The Red Lamp of Lacorinto
The pattern that appeared on the back of Beatrice's hand was the insignia of the Congregation for Doctrine of the Faith.
It was the very institution Roberta had belonged to before receiving her priestly ordination. She had studied advanced theology there, and after completing her education with excellent results, she was ordained.
However, education was not the institution's primary role. As an administrative body within the Holy Church, its main duty was to oversee doctrine.
"To preserve the true faith by investigating false beliefs and violations of doctrine."
Those were the words left behind by the pope who established the institution.
Only those entrusted with that role could bear the mark upon their body—and such individuals were Inquisitors.
"You seem rather tense."
Beatrice, the Inquisitor, smiled faintly.
"Shall we start by exchanging proper introductions? Since I introduced myself, it would only be fair if you did the same."
It was impossible not to feel tense.
An Inquisitor held immense authority. Aside from the pope, they stood above all—by principle, they could even summarily judge members of the Kormillius family.
And they possessed power to match that authority. No matter how well-versed one was in doctrine or how deep their faith, without strength they would not survive, let alone carry out their duties.
Roberta had once witnessed a mage—one who invoked the names of the Five Sages—being subdued barehanded by an Inquisitor.
She placed her hand over her chest, just as Beatrice had done, and greeted her.
"I am Roberta, chief priestess of dithmarschen."
"dithmarschen… then you're from the Kingdom of Osnover."
Beatrice gestured toward the others seated around the campfire.
"And these people?"
As Roberta introduced the party, she carefully observed their reactions.
The young master of House Landeyar and the fairy were tense. It seemed they, too, had realized Beatrice's identity. Given their strained relationship with Kormillius, they were now facing someone with overwhelming authority and power.
Fritz, the young master of House Meyer, merely remained on guard. He showed no signs of tension—either he didn't know about the Congregation, or he simply had no reason to fear it.
"…And this is Lord Armin dithmarschen."
Armin—no, Ulrich—showed no sign of even basic caution. Even when his name was mentioned, he didn't look at Beatrice, simply stirring the campfire with a branch in silence.
"Armin… dithmarschen?"
"Yes. Lord Armin is the adopted son of the Duke of dithmarschen."
Roberta shifted her gaze, watching the Inquisitor's reaction.
"I see."
For a brief moment, Beatrice's brow furrowed.
But it didn't last long. She soon relaxed her expression and looked away.
"dithmarschen, Meyer, Landeyar… Sister, you're in rather unusual company. As someone who has received ordination, don't you think this is an odd combination?"
Her attention shifted from Ulrich to Roberta.
The smile faded from Beatrice's face as she looked directly at her.
All three houses were at odds with Kormillius. The Duke of Landeyar needed no explanation, while the Duke of dithmarschen was the adoptive father of King Richard of Osnover and the liege lord of Count Meyer.
And yet, a formally ordained priestess of the Holy Church was traveling alongside their heirs? Moreover, this was not her assigned region, but an area adjacent to the territory of Count Luogallan, a vassal of Landeyar.
Naturally, suspicion arose.
Even among ordained clergy, there were those who sided with Jokuster—was Roberta one of them?
Of all people… to run into an Inquisitor.
She stiffened, deep in thought over what to say. She had no doubt she was walking the right path—but persuading an Inquisitor was another matter entirely.
"Roberta is traveling with me at His Holiness's request."
All eyes turned to Ulrich.
He still stared calmly at the fire.
"Would you explain in more detail?"
"As I said. His Holiness Marcello sent a letter—requesting a visit to the Duke of dithmarschen. Accordingly, I am acting as the duke's representative, traveling with Roberta to Novasolon, where the Pantheon is located."
Ulrich took a letter from his coat and handed it to Beatrice.
Roberta blinked in surprise. She hadn't known he had another letter besides the direct order he had previously torn up. When he noticed her gaze, he gave a faint smile.
"And Fritz here accompanies me as my attendant. As for the other two, we simply met them by chance on the road. There's no connection of the sort you're concerned about, so you needn't worry."
Beatrice read the letter several times before folding it carefully and returning it to Ulrich.
"You have a rather unusual way of speaking."
"I hear that often."
Twisting a strand of hair near her ear with her finger, she glanced over the rest of the group, then casually stepped closer to the fire.
"May I sit?"
"Go ahead."
At Ulrich's reply, Beatrice sat across from him with the campfire between them. He handed her a cup of tea, and she drank quietly for a while.
"Are you aware that a demonic zone has formed nearby?"
"We were just discussing that."
"In that case, where do you think it has formed, Brother?"
"Well… if we think simply, somewhere near where the subjugation force was defeated."
Beatrice shook her head.
"I disagree. I believe it's in Luogallan."
"Luogallan? Why?"
"I've been investigating this for some time."
She set down her teacup and gazed into the fire.
"Even before Jokuster's defection, the Congregation knew they were hiding something. We simply chose to ignore it to avoid unnecessary conflict."
Roberta glanced briefly at Elias and Vermelani.
