EP.184 Trojan Horse
The most promising clergy member in the current system: Robel Wright.
His mornings were unusually brisk compared to others.
As soon as he opened his eyes, he would stretch to gently release the fatigue from his body, then sip coffee he made himself, reading the newspaper.
By the time he felt all the sleepiness fade away, it was time for prayer.
It was relatively recent that Robel had begun to never skip the morning prayer, something most older clergy would overlook.
He had been ridiculed at times as an arrogant genius, but from around that time, he gained a reputation as an exemplary priest with both ability and character.
“May there be peace and safety on the path he walks····.”
His holy murmurs, without a hint of disturbance, harmonized seamlessly with the quiet air of dawn for a long while.
Knock, knock.
The sound of someone knocking disrupted that devout silence.
“Excuse me, Father Robel. I have something urgent to discuss····. I’m sorry, I see you were deep in morning prayer.”
“It’s alright. I just finished praying. What brings you here?”
The identity of the unfamiliar guest who visited Robel’s room early in the morning was Sister Marianne.
The shadowed expression on her face was clearly marked by fatigue.
It was no surprise.
Since Beltein joined the Hero Party, the workload inside the monastery had exponentially increased, leaving everyone, including her, struggling with overwork.
It was only natural for those following in the footsteps of a capable predecessor to face calamity.
The absence of Beltein, who had been handling work that should involve dozens of people alone and without hindrance, far exceeded what mere incompetents could manage.
Managing donations, prayers from high-ranking officials, holy water production, ordering virgin wine, selecting clergy for the Adventurer Guild, rebuilding neglected churches, and so on.
That any semblance of order still existed in the monastery’s operations, which could have easily collapsed by now, was thanks to the various work suggestions Beltein sent to Marianne whenever she found the time.
Just this week, about twenty priests had left due to being worn out by the workload.
The hands that were already insufficient were dwindling day by day.
Even after sending several letters to the Vatican demanding improvements in the clergy members’ working conditions, the only replies received were irresponsible ones claiming it was also the will of God.
This must be how sailors left on a shipwrecked vessel with broken sails felt.
Although they didn’t say it aloud, every member working in the monastery secretly agreed with that sentiment.
“Previously, a heretic again requested a personal meeting with Father Robel. They insisted they wouldn’t say a word unless it was you, who has become somewhat like a blood brother to Priest Regis, so····.”
“I understand. Leave it to me.”
“Thank you····.”
As Robel smiled warmly and readily accepted the proposal, a sigh of relief settled into the air, as if a weight had been lifted.
The saint’s dedicated protective priest and member of the Hero Party: Regis Lowville.
Now, it was rare to find anyone who hadn’t heard of his name. His influence had spread far beyond the capital, rippling across the entire system.
If asked who benefited the most from this phenomenon, everyone would undoubtedly mention Robel’s name.
Long before it was publicly known that Regis was part of the Hero Party, Robel had taken on the role of Regis’s right hand, showing up at various events, which was now seen as visionary foresight.
A few fiancées who had previously demanded a break-off on the grounds of Robel losing his mind were now desperately clinging to his pants leg, trying to get back into his good graces, enough to warrant the newspapers making headlines about it.
But Robel himself showed no signs of wanting to exploit his newfound position.
His acquaintance with the century’s hero, a dedicated priest of the saint and a member of the Hero Party.
Despite the surrounding pressure to leverage this delectable bait, he seemed utterly content simply knowing his existence was of help to Regis.
Morning prayer had already become a routine.
In truth, it wasn’t directed at the divine.
“Is it just me, or is the painting a bit bigger than yesterday····?”
“Oh! Did you notice? Just yesterday, I invited a renowned painter to enlarge the painting a bit more!”
“Oh····.”
Marianne’s gaze of regret fell on a painting that occupied an entire wall.
Clad in ethereal holy robes, Regis was depicted descending from the heavens, embraced by cherubic angels.
Meanwhile, Robel was portrayed as tearfully revering her, reaching out toward the sky in a sorrowful pose in that sacred and suspect mural.
The grandeur was so immense that the photos of his fiancées beside his bed looked like mere props.
“Though I regret not fully capturing Priest Regis’s holiness, it’s an incredible achievement to have reproduced even a fraction of that brilliance with mere human skill. Alas, I suppose I’ll have to be satisfied with this level.”
“Ah, yes····.”
This man. Has he completely lost it in his head?
Aside from a slight narcissism and a terrible habit around women, how did he end up in this state?
Since his consciousness was restored to its original state by Priest Regis after falling into a coma from improperly touching the saint, Marianne felt an unspoken fear of Robel’s transformation into a zealot.
“The events of that day are as vivid as yesterday! In the pitch-black darkness where neither sound nor light reach! A beam of light guiding my soul, which was cast away for months! If it weren’t for Priest Regis, I would still be languishing in that dark space, lost in solitude! Yes! That radiance is as if descended from the heavens····.”
Here we go again.
Once he started, Robel’s monologue would easily last three to four hours, and Marianne let it go in one ear and out the other.
◈◈◈
“You’re late. Did something fun happen?”
“Haha, I just had a small chat····.”
It seemed like a sweet conversation between lovers at first glance.
But the place they were conversing wasn’t under the warm sunshine but rather in the dark basement.
A location considered somewhat of an urban legend among the citizens of the system.
The torture chamber beneath the monastery.
Even among high-ranking clergy members, few knew of this place, which directly contradicted the Vatican’s claim that even heretics would be promised humane treatment.
“Let’s skip the preamble and get to the point. What do you have to say to me, Miss Raiza?”
Robel, trying to maintain his composure despite the tension, forced a smile.
The other party was a first-class threat who had attempted to assassinate the world’s strongest hero and possessed adequate capability to do so.
With shackles layered around her body and heavy iron bars separating them, Robel felt he could not easily trust her.
A sense of unease spread like an ominous fog in the dense atmosphere of the place, rendering even the slightest gesture of fidgeting or blinking difficult.
“Oh dear, I was looking forward to discussing our Savior’s story together, but it seems disappointing····. We’re ardent devotees of our Savior. No, of Priest Regis.”
“····”
How can she be so calm?
As Robel grasped his shoulders, which were twitching nonstop, a cold sweat began to trickle down.
According to the information he received, she had been subjected to tortures so terrible that a regular person would struggle just to hear about them.
The torturer who had been inflicting those torments on her had inexplicably gone mad just yesterday.
That meant that up until yesterday, she had been subjected to heinous schemes designed to incapacitate a person both physically and mentally.
Robel had seen enough. The fates of those who had been through such brutal torture, leaving both body and mind shattered.
To see someone who should be broken casually engaging in ordinary conversation with him was nothing short of terrifying.
Had it not been for the sense of responsibility stemming from his reverence for Regis, Robel would have undoubtedly fled the scene right then and there.
“Business and pleasure must be kept separate. While discussing the greatness of Priest Regis is undoubtedly delightful, if that is all you’re here to tell me, I’m afraid I’ll be taking my leave now, Miss Raiza.”
“Ah, I see····. I’ll tell you something special just for you, Father Robel····. Ah, how disappointing····.”
Did she cross over? Or did he cross over to her?
With each passing moment of conversation, the ominous atmosphere thickened, and she sang cheerfully.
“Thanks to you, I’ve had fun until now. I was planning to give everyone related to the Vatican a painfully miserable end, but for you, I’ll make an exception.”
“What do you mean by····?”
Crack.
It was just then.
A sharp chain emerged from the shadows and ruthlessly pierced through Robel’s abdomen.
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