The Inquisitor Who Might Die (4)

“I wasn't trying to kill him! I only… As an inquisitor, I…!”

Hamtarshin's words broke apart before he could finish a sentence.

The invisible hand around his throat would not let him speak. His helplessness filled him with bitter indignation.

Trying to kill Theorad? Why would I do such a thing?

He wanted desperately to explain the misunderstanding. At this rate, though, he was going to suffocate before he got the chance.

“Kh… kegh…!”

Foam joined the saliva spilling from his mouth. Just as the light seemed about to leave his upturned eyes, the elf gave a small nod.

“Very well.”

The invisible grip vanished.

“Haaah!”

Hamtarshin dragged air into his lungs and broke into a fit of coughing. He could scarcely breathe.

The elf leaned back in her seat and calmly surveyed his face, now wet with saliva and mucus.

“I'll make it easier for you. Tell me: why did you try to kill Theorad?”

Hamtarshin finally managed to lift his head.

“What in the world are you doing…?”

“Did I give you permission to speak to me so casually?”

Crack!

His index finger bent at an impossible angle.

“Aaaagh!”

Pain shot through him. He writhed, then lunged for the confessional door in a desperate attempt to escape.

It wouldn't open. It was as though someone had locked it from the outside.

He twisted the handle again and again before pounding on the door.

“Open it! Open it! Please, somebody!”

He screamed like a sinner trying to flee the depths of hell. The elf watched his frantic efforts without moving.

“There's no point shouting. This confessional is soundproof.”

“Huh… huh…”

Hamtarshin's hand fell from the handle. A miserable sob escaped him.

All the authority he'd wielded in the name of the Church had vanished. Now he looked like a child begging forgiveness from a stern parent.

“I-I never tried to kill Lord Theorad…”

Crack!

His middle finger twisted grotesquely.

His mouth opened in a scream, and his whole body convulsed. This pain was worse than the first. Before long it became so intense that he could no longer even scream. He could only drool and groan, struggling to understand why the elf refused to believe him.

Th-the stone plate…!

Theorad had handed him the control plate. That must have been why the elf had reached this absurd conclusion. There was no use telling the truth now; as far as she was concerned, Hamtarshin had already been judged guilty.

That cunning devil…!

He planned this from the start!

Looking back, the whole affair had been suspicious. Why would a man who had ordered the desecration of his father's statue invite an inquisitor into his own house? Obviously, it had been a scheme to shift the blame for an attack on the elf.

How many moves ahead was he thinking…?

What a monstrous schemer Theorad was!

Hamtarshin ground his teeth against the pain. He'd fallen into a trap, but perhaps he could still find some opening and escape.

Then he looked at the elf again and realized how foolish that hope was.

She hadn't even left her seat.

She's using this much magic without a staff or any magical equipment?

As Hamtarshin understood it, human magicians relied heavily on tools such as wands to amplify their power. Even archmages carried such equipment when attempting extraordinary feats.

Yet this elf had used elemental magic, a barrier, and telekinesis of astonishing power without so much as lifting a finger.

Hamtarshin couldn't begin to imagine what level of mastery that required.

He swallowed.

Despair and frustration settled over him one after the other.

The elf sighed.

“Well, it hardly matters. The political squabbles of short-lived creatures are tiresome to listen to. Knowing your reason won't change anything.”

Her eyes narrowed as she considered him.

“Still, I suppose I can't kill you. That would put an end to my little game, wouldn't it?”

Hamtarshin had no idea what game she meant. But it seemed safer to agree.

“Y-yes. Of course.”

“And if I simply let you go, this could happen again. I'd better leave a mark on you.”

A prickling sensation ran across his back.

Hamtarshin stiffened. The elf gave a faint smile.

“There. Now I can kill you whenever I wish. You insignificant creature, putting your faith in something you call a god. Do you understand what that means?”

“I'll never speak of anything that happened in this mansion.”

“Good. I'm glad you understand so quickly.”

Snap!

The elf clicked her fingers. Hamtarshin's broken, twisted fingers returned to their normal shape.

He scarcely had time to register the miracle. She was still looking straight at him.

“Now open the door and leave. In front of Theorad, behave as though nothing happened. If you want to live.”

“I'll remember that.”

Hamtarshin bowed his head respectfully and left the confessional.

He took a moment to steady his breathing. But as soon as he saw Theorad waiting for him, a chill went down his spine.

“Ah, Inquisitor. Did the questioning go well?”

Theorad's clothes were immaculate. He was handsome, and every gesture, every courteous word, and the gentle smile on his face seemed to speak of a kind and honorable nature.

Somehow, that only made Hamtarshin more afraid.

There must be hundreds of snakes writhing beneath that pleasant exterior.

He had lost completely because he'd underestimated his opponent.

Then again, Theorad stood at the head of a distinguished family that had endured for seven generations. Perhaps Hamtarshin should have expected him to be skilled in intrigue.

“Yes,” he answered, unable to meet Theorad's eyes. “There were no problems with the questioning.”

His gaze rested somewhere near the viscount's chin.

“Now that the inquiry is finished, I'll take my leave.”

He hurried across the chapel almost as though he were fleeing.

Theorad watched him go and tilted his head.

What's gotten into him? He didn't even tell me what he found out.

