“They use people as sacrifices.”

The moment the words left his mouth, Martiana sucked in a sharp breath.

The thought was too horrific—too impossible to accept.

People as sacrifices? Heretics?

“Does that really exist?”

In this day and age?

She had never heard of such a thing. If she had, it would have been in ancient accounts, such as those about the early history of the temple or the war between the temple and the heretics — subjects she had studied at seminary.

It was only natural that she could not hide her shock. Anyone would react the same. Those who had spent most of their lives within the temple were different, though.

“They exist. Even now.”

“That is one of the reasons the holy knights exist,” Melissa added quietly. “Beyond guarding the temple, they are trained to eradicate heresy.”

“That’s… I didn’t know.”

Martiana answered blankly.

With both Lawrence and Melissa having confirmed it, it must be true. And yet it still felt unreal.

Heresy.

According to what she had been taught, it was a belief that should never be embraced.

Those who defiled the gods by dabbling in corrupt arts.

She remembered the priest who had taught her growing visibly angry whenever he spoke of it.

‘What had he said?’

They were ingrates.

It was a priest who had unearthed the ancient remains, bringing heresy back into the world.

In other words, the roots of heresy lay within the temple itself.

“Then the one targeting priests… it’s because they’re heretics?”

Martiana’s question escaped her lips as little more than a murmur.

It was a natural conclusion. The connection between heretics and priests ran deep and was woven through history.

If you traced it back to how the founder of heresy became involved, the answer became clear. That was the very foundation on which it had been created.

“Perhaps. They hate priests.”

Lawrence responded calmly.

Of course, it hadn’t begun with hatred. After all, given that the founder of the heresy had once been a priest himself, one could argue that he had once loved the temple.

He had been devout. He was respected. He was praised by those around him.

But—

“He was consumed by jealousy.”

That was the problem.

He had grown resentful of priests whose abilities surpassed his own.

It was inevitable. The temple valued healing power above all else.

Even though he envied others, what could he do? He lacked the gift himself. He could not rise higher in rank.

They said that this had driven him to heresy.

“Do they know how he came into contact with it?”

“No. That part remains unknown.”

Nothing had ever been uncovered.

Lawrence shook his head slowly.

Despite gathering every scrap of information possible in order to eradicate heresy, the Temple still had many unanswered questions: How had it been discovered? How did they recruit followers? And what methods did they use? None of it was clear.

The only thing that had been confirmed was the symbol that was now in Lawrence’s hand.

“They say the inverted moon represents the temple turned upside down, and the tree beneath it signifies the roots of heresy.”

And—

“What we do know is what the first heretic desired.”

Lawrence muttered, recalling something he had once heard in passing.

Martiana lowered her gaze, her face stiff.

“I don’t know what that is.”

“You were taught. You don’t remember?”

“No.”

Her violet eyes shifted uncertainly. As far as her knowledge of heresy went, that was all she knew.

She was sure that she had learnt about it. So why couldn’t she remember?

Unexpectedly, the answer came from Melissa.

“That part would not have been taught at the seminary.”

“Why?”

“It’s considered dangerous. I only learned it after becoming a holy knight.”

Perhaps they feared that idle curiosity could lead someone astray.

Melissa spoke briefly.

Martiana glanced at her, then turned to Lawrence with an enquiring look. If she had been alone, she might have tried to figure it out herself, but with the answer standing before her, she did not want to.

Lawrence did not seem inclined to prolong the conversation either.

“He tried to accomplish what even a high priest cannot.”

“What a high priest cannot… Ah.”

As he repeated his words, he realized something.

There was one thing that not even a high priest, capable of curing all illnesses, could do. One thing beyond their healing power.

“Resurrect the dead?”

“More precisely—bring back those who have already died.”

Resurrection.

Lawrence let out a dry, incredulous laugh and shrugged slightly.

At the same time, Martiana began to tremble.

This time, the tremor was much stronger.

Her face had gone pale as she stared at him.

“Martiana? What’s wrong with you?”

Startled by the sudden change in her expression, Lawrence moved forward.

Something was wrong.

She was trembling uncontrollably, biting her lip and clutching her hands as though trying to steady herself.

She looked like someone who had just been told they were dying.

Then, in a voice that seemed on the verge of breaking, she asked,

“They’re trying to resurrect the dead?”

“Y-Yes.”

“And that’s why they attacked us?”

“Most likely.”

“Then the missing family members—don’t tell me they disappeared because of heretics?”

“What?”

“To use them as sacrifices?”

“W-What? Wait, Marie. That’s too—”

A leap.

That was what he had intended to say. But the words died in his throat the moment he met her gaze.

Everything she had concluded stemmed from what he had just told her.

Attack. Sacrifice. Missing family.

The words aligned too neatly in his mind, forming an inescapable pattern.

Lawrence dragged a rough hand down his face.

The truth was, he did not know.

He did not know if these incidents were connected or if there was any real reason for her to be trembling so violently.

After all, they—

“Ah.”

No.

We had a missing family member too.

Only—ours had vanished long ago. Long enough that the thought of becoming a sacrifice had never—

“Ah.”

No.

Hadn’t a child appeared who looked exactly like her?

They had yet to confirm whether she was truly theirs, but she might be their daughter.

Could this really be a coincidence?

“No, it can’t be. That child is with the Countess of Pumilum.”

Lawrence waved his hand urgently, trying to steady his visibly shaken sister. But Martiana’s next words cut him off.

“The Countess of Pumilum. She’s a heretic.”

“What?”

“The cloak fragment in your hand. It hasn’t looked whole to me from the start. It’s black. Just like what I saw where Ramelata was.”

***

“God!”

A deafening cry rent the air as countless hands reached towards the ceiling.

It was a staggering sight.

Dozens of people knelt on the floor, shouting in unison.

“Our God! Our God!”

Their voices thundered against the stone walls. Their fingers clawed at the empty air as though grasping for something invisible. Their eyes burned with madness; they were desperate not to lose sight of whatever it was they were seeking.

Some twisted their bodies, unable to contain their fervor.

They all raised their voices towards a single point.

“Protect us! Reward our faith!”

The altar of an abandoned temple.

“Grant our wish!”

Before it stood the statue of an unknown god.

“Please! Please!”

Behind it hung the symbol of the inverted moon and the tree.

And toward it, the people poured out their pleas.

“God!”

Ramelata stood among them.

Drenched in sweat and with a sore throat from shouting with the others, she stood out.

Only when she realized that the child who should have been beside her was nowhere to be seen did the child withdraw from the crowd.

“Alex!”

Her voice rang out sharply as she searched.

The boy was in a far corner of the building.

He was curled up tightly, as though the sounds inside were the most terrifying thing in the world.

“What are you doing here?”

Ramelata clicked her tongue irritably at the sight. It was the same reaction she had every time her son resisted attending worship.

“Come.”

“N-No, Mother. I don’t want to. I won’t. I’m scared.”

The child struggled beneath her grip, eyes brimming with fear as he looked up at her.

Ramelata could not understand what frightened him so deeply.

“What did I tell you, Alex? If you want to go home, what must you do?”

“I—I have to get better. I have to…”

“Yes. And to get better, you must purify both body and heart. Stop arguing and come.”

She pulled him forward roughly.

They had barely taken a few steps when she was forced to stop.

“Countess, a moment of your time.”

Someone had called out to her.

Ramelata released her son’s arm and turned with clear irritation.

“What is it?”

Her personal physician stood there, dressed in black from head to toe, as usual.

Despite knowing him for years, she still did not know his real name. She had never seen his face either.

He approached her slowly and deliberately.

“News has arrived.”