43

  Pope George sat heavily in his office chair, forehead furrowed, his breath slow and burdened. Never before had the weight of leadership pressed so heavily upon him. The return of Theodore—the Grandmaster of the Inquisitor Order—had shifted the balance of the ecclesiastical world, and George, for all his cunning, could not yet discern the man’s true intentions. Why did he seek an audience with the newly anointed Saint? There were rumors, of course—whispers that the Inquisitor Order had played some shadowy role in the Isildus incident—but no evidence had yet surfaced.

  The only report In his possession spoke of a fragment of armor, unmistakably of Inquisitor make, discovered amidst the ashen crater where a church once stood. Could Valentinus have forged a secret alliance with the Inquisitor? Or was this some elaborate misdirection, a red herring laid to distract? The Pope dared not assume either.

  A knock at the door pulled him from his thoughts. The door opened with its usual creak, revealing Hassan, bearing a stack of notes and documents requiring the Pope’s attention. The sight of him offered some small relief. Amid the vipers and whispers that filled the papal court, Hassan remained the only soul George trusted without question.

  The Pope had, on more than one occasion, asked the man what reward he might desire for such unflinching loyalty. Each time, Hassan replied simply:

  “Working with you is already a gift from God. I desire nothing more in this world.”

  It was poetic, perhaps overly so—but heartfelt. And the Pope had long since learned that forcing a gift upon someone who did not wish it only created burden, not gratitude. Sometimes he wondered what truly tethered Hassan to this place. Did he have a family? A daughter? A home beyond the palace walls? But such questions, though simple, felt too personal to ask.

  Hassan is not a Cardinal and technically not a part of the Diocese, he was a volunteer, an outside workforce that the church hired for clerical and administration purposes. so by that logic he wasn’t bound to the church rule on abstinence and can have a family. But it’s considered rude if the Pope asks about those things. Their relationship so far has been professional and The Pope believes that Hassan would mind if he suddenly asks a personal question like that.

  “So,” George said at last, “any complications with the Saint’s convoy to Avignon?”

  “They’ve nearly crossed the Corsican border,” Hassan replied, his voice as calm as ever. “Despite the tensions, our borders remain open. The old treaties still hold. If the Corsicans were to strike the convoy, the diplomatic consequences would be catastrophic—for them.”

  “We razed their cities and crushed their armies for years,” the Pope muttered, turning his gaze to the window. “Yet the death of a saint is a crime beyond even that?”

  “It remains uncertain whether Marshal Ipsilas’s claims are true or false. I must advise caution, Your Holiness. Best not to speak such things where others might hear.”

  “You’re right, of course. Innocent until proven guilty.” He sighed, rubbing his temples. “Tell me, Hassan, and be honest. What’s your opinion on the Inquisitor’s involvement in Isildus?”

  Hassan’s brows lifted, the question catching him off guard. “You mean the report from last week? About the Inquisitor armor found at the site?”

  He pulled a small leather-bound book from his chest pocket, flipping swiftly through its pages before continuing. “There’s no conclusive proof, but the presence of that armor is troubling. Neither Marshal Ipsilas nor Saint Sebastian have commented. Both avoid the question. Their silence speaks volumes.”

  “Forget the report. Speak from instinct. Do you believe they were involved?”

  Hassan glanced about the room, then nodded once, firmly. “Without question.”

  Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  A soft laugh escaped the Pope. “I knew it. I knew I wasn’t mad. That entire affair reeks. Valentinus didn’t have the means to orchestrate such chaos alone.”

  “But the why remains unanswered,” Hassan murmured, stroking his beard. “What was the purpose?”

  “The more pressing question is why our supposed victims—our saint among them—refuse to speak. Sebastian, after losing both his parents in the catastrophe, should be demanding justice. Instead, he hides from the spotlight, and accuses only Valentinus.”

  “You’re not suggesting—”

  This is what The Pope likes about Hassan. When they’re both discussing serious matters and putting their brains out on the table, he talks so casually despite the massive gap in their position in the church. He doesn’t need a mindless drone or even a yes man, he needs someone with a sharp mind like Hassan that can help him navigate this treacherous water. What scary seas they’re sailing right now, full of massive fish hiding beneath the surface and tornadoes that come and go as they please.

  “I think you know exactly what I’m suggesting.” The Pope leaned back in his chair, his expression darkening. “You have a contact in the convoy, don’t you? Let them chirp quietly. Report back the moment they learn anything of value.”

  *

  Theodore stepped into his chamber, his body still steaming from the exertion of combat training. A faint heat clung to him, the scent of sweat and worn leather lingering in the air. Through the half-open warehouse doors, he glimpsed shattered training dummies—evidence of another’s rigorous discipline. Likely, it had been the war saint himself. A rare delight, Theodore thought, to see a so-called holy man training as earnestly as a soldier.

