Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud.
Galahad proceeded down the corridor in silence, his gaze fixed on the floor beneath him.
The flawless white marble flooring, seemingly symbolizing unwavering faith, held aesthetic appeal. Regrettably, a faint crease formed on his forehead as he redirected his attention.
The colossal statues that adorned the corridor possessed beauty and grandeur, but they exuded excessive opulence.
The frescoes adorning the ceiling celebrated the splendor of Parterism, yet they bordered on extravagance.
It was undeniably excessive.
This contradicted the core tenets of Parterism, which advocated simplicity and frugality.
‘But it can’t be helped. Authority and majesty stem from grandiosity,’ Galahad mused, acknowledging with a touch of bitterness the disparity between the teachings of the sacred texts and the reality before him.
The allure of visible opulence tends to sway most people more than genuine teachings, as is often the case.
This reality was inescapable, and Galahad was well aware of it.
“Sir Paladin.”
As Galahad made his way down the corridor, he encountered two priests from the Holy Imperial Court, offering them a nod of acknowledgment.
Their paths briefly crossed, and they continued on their separate journeys.
“So the rumor must be true. That he failed.”
“Seems so.”
Galahad halted briefly upon hearing the discreet yet discernible murmurs that discussed his recent failure. Though annoyed and irritated by these voices, he couldn’t fault them. His acute hearing was the culprit, amplifying his discomfort, especially since he was en route to meet the Grand Priest.
A resigned sigh escaped his lips.
Galahad progressed past the imposing statues and ostentatious frescoes until he reached a door adorned with elaborate gold ornamentation. Just as he was about to knock, a commanding voice resonated from within.
“Come in.”
Galahad briefly flinched at the voice that indicated his arrival had been noted but then accepted it and stepped inside.
Within, he beheld a grand mural portraying angels banishing demons and pagan gods. Seated against this backdrop was a stout, bald man.
This man was Roderick Bor, the current Grand Priest of Parter Church, the financial overseer of the Holy Imperial Court, and a former Paladin. Despite his age, his formidable physique bore witness to his history as a Paladin. It harmonized with the majestic mural behind him, exuding an imposing presence even as he attended to his paperwork.
“Just a moment.”
Roderick muttered as he continued sorting through documents, one side of his desk already piled high with paperwork, reaching a height equivalent to a person.
As the rumors suggested, his workload was staggering.
“Hmm… Thank you for waiting, Paladin Galahad.”
After a substantial duration spent on paperwork, Roderick finally spoke. He set the completed documents aside in a separate pile and rose from his desk.
Years of administrative duties had contributed to a protruding belly and a broadened jawline, yet he retained the same dignity that had characterized his days as a Paladin.
“Thank you for coming.”
Approaching Galahad, he continued.
“No, Your Excellency… May I ask why I’ve been summoned?”
“You’re really a stiff and conscientious man, aren’t you? That’s part of why I like you, actually.”
Roderick displayed a sly fondness for Galahad.
Indeed, Roderick held a special regard for Galahad, having been the one to recruit him into the hardline faction.
“Such kindness is too much for someone who has failed his mission.”
“No matter how blessed by God a paladin you are, how could you only succeed? That’s something ignorant commoners with no knowledge of our affairs would spout! Just shut up.”
“Your Highness…!”
Galahad exclaimed, genuinely surprised. It was indeed shocking that a high priest, second only to the Holy Emperor, would use such vulgar language.
However, Roderick simply chuckled with a sly smile.
“Those are certainly not words to be spoken in the house of God… Please forgive me.”
Galahad sighed, but in a strange way, he felt somewhat relieved. Returning here had eased some of the pressure that had weighed on him.
Roderick was undeniably a corrupt priest, yet there was an undeniable charm about him. It was likely why he had risen to the position of high priest.
“Anyway, the point of my words is, don’t be too disheartened. Success is not always guaranteed in this line of work. You are still one of the best paladins.”
“I have no words to express my gratitude for your excessive praise.”
“I’m sincere… Anyway, the reason I called you is that I have something to ask. I visited Bonifa yesterday.”
The atmosphere grew somber at the mention of Bonifa.
“How is his condition?”
“Hmm… To be honest, it doesn’t look very good.” Roderick replied, stroking his double chin. His demeanor conveyed more regret than sorrow. “His wounds are severe and, as per your report, even proper treatment is difficult. Even using holy water. It feels like… something is interfering. Just like him.”
‘Him.’ Though the reference was vague, Galahad instantly understood whom Roderick meant. As a seasoned paladin, he knew exactly to whom Roderick was alluding.
‘If it really is him, that’s dangerous…’
“…But the biggest problem is the scar.”
“You mean the physical… scars?”
“That too, but the real issue is the scar on his reputation.”
“Just now, you said that even a paladin can fail–”
“–A paladin can fail, that’s fine! No matter how much divine blessing you have, you’re still a fallible human! …But the son of an angel can’t afford to. Because he’s the son of an angel.”
Roderick asserted firmly.
“Imperfections are not allowed. Absolutely not.”
“…But wasn’t it Your Highness who put Bonifa in the spotlight?”
“No, it wasn’t just me; it was the will of the hardline faction leaders… And it seems like it was a mistake; we are also mere humans after all.”
Roderick spoke unabashedly, as if implying they might abandon Bonifa and elevate a new “son of an angel.”
“Don’t look so down. I’m also sad. To have to talk about such a devout person over these issues… But what can you do? As you know, most people are shallow; if it’s not flashy, they won’t pay attention. At a time when humanity’s fate is at stake, shouldn’t we cater to their tastes for the sake of the future? Don’t you agree?”
