Chapter 85
Creaaak—
Thud—
After handing the letter of appeal from Saint Devotio and the priests of the Eastern Diocese to the paladin on guard, Yustia and Eric waited quietly in the corridor outside the courtroom.
Not long after, with a heavy sound, the tightly shut doors of the tribunal swung open.
“…How did it go?”
From inside came faint murmuring—then, suddenly, silence fell like a weight.
Yustia looked anxiously toward the open door and whispered to Eric standing beside her.
He only gave a small shrug, wordlessly.
“What’s going on here?”
“How could they suddenly cancel the trial?”
“They didn’t even finish examining the evidence of heresy, yet they abruptly declared Gregory’s innocence? Is this just the Holy Father covering for an old acquaintance from his bishop days or what!?”
Soon, a group of paladins stormed out of the courtroom, faces hard and sharp.
Behind them followed a man, face flushed red, fists trembling with barely contained rage.
“…Watch your mouth. However you feel, slandering His Holiness isn’t something you can take back if anyone hears it.”
Even without judging by appearances alone, something about him made people instinctively want to keep their distance.
The small, rat-faced middle-aged man was none other than Bishop Impiatus himself.
Damn it. Why was the trial canceled? What was that paper the paladin brought in?
Everything had been going so smoothly.
They had the handwritten note from Gregory’s subordinate priest—who had been promised a future bishopric in return—and, more importantly, the forged letter created by the Empire’s best calligrapher, purchased for a fortune. It was a perfect piece of fake evidence, claiming Gregory had communicated with the Demon King’s forces.
They had even added “proof” through a member of the Anti-Goddess Alliance, showing traces of demonic energy on the forged paper.
All perfect. Yet before the evidence was even brought up in court, the trial had been abruptly called off.
Originally, I could’ve had Gregory imprisoned for several days—maybe even executed if things went well! But now… I’ll just have to erase the traces and run while I can—
Grinding his lips in frustration, Impiatus suddenly noticed Yustia and the young man beside her standing quietly at the end of the hall.
That damned heretic woman of the Goddess… and that young man standing proudly beside her… No way…
“…Eric Ather.”
“The Hero, isn’t it? Bishop Impiatus.”
Even though they had never met before, the bishop recognized him immediately.
Eric’s voice was calm, low enough for everyone to hear, but quiet enough that none dared interrupt.
“To falsely accuse an innocent man—
the Goddess will not forgive that.”
At those words, Impiatus’s expression twisted hideously.
But Eric ignored him and continued, in a tone so soft that only the bishop could hear it:
“Especially if the blasphemers behind it are already known to us.”
In that instant, Impiatus’s face went deathly pale.
The burning anger vanished, replaced by raw fear.
He… he knows? How much does he know!?
This wasn’t a bluff.
“Blasphemers.” He knew exactly what that word meant.
The Church’s new Hero knew that he had been conspiring with the Anti-Goddess Alliance.
I thought he was just that cursed crow’s puppet…
Eric Ather.
Of course, Impiatus knew all about the so-called wastrel second son of the Ather family—he had lived in the north for decades, after all.
When that fool was named the Church’s Hero thanks to Isabella’s interference, Impiatus had assumed he was just riding his father’s coattails.
Even when tales of Eric’s feats spread afterward, he dismissed them as exaggerated stories—credit taken from the Duke and Isabella’s real agents.
After all, every account—from the Dalnerim Forest, to his old diocese, to the fortress at Castrum—sounded impossible for a talentless man to accomplish.
Now that I think about it… wasn’t it this very fool who orchestrated the Second Princess’s intervention in the last trial?
He should’ve realized it then.
But his prejudice, fed by old rumors, had blinded him.
And now it was too late.
“…‘Blasphemers,’ you say? I think the young Hero is the one making baseless accusations.”
Their eyes locked for a long moment before Impiatus finally turned away with a curt remark.
He had to erase the evidence and flee—before anyone could trace the fake documents back to him.
