novelraw Chapter 188 : Chapter 188
Chapter 188 : Chapter 188
Chapter 188: The Banality of Evil (5)
"You ask a thing plain as day."
Abel opened his mouth.
Apostates were to be executed on discovery. It was a statute known in every nation of the world. Even if they were taken into custody for interrogation, it only delayed the day of their death. No chance to repent was given to apostates. Knowing this much, one still chose to delve into black magic.
"Do not think of running. There is no method by which an apostate can survive."
"Of course."
Henrietta answered lightly.
Then she looked. The blade poised at her own throat. The edge was damaged, but it was still more than enough to sever a neck. She had seen what Abel could do with it.
Then she looked. Beyond Abel's shoulder, at the pale, whitish forms blooming up around Monica. The souls were ascending to the Underworld.
Then she looked.
At Hank's corpse sprawled behind her.
"Hank and I, it seems......"
Lastly, she looked.
Henrietta gazed at Abel's face.
Observing his indifferently hardened expression, she put her question forward.
"Were apostates, it would appear?"
"Did I not tell you. That there is no method by which apostates can survive."
Playing the innocent is useless.
Abel murmured, and,
"Why do you think I'm playing the innocent?"
Henrietta tilted her head.
"You said so yourself. That there is no method by which apostates can survive. I didn't know, please forgive me. It's hardly reasonable for me to be begging for my life that way. Unless I were truly daft."
"I consider you quite daft."
"Hank often said so too. But that isn't true."
It truly isn't, and.
Henrietta said flatly.
After pursing her lips as though sulking, she tilted her gaze toward Monica.
"I heard we were born with divine power, Hank and I."
Monica's aura dispersed.
The green radiance that had wrapped her prosthetic faded. Watching the halo of light melt into the darkness, Henrietta smiled. Purely, like a believer gazing up at the images of the Main Gods.
If that wasn't the very face of daftness. Monica thought as she folded her arms. A smile so vacant it hurt to look at. It wasn't only her expression that was daft. She had to have known Abel was a paladin, so why had she opened up the Ectoplasm tonight?
Had she thought she could overpower him?
Or perhaps......,
"Father said he too was born with divine power. Thanks to that, I was able to learn from childhood."
Divine magic, and.
Henrietta murmured, and,
'She's wrong.'
Abel and Monica, as well as Henrietta, were certain.
She had not been learning divine magic. She had been learning black magic. Henrietta and Hank had been taught black magic by their apostate father. Believing all the while that their craft was divine magic.
"It isn't that I'm daft, I've simply never seen it. How radiant true divine magic is."
"You've never seen it once?"
"Really, not once."
At Monica's question, Henrietta answered decisively.
The situation differed between the capital, Naflansee, and the border city of Dauane. Even the sheer number of clergymen. A place where thick dark clouds shut out the sunlight, and the bodies of the unclaimed were treated as equivalent to pests. In such a Dauane, it was difficult to come across divine magic.
"Young lady."
Henrietta spoke toward Monica.
"Had I seen someone like you, who handles such beautiful power, I too would have had to doubt. Why am I so hideous, something of that sort. But it was impossible. Even someone like me passes for somewhat beautiful in Dauane, and so it couldn't be helped that I looked beautiful to my own eyes."
Even Hank's craft and mine......
Henrietta murmured.
"And, Paladin, sir."
There was no answer from Abel.
His sword was his reply. The cherished blade leveled at Henrietta's throat stood unchanging, unfaltering. An apostate's words were bound to be woven with deceit. Abel did not trust Henrietta's words. It was not that one ought to. Abel had a disciple he had to protect, and Henrietta understood Abel's position.
She simply wanted to ask.
"My father said the rite Hank and I performed was the proper funeral. He said it was a way to send the souls of the unjustly dead to the Underworld. Was it a lie?"
"It was."
Abel nodded.
The siblings had merely been layering souls onto Ectoplasm.
A soul that had been wholly fused with Ectoplasm lost its chance at reincarnation.
"So every day, Hank and I would gather the unidentified dead, carry the souls home sealed in their keepsakes, and perform the rite. And so, numerous souls of the dead must have lost their chance at reincarnation. Is that the truth?"
"It is."
Abel nodded once more.
A fair number of souls had ascended, but likely many more had been entirely dissolved into the Ectoplasm.
