Demetrius knelt and examined Sebastian’s body. A low grunt escaped as Sebastian began to stir, struggling to move. Demetrius glanced at the Heart of Fear for a fraction of a second before turning away, his expression unreadable.

  Ipsilas, on the other hand, stood silently, his golden eyes scanning the nine knights atop the crater. His mind raced, calculating how strong each knight would be if he fought them one-on-one. He chuckled softly.

  True, all those Church knights were powerful, but they were still beneath him. However, if they decided to attack him at once—especially with Demetrius leading them—he estimated he could kill most of them before being subdued by Demetrius himself. That just showed how much confidence Ipsilas had in his own power.

  “Saint, you’re probably just exhausted after performing your first miracle,” Demetrius said, lifting Sebastian gently. “Rest for a while. I’ll take you back to Latinum.”

  He glanced back at Ipsilas with suspicion. “Destabilizing the Saint’s mana and breath with your Essence is a new low, even for you, Ipsilas.”

  “Hey, I’m the victim here! You invade this city and expect me to play nice?! That’s insanity!”

  “Explain.”

  “Peter sent you a letter condemning Cardinal Valentinus for heresy, right? All of this was his doing! This is an invasion of the Kingdom of Corsica!”

  Demetrius looked at Ipsilas with unsettling calm, his voice cold and deliberate. “Peter is a heretic. I came here because he confessed in his letter that he was hiding the Saint from the Church.”

  He paused for effect. “As for Valentinus... we had no prior information about this incident. No suspicion of heresy had been raised. He acted on his own. Cardinals operate independently and don’t require Church approval for their actions. Responsibility falls on the Dukedom. This is Duke Kleon’s territory. If he suspected heretical activity, he could have submitted a formal request to the Pope for an investigation into Cardinal Valentinus.”

  Ipsilas froze. Peter had pulled a fast one on him.

  This ruined everything. Ipsilas had planned to let the Church brand Valentinus a heretic, prompting them to send troops to Isildus under the guise of purging heresy. Ipsilas would have then exposed the Church’s connection to Valentinus’ campaign and used it as proof that they were supporting his actions.

  “SO YOU’RE JUST GOING TO WASH YOUR HANDS CLEAN OF THIS INCIDENT?! THE WHOLE STAMPEDE FOR THE PAST SIX YEARS WAS CAUSED BY HIM!”

  “IF that’s true, the Church will conduct an independent investigation.” Demetrius crossed his arms. “But I don’t have the authority to declare Valentinus a heretic or mastermind behind this incident.”

  Ipsilas clenched his teeth but remained calm. His plan had failed, but the damage was already done. Rumors of corruption and abuse of power would spread. He had cracked the fragile peace that chained the kingdom. Something would come of this chaos—and Ipsilas would make sure it did.

  “Now,” Demetrius said, his tone sharp, “are you finished? I believe that relic belongs to the Dukedom. I suggest you keep it sealed away. I can feel unholy power radiating from it.”

  Ipsilas grinned. Demetrius had just made his first political move. By implying the relic was Corsican property, Demetrius was subtly blaming the Kingdom of Corsica for the entire incident, suggesting that Duke Kleon had orchestrated everything.

  But Ipsilas couldn’t leave the Heart of Fear behind. He needed it for his greater plans.

  “I have nothing more to say. I’ll inform the Pope, and we’ll see where this goes.”

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  “I won’t forget this,” Ipsilas said with a smirk. “This is a blatant Church transgression against the Kingdom of Corsica. Despite the peace treaty, you’ve invaded our land. You’ll pay for this.”

  “As I said, I have nothing more to say. Let our diplomats handle this.”

  Demetrius lifted Sebastian’s limp body. However, Sebastian wasn’t satisfied. His eyes fluttered open, and with all his might, he tried to reach Ipsilas—but his body refused to move. Ipsilas gave him a small wave and a mocking smile as Sebastian was carried away.

  The plan had failed, but the wheels were still in motion. This was just a setback. The groundwork for Ipsilas’ true goal was already in place.

  *

  Candlelight flickered in the dim room, illuminating a mountain of letters and paperwork on the desk. Pope George sat in his chair, his face dark with frustration.

  The letter he had just received from Demetrius made his head pound and his heart restless. It was a report on the Isildus incident—an account of Cardinal Valentinus’ conspiracy to use a cursed relic to cause the Stampedes for the past six years.

