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Vlad Chepesh.

The current head of the Chepesh count family, which has guarded the empire’s east for generations. Excluding the Mage Tower, he is presumed the undisputed strongest in the east. He rules Solmer, Lettria’s largest domain, and commands a powerful order of knights. Above all, he has consistently repelled raids by the barbarians beyond the eastern mountains, solidifying his position as the border count.

Yet despite such formidable forces, little is known about him: his age, his succession plans—reports of his personal martial prowess are entirely absent. The Chepesh family itself has long been shrouded in mystery. They solved in one stroke the persistent problem of barbarian raids that had long plagued the empire, and out of necessity the royal court neglected them. The order ought to pay them closer attention. What might be hiding behind that concealed curtain? Because we know nothing.

─Excerpt from Bishop Arsen’s memoirs.

“…It’s the same here.”

Daniel murmured, frowning. The village was utterly empty. This was the third village so far. From Rio to here, every settlement had been reduced to ruins. This one still showed traces of everyday life: food left on a table, a cart piled with vegetables, a half-filled water jar abandoned mid-use. There was only one thing missing.

People.

“Is this his doing?”

“I don’t know.” Hamel stammered in response to Aileen’s question, but inwardly he was certain. Vlad Chepesh. That it was his doing. His actions now were markedly different from the quiet movements they’d seen so far.

“Something felt off from the moment he struck directly…”

If he’d always acted so recklessly, his head wouldn’t still be attached. If his demonic identity were revealed, even his countship wouldn’t protect him.

“Perhaps…”

He might have realized he could no longer evade the tightening investigative net. If so, his current radical moves made a grim sort of sense.

“He intends to stop hiding and achieve his goal.”

Hamel fell into thought.

‘You will be useful. Perhaps you can be completed in one fell swoop.’

Vlad Chepesh had looked at Hamel and said, ‘You will be useful.’ It was not the first time he’d heard such words. David had also tried to use him to complete an imperfect dragon.

Could it be…?

“A dragon?” Hamel muttered. Didn’t the telegram from the Mage Tower report finding a half-dragon in the eastern mountains? The pieces fit too neatly.

He shook his head slowly. Anything further would be mere unfounded speculation. Hamel brushed himself off, mounted his horse. They were truly close now; in a few hours they’d reach the Solmer domain. The answer would be revealed upon arrival. As time passed, the surrounding damage would only grow. He urged his horse onward.

“This is the Solmer domain…”

“Madmen. There’s no place worse than this.”

Ono grimaced and spat a rough curse. From the village entrance, the stench of rot and decay hit them. Rows of corpses lined the road—those starved to death trapped in wire cages, others bound to wheels with shattered limbs. Beheadings and dismemberments were commonplace. Bodies hung by the neck and were impaled on stakes in endless succession.

Finally.

“…”

Even Ono, who had cursed without pause, fell silent. Something hung en masse from a massive fir tree: spread open like a loofah or a gourd, it was human heads—dozens tied by hair or fixed with stakes. Some had rotted so far the scalps tore away and the heads rolled to the ground. They had spared no one—men, the elderly, women, even children.

If there is a human hell, perhaps this is it.

Even Ono, who normally did not flinch, could not speak.

“…Let’s move on.”

Hamel urged the group forward. No matter how resolute, continually seeing such sights was unhealthy; anyone’s inner strength would be eroded, especially those unaccustomed to this horror.

“Lady Aileen.”

“…”

Aileen couldn’t tear her eyes from the tree of corpses as if nailed to the spot, her face pale and a hand pressed over her mouth.

“Are you all right?”

“…No, I’m not. I’m…” When Hamel approached she hastily turned her head, still clutching her mouth. Nausea was understandable. Hamel handed her a handkerchief and said calmly, “It’s natural. Follow slowly.”

Aileen gave a strained nod. Hamel left her and rode ahead.

After some distance, the city began to appear. The Chepesh family’s castle perched against the eastern mountains, the vast city sprawling below. A brief rain and overcast sky gave everything a gloomy cast.

And…

“Hamel.”

“Yes, I felt it too.”

