Tessen (5)

“What’s that?”

Next to the central tower of the Forest Chapel stood the Dawn Library.

Beside the vine-covered Dawn Library was a shabby one-story building.

That was the entrance to the Religious Tribunal, said to be the place heretics feared most.

The dilapidated tribunal building had a staircase leading downward—

Basement Level 1, Level 2, Level 3, all the way to Level 4.

It was said the stairwell spiraled downward, but the exact details were unclear.

Rumor also had it that the timeworn stone stairs were stained with splatters of blood—again, unverified.

Despite the crumbling entrance, inquisitors came and went dozens of times a day.

The judges wearing stiff robes always looked weary and lifeless.

Unlike those frail judges who looked like they’d collapse at a touch, the heresy inquisitors had sharp, rigid demeanors.

The heresy inquisitors, dressed in black cloaks, were feared for being cold and inhuman—like they wouldn’t bleed even if pierced with a needle.

More than six inquisitors stood before the worn-out building.

In front of the black-cloaked inquisitors, someone was sprawled like a discarded rag.

A young man illuminated the figure with a torch.

“Please confirm.”

As the bright light fell on the collapsed man, the first thing that stood out was the large heretical symbol hanging around his neck.

“What the—!”

One of the inquisitors erupted in anger upon seeing it.

The apprentice inquisitor shifted the torch’s position.

The light moved from the face to the arms and legs.

Another young man, seemingly the same age, stepped forward and rolled up the left sleeve.

A necklace with the cult’s symbol was wound around the wrist like a bracelet.

“Who brought this man here?”

A senior inquisitor, his face deeply wrinkled in disgust, scowled as if something foul were nearby.

“My fellow and I were heading to early morning prayers when we found him collapsed here.”

“Recognizing the symbol from that heretical group that caused so much trouble years ago, we reported it to our mentors.”

The two apprentices answered respectfully.

“But what is that?”

A middle-aged man, listening to their report, pointed at something hanging from the fallen man’s waist.

The closer apprentice opened the thick pouch.

“……!”

It was packed full of cultist symbols.

Clatter.

As if he’d seen a severed head, the apprentice recoiled and dropped the pouch.

The cult symbols spilled out in a cascade.

“Th-that…”

“Ugh.”

“Filth!”

A flurry of startled voices came from the group of bonnet-clad girls nearby.

“What is it?”

“It’s the symbol of that heretical cult from six years ago! The one that believed in killing children to gain immortality or something. Things got so bad with human trafficking that we couldn’t even go outside for a while.”

Their thin voices rose and fell in the clear dawn air.

“Cough, cough…!”

Just then, the fallen heretic began coughing and regained consciousness.

“Take the sinner to the third level.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’ll interrogate him personally. Prepare thoroughly.”

“Understood!”

The apprentice judges hurriedly lifted the body and headed for the decrepit entrance.

“W-wait… please…”

Bique, now awake and confused, opened his mouth.

Without a word, the apprentices swiftly pulled a black cloth from their robes and gagged the prisoner.

“Mmph! Mmmph!”

His muffled cries of protest followed in quick succession.

“He’s awake?”

“Who is he?”

“Is he truly one of those foul heretics?”

The girls clustered together, trying to get a look at the struggling man.

A particularly gaunt middle-aged inquisitor stepped forward.

“You brats! The sun’s about to rise! Haven’t you got anything better to do!?”

Startled by his roar, the girls scattered in all directions.

“It’s still a while until sunrise!”

One girl with a lady-like air snapped back defiantly before leaving with her friends.

“Kids these days…”

Joseph grumbled at her spirited reply as he turned away.

Though he grumbled, a dry, sardonic smile hovered around his mouth.

But that smile vanished as he entered the tribunal.

Thump, thump, thump.

The stone stairwell echoed loudly from the prisoner’s resistance.

“Could it be… are they back?”

At a junior inquisitor’s question, Joseph tilted his head.

“We eliminated every last one of them, you and I. I don’t understand why this is happening again. Tell the aides to investigate anything—or anyone—named ‘Bique’.”

“Bique?”

“It was written on the item he carried.”

“I’ll look into it.”

That morning, rumors of a corrupt heretic surfacing in the capital spread like wildfire.

Around the same time, the Grigen Clan herbal trading company abruptly ceased all operations in the capital and vanished.

Whispers spread that they had returned to their base in the frontier.

People were baffled that the merchants had crossed the harsh winter terrain from the desert through Tessen, only to leave again without unpacking.

But merchants—especially those operating as clans—were considered a different breed, and so they were soon forgotten.

As rumors of heretics swirled through the capital, the House of Baron Greitz remained silent for two days.

Then the baron once again sent his butler, Luther, to Reichardt.