“Lady Malefica.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Watching Impiatus disappear down the hall without looking back, Eric turned to Malefica.
“Could we perhaps assign a different inquisitor—or one of the shadow knights—instead of Lady Isabella?”
Since Impiatus had presented forged evidence for a second trial against Gregory, everything he had built in the Church would soon collapse.
But Eric had no intention of simply letting him escape.
He would pay for his slander against a cardinal—and through him, they could uncover the deeper network behind the plot.
“…Lady Isabella won’t like it, but since we’re at the Holy See anyway, I’ll see what I can do.”
Catching on to Eric’s intent, Malefica nodded after a brief moment of hesitation.
Step— Step—
While they discussed their next move, Gregory himself emerged from the courtroom, walking toward them.
“Ah, Cardinal Gregory.”
Hearing the familiar voice, Eric turned and smiled warmly at the old man.
“It must’ve been rough coming all the way here from the North again. You look even thinner than before.”
“How could I not? I knew the moment I left, those monsters would start swarming again.”
The old man’s tired face carried both fatigue and deep relief.
“I owe you again, young man.”
“Don’t mention it. I’ll probably need your help next time, so think of it as a trade. Besides, if you’re stuck here, the border will fall into chaos. My father will surely issue another draft, and I’d rather not be part of that mess without you there.”
Gregory chuckled and bowed his head sincerely.
Eric’s playful yet earnest words seemed to ease his heart.
“Hah, hearing that makes this old man feel a lot lighter. Still… what did you do exactly?”
“What do you mean?”
“Don’t play innocent. The trial! What did you hand that paladin that made the Pope’s face turn white?”
Recalling the sudden end to the trial, Gregory asked curiously.
“I didn’t do much. Just brought along some letters of appeal while I was down in the East.”
“Appeal letters?”
“Yes—one signed by Saint Devotio and all the priests of the Eastern Diocese.”
Eric said it casually, as if it were no big deal.
There was no need to hide it; soon, everyone in the Church would know what was written in those pages anyway.
“…What? That old man wrote me a letter of appeal? Even those priests under him?”
Gregory’s eyes widened in disbelief.
Devotio might not have been as infuriating as that lanky southern merchant bishop, but they had never exactly been close either.
The East, rich from trade with the Kingdom, and the North, struggling to feed itself due to monster raids and poor soil—
there had always been tension between them.
And yet, Devotio had put his entire diocese’s name on a petition in Gregory’s defense.
“Of course. No matter who it’s for, sincerity always finds its way.”
Eric smiled brightly, innocence itself.
Though it had taken no small effort to convince Devotio, that part wasn’t important now.
“Lord Eric.”
While he and Gregory were still talking, Malefica returned.
“Ah, Lady Malefica. How did it go?”
“Fortunately, another inquisitor has agreed to take the case. Lady Isabella left behind a detailed record of the investigation, so it shouldn’t take long to wrap things up.”
Eric nodded, satisfied.
At this time of year, there weren’t many inquisitors remaining at the Holy See—he could guess who it was.
Unlike Isabella, this one was more flexible, but still thorough enough that Impiatus wouldn’t escape judgment.
“Good. Then, let’s get going.”
“…Going? Where to?” Gregory asked, puzzled.
“Where else? To the carriage, of course.”
Eric gestured toward the carriage waiting at the entrance of the Vatican.
“The trial’s over. It’s time for you to return.”
He had stopped Impiatus’s scheme and overturned Gregory’s trial.
There was no more reason to linger here.
Even now, while they stood chatting, the Demon King’s armies were likely probing the northern border.
Or perhaps… war had already begun.
I finally came all this way to save Gregory, but if the border falls while I’m gone, all of it will have been for nothing. I need to hurry back.
Eric climbed into the carriage with the others, signaling to Leona on the driver’s seat.
“To the North.”
And as the horses began to move,
his gaze turned steadily toward the distant northern horizon.
