Chapter 90: What Is Meant To Come Will Always Come!
At the entrance of the Cathedral of Mercury.
Unlike the bustling central district of Ragunna, the area outside the church, saturated with solemnity and sanctity, was unusually deserted.
Following Aeron's instructions, Brant had come here after feigning injury. Gazing at the distant radiance that nearly illuminated the night sky, he couldn't help but marvel at that guy's undiminished efficiency.
Though he would have loved to join the excitement, he had no choice—Aeron had not only promised to snag a few bottles of fine wine from Montelli but had also dramatically called him "Dad!" As a loyal brother, Brant naturally couldn't refuse.
Besides, this was crucial for the troupe.
Most members of the troupe were pilgrims sent away due to persecution by the Order, and it was uncertain how many would remain afterward.
But Brant didn't dwell on it. For him, if this play orchestrated by Aeron served as the finale, it would be fitting enough.
As for what came next... he'd deal with it later. He trusted his good brother to design a proper ending for the troupe.
"Brooding alone here, huh?"
Speak of the devil.
A familiar voice sounded from nearby. Aeron had discarded his pristine white robes and changed into practical attire, still exuding his usual flair. Watching Aeron approach—having somehow slipped away from the square—Brant grinned casually.
"I've been waiting forever. Another moment and I'd have started preparing your funeral. So, what's the plan? Storming the place?"
"Not storming, no. I'd rather not make too much of a scene."
"Fair enough."
Brant scanned the surroundings. Since earlier, the area around the Order had been eerily quiet, with no Echoes or priests on guard.
"...You planned for this too?"
"Hardly. They're just being courteous."
Aeron's tone was light, but not a trace of a smile touched his face.
The two looked up at the towering Cathedral of Mercury, even more imposing under the night sky. Its grand, ornate doors stood slightly ajar, as if awaiting their arrival.
"Let's go. Time to meet the Primus who's been so... helpful."
As Aeron finished speaking, "Arsène" darted out from the shadows beneath him and forced open the heavy doors.
The interior of the Order was even more vast and silent than it appeared from outside. Neatly arranged pews and statues filled the space, but it was utterly empty, save for the echoes of Aeron and Brant's footsteps.
At the far end of the cathedral, the figure they sought stood with his back to them.
Fenrico, clad in his distinctive, opulent, and immaculate Primus's robes, was gazing at the Sentinel statue that had just been declared "false" in the square.
Hearing the commotion behind him, he slowly turned. His face, half-covered by a golden mask, wore an expression of serene composure.
"...You're faster than I expected. It seems your performance went smoothly."
"Well, I'm so grateful."
Fenrico paid no mind to Aeron's hostile tone. His gaze swept past Aeron, lingering briefly on Brant beside him, and he gave a slight nod.
As if welcoming a long-awaited guest rather than facing a mortal enemy come to claim his life.
"It seems the theater troupe has arrived as well... Your performance has been unexpectedly resilient."
Upon hearing Fenrico's words, Brant initially seemed about to speak, his lips twitching slightly, but ultimately it dissolved into a complex sigh. He pressed down his hat brim without responding, yielding the initiative to Aeron.
He wasn't good at handling such situations, and besides, he wasn't the one who had come looking for Fenrico.
Aeron took a few more steps forward, drawing a pistol from his coat. His footsteps echoed clearly against the polished stone floor.
"Ask whatever you need to ask now. Consider it repayment for all your help. Don't leave any regrets at the end."
"Heh... You noticed?"
The corner of Fenrico's mouth beneath his golden half-mask lifted slightly, revealing a bitter yet understanding smile.
"Of course. Sending me to Fisalia, tacitly allowing Ciaccona to spread rumors, only having Phoebe represent the Order's actions... And now, that we can speak here undisturbed—you've invested no less effort than I have."
As Aeron listed each thing Fenrico had done for him one by one, Fenrico merely chuckled softly with satisfaction.
"To see this deeply... That you could accomplish all this was no accident."
At this point, Fenrico looked up toward the outside of the cathedral, where the miracle created by the Rover splitting the night sky was now filtering through the glass, transforming into patches of light that fell upon the golden half-mask representing the Primus.
He stared at that radiance that didn't belong to him, for how long no one could tell, before slowly speaking.
"...Tell me, everything I've done, the path I've persisted on... ultimately... was any of it meaningful?"
When Fenrico asked this question, he was no longer the lofty Primus, but more like an old man returning to his past at life's end, entrusting the judgment of his entire life to the young man before him.
"Using the Order to suppress dissent in Ragunna, sending countless people into the abyss under the name of 'pilgrimage,' and now colluding with Fractsidus to try to destroy Carnevale—to be honest, if you don't deserve death, who does?"
"But then, Ragunna achieved miraculous prosperity under your hands, and the people were spared from Threnodian's corruption under your guidance... I must admit, you did well."
The almost cruel coldness in Aeron's tone made even Brant uncomfortable, but he also knew that for Primus, this was exactly appropriate.
Listening to Aeron's assessment, Fenrico's mouth beneath the golden half-mask pressed into a pale straight line.
"Don't make that expression. Your foundation was simply flawed from the start. The Sentinel you believe in," Aeron continued, "and the Order you rely on, have been corrupted by Threnodian from the very beginning."