  He cleansed himself, dressed In his uniform, and fastened his blade to his hip. He would waste no time in idleness. The Grandmaster had returned to the seat of power, and he intended to remain—firmly and unchallenged.

  He needed to show to everyone else that he’s here to stay and for a long time. He sheathed his weapon on his hip and walked out from his room. In front of his room, there’s several inquisitor agents that’s already waiting for him. They immediately bow and to show their respect towards their Grandmaster, then they follow Theodore closely while keeping an eye on their surroundings.

  Despite being in the papal palace, they just can’t let their guard down. As far as they are concerned they’re in the enemy territories. Longinus' Order is still keeping an eye on them, closely, while the pope blatantly shows his disrespect towards Theodore. Even now after being recognized and forgiven by the mandate and decision of the Diocese, they still need to be cautious because friends and foe are something that’s very blurry in this place.

  Theodore walked into a room filled with several Cardinals. They’re all gathered here because Theodore called for their names and also because they’re all his assets in this place. Theodore holds his assets tightly, reminding them constantly who they belong to. Despite being a powerful Cardinal, these people in this room are reduced to being a pet for Theodore.

  Records of Corruption, abuse of power and many other of their sin are being held hostage on the great dragon fortress of the inquisitor order. Some cheered when Theodore entered the room, while others bowed their heads with a smile on their face. But Theodore knew who these people really were inside their hearts. If he doesn’t hold their weakness, these people would pounce on him like a starving rabid mongrel. Such is politics everywhere in the whole wide world, it’s not very much different from this situation right now.

  He seated himself at the head of the table. One by one, the cardinals took their places. The room fell into a hush.

  “Reports?” he asked, voice smooth as steel drawn in shadow.

  A Cardinal raises his hand to get Theodore's attention. He’s Rafael, a leader of Theodore cattle here in the Diocese. So far he’s the go to guy when it comes to managing intrigue and conspiracy inside the Diocese when Theodore was still outside being a fugitive. Now his position is in the grey zone since Theodore himself is now inside the papal palace leading the other Cardinal.

  “Grandmaster, I believe I have news of interest.”

  “Speak.”

  “We have made contact with our agent in Corsica. It shows that Marshal Ipsilas hasn't left his room in a very long time. The possibility of him slipping away from our watch is very high, so we conduct an investigation on his whereabouts. The agent managed to discover that there’s a hidden carriage that was leaving the place several days ago, heading north towards the port. Where the destination he’s trying to reach is still a mystery, but we suspect that he’s heading towards Avignon.”

  Theodore sat in quite for a moment. It seems that listening to his gut to monitor him was right. A man like Ipsilas won't stay still in one place for a very long time without doing anything. He’s planning something in Avignon, but what’s his motive is still a mystery for him.

  “The timing is too convenient to be coincidence,” he muttered. “He must have known the convoy’s route long before we did. Someone here is leaking information.”

  His gaze swept across the cardinals. None dared to meet his eyes.

  “Valentinus gave us little more than rumors. Ipsilas remains a ghost, elusive and silent. Every attempt to contact him fails. We must find him. We must cage him.”

  A timid voice broke the silence. “But Grandmaster, he’s never named the Inquisitors in the Isildus incident. Would it not be—unwise—to provoke—?”

  Theodore’s eyes snapped to the speaker.

  “Who gave you permission to speak?”

  The other cardinals around don’t dare to say anything. They’re all just lowering their gaze into the ground and hope that Theodore won't even look at them asking them to do something. But a fool like this Cardinal always shows up from time to time and their lives are like dust in the winds.

  “If he remains silent today, he will cry out tomorrow,” Theodore said coldly. “He holds a knife to our throat, and you suggest I look away?”

  The pressure from Theodore's voice can be felt shrinking every heart and courage that these Cardinals have inside their pitiful body. The Cardinal who spoke up earlier already became a mess. His body is trembling and sweats pour over his body like an open faucet.

  “Send word to Avignon. Locate Ipsilas. This will be our final attempt to bring him into the fold. Should he refuse…” Theodore’s voice lowered to a whisper, “then I want his head delivered to my chambers. Understood?”

  Every Cardinal in this room nodded their head in unison. Then Theodore sent his gaze back towards his untrained pet from before.

  Theodore slid a dagger across the table to the frightened cardinal. “It’s a shame,” he said smoothly, “that you fell down the stairs and severed your tongue. My condolences.”

  He stood and exited without another word.

  Moments later, a muffled scream echoed behind him.