Chapter Thirty-Four: The Blasphemer

Attentive Lin Qi on the left and obsequious Enzo on the right, the two of them supported Kocha as they exited the boys’ dormitory and walked along the freshly swept avenue toward the Master’s Tower. Kocha was in unusually high spirits and, to Lin Qi’s surprise, exchanged many words with him along the way.

From Kocha, Lin Qi learned that the master had, astonishingly, waited for him in the dormitory since the previous night. But Lin Qi had been out carousing at the Lame Man’s Tavern with the Iron Fist Brotherhood’s core members, and hadn’t returned to his room; so Kocha had simply waited for him all night. Hearing this, Lin Qi was genuinely moved. The esteemed master of secret elixirs had waited all night just to deliver a potion of great benefit to him! For a fleeting moment, Lin Qi felt a pang of guilt for all the perks he’d embezzled from Master Kocha.

But that minor twinge vanished without a trace. Kocha had the entire empire’s treasury at his back—what harm was there in taking a little advantage? Besides, Lin Qi had served him for three years, suffering serious injuries more than once, and countless lesser wounds, living each day under the threat of fireballs. Given the physical scars and mental torment, that bottle of Magic Tiger Elixir was nothing less than his rightful compensation.

Lin Qi and Master Kocha chatted amiably, while Enzo flattered from the side. Usually, Enzo was resolute and unyielding, a blade that could not be bent. But under the powerful allure of the Magic Tiger Elixir, he became even more sycophantic than Grom, lavishing praise upon Master Kocha, extolling him as the world’s greatest master of secret elixirs.

Kocha nodded in deep satisfaction, his hoarse, unpleasant voice rasping out a laugh, “The world’s number one master of secret elixirs? Perhaps that’s true? Hm, you do have an eye for talent. If you gather the ingredients next time and I make the elixir again, I’ll remember you.”

Enzo nodded eagerly, nearly venerating Master Kocha as his own ancestor.

The three arrived at the foot of the Master’s Tower. Suddenly, Kocha’s body stiffened, and Lin Qi and Enzo froze as well. The tower soared into the clouds, its northern face encased in thick frost from the biting wind and snow, giving it a striking appearance—half black, half white. The surrounding area was lush with trees, but only the single entrance opened onto a plaza about an acre in size.

On ordinary days, the plaza was deserted, watched over only by the silent statues around its edges. Today, however, it was crowded with clergy in black robes, a squad of knights clad in pure silver armor, and even a dozen or so red-robed inquisitors—the kind who struck terror into noble and commoner alike across the Western Continent. They were judges from the dreaded Holy Inquisition.

Kocha muttered under his breath, “Church officials? Why have they come here?” Lin Qi and Enzo’s legs nearly gave out. They suddenly recalled the thousand indulgence slips they’d sold a few days prior. The slips were identical in paper, script, and illustration to genuine church-issued indulgences, but in truth, they’d been printed by an underground workshop, and not a single coin from their sale had entered the church’s coffers.

Illicitly selling counterfeit indulgences was an unpardonable capital crime in the eyes of the Church—not even a genuine indulgence could absolve one of the sin of selling false ones.

Lin Qi and Enzo both prepared themselves to bolt at the first sign of trouble. But after a moment’s thought, they relaxed. This was the Master’s Tower, not their student dormitory. The Inquisition was clearly not here for them.

The three stood silently at the edge of the plaza, surrounded by nearly a hundred of the Fifth University’s staff, all standing quietly, not daring to make a sound. Lin Qi even spotted Mr. Gron, sweating profusely, as well as Marquis Brown, the university’s president, whom he’d only seen once when he first enrolled. Incredibly, there were also two imperial ministers, resplendent in sashes and formal attire. Judging by the color of their sashes, they were high-ranking civil officials.

Dozens of the Church’s iron cross banners emblazoned with the blazing sigil of retribution fluttered in the wind, their iron-blooded holy crosses wreathed in crimson flame—a jarring sight. Everyone held their breath; no one dared to speak loudly. The iron cross banner was the symbol of the Inquisition, and anyone who crossed them would be hunted to the ends of the earth by the Church. No one had ever escaped their grasp.

After a long, suffocating silence, a hoarse, desperate scream erupted from within the Master’s Tower.

“I am innocent! I am innocent! What I speak is the truth! Your doctrines are nothing but hollow lies! I am innocent—I am innocent! We do not live on a flat continent! The sun in the sky, and the stars—they all…”

The screams were abruptly cut off. A squad of armored church knights emerged from the tower, dragging a small, large-headed old man. His mouth was stuffed with a rag; he struggled frantically, but was no match for the knights.

“In the name of God, arrest this heretic who spreads the doctrines of demons!”

A red-robed inquisitor, his chest adorned with a fist-sized iron-blooded cross ringed with thorns, his very presence suffocating, intoned coldly, “This matter requires an explanation from the Gallian Empire. How could such a heretic, this blasphemous defiler, be sheltered so long within your domain?”

Marquis Brown, president of the Fifth University, stammered, “Your Excellency, he—he is a metallurgy expert the empire has retained.”

The red-robed priest sneered, gesturing for the clergy to escort the captive old man away. His voice was chilling: “A metallurgy expert? Repent, you mortals bewitched by demons. If you cannot see his true nature, you too shall face judgment. For those blind to the blasphemer’s identity have surely already been corrupted.”

Marquis Brown trembled from head to foot at the priest’s words, bowing his head in terror, not daring to speak again.

The two ministers, their sashes across their chests, exchanged glances and likewise bowed in fear. Even as imperial ministers, they were as powerless as dried leaves in the wind before the authority of the Church.

The clergy departed in formation, the highest-ranking inquisitor in his blood-red robes bringing up the rear. His cold, pitiless eyes, like those of a venomous serpent, swept slowly over everyone present. His gaze lingered briefly on Master Kocha, who bowed deeply in respect.

The inquisitor paused before Kocha and spoke in a sinister tone, “Every blasphemer shall burn on the pyre!”

Master Kocha bent even lower, yielding in submission to the priest.