The Elf Who Wants to Defeat Theorad (7)
The following morning, Beynon returned from his exercise ride and was crossing the manor courtyard when he stopped.
The young master?
Theorad stood before the stone statue of his father, looking up at it with an expression so bright that Beynon scarcely recognized him. It wasn't unusual for the young lord to pray there. Seeing him positively radiant was another matter.
Has something good happened?
Beynon drew nearer. Theorad's voice carried across the neatly trimmed grass.
“…And so I won. For the survival and safety of our family, I swear I will never let myself be defeated again. Watch over me, Father. I will restore your honor. One day I'll bring her here and make her bow her head and apologize.”
The solemnity of his words made Beynon hesitate. Theorad sounded almost like a priest offering a prayer before an altar.
But curiosity eventually overcame discretion.
“Young master? What are you doing?”
Theorad jolted, then turned around with a sigh.
“Beynon? How long have you been there?”
“I've only just come back from exercising. I wasn't trying to listen in, but I couldn't help hearing some of it.” Beynon tilted his head. “Who's the woman you mentioned?”
“That's… never mind. You don't need to know.”
Theorad straightened his posture and cleared his throat. He plainly wasn't going to elaborate.
Beynon let the question go.
“Well, how did things go last night?”
“Last night?”
Beynon glanced around. With no one close enough to overhear, he lowered his voice.
“The sex. You asked me for advice, remember?”
“Ah. That…”
A smile tugged at the corners of Theorad's mouth. He seemed to be enjoying the recollection.
“Beynon, I think I may have a talent for it.”
“A talent?”
He'd only done it twice, and already he was talking about talent? Beynon was too dumbfounded to respond.
“I'm reluctant to praise myself,” Theorad continued, “but I believe I've completely mastered the techniques you taught me. I doubt I'll need any further lessons.”
“Ha… ha.”
Beynon had heard that when people were truly astonished, laughter came before words. Apparently it was true.
Well. If the young master is happy, that's a good thing.
He decided against dampening Theorad's spirits. Evidently last night's encounter had gone well enough for him to declare victory.
“I'm glad I could help,” Beynon said warmly. “And about what you promised me…”
“Of course. You have my permission to enjoy as much of the expensive chocolate as you like.”
“How generous! You truly are a fine master.”
“It's a small reward for a loyal retainer.”
They grinned at each other and clasped hands with extravagant solemnity. The difference between Beynon's weathered grip and Theorad's youthful one made the gesture faintly absurd.
At last Beynon released him and pointed toward the manor.
“Then may I go and have some now? I've just finished exercising, and something sweet would be welcome.”
“Certainly. Have it brought to the drawing room. I want to pay my respects to Father a little longer.”
“Thank you, young master.”
Beynon bowed and walked away, humming at the thought of the costly chocolate he could now eat freely.
In the corridor he met the elf coming from the other direction.
She held a mop and a bucket of water. Everything about her outfit was ordinary, but she seemed strangely exhausted. Her steps wavered, and her usual alert gaze had gone distant.
What's wrong with her?
Did last night's encounter wear her out that badly?
Beynon clicked his tongue, feeling sorry for her, and called out.
“Hey, elf.”
She stopped and looked up. Her vacant eyes were unsettling, but he pressed on.
“If you're tired, why not tell the chamberlain? You don't look fit to be cleaning.”
“I'm not tired.”
“There's no point driving yourself into the ground when nobody appreciates it. Take a day off now and then. A little rest is good for you.”
“I said I'm not tired.”
“All right, all right.”
She clearly didn't want his sympathy. Beynon changed the subject.
“Where are you cleaning, then?”
“The chief chamberlain ordered me to wash the outside windows along the courtyard corridor.”
“Oh. In that case, you're in luck. Your master is in the courtyard now. You could go say hello.”
The elf's cheeks colored faintly at the mention of Theorad. Yesterday's humiliating defeat came rushing back to her.
“Sir Beynon… did you just speak with Master?”
“Yes.”
“Did he… say anything about me?”