  “That old fox! What the hell was he thinking?!”

  Papers scattered to the floor as the Pope slammed his fist on the desk. Clearing up this mess would take years of careful maneuvering. Worse, just as the Church’s reputation had started to recover, this incident would stain it again.

  And then there was the Saint.

  A War Saint.

  It could be a blessing in these troubled times—or a terrifying omen of what was to come.

  “Sebastian... twelve years old this year. Now we have three living Saints in our midst. God, is this a sign that disaster is coming? Or am I just being paranoid?”

  A knock interrupted his thoughts. The door opened, revealing a tall, slender man carrying a letter.

  “Please tell me you have good news, Hassan.”

  “I’m afraid not, Your Holiness,” Hassan replied as he placed the letter on the Pope’s desk. “The Cardinal Council has decided to revive the Inquisitor Order. All previously excommunicated Inquisitors are now permitted to return to the Church. Their sins have been forgiven.”

  The Pope leaned back, wiping his face in disbelief. This was the first time the Cardinals had acted in unison. Normally, they were too busy scheming against each other to cooperate.

  “They’ve revived the Inquisitor Order,” the Pope muttered. “We’ll have to tread carefully.”

  Hassan nodded. “Shall we monitor them directly?”

  The Pope shook his head. “That would be foolish. They would expect it, and we’d gain nothing. Instead, send a delegation to meet with their Grandmaster.”

  Hassan raised a brow. “A formal delegation from the Diocese?”

  “No,” the Pope said, his voice firm. “They will represent me personally—not the Diocese.”

  “Understood,” Hassan replied. “I’ll make the arrangements.”

  “One more thing,” the Pope added. “Send our best diplomat to the Kingdom of Corsica. Form a special investigation team for the Isildus incident, and discreetly investigate the connection between the Inquisitors and the Cardinals who pushed for their revival.”

  Hassan bowed deeply. “As you wish, Your Holiness.”

  The Pope remained seated after Hassan left, a deep unease gnawing at his heart.

  He had always been able to predict how events would unfold—how the game would be played. But now, it felt like something was slipping through his grasp. Was he losing his edge? Or was there something unseen clouding his judgment?

  The Pope shook off the feeling. He had more pressing work to do. There was no time to waste.

  *

  High in the mountains, inside the Inquisitor Dragon stronghold, the Grandmaster stood in silence, watching his troops assemble. The air was thick with excitement as agents gathered to celebrate the revival of their order. A new age has come, at last.

  The door opened, and Constantia appeared, immediately prostrating herself on the ground.

  “You know the creed of our order, Constantia. The sin of one is the responsibility of all. Tell me—what should I do with you?”

  Constantia trembled, her voice barely a whisper. “H-Have m-mercy on me, Grandmaster.”

  “A little bird told me you encountered a Saint... a War Saint. Tell me, what kind of person is he?”

  “H-He’s just a boy, not even an adult yet,” she stammered.

  The Grandmaster burst into laughter, the sound echoing through the hall. Constantia prayed silently for mercy.

  “So you’re telling me... five of you lost to a child?!”

  Constantia gasped as the Grandmaster’s fury began to choke her, the pressure crushing her chest.

  “It wasn’t him who defeated us! It was Duke Kleon’s Marshal!”

  The Grandmaster’s eyes narrowed. “What’s his name?”

  “Ipsilas.”

  The Grandmaster’s expression darkened. “Ipsilas... interesting. I’ve heard that name before.”

  He turned and threw a collar on the ground—one Constantia feared more than anything. Without another word, he left the room, his message clear. But even as he walked away, his thoughts lingered on the Saint.

  He needed to meet Sebastian in person. And he couldn’t wait for that moment.

  Volume 1. Can't believe that we reached this milestone together! Please leave a review since it'll help me continuing this series by hearing your opinion about it! You can also DM me to share your thoughts and opinion about this series and what do you guys want to improve in term of writing or even story!

  1. Higher word count :

  2. Change in upload schedule :

  every day to Thursday - Sunday (4 chapter / week). This can change to 5 chapter / week, if I have accumulated enough backlog or I have reached volume 3.

  3. More detailed Action scene / chapter :

  4. Reducing the use of AI for proofreading :

  Thank you from the bottom of my heart, Kitsune Kisu.