She remembered his reaction when she had firmly replied that there was no such way. The way he had hesitated, the way it had seemed as if her words had hurt him deeply.

He should have given up then, but instead he decided to find his own answer to a question that had no answer and try to force it on her. Vienny’s eyes hardened.

Just then she heard the distant cawing of a crow.

Vienny calmly looked up at the familiar flapping of wings before raising her hand to the sky. As if on cue, the crow flew straight to her outstretched hand.

Its sharp beak pecked at her hand, sending a bright red stream of blood running down it, but she didn’t flinch, holding her hand tightly.

The crow, its eyes red, flew straight up into the sky and then took off, flying purposefully towards some destination.

She watched the crow until it was a black dot, then until it was gone, her gaze fixed in the direction it had flown.

* * *

Even without the flames burning, the acrid smell was always around him. He had been breathing that smell for months, the air practically saturated with smoke.

It was so familiar by now that it didn’t even cause him to furrow his brow.

McClart tilted his head from side to side, loosening the stiffness in his neck muscles. All around him was numb and empty.

“Macleart, a letter has arrived.”

With the creak of an old hinge, one of his subordinates appeared. This was the one responsible for delivering McClart’s regular letters.

The contents of the letters were always similar, and this one would be no different.

Maclart cut the envelope cleanly, but paused for a long moment, just staring at it.

“Interrogator, I can heal the body, but not the heart.”

He remembered Moiria’s words. When had she said that?

It must have been during their time at Rave Castle. After they had rescued Vienny from the witches, during those relatively peaceful days.

“The heart?”

Moiria had replied rather firmly.

“I understand that you don’t know anything about women, but don’t put the responsibility on me.”

It had seemed like nonsense at the time, so he had put it aside. But if he’d known how long Vienny would remain unconscious – if he’d known he wouldn’t be able to say a word to her – he wouldn’t have dismissed it so easily.

Mclart clenched his teeth, his fingers fidgeting with the envelope, unable to bring himself to take out the letter inside.

There was noise outside. It wouldn’t be long before the place he was hiding was discovered. Where would he go next? What would he set on fire this time?

In the past six months, he had burned down more monasteries and temples than he could count on both hands. How much longer would he have to go on? McClart pressed his tired eyelids together with his index finger.

Uncovering the High Priest’s secret had been easier than expected, thanks to the extensive information Pepin had left in his notebook.

Through it, McClart understood why Pepin had held such a privileged position with the High Priest – Pepin had been the only human to witness the High Priest’s ageing.

The High Priest’s unchanging appearance was both a symbol of God’s eternal blessing and living proof of his undiminished divine power.

No follower of Chiron had ever imagined that the High Priest would age; such a thought would have been considered heretical. McClart was no different – throughout his life the High Priest had remained unchanged, occupying the same place, always the same.

Exactly when the time he thought had stopped forever began to flow again, Macleart did not know. But it was clear that the High Priest was losing the blessing of God.

“The High Priest is struggling to retain the divine blessing given to mankind.”

From Pepin’s words, it seemed that the High Priest had sought many ways to keep God’s blessing alive. And the result was the Holy War. The High Priest sought to gather and bind the scattered power of God on the land.

According to Pepin’s recent writings, even the demons faced the same problem.

Originally, demons served as vessels for magic, but it is recorded that they gave up being the vessels themselves and passed that role on to the High Priest. What they needed was a vessel, and since the High Priest could use that power to stop the flow of time, both sides found it a mutually agreeable deal.

The demons, it seemed, were willing to go to any lengths to maintain their magical power. The only problem was that this decision hadn’t been unanimous among their kin, and was something of an independent, divisive decision. And the witches…

There were many records of research into the witches, but few offered anything conclusive.

Towards the end, Pepin had written about the “descendant of the witch who did not inherit the power”, noting that it was a strange occurrence. He hypothesised that much like the Demons and Chiron, the Witch’s line was losing its power, as evidenced by the fact that the descendants of the new Great Witch did not inherit the magic.