"I know you wanted to shelter others from the storm, but unfortunately, your protection was nothing but a precarious trap."
"Still, you did indeed buy time and opportunity for that wandering righteous one. Pity I won't spare your life because of it."
With his words, Aeron methodically dissected the beliefs and foundations Fenrico had upheld his entire life. Fenrico's body swayed slightly as he slowly closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
Carrying the scent of cold incense and dust from the church, along with the bitterness of a lifetime's struggle ultimately proven futile.
When Fenrico opened his eyes again, cracks that could no longer be concealed appeared in his gaze, alongside an almost liberated exhaustion.
"So... this is how it is... I devoted my entire life, only to become its accomplice in the end..."
His voice was low, carrying a weakness as if all his strength had been drained.
Finally, he turned his head, looking behind him at the Sentinel statue in the center of the church—now proven false—and watched as his last shred of obsession and everything he had done in the past dissolved into a sigh.
Slowly, he raised his hand. A faint glimmer flashed in his palm, and then a lantern appeared in his grasp.
"This is an artifact passed down through generations of Primus, containing blessings belonging to the Sentinels... along with the power and blessings of each successive Primus."
He didn't ask whether Aeron would accept it, merely slowly pushed the lantern toward Aeron.
Aeron looked at the lantern but did not immediately take it. Brant stood behind him, arms crossed, his expression obscured beneath his hat brim, with only his tightly pressed lips revealing he wasn't entirely unmoved.
"And... the locations where the Order produces public Echoes, conducts retrievals, and carries out those experiments... the Ragunna Proving Grounds... I believe you will put it to proper use."
After detailing the specific coordinates and entry methods, Fenrico paused, took a deep breath as if relieved of a heavy burden, swept his gaze across the empty, sacred church, and finally settled back on Aeron's face.
"The Order of the Deep cannot be left without leadership. The position of Primus..."
"Don't worry, I'll handle it properly."
Before he could finish speaking, Aeron directly gave his response.
"...In this lifetime, I have committed grave sins, committing unforgivable wrongs against countless people, including you. Now that the truth has been revealed, I have no right to beg for forgiveness, nor the face to see the people of Ragunna again."
"I have only one final request of you."
His tone carried the earnestness of an elder entrusting final matters.
"Please go to Septimont... they need guidance and help more than the people of Ragunna. For my sake... and for the sake of those who suffered because of me... go and aid them."
The church fell into dead silence, with only Fenrico's calm words echoing. Brant turned his head away, subconsciously clenching his fist, seemingly uncomfortable with this deathbed tenderness yet unable to completely harden his heart.
Aeron listened in silence, his face devoid of any expression.
Only after Fenrico finished speaking did he slowly raise his gun, its muzzle steadily aimed at Fenrico's forehead.
"Finished?"
Fenrico looked at him, the corner of his mouth beneath the golden half-mask twitching slightly as he gently closed his eyes, showing neither resistance nor fear.
"Yes, thank you. After this... I leave it to you."
Hearing Fenrico's request, Aeron's finger rested on the trigger, his tone indifferent and dismissive.
"Don't worry, I'll clean up Ragunna's mess for you. After all, I still have to live here. Matters in Septimont will naturally be handled by someone. As for the rest—"
He let out a scornful laugh, filled with a detached indifference.
"That's not something I should worry about anymore."
By the time Aeron and Brant walked out of the Order, the sky was beginning to brighten, and the lingering atmosphere of Carnevale hadn't yet dissipated.
"Whew—finally done with that."
Aeron stretched extravagantly, his current mood as delightfully carefree as a college student starting a holiday in their dorm room!
Although there was still a pile of matters to attend to later, the most important thing now was to focus on enjoying the present moment!
"Don't celebrate so early, bro. What are you planning to do next?"
But of course, Brant had to pour cold water on things right at this moment.
"Why ask? If you're talking about the troupe, rest assured—we'll have bread and water. We'll take things step by step."
"I'm talking about you, bro! What are you going to do in Ragunna later?"
"How should I know? When the sun rises, we should forget yesterday. We'll deal with future matters when they come."
"You completely missed my point!"
Before Carnevale, that terrifying scene at Montelli's house—Brant still remembered it clearly. Though he'd fled at the critical moment, he remained deeply worried his good friend might accidentally disappear or end up in pieces.
"If you don't properly consider this now, you'll have your hands full later."
"I don't know what you're talking about, but don't worry. The boat will straighten itself when it reaches the bridge. Maybe I'll just tag along with you later?"
"No, no, no."
"You're rejecting me that fast?!"
"I dare not take you in! I'm still young and want to live a few more years!"
Damn, what a heartless bastard. Just taking in a homeless brother—why make it sound like a death sentence?
But none of that mattered now. What Aeron needed to do next was return to Montelli's place, or simply find an inn and enjoy a good sle—
Rumble—
...What was that noise?
A deep, ominous rumbling came from the distant horizon.
Aeron and Brant looked up, and then they saw it... Avinoleum?
Watching the seminary slowly emerge from the clouds, gradually revealing its full form, Aeron and Brant were completely dumbfounded.
After who knows how long, this shock finally transformed into a quality-representing shout.
"No..."
"...Fuck you!"
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