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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 5
Chapter Title: Religious Trial (2)
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"Take a good look around."
"Hmm..."
It appeared quite respectable on the surface, but this was a shabby workshop lacking any truly useful tools.
In truth, a workshop of this level for magic or alchemy was no different from a kitchen or an apothecary.
The room contained only bowls and drains. There were no reagents or materials worth mentioning—just cheap herbs that grew wild nearby.
"You seem well-versed in pharmacology, my lord."
"Just a bit picked up here and there."
"No, this is quite precise."
Marco slowly lifted a vial containing a transparent green liquid. It was a pure substance, devoid of any magical or heretical aura.
He uncorked it and sniffed.
"Did you make this recently, my lord?"
"Yes... Well, I mixed a few things to soothe insomnia or nightmares."
"Impressively done."
"It's just a brew from common good herbs anyone knows."
It was a transparent liquid made by steeping various herbs with sedative and tonic properties. Beside it lay what appeared to be a research log.
Marco unfolded the letter and read the notes.
*
-Delia herb 3T
-Clear water 25Oz
-Solution from boiling Pursel grass three times and cooling: 10Oz
*
"Hmm."
"Is it heretical?"
"Hard to judge."
The most recent research log, meticulously documented, was unmistakably a sleep aid by any standard.
Not something poisonous, but a simple remedy blended from wholesome herbs and sedatives without ostentation.
'Drinking this would just bring a sense of calm.'
Marco slowly surveyed the workshop. It was all much the same.
There were no traces of magic or heresy whatsoever. This place was closer to an ordinary apothecary.
'Truly, excellent material.'
"Then what of me? Will I be cleared of charges?"
"If you were a heretic, I'd be deeply disappointed."
Marco looked at Fernandez and smiled.
—Either a heretic or inquisitor material.
Heretics follow demons; inquisitors hunt them. A paper-thin difference.
"You possess magical talent, sharp wits, and knowledge of pharmacology beyond your peers. Why then have you endured such hardships?"
In other words, this was the inquisitor's final test. With such abilities, why had he simply suffered without acting?
'As if I wanted it that way.'
Fernandez smiled bitterly. Now was the time for excuses.
"Concealing one's gifts is easier than flaunting nonexistent ones. I regain my rightful inheritance of this barony on my sixteenth birthday. The night before that—wasn't it the perfect time to act, Your Excellency?"
"Hoo..."
Marco stroked his chin as he regarded Fernandez.
Patience and planning. Decisiveness and will.
And a barony with no other noble heirs.
Whether viewed personally or by background, he was exceptional.
'If I draw this boy into the Church, the barony becomes ours.'
Greed flickered in Marco's eyes.
As an inquisitor handling taxes, personnel, and accounts—Religiosa Enmagicka—Marco couldn't help recalling the Inquisition's meager finances.
"One last thing."
"Pardon?"
"Before formal trial, your final chance."
"Do I have other charges?"
"If you're a heretic, your barony falls vacant—under Church influence. Prove you hold greater value than your lands."
Marco grinned and removed the worn wooden rosary from his neck. Intricately embossed with the cross-sword emblem of the Beitasser Church.
He handed the rosary to Fernandez.
"Pray."
"Pray... you say?"
"To any god, any words. Earnestly."
'A obvious trick.'
Fernandez frowned. Prayer, by the structure of the soul, most easily opened unconscious spiritual barriers.
Refusal proved only suspicion, not evidence.
Thus, it was mere inquisitorial ritual. 'See, can't pray—must be a heretic!'
Worse, there was no excuse to refuse. Before an inquisitor poised to tamper once barriers lowered. He slowly knelt.
Starting under suspicion now would make life hellish.
He gripped the handed rosary, clasped his hands to his chest, and knelt. Prayers began murmuring from his lips.
And time stopped.
*
A harsh, barren dry wind brushed Fernandez's ears. Pale green fields stretched to the horizon, countless banners fluttering above.
The lofty blue sky flowed with starlight. Each a potent spiritual being.
Fernandez barely caught his breath, shaking off the oppressive aura. The sky's energies swirled toward one point. A massive tent appeared.
'No way.'
Through the open tent flaps, a man half-reclined on a shattered throne, glaring.
'No, surely not...'
He had plummeted into a realm of utterly different ether density.
Forcibly summoned to a divine being's domain.
Fernandez swallowed slowly, thinking.