“…”
Galahad found himself unable to respond.
It was an unpleasant perspective, but not an entirely incorrect one.
The teachings and virtues of the Parter Church emphasized modesty and humility, yet the world often prioritized glamour and extravagance.
A disheartening reality.
“So, what about Bonifa?”
“Don’t worry. It’s not urgent yet, I have no plans to do what you’re thinking immediately. First, I’ll focus on treating Bonifa. I’m searching through ancient texts and making efforts, so let’s put this conversation on hold for now. I called you for a different matter.”
Galahad breathed a small sigh of relief, knowing that Bonifa wouldn’t be abandoned immediately.
“…What would you like to know?”
“I’ve seen the report and recording device you provided. Unfortunately, the latter part of the recordings is all missing… Is that really all there is?”
“Yes, we checked as well, and the same part is missing for everyone. As if it was tampered with.”
Galahad replied, sounding somewhat puzzled. Each member of the mission had carried recording devices to document Bonifa’s actions, yet the part where Oliver initiated his actions was conspicuously missing, almost as if intentionally removed.
“Well, alright… Tell me about him directly.”
“The report already–”
“- I’ve already read the report myself. Seven times, in fact. What I want to hear is the story from your perspective, not the report. After having inflicted the same wounds on Bonifa’s body as that guy… is he really in Landa ?”
“I can’t say for sure, but according to my speculation, yes.”
“So if it’s your speculation, then it must be certain… What was his name again?”
“… He is Dave Wright, the solver from District T, 30th street. He’s a warlock who can also harness the power of nature.”
For more chapters and regular updates https://www.patreon.com/kulase
***
Tick. Tick. Tick.
In the office of the Minister of the Internal Affairs of Landa City, only the clock on the desk broke the silence.
Apart from the desk clock, a chaotic assortment of newspapers lay scattered around, each with its own unique headlines.
<The Talker>
<NO Credit>
<Liar>
<Gibberish>
<Inconvenient Truth>
<Cassandra>
<Bugler>
And more.
These newspapers, which turned sensational stories into revenue and power, were filled with all sorts of sensational tales.
A melodrama featuring a wealthy family’s inheritance feud,
Romantic escapades within the cast of a beloved radio drama,
Tabloid-style scandals involving the royal family,
The women’s suffrage movement,
Even frivolous accounts of sewer rats devouring each other to clean the city’s drains.
Most were trivial tales, but occasionally, there were articles that couldn’t be ignored, especially when they came from foreign sources.
[Galos Royal Magic University Rokuri! Allowed infiltration by a warlock!]
Paul Carver, the Minister of the Internal Affairs of Landa City, read the newspaper once more.
Astoundingly, the article reported a warlock infiltrating Rokuri University, considered the pinnacle of magical education in Galos. What was even more shocking was that instead of merely stealing research data or information, the major departments had been completely subsumed, effectively betraying the university.
This had led to an atmosphere of mistrust and suspicion among the university’s members, pushing them to the brink of a civil war.
The events were truly horrifying, even more so when considering that they had occurred in a foreign land.
A warlock infiltrating Rokuri University, the zenith of the magical society, and taking control of major departments was almost unbelievable.
Carver had even received prior information about the Lake Village incident through the magical network.
‘Maybe I’m subconsciously denying it.’ Carver thought to himself.
Recent research had suggested that the human brain might not fully process facts when exposed to an overwhelming shock, as a way to cope with excessive stress.
‘And this must be along the same lines.’
Carver checked the time for his upcoming appointment once again. It was about time for—
-Chick! Chick!
[Minister, your scheduled guest has arrived.]
The secretary’s voice emanated from the audio device linked to the desk.
Carver released a deep sigh, adjusted his clothing, and rose from his chair. As much as it was a hassle, it was only proper to extend a courteous welcome to such an esteemed guest.
“Let them in,” he responded through the audio device. A moment later, the door swung open, and the guest entered.
It was none other than Dave, one of Landa’s top solvers.
‘Or perhaps a Pseudo-god…’
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Dave, or rather, Oliver, entered the minister’s office, tapping the floor lightly with his quarterstaff, and greeted Carver with respect.
“Hello, Minister.”
“Hello, Dave. May I call you Dave?”
“Please call me Dave, as I am using that name currently.”
While his words may have seemed audacious, Carver remained unfazed and comfortable. It underscored the importance of a person’s usual demeanor.
‘And the same goes for cities.’
As Carver contemplated this, Oliver initiated the conversation.
“Did I happen to interrupt you at a busy time?”
Carver followed Oliver’s gaze to the items on his desk.
“Don’t worry about it. I was just reading the newspaper. The busy ones are my subordinates downstairs.”
“I see. May I ask what these are?”
Oliver pointed to several cans of preserved food, tube-like containers resembling toothpaste, biscuits, chocolate, instant coffee, and small packets of margarine scattered on one side of the desk.
“Ah, those are samples of combat rations to be supplied to the city’s defense forces. I was having them for lunch.”
“Do you enjoy combat rations?”
“No, I don’t. I’ve disliked them even more since joining the military.”
“Ah, then why eat them?”
“To find out which is less unpalatable. After all, the only pleasure for a soldier is in eating. I don’t have the authority to decide, but I’d like to know.”
“I see. Is it to your taste?”
“Not really. Would you like to try some, Mr. Dave?”
Carver gestured toward an unopened packet of extra combat rations.
“May I?”
“Why not? You may never get a chance to try them again.”
(To be Continued)