"What they're hiding is somewhere in Luogallan. After the defection, I began searching for it—and that's when I realized a demonic zone had formed."
Although her gaze was on Ulrich, her words were not meant for him.
The Inquisitor was indirectly pressing the fairy and the young noble.
Realizing this, Elias's face flushed red. The implication—that his house had done something akin to serving an evil god—made his anger boil.
Vermelani, though calmer than him, stared coldly at the Inquisitor, her expression icy and unyielding.
"Isn't your suspicion a bit excessive? Even if Jokuster is at odds with the Pantheon, I don't think they've strayed so far as to create a demonic zone."
"And yet the circumstances point exactly in that direction, don't they? Quite perfectly, in fact."
Beatrice smiled.
"That's why I'm here—to determine whether that suspicion is true or not. You're heading to Luogallan as well, aren't you? Then let's go together. I have many questions for the count."
"Ha…"
***
The next morning, Roberta went down to the stream and washed her face. The cold water drove away her drowsiness for a moment—only for it to return just as quickly. Her body felt heavy as well.
It was the result of a restless night.
How many people could sleep soundly with an Inquisitor lying just a few steps away? Rationally, she knew there was no danger in the night—but emotionally, the discomfort had chased away her sleep.
"You look tired."
Beatrice approached, carrying an empty waterskin.
"Ah… yes. I'm just not used to sleeping outdoors."
An obvious lie.
Beatrice let out a small laugh as she filled her waterskin with stream water.
"Don't worry too much. I have no intention of harming them. I understand that our division isn't about faith, but about politics."
Roberta smiled awkwardly and took a closer look at her. In the chaos of the night, she hadn't observed her carefully—but now that she did, Beatrice looked quite young.
Around thirty, perhaps?
Far too young to hold such a high position as an Inquisitor. If she weren't a priest, one might suspect she was using magic to preserve her youth.
But the doctrines of the Holy Church discouraged immortality.
Many priests, despite being able to wield mana as well as mages, accepted aging—so her appearance likely reflected her true age.
"Is Archbishop Vinicio well?"
"…What?"
Roberta flinched.
"The archbishop. Haven't you met him since your appointment?"
She had—but it was difficult to say so.
The man Beatrice spoke of, Archbishop Vinicio of the Kingdom of Osnover, had been assassinated by a non-theistic heretic.
"…What is your relationship with the archbishop?"
"He was the one who awakened my faith. He sent me to the Congregation, which allowed me to rise to where I am now."
As Roberta hesitated to answer, Beatrice lifted her gaze from the stream and looked at her.
Her expression hardened.
Roberta slipped her hand into her sleeve and took out a seal—a circular signet.
It belonged to Archbishop Vinicio.
She always carried it with her, fearing she might lose it if she left it in her pack.
Morning sunlight reflected off the silver seal. Beatrice stared at it blankly, then stood up.
"The archbishop… how did he—"
"How did he die?"
Roberta hesitated.
The culprit had been a heretic of non-theism.
But she couldn't say that outright. The existence of such heretics was a closely guarded secret of the Kormillius family. Even an Inquisitor might not know.
And even if she did, it would still be a problem. A mere chief priest knowing such a secret could itself raise suspicion.
"He was caught up in a civil conflict. He tried to mediate… but there were those who opposed it. By the time I arrived… it was too late."
"…."
Beatrice accepted the archbishop's seal.
"In the end… it came to this. I had a feeling it would, which is why I asked him not to take the position in Osnover… but he said that was precisely why he had to go."
She clasped her hands and offered a prayer. After finishing, she returned the seal.
"Please make sure it is properly enshrined."
"Wouldn't you prefer to do it yourself?"
"No. I won't be able to return for some time. And since you carried his seal this far, it's only right that you see it through to the end."
She turned her back. As she exhaled deeply, her breath trembled slightly. She steadied it, suppressing the emotions rising within her.
"Earlier, I heard from Lord Armin why you're heading to the Pantheon. You're going to have the excommunication and the summons for priests revoked, aren't you?"
Roberta was about to answer, but Beatrice continued first.
"Isn't that absurd? Osnover sided with Jokuster and even allowed the archbishop to die during the civil conflict—and yet you expect Kormillius to damage its own authority by revoking it?"
She let out a faint scoff.
Throughout history, many had been excommunicated—but very few had ever had it reversed.
Excommunication was a decree issued with the full authority of the Church's head. It could not be withdrawn lightly, or it would lose its weight.
"Those who were excommunicated either had their heads brought back—or brought something more valuable than their heads. Do you have something of that worth?"
There was an answer.
But she could not speak it.
Roberta felt her lips dry and moistened them with her tongue.
"I don't know. All I can do is hope that Lord Armin meets His Holiness… and that things are resolved."
"It's not that you don't know—it's that you can't say."
Beatrice turned to face her directly.
"The person you're bringing is Armin—that man. The one who claims to be the adopted son of dithmarschen. The one bearing the very name that Archbishop Vinicio was willing to risk his life to meet."
She looked straight into Roberta's eyes.
"Am I wrong?"
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