Paladin of the Dead God

Naturally, there was no way Ciero could have evaded the Inquisitor.

When Ciero said he would “prepare to receive the Inquisitor” and went to gather his belongings, the Inquisitor was already waiting there.

The only saving grace was that Ciero’s actions were so delayed that it looked as if he had come to meet them, rather than being caught while attempting to flee.

“Priest Ciero, it’s an honor to meet you. My name is Saltna Culvain.”

The man who greeted him politely was a man in his thirties with a broad build and an ordinary, gentle appearance—hardly what one would expect of an Inquisitor.

However, the moment Ciero saw the red raven insignia on his shoulder, he felt as if his breath had been taken away.

Among Inquisitors, those who belonged to the central branch and worked directly under the Holy See were known as the executioners of the Church. This insignia was their symbol.

When Ciero froze and couldn’t even greet him properly, Saltna clapped his hands with a gentle smile. It was only then that Ciero snapped back to his senses and managed to catch his breath.

“It seems I startled you by coming unexpectedly. But there’s no need to be tense. We did not come here just to see you, Priest Ciero. Well, I suppose I can’t say ‘not at all.’ We’re also here to commend your excellent character and achievements.”

“Amidst the chaos caused by the Immortal Order’s wicked schemes, which scattered the Dawn Army like lost sheep, it was you alone who, like a steadfast lighthouse, defended Kran Fortress from the storm of death and cold. It is an achievement worthy of praise. Even the angels must be pleased.”

Ciero wondered how these rumors had become so distorted.

He had been dragged along by Isaac, and it was Isaac who had defended the fortress. Ultimately, it was the army of Elil, summoned by Isaac, that had saved the fortress. All Ciero had done was cry and be dragged along.

He quickly realized that his thoughts didn’t matter.

Once the Inquisitor spoke, the truth was irrelevant.

It meant that the Church had concluded, “This is the truth.”

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“I am grateful for the Church’s holy grace.”

A few days ago, Ciero would have been pleased with such easy-earned merits. However, now, every word felt like he was spitting out prickly chestnut burrs.

Saltna folded his hands neatly, his smile faint.

“Furthermore, with the miracle manifesting upon your body, no one can question your authority any longer, Priest Ciero. If you continue to accumulate such achievements, I expect that when the Millennium Kingdom is finally established, you, too, will have your name called near the high throne. I feel excited just imagining that.”

“Thank, thank you…”

When the Holy body was mentioned, Ciero reflexively clasped his hands together, fidgeting with them. The Holy body was the only part of him that he could stand tall before the Inquisitor.

Even as the praise continued, Ciero couldn’t relax for a moment. Words of commendation like these could easily be conveyed by sending a messenger priest. The fact that an Inquisitor, especially one from the central branch, had been dispatched meant that someone was almost certainly going to be brought down.

“By the way, I heard you recently met an esteemed figure.”

Ciero, who had been tensed, expecting Saltna’s eyelids to shoot needles or his fingers to spray poison at any moment, was startled by the unexpected words.

It was clear whom he was referring to.

“Are you talking about His Majesty Edelred?”

Saltna paused briefly before continuing with a smile.

“Yes. I heard you met Sir Isaac Issacrea.”

Once again, Ciero’s words were corrected by the Inquisitor.

If he denied it here, the Inquisitor might use his bizarre methods to extract the “truth” from him, so Ciero nodded fervently.

“Yes, yes! That’s right. The Holy Grail Knight visited me…”

Ciero had been about to praise Isaac when he suddenly wondered, ‘Why are the Inquisitors looking for him?’

Come to think of it, the events here were clearly Isaac’s achievements, yet they were trying to bury that fact and give the credit to him instead.

Realizing this, Ciero suddenly felt a chill run down his spine.

If his suspicion was correct, then Isaac wasn’t an ordinary Holy Knight. No, he was something even more unsettling. He had merely covered for Isaac because they were both Nephilim.

“Me? What was I about to say? Priest Ciero?”

“…He helped me! He ‘assisted’ in defending Kran Fortress.”

But Ciero didn’t dare correct the “truth” in front of the Inquisitor, so he offered a reasonable compromise. He defended Kran Fortress. Isaac only assisted.

‘Could the Church be trying to keep Isaac in check?’

Ciero, who had a knack for scheming and manipulation, quickly grasped the situation.

Isaac’s Issacrea Dawn Army was making great strides and doing well. Meanwhile, Ciero’s Dawn Army had suffered an absurdly devastating defeat.

It was likely the Church wasn’t pleased with this situation.

“I see. But I don’t think it compares to Priest Ciero’s exploits. How could the achievements of one who borrowed the power of heretics be worthy of praise?”

There was a strange sense of containment in his words. Ciero felt as if he had been struck by lightning.

‘Could it be… the Holy See is trying to pit the Ciero Dawn Army against the Issacrea Dawn Army?’

The absurdity of the situation sent chills through Ciero. If that was the case, then he would have to dive even more zealously into the anti-Immortal Order movement that Isaac had instructed him to lead, setting aside the ‘resistance movement.’

However, Saltna’s subsequent questions pointed to an even more dangerous area.

“While observing the Holy Grail Knight, did you notice anything unusual? Like reciting unknown prayers, having suspicious familiars, or possessing uncommon knowledge?”

As soon as the overtly targeted questions came out, Ciero wanted to run away. For an Inquisitor to ask such questions meant, “Just give us anything, before we squeeze the truth out of you.”

Saltna’s eyes began to widen little by little as he questioned Ciero. It was only then that Ciero looked Saltna directly in the eyes for the first time.

Eyes gleaming unnaturally, like glass marbles.

The pupils that were said to appear only in the most devout fanatics of the Codex of Light.

“I-I’m not sure. It seems improper to associate with a Holy Knight who mingles with heretics, as you said.”

“Is that so? But I heard that Priest Ciero had a rather unique interpretation of the ominous black pillar that appeared in Kran Fortress. Weren’t you quite close to the Holy Grail Knight?”

Ciero felt as if his knees were about to give out.

Had they already interrogated the other soldiers?

Saltna advanced a step toward Ciero, his glassy eyes glinting. Ciero involuntarily recoiled, only to realize that other Inquisitors had surrounded him at a short distance.

If he so much as muttered a single prayer, they would draw their daggers and plunge them into his throat.

“Did it bleed? What color was the blood? The reports on the color of the iris were all different; which one is correct? There’s also a report that you had a private meeting with the heretic Batenna Kran—what did you talk about? I heard you were afflicted with a powerful curse. Do you know what kind of curse it was?”

A torrent of questions rained down upon him. It felt as if each word pierced through Ciero’s heart, gouging it out.

He realized he had been under a grand illusion. The Holy body alone couldn’t protect him from the Church. After all, what had happened when the Emperor tried to ram the Holy See with his horn?

Ciero felt the urge to vomit up not blood, but blasphemous truths.

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