'The last thing I touched was Beitasser's rosary...'
That man must be Beitasser, right...?
Fernandez stood alone before Beitasser—a figure unseen even in his past life as Grand Dark Wizard Feizashi Wildcast.
No mere wooden trinket held dimensional relics, so this meant Beitasser desired conversation.
Fernandez straightened slowly, confidently facing him.
Beitasser. Once intensely hated, now mere embers at the name's end.
He felt assured.
His crimes here were nominally just revenge for long abuse and assassination attempts.
And Beitasser was god of justice, enforcement, law, and war.
—If he meant to kill, no need for this summons.
"Glory to the great Beitasser. Beacon of the abyss, sword of radiance. God of victory in war and honor!"
[Thy worshipful form pleases me greatly, Feizashi.]
"Hmm..."
Fernandez straightened from his deep bow, gazing at the bronze throne.
The man, clad in full plate armor scarred, patched, dented, and shattered, leaned askew, looking down.
"Ether parasite."
[Demon's dog.]
"Glittering clown."
[Loser.]
"Ah, no. You lost more. I destroyed the world?"
[Thou thinkest thyself the prime mover? Laughable. Demon puppet.]
"Yeah, sure. Your puppets. Fun locking them up."
[True enough. Enjoyable, was it? My dear children. Yes. Feizashi Wildcast. Servant of the great demon. That shall be thy purpose.]
"What?"
Beitasser clearly remembered Fernandez's pre-regression world.
Thus, high chance of his involvement in the regression—unless he desired re-destruction.
It implied the world's course could change.
Fernandez frowned, stroking his chin.
All recent experiments wasted.
Should've just prayed as a test...
[At least revenge had meaning. Those fools irked me too.]
"Holy Pantheon hobby? Reading thoughts without permission?"
[A warning? Amusing. In my domain, thy powers are too feeble to hide thy mind.]
"Fine. Continue. What's the purpose?"
Beitasser smirked, swinging his left arm.
Four banners flew to his side, stabbing into the ground.
Frayed tapestries hung from weathered poles.
Banners Fernandez knew well.
Beitasser's four archangels... war and hope legion commanders. Their emblems.
"Right. Where'd those brats go?"
[To the material world. Sacrificing divinity to send thee back.]
"Quite mad. Better candidates for revival: Dian Shyrake, or her nine disciples at least. Regressing Xiao Mei or Parian Detrikan would've worked..."
[By then, all dead or fallen. Every hero. In the timeline thou destroyed, Feizashi Wildcast. Thou wert the sole human.]
"Hm... Don't recall 'extincting' humans...?"
[Sole 'human'. Soul purely distilled, no ether impurities. Thy obsession with humanity enabled it.]
"Uh..."
Absurd.
To survive hell-tainted air, all humans reinforced souls with infernal power.
That introduced impurities to human spirituality.
Yet Feizashi, fixated on purity due to his son's death trauma, alone qualified for regression.
[Raziel. Soardel. Pieranel. Sardiel... My four daughters. My first-forged weapons, my soldiers. They gladly relinquished divinity for human lives. For thee, Feizashi.]
"So you want me to repent, say I'm sorry and grateful?"
[Nay. Save them all. No need for repentance. Purpose alone matters.]
"Reflect on the past, serve humanity? If serious, ridiculous. Beitasser."
Beitasser interrupted.
[Thy son's soul.]
In that instant, Fernandez could say nothing. Think nothing.
Son's soul? His pulsing heart chilled instantly.
Organs dropping through his gut—he paled, staring blankly at Beitasser.
[I shall save thy son's soul. Not hope or persuasion. Threat and deal.]
"C-Can you? If my soul returned as 'me,' he hasn't been born! His soul mere ether in the second realm vortex...?"
[Nay. Thy original world persists. Wildcast, knowest thou not? Reversing the [Great Wheel] of all dimensions—would I remember thee? Would gods permit such?]
"Then...?"
[Thy guess is right. Thy world perished. By now, in that timeline, thy son's soul fell to hell. Enraged demons' torments are obvious.]
"Parallel worlds? Saving this one means what for us?"
[Bring peace to this world under my name. With my children's sacrificial power, overlay this perfected world onto the origin timeline.]
To stunned Fernandez, Beitasser declared solemnly.
[Thus. If this world perfects, thy son saves naturally. I learned through thee. Feizashi Wildcast. Nay, Fernandez Cerned.]