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“The magicians are in a frenzy.”

Juan Pablo Martinez’s voice had grown low. Renowned for his bluntness even within the Secretariat’s main office, today he brought an atmosphere colder than usual.

And no wonder, as he had been bombarded with all sorts of people since dawn.

“I’ve heard the news. People protested at the Academy again today. Was the visitor from the Sorcery faction?”

“Indeed, Sir Ranieri.”

The Inquisition’s forces had been scouring the areas where magicians resided for days now.

Anyone listed in the Magic Tower’s registry was a figure of respect—especially the Archmage, the Duke of the Northern Regions, who had permitted this search.

And then, there was the appearance of the Necromancer.

Given that the Inquisition and the Imperial Ministry of Magic had been hunting down secrets and suppressing magic for millennia, it was no surprise that the magicians were shaken.

Thus, it was to be expected that the wizards of the Magic Tower would voice their anxieties to Juan Pablo Martinez. After all, a civil servant’s job is to resolve the grievances of taxpaying citizens, and the Magic Tower was no different.

However, it was unusual that the highest-ranking personnel dispatched to the North was confronting Martinez, the nominal leader, rather than addressing the issues to him directly.

Raising their voices to someone from a family with no notable history, who happened to be the descendant of the revered Archmage, put them at odds with their own values.

To Francesca, this spectacle seemed ever so amusing.

So, she wore a smirk close to laughter as she offered some kind words.

“You must be having a tough time.”

“It’s always part of the job to handle the faction’s complaints, so you needn’t worry.”

“But?”

“The atmosphere is unsettling.”

Martinez began his report in a calm tone—his voice lacking any hint of joy, despair, fatigue, or anxiety.

“I’ve confirmed that the elders of the faction sent a letter to the Magic Tower. It seems they will request a re-examination of the remains discovered recently, which are evidence of the Necromancer’s activities in the North.”

“Is this an official complaint?”

“It’s not something officially declared yet. Neither the factions nor the Oracle have made their stances clear.”

If that voice were to be expressed musically, it might resemble a rhythmic pounding of the same notes at consistent intervals.

Francesca idly pondered this and nodded her head. Then, resting her chin on her hand, she casually spat out,

“Then we needn’t worry.”

“However…”

“With the three major factions and the Oracle yet to take a stance, is there really a need for the Secretariat to jump in first?”

“Aren’t the magicians feeling anxious?”

Martinez said, his hands neatly clasped together.

“The identity of the killer who murdered the magicians remains shrouded in mystery. The Inquisition is combing through the North, while the Empire stands idly by. Plus, evidence points to not only the undead but also the bodies presumed to belong to the Necromancer showing up—all of which the Inquisition conveniently discovered.”

“……”

“Today, representatives from the Sorcery faction asked me, ‘Where is the Mother of the Nation, the great Archmage Duke, at this time?'”

“And?”

“I told them the truth—I said the Secretariat is unaware of the Duke’s whereabouts.”

Martinez unfolded his hands, throwing his arms open wide as if to declare he had nothing to hide.

“Then the elders of the faction said this: ‘Could it be that the Duke has turned his back on the Tower—'”

“Enough.”

Francesca’s voice dripped with chill, sealing Martinez’s lips.

“Isn’t it ridiculous? Just ignore it, Sir Martinez. The Secretariat doesn’t have the luxury to dwell on such complaints right now.”

“Yes, I merely conveyed the facts. But please remember this.”

“…….”

“If the Duke is absent and we cannot receive the Oracle’s directives, then we magicians can only fully trust and depend on you, Sir Ranieri, and Sir Lisidike.”

“I understand. You may take your leave now.”

“Very well. Please take care, Sir Ranieri.”

Martinez respectfully bowed and exited the office.

Francesca rested her hand on her throbbing forehead as she watched him go. Then she let out a small groan before reaching for the phone resting in a corner of her drawer.

After a brief moment, the familiar voice came through the line.

-“Oh~ our cute little sister! What do I owe the pleasure of your call?”

“I’d like to meet for a moment.”

Francesca added, with just a hint of warmth.

“Sister Veronica.”

Episode 12 – The Mightiest Magician

The journey to meet Veronica was the most painful moment of all—mainly on a mental level.

It had only been this morning that she had become involved with Lucia, who had once served her and was now a Saint of the Cult.

To have taken away her beloved stepsister, whom Veronica adored and cherished to the extent of calling her his heart, and to have immediately jumped out the window like a pastor escaping to the afterlife upon being discovered in their affair—it left me feeling unable to face her.

“…Yeah. Okay. Let’s meet later.”

Opening the door with the heart of a cow being led to slaughter, I couldn’t evade Veronica’s gaze.

She was on the phone, smiling brightly for the first time in ages.

When our eyes met as I entered the office, she flashed a smile and briefly covered the receiver with her palm.

“Just a moment… I’m sorry, Colonel. I’m on a call, do you mind waiting a moment? I’ll be right with you.”

“…Umm, take your time.”

“Thanks! Feel free to enjoy coffee, tea, or drinks while you wait.”

Veronica offered me a drink with her beautiful, trademark smile. Yet, given the situation, it stirred an uncomfortable feeling within me.

What is this? Is she saying, ‘Take this and die comfortably,’ since I’ve been drugged?

I cast a slightly suspicious glance at the bottles, eventually pouring some brandy into a glass.