Henrietta and Hank had effectively annihilated countless souls.
"Has Hank's soul departed for the Underworld?"
"It has. It was likely swept up in my spell and ascended along with the others."
"Will Hank be made to pay for his sins in the Underworld?"
"He will. The God of the Underworld judges the lives of the souls that come there. If one's sins are too deep, one cannot reincarnate."
"Are Hank's sins deep enough that he cannot reincarnate?"
No answer came from Abel.
Henrietta didn't mind. She reached out with both hands and grasped the blade leveled at her.
"Why did Father pass black magic down to us?"
No answer came from Abel this time either.
Henrietta didn't mind. Drops of blood began to run down the blade. After looking over her own hands, through which a sharp pain was spreading, Henrietta, smile on her lips, asked another question.
"Paladin, sir. I'd like to hear what you think."
Is it difficult to tell good from evil?
At that question from Henrietta,
"......It is."
Abel answered reluctantly, and,
"It seems so."
Henrietta assented, gently closing her eyes.
"Telling good from evil is easy. Speak kind words to them and they grow kind; speak cruel words and they grow cruel. The same for people, the same for vegetables. I'd believed that all along, but it seems everything I thought I knew was wrong."
I never spoke cruel words,
I only ever spoke kind ones,
And yet all my kindness was, in truth, cruelty.
Henrietta murmured, and,
"Hello."
──Squelch!
She drove it in with all her strength.
Into her own throat, Abel's blade.
"What a......, truly......, lovely......, night."
Henrietta's lips wavered as if kissing empty air. The blood pouring from them ran down the length of the blade. Abel swallowed a sigh and withdrew his cherished sword. Henrietta's body lost its strength and toppled. Between her thinly parted eyelids, the whites of her eyes showed, and,
"Monica Lohengrin."
Monica gazed at Abel without speaking.
Abel bent down and closed Henrietta's eyes for her.
"Let us prepare to leave."
We are in the middle of an adventure.
We mustn't linger long in one place.
Abel murmured.
With a faint tremor hidden inside his mouth.
***
The following morning, Dauane.
The rain had stopped, but the sun had not risen. The dark clouds remained entrenched beneath the sky, while the signboard of the Pest and Corpse Control Office rattled together with the winter wind.
"......Explain yourself."
The clerk narrowed his eyes.
Rustling his beard, he fixed his gaze on what lay at his feet.
Two corpses were wrapped in blankets. Henrietta and Hank, the pallid faces of the siblings visible through gaps in the fabric. From the looks of it, decay had been suppressed through a spell. Still, there was nowhere to find any feature worth calling lifelike.
"Explain yourself, Paladin!"
The clerk's expression contorted.
A roar swept the inside of the office.
"Why are these children dead. Didn't they leave together with Henrietta? Listen well. In Dauane, these kids were rare......"
"They were apostates."
Abel spoke in a quiet voice.
The bustling clerk's mouth froze. Apostates? It was beyond belief. Why would an apostate, of all things, have gone around collecting corpses. Wearing rags, at that. He couldn't accept it. The clerk's brow spasmed for an instant, then his gaze swung toward Monica.
"Is it true?"
"......It is."
Monica nodded once.
If what Henrietta had said was true, she had not known herself to be an apostate — yet that did not make her any less an apostate. Some evil is committed without the doer even knowing it to be evil. But how bitter this is. Brushing back her hair, Monica thought.
"The dim-witted fools!"
Clunk.
The clerk slammed his fist on the desk.
"Dim-witted fools, dim-witted fools, dim-witted fools! Why would they go and become apostates......"
"They were not dim-witted."
Abel murmured softly.
"There were simply many things they did not know."
"Ha! Are you playing word games with me now?"
"If one did not know enough, dim-wittedness cannot be proven. The siblings were not even given the chance to prove or disprove dim-wittedness in themselves. They were......"
Apostates without knowing they were apostates.
They defiled souls without knowing.
Hearing Abel's words,
"This is ridiculous."
Tsk.
The clerk clicked his tongue.
"What does any of that matter now. Dead like this."
"Please hold funerals for the siblings. I will pay. Cremation and burial in the cemetery will do."
"Are you joking with me now?"
The clerk furrowed his brow.
