Necromancer Of The Black Bible (43)

After even the apprentice investigator Mobin had left.

Damir, Branch Master of the Black Leaf Merchant Guild in the Theocracy, returned to his office with weary steps.

“Haa-”

It had been a disastrous day.

Since his daughter had fallen into a coma, he had been drowning in sorrow, but today an even stronger emotion consumed him.

That emotion was rage.

Rage at himself for being powerless to change anything, and rage at the Theocracy that judged everything by its own standards.

‘Damn it all!’

Never in his life had he felt such humiliation.

Back in his homeland, Fernesia, where the Black Leaf Guild headquarters lay, things were never handled like this.

‘I want to go home.’

For the first time since coming here, he longed for home.

In the past, being under his father’s shadow had felt suffocating, but now he wanted to return to him.

Because his father would never have been humiliated like this.

‘If Father were here, what would he do in this situation?’

It would never have come to this.

Guildmaster Cain Blackleaf.

In their homeland, he had bought off every man of power with money. No petty investigator would dare look down on him.

Rather, investigators begged him for favors.

‘Get a grip. This isn’t Fernesia. I’m not my father. And even he had a beginning once.’

Damir closed his eyes and fell into thought.

His greatest strength was not letting emotion rule his judgment.

That was why he had been able to endure the humiliation earlier.

After long consideration, he came to a conclusion.

‘Yes. What matters isn’t my rage—it’s curing my daughter, Erian.’

If his daughter recovered, nothing else mattered.

He could swallow all the humiliation he had endured, even forgive the incompetent healer priest.

If money was required, he would pay any sum.

With his thoughts settled, he leapt to his feet and barked at the steward before him.

“Fetch me Ray!”

The steward immediately sent for him, and soon Ray arrived.

Damir questioned him, his face tense.

“When you were attacked by bandits, what was the name of the high priest who saved you?”

“High Priest Mikel von Raiernov, sir. Why do you ask, Brother?”

“And you’re sure he was the famed Raiernov?”

Ray rubbed his chin, thought for a moment, then nodded.

“I saw the investigators with him treat him with great respect—so yes, I’m sure.”

“Good. Then do you remember the names of those investigators with him?”

“Yes. They were Sanchez and Mobin.”

Sanchez and Mobin.

The names were familiar.

They were the very men who had visited today.

If they had helped Ray alongside Raiernov, then the proposal Sanchez and Mobin made today was likely not empty words.

Now he regretted brushing aside Ray’s first report.

‘I was far too careless.’

When Ray had returned, Damir’s mind had been fixated on the hundred-year ginseng.

So he had entirely forgotten to confirm the identity of the high priest Ray had met.

Since a plaque of gratitude had been delivered, he thought the matter of reward was closed.

‘My mistake. Father always said people matter more than goods.’

Words that had once felt like nagging now struck him deeply.

Damir sighed inwardly and spoke to Ray.

“I recall you said you delivered our family’s plaque of gratitude to Raiernov. Is that correct?”

“Yes. I urged him to visit in person, so he may come someday.”

“I cannot wait until then. I must go myself to thank him. Can you arrange a meeting?”

At his worried question, Ray readily answered.

“Yes, I’ll try.”

“Good, that’s the answer I wanted. Go now. If this is resolved well, I’ll put in a good word with Father for you.”

“Thank you, Brother.”

Ray bowed and left the office.

The critical matter was settled for now.

But Damir was not at ease.

Ray had promised to arrange a meeting, but his words inspired little confidence.

For Ray had rarely accomplished anything properly in the guild.

‘I can’t leave this to Ray alone. I must do everything in my power.’

His daughter’s life was on the line.

It was his entire life itself—he could not entrust it solely to his incompetent brother.

Finally, he recalled Sanchez and Mobin’s proposal.

‘Should I attend Church?’

In truth, he had long held aversion to religion.

He did not believe in a god ruling the world.

For the world was too harsh to make such belief plausible.

In this world, the strong took everything.

Here, justice was nothing but strength.

Meaning, even without divine aid, the strong could claim all.

So what meaning was there in faith?

But now was no time for such stubbornness.

If he refused, his daughter might die.

Even his father Cain had once said:

You’re a merchant. And a merchant must be able to sell anything—even conscience, even conviction, even pride.

‘Now is the time to sell my conviction and pride.’

Damir pulled from his robes the attendance chart Mobin had given him earlier.

‘One month, he said?’

Investigator Mobin had said clearly: attend Church faithfully for a month, and he would write a recommendation to the First Monastery, where Raiernov resided.

Reflecting again, Damir realized how considerate an offer it was.

He wasn’t required to believe—just to attend.

Even one averse to religion like him could manage that much.

Damir gave the steward an order.