Beynon saw how anxiously she waited for his answer. He could have told her the truth, but mischief got the better of him.
“He did. He said you were quite a handful in bed. Apparently he wanted to punish you even more, but decided to show mercy.”
“M-mercy…?”
The elf stared at him.
After everything that happened, he still had strength left?
Theorad had ejaculated twice the previous night. If he could still have gone on after that, perhaps he was a monster of lust she could never overcome.
For the first time, the possibility of truly losing to him frightened her.
“Did Master really say that?”
Beynon found her earnest expression oddly endearing. He briefly wondered how old she was; she behaved with none of the reserve he might have expected from an elf.
He had intended to tease her a little longer, but inaccurate rumors could cause trouble for Theorad.
“No, no. I was joking. The young master would never say anything like that.”
“Oh…”
Relief passed through her eyes. Then her gaze sharpened as she realized Beynon had been playing with her.
“That wasn't funny. Please don't do it again.”
“Ah. Yes. Sorry.”
The elf turned and went back the way she'd come.
Wasn't she going to the courtyard?
Beynon almost called after her, then decided not to. Her pointed ears were bright red. She was probably too embarrassed to face Theorad just yet.
At the headquarters of the Church of Balance, the supreme council convened beneath the authority of the Holy See—the Secretariat of Order.
Cardinal Pallain presided at the center of a U-shaped table. Below him, Sierre knelt with head bowed.
“Brother Sierre, apostle of the God of Light and Archbishop of Myeong-myeong. Raise your head. You have come to report heresy and wrongdoing. We will hear it.”
Sierre looked up solemnly.
“Fathers of the Church, cardinals who shepherd the faithful under the Holy Father and God… What I have discovered may trouble the hearts of our brothers.”
“We do not abandon our faith merely because we must confront evil,” Pallain replied. “Speak.”
“Then I will trust in your resolve.”
Sierre lifted a crystal sphere from his arms and set it reverently on the floor.
“I have extracted the memories of Bishop Leviham, who oversaw the Fifth Diocese, and placed them within this crystal.”
A murmur spread through the assembled clergy. Few understood why the bishop, long regarded as faithful, had been accused of heresy—or why the accusation had reached the highest council.
Pallain raised his hand for silence.
“Are you accusing Bishop Leviham himself of heresy?”
“Yes. There is evidence that he came into contact with evil and failed to disclose it when he should have. Without the inquisitors' intervention, the matter might have remained hidden.”
“How strange. I thought him a devout man. Very well. Show us.”
Sierre touched the crystal and poured mana into it. Light gathered within the sphere; then a square window formed in the air.
The scene showed a young nobleman with a middle-aged knight nearby. The nobleman's name was Theorad Deharem, head of a viscount's house in the County of Pelgaroin.
“Don't think about the future,” Theorad said in the recorded memory. “I have something more important to do right now.”
“If that's what you say…” came the reply.
The conversation grew tense. After a brief confrontation, the memory lurched as Bishop Leviham raised his hands and invoked divine power.
“I will punish you in God's name!” the bishop declared.
“Bishop, I am giving you a chance to withdraw your words,” Theorad warned. “If you refuse, you will regret it.”
“Withdraw? I am about to—”
The image went black.
That was the end of Leviham's recorded perspective. Whatever followed had not been captured.
The chamber was silent.
To the cardinals, the fragment was damning. They believed the viscount had silenced or incapacitated a bishop who opposed his mysterious “important work.”
Has he joined forces with the demons? Pallain wondered.
The Holy See had committed its support to the Emperor's coming campaign against the demons. The preparations for a holy war were supposed to remain confidential, but information might have leaked.
Perhaps the Grand Dukes of the Demon Realm had learned of the campaign and drawn Theorad to their side. It was a theory Pallain found increasingly persuasive, though the memory itself had shown no such alliance.
He finally spoke.
“From this moment, the Standing Committee considers Bishop Leviham of the Fifth Diocese and Theorad Deharem heretics. The Order of Holy Knights is authorized to proceed against them.”