Chapter 48: Interlude – The Last Day I (part 1)

Gtrrrr! Gtrrrr!

The sound of rolling wheels echoed steadily, and faint vibrations could be felt inside the carriage lined with soft cushions.

Rotani Aran—the lord of Aran, a man who had lost his wife and fallen into despair—sat quietly, lost in thought as he slowly turned the pages of the Scripture in his hands.

It had been two years since the outbreak of the plague.

A horrific tragedy, fueled by devils and heretics who endlessly devoured humans and cast wicked spells.

The plague, which caused people to rot alive, had spread throughout Lyriam. The priests and inquisitors of the Telmere Church had fought desperately to stop it, but the damage was overwhelming.

“…Liliana.”

The woman who had been his, the first to stir love in his heart.

His wife, whose beautiful eyes always held a quiet sorrow, had succumbed to the cursed plague and rotted away in agony.

The chill of the paper lingered at his fingertips.

Rotani stared blankly at the pristine passages of the Scripture, paying no attention to Telmere’s words written within. Instead, his mind returned to the words of the elderly saint who had made him an offer he could not refuse.

He remembered Erman’s voice:

“I already know you’ve disobeyed Telmere’s teachings… that you’ve hidden your wife’s decaying corpse.”

“…I never imagined the saint himself would come to punish me. But… I will never tell you where her body is…”

A trembling man, frail and slick with cold sweat, yet clinging to his resolve.

At the very least, he was a man Erman respected more than Julius Tapnel—that wretched fool wallowing in his own grief.

Erman had nodded slowly, his smile gentle. 

But behind that kindness was a helpless noble drawing forth the dark energy of forbidden magic from within.

He made Rotani Aran an offer he couldn’t refuse.

“If there were a way to save your wife… would you cooperate with us?”

“…That’s impossible.”

“No. It’s not.”

“If we harness the power of ancient evils long forgotten…”

***

“My lord, we’ve arrived.”

Pulled from his thoughts, Rotani blinked as he heard the voice of the short-haired knight who had loyally protected him since childhood. He rubbed his eyes and opened the carriage window.

“…Where are we?”

“We came to a spot near the Telmere Church headquarters. The fewer eyes that see us, the better.”

When he looked past the knight, he saw bustling carriages and people in motion—the unmistakable presence of the Yanta Merchants, one of the most renowned trade groups in Lyriam.

He’d heard rumors that an inquisitor named Julius had quietly built up a merchant faction after the Renkel Merchants were wiped out in a single night—merchant owners and all.

 The rumor seemed surprisingly plausible. Intrigued, Rotani had chosen to look into it. Now, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of admiration.

Stretching out his legs and massaging his stiff neck after the long ride, the Rotani Aran finally opened the carriage door. With the dignified bearing of a noble, he stepped down and offered his driver a faint smile.

“Thank you. You could have lost your life over this. I truly appreciate your loyalty—even when I’ve asked something so selfish.”

The knight, momentarily stunned by the unexpected gratitude from a man who seemed too simple and frail to be the lord of a wealthy city, bowed repeatedly with a voice full of emotion.

“It is an honor to serve your house! I would gladly devote my life to you, Count!”

“Hahaha, thank you for your kind words.”

“No! Even if I were to stand before God himself, I would feel no shame in my heart—”

“… Well, bringing up God in a situation like this is a bit…”

Now, he was walking a path burdened by a grave sin—defying death itself—something that couldn’t be atoned for even with a lifetime of repentance.

Hearing such words from the mouth of this foolishly honest knight, Rotani let out a sour expression and glanced sideways at his vassal, whose only flaw was his utter lack of tact.

Realizing his blunder, the knight awkwardly caught the count’s gaze, then hurriedly held out a worn robe with both hands.

“It may be shabby, but please wear this, my lord.”

“Hmm. It’s best not to draw attention. I’ll accept it. You’ve got a good sense for these things.”

Wearing the tattered, yellowing robe, still stained from time and use, he pulled the hood low enough to obscure his face. Then, weaving through the bustling trade hall, he made his way toward the brilliantly lit headquarters of the Church of Telmere.

Before long, they reached the back entrance of the Central Church.

Rotani, eyes fixed on the door carved with images of Tapnel and Raynell punishing thieves in the act of sneaking in, touched his chin and swallowed hard.

He stood there a moment, watching carefully to see if anyone was around. Then, summoning all his resolve for the woman he loved, he finally moved to take a step toward the Central Church—a place swarming with Inquisitors busy breaking demons’ bones.

But just then.

“Hey! Julius, you crazy b*stard, are you really gonna keep acting like this?!”

Startled by the sudden angry shout, Rotani froze mid-step. He pressed against the alley wall and cautiously peeked in the direction of the voice.

The person yelling was a young man with neatly slicked-back gray hair. 

Judging by his black uniform—reminiscent of mourning garb—he was clearly a heretic inquisitor.

C!garette clenched between his lips, he exhaled roughly and hurled curses at another man walking behind him—a man with carelessly tied golden blond hair.

Despite the shouting, the blond man who had just left the church didn’t say a word. He simply wiped the blood off his face with a cloth, completely unfazed.

The gray-haired man bit his lip, kicked at the door, and pointed accusingly at him, hissing through clenched teeth as he barely restrained his anger.

“Julius, how long are you going to keep this up? Don’t you even care about Leira? The kid cries every night saying she misses you. How can you not see her even once?”

“Krail, I trust you’ll take care of her.”

Hearing the names they exchanged sent a shiver down Rotani’s spine.

These two men… they were none other than the strongest heretic inquisitors in Lyriam.

Julius Tapnel and Krail Raynell.

Realizing this, Rotani shrank back against the wall, curling himself up like a common sneak.

The knight, crouching silently behind him in the same pose, leaned over and whispered with concern.

“…Master, you must maintain your dignity as a noble.”

“Will acting dignified double my lifespan? Just shut up.”

“… Yes, sir.”

It was an undeniably pitiful sight—two grown men, huddled like children hiding from danger.

Clearing his throat to push aside the sting to his pride, Rotani resumed listening.

“It’s already been four years since Cecil died,” Krail said. “You need to move forward. How long are you going to keep Leira waiting?”

“Why would she be alone when she has you?” Julius replied flatly. “You’re better for her than I’ll ever be. You’ll be more of a father to that child than I ever could.”

Was it trust in a friend, or simple self-abandonment?

Either way, it stirred something in Rotani’s chest.