“I’ll attend Church every Sunday morning. Arrange my schedule to fit the service.”

“Yes, sir.”

The steward began jotting the schedule, when Damir spoke again.

“And another thing.”

“Yes, sir?”

“I’ll post a bounty. Whoever heals my daughter shall receive ten thousand—no, one hundred thousand gold.”

The steward did some mental math, then spoke.

“One hundred thousand gold equals nearly our branch’s annual budget. Are you certain?”

“It’s fine. Write it down.”

For his daughter’s life, even a year’s budget was nothing. He would pay more if needed.

Besides, a bounty must be high to be effective.

If it were middling, true experts wouldn’t come.

After the discussion, Damir rose to his feet.

His expression had changed.

Life had returned to his eyes.

Much had happened, but he had found a thread of hope today.

After finishing at the Black Leaf branch, Sanchez returned to the Bureau and filed his report.

As with most cases, the higher-ups didn’t care about the details—only that it was closed.

With the case wrapped up quickly, he finally had some free time.

‘Perhaps today I’ll handle what Father Raiernov asked of me.’

Earlier, Raiernov had asked him to find someone named “Balthazar von Rubenstein.”

So a few days ago, he had placed a request with the Grand Library’s search department.

The clerk in charge owed Sanchez a favor, so he expected diligent results.

‘Let’s go check.’

The Grand Library was not far from the Bureau.

He hailed a carriage and rode there.

About thirty minutes later.

He arrived at the Grand Library.

The Grand Library of the Theocracy of Kallios—home to the most books on the continent.

The Imperial Royal Library was grand, but nothing compared to this.

The Royal Library had burned in wars, and civil strife and imperial folly had caused parts of its collection to scatter.

But the Theocracy’s Grand Library had endured intact for over 3,000 years.

Some priests even tied the library’s existence to the very existence of Kallios himself.

Had God not existed, the library would have burned long ago.

Only three buildings on the entire continent have endured over 3,000 years: the Great Cathedral, the First Monastery, and the Grand Library.

The Grand Library’s existence proves the existence of Kallios.

Such was the history, scale, and collection of the Theocracy’s Grand Library.

‘They call it the continent’s treasure vault, amassed over 3,000 years.’

As a boy he had thought it mere exaggeration, but seeing it for himself, Sanchez agreed it was extraordinary.

Books he had seen in textbooks were all here, plus thousands of forbidden tomes locked away deep underground.

And more.

The archives here recorded every citizen’s name and age each year, with remarkable accuracy.

In all his career, Sanchez had rarely found errors.

So he expected this task to go smoothly as well.

‘If it’s Elin, she’ll already have it ready.’

Elin, search librarian of the Grand Library.

In truth, she was not human but an elf.

To manage centuries of tomes, the library employed elves exclusively as librarians.

Elves lived about 900 years.

Proud and moral, they fulfilled their duties faithfully.

Their only drawback was being hard to befriend, but Sanchez was lucky—he had grown close to Elin.

Once, a tome under her care had gone missing, and Sanchez resolved the matter.

Her honor had been on the line, but thanks to him, she was spared disgrace.

Since then, they have been very close.

They sometimes dined together, sometimes drank together.

They had grown so close that many mistook them for lovers.

‘Lovers? Hardly.’

He denied it whenever asked, but could not hide the smile on his lips.

Elin, too, only smiled and never denied it.

Perhaps because of this.

Sanchez’s heart always quickened when he came to see her.

His heart beat faster, his steps grew lighter.

And today, seeing her from afar wave at him with recognition, he smiled broadly.

Elin was as beautiful as ever.

With shimmering turquoise eyes and radiant silver hair.

At work it was neatly pinned, but in private she let it fall long.

Sanchez loved her in either look—each had its charm.

Her long pointed ears might seem strange to others, but to him they were beautiful.

So he met Elin, and she gave him unexpected news.

“Balthazar von Rubenstein—you said you were looking for him, right?”

“Yes, that’s right. Did you find him?”

Sanchez asked casually, and Elin replied with a troubled expression.

“I searched all our records, but no one in the Theocracy bears that name.”

Her words puzzled Sanchez.

Not among the residents?

So he rephrased his question.

“Then what about the Rubenstein family? At least tell me their location—I’ll ask them directly.”

He asked, feeling close to a lead, but she shook her head again.

“I thought the same, but no such family exists here. It must be a noble house from another country, but I couldn’t trace which. However…”

Elin trailed off, then produced a book.

“Since you asked so earnestly, I dug deeper. And I found this.”

“A book?”

“A very old tome…”

She hesitated, then whispered softly into Sanchez’s ear.

“It came from the restricted archives below. And it contains the name you seek.”

She opened the page she had found, and there it was: the name “Balthazar von Rubenstein.”