This differed from expectation. The bleakest speculation—that the entire domain had been annihilated—proved wrong.

“There are people.”

Within the city’s buildings they sensed it: the gaze of people, the breath of frightened, trembling citizens brushing Hamel’s ears.

‘What’s going on?’

Puzzled, Hamel rode on. Then came a scream from a short distance away, a moan of pain. He pulled on the reins without hesitation. The companions following hurried after. What they found, however, stunned them.

“…What is that?”

Even Lena tilted her head in puzzlement. None of them could understand the scene.

They were not monsters.

“Please… please, mercy…”

“Stay still. If you are innocent, nothing will happen.”

They were people—people impaling others’ heads with metal skewers and pushing them into a cauldron of boiling oil. The real problem was the identity of the one holding the skewer: a black cassock with a white Roman collar at the neck. That signified only one thing.

“Isn’t that… a priest?” Lena whispered.

Only Ono murmured aloud, his face gone pale as if he realized something.

“…No way.”

“That’s exactly the ‘no way.’”

Hamel leapt from his horse and strode toward the priest holding the skewer. In the next moment—

─Screech

The skewer was cleanly sliced in two. The man who’d nearly been plunged into the cauldron collapsed. The priest scowled and turned toward Hamel.

“…What are you doing?”

“…”

“You have just interfered with an execution carried out in the name of God. That sin is by no means light.”

The priest spoke evenly, but pride and anger oozed from his voice as if he might shove Hamel into the cauldron depending on the answer.

Hamel replied, “You call it an execution?”

“Yes. In the name of God…”

“What sin is this execution for?”

“…For the sin of worshipping false gods.”

The priest’s face twisted in self-righteous annoyance. Still Hamel pressed on.

“What evidence?”

“This execution was to determine that. If he were a faithful believer, he could pull a ring from within even there.”

Hamel glanced at the cauldron. In the scalding oil sat a single ring.

“…Pull a ring out from there?”

“If God protects him, what would be impossible?” the priest said calmly, a faint sneer blooming despite himself.

Hamel’s reply was simple: “Then you do it yourself.”

“What…?”

─Grab

Hamel seized the priest by the hair and shoved his face toward the oil. The priest cried out.

“Wha… what are you doing?!”

“You said it. If he is a faithful believer, he can do it.”

“What kind of nonsense is that! I am a priest who serves the true God, not a heretic!”

“Then you should be able to do it better.”

Hamel no longer wasted words; he plunged the priest’s head into the cauldron.

“Ugh… Aaaah!”

Drool fell from the screaming priest’s mouth as scalding oil splashed his face. “Kyaaaaahhhhh!” his scream rose uncontrollably.

At that moment a voice called: “Stop.”

Hamel froze and turned. From the opposite side of the group dozens of people appeared, also in black cassocks with Roman collars. The one at their forefront wore a deep pink cincture around his waist—at least a monsignor, perhaps a bishop-level cleric. He glared at Hamel with an icy stare.

“The crime of harming a priest is by no means light.”

“…”

“I don’t know who you are, but do you think you will remain unpunished after this?”

When the man flicked his hand, the priests behind him slammed their iron flails down onto the ground in unison. The vibration reverberated through the earth, an immense pressure that could force confessions from ordinary men.

Hamel’s voice was calm. “Is the one in my hand a priest?”

The man hesitated, then answered, “…Of course. Isn’t it obvious at a glance?”

“I don’t know.”

“…?

“This one was torturing that fallen citizen as a heretic. But I do not know about that either.”

“…”

“Priests can tell at a glance whether someone is a heretic or a faithful believer?”

“…Of course.”

The man faltered. Hamel nodded slowly. “I see. I’m sorry. Not knowing, I had no choice but to test it this way.”

“Then release him now.”

“Of course. But before that, there’s one more question I’d like to ask.”

“What more could you say…” the man began to scowl.

Hamel pulled the priest from the cauldron. At that instant, blue flames flared up—

─Fwoom

Rough but warm, the flames licked the priest’s burns and instantly healed his face. A hush fell.

Hamel released the man and asked, “Then what do I look like in your eyes, Father?”

“…”

The priest clenched his teeth.