Each of their respective powers was incomplete, and the High Priest sought to bring them together to create something perfect. He believed that this was the key to retaining God’s blessing.

And it was McClart who had ruined it all.

“How could you do such a thing?”

After learning that the goblet taken from the witches was in fact the lost Holy Grail mentioned in the scriptures,

“Macleart!”

It was McClart who filled the sacred goblet meant to hold the blood of the Great Witch with his own blood and handed it to the High Priest.

“How dare you defy the teachings of God and fall into darkness!”

The sacred goblet was tainted, and the power the High Priest had so painstakingly bound dissolved completely.

As a result, the High Priest was forced to live with time passing more quickly for him than for others. As Chiron’s followers witnessed his aging, they were shocked and split into two factions.

One faction interpreted the High Priest’s ageing as a sign of God’s wrath and chose to follow McClart of their own free will. Even without trying to lead them, Chiron’s followers split of their own accord, and the seeds of chaos were sown.

However, McClart did not lead those who followed him with any great ambition or purpose.

In truth, McClart’s actions had nothing to do with divine blessing or the end of the world.

After some hesitation, McClart finally took out the letter. The familiar handwriting of Moiria filled the page. It was a longer letter than usual.

As McClart read it, his calm expression began to waver slightly, ripples forming in his eyes. His grip on the letter tightened with each word.

It was only when he reached the final goodbye and the period at the end that McClart realised he had been holding his breath.

Unable to believe what he had read, he went over it again and again. He read it so many times that each letter seemed to be etched, frayed, into his mind. Only then did the suffocating tightness in his chest finally ease.

“Haa…”

The sigh he managed to exhale was entangled with the emotions that were wrapped tightly around him.

McClart folded the letter neatly, closed his eyes and stood in silence for a moment. Judging by the time it had taken for the letter to reach him, she must have recovered quite well by now.

A sense of relief, something he hadn’t felt once in the last six months, suddenly enveloped him.

He no longer had to go around setting fire to innocent monasteries and temples. Now there was only one place his footsteps had to take him. He tucked the letter into his cloak and rose.

He called to the subordinate waiting outside the door and informed him of their next destination, causing the subordinate’s eyes to widen in surprise.

Ignoring his shocked expression, McClart picked up his helmet. The surface was scratched, dulled and worn.

He lifted it with both hands, the weight of it settling heavily in his grip – almost as if it represented the weight of his sins.

“I will prepare immediately.”

Hearing his subordinate’s determined reply, McClart slowly put the helmet on. And as he always did, he prayed. He had done it all his life; even if it seemed hypocritical now, he couldn’t stop.

“Let us go.”

So, dear God.

“If we leave now, we can be there in two days.”

Do not forgive this wretched servant who has once again overstepped your bounds out of selfish desire.

“We will clear the way.”

Though my foolish soul may bear all corruption and depravity.

“Inquisitor, you need only fan the flames of judgement in the Great Hall.”

When this body falls, cast me into hell alone.

* * *

En was a mysterious woman.

“Oh dear, this time it’s a rabbit!”

“Ah… yes.”

En, crouched in the garden, smiled awkwardly as Corinne’s eyes widened in surprise.

No longer comfortable in her wheelchair, she had insisted on walking, using the exercise as an excuse to get out and tend to the garden. Every time she went out, animals would mysteriously appear nearby, as if summoned from nowhere.

Yesterday it had been a mouse the size of her fist that had frightened her enough to throw her bread basket. Today, thankfully, it was a rabbit.

“Stay still. I’ll call Hans to catch it. We can have rabbit stew for dinner…!”

Corinne gently put down the broom she had been holding. The rabbit looked plump and well-fed – more than fit for dinner.

With an excited look on her face, Corinne started to rush off to call Hans, but En jumped to her feet with a worried look on her face.

“Instead of… eating it!”

Startled by her own unexpectedly loud voice, En quickly covered her mouth. She hesitated, glancing at Corinne’s curious expression, before clearing her throat and continuing.