Chapter 65…………………….
Pefin quickly composed her expression and recorded the Grand Duke’s words onto a stone tablet.
“Tell Archbishop Viktor that the plague spreading across the land is the work of magicians. Specify that this was discovered in the Grand Duchy. And hand out a massive amount of donations too.”
Damn old bastard. He’ll be overjoyed.
Archbishop Viktor had played a huge role in diminishing the influence of the Erydrahan Church. Unlike his younger brother, Rector Wilbert, he was in a completely different league.
After all, who would respect a man who sold the priests’ holy power for money?
But in any place, merchants prevail more often than saints. At least within the Erydrahan Church, Viktor’s influence couldn’t be ignored.
Even the fact that he had traded with the Grand Duke for the Expedition of Glory proved it. How great a feat it was—using the Elector’s support to spread the authority of the Erydrahan Church into the unbelievers’ continent.
And now, this incident would serve as yet another opportunity for Archbishop Viktor to gain power.
“And select the priest within the citadel whose holy power seems the most convincing, and have him accompany me. The rest—make them all treat the plague.”
One couldn’t go against demons without a priest. Of course, if the plague was also rampant on the road to Arnsberg, then the Grand Duke had to personally intervene to resolve her lands’ troubles.
She fully intended to wring every last drop of service from the priests, commensurate with the donations she had made to the Erydrahan Church.
“Riette.”
“Yes.”
“You’ll come with me as well.”
Riette, who had run nonstop for a million cubits, looked like she was about to die.
Pefin snickered softly. Good sisters always rejoice in each other’s misfortune.
The Grand Duke smiled, though her mind was racing.
It had been over a hundred years since magicians disappeared from the Empire. Nothing about them could be taken for granted. That was why she had resolved to go to Arnsberg herself.
There’s a chance we could be counterattacked.
She asked herself—if she were Prince Elio, what would she do?
She, too, had much to lose. And Prince Elio was not the sort to let any opportunity slip through his fingers.
She had to strike first, before he did. For now, it was certain that she was still ahead.
“Bring Lahan’s adjutant as well. Herris, was it? I want to hear firsthand about what happened during the expedition.”
“Yes, ma’am!”
Riette saluted and departed.
But the Grand Duke’s concerns materialized far sooner than expected.
* * *
What are demons?
Few knew their true origins.
They had disappeared from the earth over a hundred years ago along with the magicians, largely because the Foldenbach Empire had prohibited research into them.
Thus, the knowledge that remained in the Empire about demons was limited: that they fed upon human suffering, fear, grief, and every sort of negative emotion—and that they spread plague wherever they went.
In a way, perhaps Herbert—father of Philrod Aachen—was the one man who knew the most about demons in the Empire today.
Twenty years ago, he had encountered magicians for the first time.
For the unremarkable second son of the wealthy, prosperous Aachen Ducal House, who had received nothing and possessed no special talents, perhaps their appearance was inevitable.
The magicians had first introduced themselves as assassins from Til Neve Cedric.
Herbert asked them to kill his elder brother. But he also added that it must not look like a deliberate murder.
If they had truly been Til Neve Cedric’s assassins, they would have scoffed at such a request.
Instead, they pondered for a moment and then answered: “There may be a way.”
[In truth, we have made a contract with the great Ruler of the Depths. A joyous matter indeed.]
The great Ruler of the Depths.
Even young Herbert knew that meant a demon.
He recoiled in fear. But the magicians tempted him with persuasive words:
“Oh, noble one. It is not worthier merit but merely the accident of time’s choice. If everything must be given simply because one was born first, why then does the fruit tree not bear just one, but hundreds of fruits?”
Of course Herbert Aachen was swayed. More precisely, he was swayed by their promise to “make it look like an illness.”
Richter Aachen was dead in exactly seven days. At first he merely felt weak, as though from a passing cold, then collapsed on the third day, and breathed his last on the fourth.
Herbert had to strain himself not to laugh amidst the wailing cries that filled the Aachen ducal castle.
“Noble one, we can do so much more.”
The magicians even removed the former Duke, who had grown stricter toward his second son after the sudden death of the heir.
Many pitied the old Duke who lost his mind with grief after his eldest’s death. None suspected demons’ handiwork.
Thanks to them, Herbert obtained the ducal seat. Richter Aachen’s widow left in tears for her family home.
If Herbert’s mistake lay anywhere, it was in failing to check whether she was pregnant. But at the time, Herbert was too ecstatic to care.
“What is it you want? I will give you gold and jewels aplenty.”
The magicians sneered.
“Noble one, what we desire is only more suffering.”
They said demons were born from the dregs left over after Erydrahan created mankind.
And so demons grew stronger by feeding on human agony and fear.
The magicians’ purpose was to draw power from demons, and in turn, dominate mankind and make them suffer.
At first, Herbert couldn’t understand what other people’s suffering had to do with helping him.
But when he voiced his doubts, a magician snickered and said:
“What humans call power is nothing but the ability to force others to obey absolutely. But if you think more fundamentally, power is nothing more than the means to inflict suffering at will.”
It almost made sense. Humans feared suffering, and so they obeyed the strong. By that logic, the magician’s words held truth.
“Then what is the ultimate goal of the demons?”
The magician’s answer was brief:
“In time, you will come to know.”
In the twenty years Herbert spent with them, he delivered untold suffering into their hands.
Magicians contracted with demons had eyes that gleamed blood-red, so they could not show themselves openly.
But after meeting Herbert, it changed. With his noble guarantee, the magicians could travel across the Empire without passing through inspections.
The thaw of Norwich March’s desolate snowfield, which had not melted for a thousand years, was their doing.
When snow failed to fall where it should, the March suffered drought.
Peasants starved to death, and the magicians rejoiced. Demons feasted on the endless funerals.
Plagues, droughts, barbarism and intrigue. Deception and contempt.
The more such things flourished, the more Herbert deluded himself that all of it was his power. He found it delightful and exhilarating.
But those golden years lasted only twenty-odd years.
“Damn nuisance.”
Philrod Aachen muttered irritably.
He was in a small city along the royal road from the Imperial Capital to the Grand Duchy of Racheiz.
In its finest inn, a great crowd had gathered today: knights of the Emperor and knights of the Aachen Ducal House were staying there.
Among them was Philrod Aachen, returning from Windrock Monastery to the Aachen Ducal Castle.
And there he was, doing something that would have made the castle servants rub their eyes in disbelief.
He was pouring water into a basin himself.
The man who never lifted a finger, secretly called “the lazy pig” by the servants, was preparing to wash himself alone.
Not, of course, because he had suddenly reformed.