Luther opened the conversation by asking if His Grace remembered the pageboy from the baron’s estate who had recently gone missing.

Reichardt replied in passing,

“What was his name again?”

Luther, wearing an apologetic expression, admitted that the missing servant had only been in their household for less than a week.

Though a new addition, he was still part of the family, which was why they had searched so frantically—but it turned out the man had a suspicious background.

The Baron’s house insisted again that they had nothing to do with the pageboy’s disappearance and presented a letter from Baron Greitz.

The letter was sealed with wax.

“What’s your name again?”

After opening the letter, Reichardt asked for the butler’s name anew.

“My name is Luther, Your Grace.”

The reception room’s windows were draped with double curtains.

Soft carpets absorbed all footsteps.

The warm and luxurious space remained utterly silent.

“Luther.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

Reichardt held the opened letter up to the wrinkled man’s face.

The middle-aged man, bearing the marks of time, had likely spent a lifetime serving the baron faithfully.

“Tell the baron I understand his intentions. You may return to your master now.”

“My apologies, Your Grace. Should you need me, please call for me anytime. I shall take my leave.”

The butler politely rose and bowed.

His face remained stiff as he turned from the chair.

Reichardt, retrieving the letter he had extended, gazed at the ornate handwriting.

As he heard the door to the reception room close, Reichardt slipped the folded letter back into its envelope.

The forest at dawn was veiled in thick fog.

A distant stir broke the silence.

Juan Lukens sat high in a tree, crouched between a pillar and sturdy branches. He whispered:

“They’re coming.”

At his words, a sharp whistle echoed through the air.

Soldiers scattered among the trees responded to the signal.

As the rumble of footfalls grew stronger, their grips on their weapons tightened.

“Screeech—!”

The beasts, covered head to toe in red fur, had arms longer than their legs.

They used all four limbs when running, but when stopped, they stood on two legs and used their arms to attack or wield weapons—thus the limbs were called arms and legs, not forelegs and hindlegs.

This gave them the appearance of apes or gorillas.

But with their pointed snouts and bulging eyes, their faces resembled hunting dogs more.

Their brownish pupils, dull and bloodshot, gave them a frightening appearance.

Smaller than mountain bears, but larger than gorillas, the Gottlans charged forward in a pack.

“Flood them!”

A cascade of water was unleashed at the Gottlans rushing from the twelve o’clock direction.

Hit by water from the front and flanks, the creatures shrieked and turned.

“Block the three o’clock path!”

A massive barricade rose from the direction the Gottlans turned towards.

Wide panels studded with spikes had been buried and now sprang up, forming a wall on one side of the forest.

Thud! Boom! Crash!

Some of the fleeing Gottlans couldn’t stop in time and slammed into the barricades.

Seeing flesh and blood splatter, one of the soldiers manning the barricades groaned.

He now understood why Lady Alicia had opposed using barriers.

The remains left on the barricade were beyond recognition.

Within the clearing designated for the hunt, things grew busy.

The artificial flood disoriented the Gottlans.

Touched by water, they slowed as if turned to stone—and into their sluggish heads, maces came crashing down.

Juan, sketching from the trees, paused his hand.

The Gottlans were isolated by the barriers and water channels.

Unable to react, they fell one by one.

The soldiers, acting in coordinated groups, exploited the creatures’ weak points.

But amidst them, one axe was bashing in Gottlan skulls indiscriminately.

There was no mercy in its swing.

With each motion, it crushed the left side of a Gottlan’s head frozen before the water.

“Who…?”

Alicia had opposed the use of barricades to block the Gottlans’ route.

Their hides were highly useful for many purposes.

Just before setting out to lure them, she had fretted about the risk of damaging such valuable material.

Her concern had been so persistent that Juan had warned the soldiers, in roundabout terms, not to damage the hides.

He could already picture her dismay upon seeing a Gottlan’s face blown off.

Just as he stood to find out who was doing it, Juan sat back down.

“Where’s Alicia?”

“She’s by the Musto spring!”

Behind Reichardt and his black steed, Gottlans with obliterated faces collapsed in droves.

The Grand Duke’s black horse galloped swiftly, steam rising from its breath.

Reichardt was in full armor.

It seemed he had come straight from the battlefield to the forest.

This winter had been strangely snowless.

Because of it, battles frequently broke out along the western border.

The early deployment of reinforcements before winter had proven effective.

The Grand Duke had stationed the reinforcements as scouts and small combat units.

Upon hearing the scouts’ reports, the Western Commander had dispatched an advance force and contacted Tessen.

Reichardt acted based on the report.

Whether he personally joined or not, the Grand Duke always went to the border when battles occurred.

But this time, after receiving the report, he hesitated to go.

Everyone close to him was shocked.

Yet in some ways, it made sense.

What troubled Reichardt—was the Musto Forest.