”

Kain and Lily rose silently. The inquisitors saw them off in silence. But as they opened the door to leave,

“…However, I can give you one small clue.”

The stubbornness of an unbroken branch held their hearts.