Carrying the glass, I moved towards the window to observe the outside view. I intended to lift my spirits, but unfortunately, we were at the Empire’s northernmost point.

Today, the murky Northern sky and grim gray city greeted me, and I took a sip of brandy, infusing my face with a gloomy expression as I gazed upon the eerie city.

The wine was splendid, just like what Saint Veronica would drink, but it didn’t quite lift my spirits.

“Hmm~ Have you been waiting long?”

“No, it wasn’t that boring.”

Veronica approached with a prancing gait.

Setting down a classic 1930s phone, she plopped down on the sofa, even going so far as to lounge halfway as if it were her own bedroom.

Knowing that no one in the Northern Regions would dare to rebuke her as a saint gave her the confidence to behave this way.

Of course, I was one to scold even a saint, but…

Today, I simply couldn’t.

Veronica, reclining halfway, tilted her head and looked at me.

“What’s wrong, Colonel? By now, you should be scolding me to sit up straight or my spine will be crooked.”

“…It’s not like I see you every day, Saint. What’s the point of saying anything when you just let it go in one ear and out the other?”

“True! That’s my charm!”

“Ridiculous…”

Tap, tap. The heels of her shoes fell, making a loud sound.

Those red shoes were handcrafted by the masters of the Cult.

They were modeled after the bloodied feet of the disciples of the heavenly beings in the scriptures, who had fled to the mountains to escape persecution from the old Empire, having walked barefoot over sharp rocky paths.

In homage to those who upheld their principles, integrity, faith, and beliefs while facing life-threatening situations, the Pope and saints favored wearing red shoes.

Naturally, Veronica, being a saint, wore them too.

“Ah, now I feel a bit better.”

Throwing off her shoes, Veronica grinned as if relieved. She grabbed a glass and a bottle of whiskey from the side table and began.

“Colonel.”

“Yes, Veronica.”

“Where were you last night?”

Her question hit me like a truck. I almost choked.

Fortunately, it seemed Veronica hadn’t picked up on anything strange. Instead, she gave me a look of pity, as if to say she’d never seen someone choke on their drink before, and handed me a tissue.

“Why were you looking for me?”

“I wanted to have dinner together, but I couldn’t find you. I even prepared food… How could you stand me up like this?”

“That food wasn’t cooked by you, was it—”

“Anyway! If you go out for a while, let me know in advance. You shouldn’t be wandering around in a daze, with a hole in your chest, not realizing how scary demons can be…”

“Me? Get permission from you, Saint?”

“So who? Were you planning to ask Lucia for permission?”

“…No, this isn’t a military base.”

Well, I am a soldier, but still, isn’t this excessive? To have to report and get permission every time I go out?

Since I often had to be out and about for work, Veronica’s insistence on asking for permission was like a bolt from the blue. It sounded less like permission and more like house arrest.

When I asked what authority gave her the right to demand such a thing, Veronica replied:

“Because I’m worried.”

“…Normally, people don’t lock someone up just because they’re worried.”

I tried to counter her claim with various arguments, but they fell flat.

She crossed her arms with a playful expression, as if she wouldn’t listen to any objections.

“If anything goes wrong, I’ll handle it all myself, so you can just stay here in the Cathedral without worrying about anything.”

“But still…”

“Ah—just quietly receive treatment.”

“……”

Is this a saint or a gangster?

Veronica laid down her not-so-subtle threats with an expression that said I’d never understand, and pounded the desk playfully.

“Colonel, did you do something to me? Why are you acting like this today?”

“…I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“I have some work to take care of.”

Even though I was a diplomat, I was also Camila’s colleague. The Military Government Headquarters had assigned me the task of relaying messages between the three of them.

I was the bridge connecting the Military Government Headquarters and my companions, helping them to operate smoothly in the Northern Regions, where complicated military operations were taking place. I even visited the field sometimes to see how things were going.

To stay in contact with Camila, Lucia, and Francesca, I often had to step outside the Cathedral. Above all, I was not only bound to my diplomatic duties but also had to handle tasks assigned by the ‘company.’

Pfft, yeah right. In reality, I’d just had a chaotic night with Lucia, and facing Veronica was making me uncomfortable. I was worried she might catch on.

But as always, life does not go as I wish.

“Aha! If that’s the case, I can help you.”

“…?”

Veronica clapped her hands and picked up the receiver, dialing somewhere.

I felt a strange anxiety creep up on me as I sipped my brandy.

*

“Wow! Look at this building! It’s even bigger and more beautiful than Westminster Abbey—or Milan Cathedral, or the Cathedral of Santiago de Compostela!”

“Nice to see you again, Colonel. What brings you to the Cathedral?”

“……”

I stared blankly with my mouth hanging open at the two of them.

“What do you think, Colonel?”

I distinctly felt arms wrapping around my neck.

Veronica had come up close, draping her arm over my shoulder and pulling me in gently. With a cigar in one hand, she exhaled a thick cloud of smoke and smiled broadly.

“You won’t need to wander around anymore, right?”

“……”

“Stop moping around and just get your treatment done. Things are about to get real busy, so you need to take it easy. If you’re thinking of bringing your things, just let me know. I’ll send someone to the hotel.”

“…I want to go home.”

One month into my assignment in the Kien Empire.

I already wanted to return to Abas.

 

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