Still, perhaps his talk with the elf had convinced him of the truth. Theorad had even given him the control plate as evidence. Surely the inquisitor would bring it to the bishop, explain the circumstances at the mansion, and clear Theorad of any wrongdoing.

If I'm lucky, the knights of the Order might actually come to help.

Then he might finally escape the elf's clutches.

Do your best! I'm counting on you!

Theorad silently cheered for the departing inquisitor until he was out of sight.

---

The Church of Balance, Fifth Parish of the Central Empire.

The office of Bishop Leviham.

Knock, knock.

Leviham was bent over a pile of documents. At the knock, he looked up from his work.

“Ah, yes. Come in.”

The door opened, and Hamtarshin entered.

Leviham set down his quill and smiled.

“You've returned from the inquisition. Thank you for your hard work.”

“No, Bishop. I merely did my duty. I'd like to make my report.”

“Of course. Was heresy discovered in House Deharem?”

Hamtarshin was silent for a moment, then shook his head.

“No. It appears there was a simple misunderstanding. I found no heresy in House Deharem. On the contrary, the family proved more devout than I expected.”

“Oh! I see. Very good. Was there anything else you wished to report?”

“Nothing further, Bishop.”

“Then you must be tired. Go and get some rest.”

“Thank you for your kindness.”

Hamtarshin bowed and left the office.

Leviham's smile disappeared. He looked away, his expression turning grave.

…The inquisitor is lying.

The haggard eyes. The dry lips. The distraught face and exhausted steps. The slight tremor in his voice, and the way he couldn't bring himself to meet the bishop's gaze.

Every detail betrayed him.

An inquisitor, to whom lying is one of the gravest sins, has just lied to me?

It was incomprehensible.

The only explanation that came to mind was that House Deharem had somehow broken the man's spirit.

Yet Hamtarshin was a devout and capable priest, a man whose faith Leviham himself recognized. He would never yield to an ordinary noble family's authority.

If something else had happened, it must have involved the head of the house, Theorad.

But Theorad, of all people?

Why would a man known for his kindness torment an inquisitor?

Leviham narrowed his eyes and drew a document from the pile on his desk.

It was a register containing information about the nobles living near the parish, including their attitudes toward the religious order.

After turning a few pages, he found the entry he wanted.

Theorad Deharem

Hazard level: 6. There is no need to withhold kindness. Very friendly toward the Church. Possesses a good character and enjoys the deep trust of the local people. Has no enemies among the region's political factions.

The record had been written by a former parish priest while Leviham served as an auxiliary bishop under the previous bishop.

Leviham had never doubted it. The Theorad he knew seemed every bit the man described on the page.

It must have been three years ago…

He remembered a day of heavy spring rain that had soaked the streets from morning onward.

He'd gone into town on business and happened to see Theorad in an alley near the market. He had been about to offer a greeting when he noticed something unusual and stopped out of sight.

Theorad was speaking with a woman sitting on the ground. She held a newborn child tightly against her chest.

“Do you remember the robber's face?” Theorad asked her. “You said he killed your husband and burned down your house.”

“N-no. He was wearing a mask. I couldn't see his face. I'm sorry.”

“There's nothing to apologize for. Tell me your name.”

“Haria. Haria Darnil.”

“Very well, Haria.”

Theorad lowered himself onto one knee beside her. Water from the puddles stained his fine silk clothing, but he paid it no mind.

Leviham had been struck by the sight. Other nobles would have scolded a servant for letting even a drop of dirty water touch their clothes. Theorad seemed wholly indifferent to his own finery.

“I saw the burned house and your husband's body when I investigated what happened,” Theorad said. “I believe your account. No matter how many years it takes, I'll find the person responsible. And one more thing.”

He removed the valuable brooch from his neck.

The woman stared at it, startled, but Theorad continued.

“Take this and sell it to a jeweler. Use the money to support yourself. You need time and food to care for your child.”

“I-I couldn't possibly accept that!”

She recoiled and tried to push his hand away.

The brooch was worth an enormous amount of money. A commoner could live comfortably for three years on its value. Yet Theorad pressed it into her hand.

“Take it. Don't make yourself regret turning it down.”

“But someone like me… How could I…?”

“Highborn or lowborn, all lives are equal. I'm giving this to you because you're you. If you want to repay me, then live.”

With that, Theorad rose and left the alley.

Haria watched him go, murmuring thanks over and over until she broke down in tears.

He was a saint if ever there was one.

It had been an act of kindness that moved Leviham more deeply than he expected. He had even come to feel respect for the young nobleman.

And now I'm supposed to believe that same man persecuted an inquisitor?

He could make no sense of it.

Had everything he'd seen been an elaborate performance? Had Theorad somehow known that Leviham, then an auxiliary bishop, would be visiting the market that day? Had he staged the good deed merely to win the Church's trust?

“Hmm…”

Leviham found that possibility hard to believe, but Hamtarshin's obvious submission to House Deharem weighed heavily on his mind.

After some deliberation, he took up his quill and revised Theorad's entry.

Theorad Deharem

Hazard level: 4. Possesses enough cunning to subdue an inquisitor. His motive is currently unknown. Exercise caution.

One day I'll visit the mansion myself and find out what really happened.

Leviham closed the register and returned to his ordinary duties. There was simply too much work on his desk to devote all his attention to Theorad just then.