"The cemeteries in Dauane are already full. Things must be different in the capital, no? Not that it concerns me. But you, sir, might be better off knowing this. The bones of those who die in Dauane are simply thrown into the lake. Thankfully the God of the Underworld hasn't grown angry."
"I told you."
That I will pay.
Just as Abel whispered,
──Boom!
The office door was flung open with force.
Monica's shoulders flinched. A storm of footsteps shook the floorboards of the office. Ten, twenty, thirty. Knights clad in white armor surged in and quickly formed ranks, and,
'......Paladins?'
Just as Monica was thinking, eyes wide,
"The Inquisition Bureau, under the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith of the Papacy."
A man's voice carrying from beyond the formation.
An elf. An elf with long-flowing black hair revealed himself.
Unlike the other paladins in their white armor, this man was clad in black armor. The eye-pattern engraved into the breastplate of the armor. It was unmistakably the insignia proving one's membership in the Inquisition Bureau, and......,
"The 17th Director, Isaac Tournaisen."
"Ah, n-no......"
The clerk's face filled with bewilderment.
The sudden visit of the Inquisition Bureau, and on top of that, the Director himself paying a call. He could only be astonished. The Director of the Inquisition Bureau would be a position just below Cardinal.
"......Glory to the Five Main Gods. I am honored to meet the Director of the Inquisition Bureau."
The clerk lowered his head.
Barely observing protocol, he looked Abel over.
'Did this man call them?'
Impossible.
Even Cardinals couldn't rashly command the Inquisition Bureau. And the only one who could summon the Director would be the Pope himself. For the Emperor there was the Imperial Secret Service, and for the Pope there was the Inquisition Bureau — each functioning as its own independent military body, and in the case of the Inquisition Bureau, they tended to clash with high-level black magic.
'Who on earth is this man?'
As the clerk lifted his head, wondering,
"Abel Argento."
Isaac, Director of the Inquisition Bureau, opened his mouth.
"The 11th of the Papacy's......"
"It's the 13th."
Abel corrected Isaac's words.
"Ah, right. The 13th Round Table Assault Corps......"
"Defense Army."
"Ah, right. In any case, honorable paladin. I have just arrived, having received your urgent dispatch."
Isaac Tournaisen?
Monica tilted her head.
For some reason the name felt like one she'd heard before.
"From today onward, Dauane will be purified. This is the solemn declaration of His Holiness the Pope, and the noble affirmation of Isaac Tournaisen, namely myself. We may not be able to tear apart the rain clouds blanketing the sky, but at the very least, we shall wipe out the wicked who swarm the earth."
Aah, how resplendent.
All of it is the grace of His Holiness the Pope.
Isaac murmured, and,
'He's crying?'
Monica's mouth fell open.
A silent astonishment welled up.
The corners of Isaac's eyes were beginning to grow wet. He seemed to have been moved by the words out of his own mouth.
"Please do not cry."
Abel let out a sigh.
He fixed Isaac with a sharp look and murmured quietly.
"Your tears are far too light."
"You're quite right. I ought not to weep. Tears too are a resource bestowed upon us by the Main Gods. Why do I waste them so......"
"Please do not use honorifics with me."
"Right. You are but a single paladin. Why do I find myself using honorifics......"
"Public order in Dauane is in quite a ruined state. May I trust in the Director's results?"
Can we really trust this man.
Monica wondered with a blank expression.
The members of the Inquisition Bureau were mostly devoid of emotion. At least the ones who had been dispatched to CIAR were. They would have been trained to suppress emotion in order to hunt black magic. Indeed, the Inquisition Bureau was known to be a severe and solemn body. For the Director of that very Inquisition Bureau to be so flimsy — Monica just couldn't believe it.
"Trust me!"
Thud.
Isaac struck his own breastplate.
A clear metallic ring spread through the room.
"I swear on my son, Isaac Fordina."
Isaac Fordina?
Monica tilted her head.
For some reason the name felt like one she'd heard before.
"That before long, the radiance of the Main Gods will dwell in this land."
Gwahahaha──!
Isaac let out a loud laugh, and,
'I remember.'
Monica's expression stiffened.
She had heard it. It was a name she had heard before.
She had never once heard it in reality, but,
'......I heard it in a dream.'
Without a doubt, she had heard it in a dream.
She had spoken it with her own mouth.
'Lizer Leinhart, Kroni Dungrave, and......'
Isaac Fordina.
What had become of them.