Loki and the Saintess

After breakfast, Iver led Sherlock and his group to the inn where the trolls were staying.

Of the three trolls, only the grass-green-skinned Hunter had woken up early. When Iver arrived, he was wolfing down the inn's unlimited breakfast.

The group was surrounded by guests of various races, mostly humans. Iver even spotted some rare Lizardman among them.

Although the atmosphere was quite harmonious, with everyone speaking softly and politely, and no one making any sarcastic or offensive remarks towards the troll Hunter, everyone unanimously chose to ignore him and left a large empty space around Hunter.

However, the troll Hunter didn't seem to care at all. Instead, he happily occupied a large space by himself—he took a huge pile of meat, spread it out on the table in front of him, and ate it with gusto.

When he looked up and saw Iver, he was so frightened that he almost choked to death.

His previously carefree expression instantly turned timid, and he stood up hesitantly like a child who had done something wrong, gesturing something to Iver.

Iver didn't say anything, just smiled and patted him on the shoulder, gesturing for him to sit down and continue eating.

But it seemed that Iver's arrival had frightened him, or perhaps he didn't dare let Iver stand by and wait. The Hunter didn't dare eat more than a few bites before hurriedly standing up. As he left, he didn't forget to take seven or eight white loaves of bread with him and stuff them into his pocket.

The Hunter led the way, occasionally turning back to mutter something to Iver.

As they approached the room, they heard thunderous snoring rising and falling inside. Iver and his two companions waited outside, and the Hunter crouched down and crawled inside. He shouted something, and the snoring quickly stopped.

With a rapid, almost demolition-like sound of things being packed up, the troll ritualist who had come looking for his grandfather soon emerged in a disheveled state.

"I am very sorry, Your Excellency Archbishop. We have kept you waiting..."

He spoke in a somewhat obscure Avalon Language while his mouth moved, clearly chewing the bread the Hunter had brought them. Then, he pulled two other people along and followed Iver and his group to the elevator platform.

While they waited for the elevator, Iver observed the troll who had just swallowed his bread, lost in thought.

... Speaking of which, he didn't even know the name of this... oh, this young hero.

Thinking about this, Iver glanced at the troll guy's size, which was more than half his own, and slightly changed his mind.

—Or should I say, a great hero? So Iver began to chat with him. "To be honest, I don't know your names yet. My name is Iver ... How should I address you?"

"Rabbihe".

The tan-skinned troll pointed to himself and said, "It means the wizard."

Before Iver could ask, he pointed to the Curse Master and the Hunter respectively. "They are Zumai Di, Babu Lu. It means Bone Paste, the horse hunter."

Iver was immediately filled with awe.

—The Hunter's name sounds incredibly aggressive.

"Bone Paste?"

Sherlock, standing to the side, asked with some confusion, "What is that?"

"It's bone marrow."

Iver replied, "He probably won't say that word."

"Oh," Sherlock suddenly realized, "It is indeed the name of the Curse Master."

Wizard. Bone marrow. Horse hunter.

The naming logic of trolls is quite easy to understand... they are all words with rather concrete imagery.

"And what about your grandfather? What's his name?"

Iver pressed on.

"Rabbihe".

Rabbihe answered without hesitation, "My name is Rabbihe. My father's name is Rabbihe, and my grandfather's name is Rabbihe."

"So, this is your surname?"

Sherlock asked.

Rabbihe looked at Sherlock with some confusion, not understanding what he meant.

"Trolls don't have surnames, only tribes. Because their concept of family is unclear, it's difficult for them to determine who the father of a child is."

Iver explained, "They call someone from a certain clan. Some key heirs all use the same name so it's easy for people to address them, while others have different names. Some are given by the high priest, and some by their parents."

Sherlock realized. "So that means he's the heir of that tribe? A... troll Prince?"

"If he weren't Prince, it would be impossible for him to speak so many languages. He looks to be at most... twenty years old?"

"We are from the Beast Song Tribe. Eighteen years old."

Rabbihe quickly replied, "I am Rabbihe of Beast Song. Other tribes also have their Rabbihe."

Sherlock glanced at Iver: "You know quite a lot."

"I read a lot of books."

Iver said irritably, "If you're bad, practice more! If you don't understand, watch more!"

After exchanging names, the atmosphere visibly eased. Iver chatted with Rabbihe, while Sherlock sidled up to the Curse Master and whispered something to him.

Although the other party did not understand Avalon Language, Sherlock was clever enough to make them understand the general idea just by gesturing.

They soon reached the Eleventh Ring. Apart from the Twenty-Second Ring where the Eternal Pope resided, this was also the very center of the Theocracy.

With a letter of introduction and a map from Cardinal Matilda, they easily gained access to the Central Observatory.

There were significantly more people coming and going here than in the Thirteenth Ring. Almost all of them were elves, and the rest were mostly Half-Elf. They were all dressed in white lab coats, and many wore tinted monocles. It looked quite like a science fiction-style research facility.

Another characteristic of this place is that it has a great many mirrors.

Large mirrors, small mirrors, floor-to-ceiling mirrors covering the entire corridor... and a corridor devoid of decoration except for the quietly burning "textured torches." Without a guide, one would most likely get lost in this maze of mirrors.

Each elf, upon leading them to the crossroads, would leave and hand them over to the next person. This relay was repeated more than ten times before Iver and his companions finally reached the end.

This place looks a lot like the cockpit of a sci-fi spaceship.

Inside a bubble-shaped spherical room, there are countless hexagonal mirrors carved into a honeycomb pattern. Each mirror displays a fleeting, clear image, with the images constantly changing.

Undoubtedly, this was as mysterious as the Heavenly Realm to the trolls—they stared at it in utter disbelief, as if their souls had left their bodies. Even Sherlock was glued to these hexagonal images, his excitement visibly growing, his face even flushing slightly.

The man who had his back to them turned around amidst the suppressed gasps of surprise.

This is Cardinal Loki.

It was a Cardinal Bishop wearing a grey robe, with black sin thorns around his neck that looked like a noose.

What caught Sherlock's attention most was his hair, which burned like flames. The long, flowing hair reached all the way to his shoulders, resembling inverted flames. His features were delicate and beautiful, yet Sherlock felt he looked vaguely familiar.

"... Huh?"

But just then, Lily suddenly exclaimed in surprise.

She looked at Cardinal Loki, as if she had suddenly discovered something. Sherlock looked at her in confusion, only to find that Lily didn't turn to look at him at all, but was frowning and staring at Cardinal Loki.

Cardinal Loki also discovered Lily's presence at the same time.

He raised an eyebrow, said nothing, and very naturally looked away from Lily.

He looked at Iver and smiled, "Young Archbishop, I heard that Cardinal Matilda is looking for me? What brings you here?"

Cardinal Loki's voice was gentle and clear; although he looked like a young man in his thirties, his voice was as clear as a teenager's.

Iver's gaze lingered on his stitched lips before he bowed politely and said, "My name is Iver Moriarty, Your Excellency Cardinal Loki."

Then Iver tapped his chest three times with his hand, bowed slightly, and said, "May the Candlekeeper watch over your light."

"May the candle keeper also watch over your light."

Loki also bowed his head in unison, returning the greeting to Iver.

He murmured the name to himself, a thoughtful expression on his face. "Iver Moriarty..."

"... Hmm, I've heard of your name. I'll just call you Iver."

"Yes, Cardinal Loki. The reason we're here is quite simple..."

As he spoke, Iver pointed to the trolls behind him.

Just then, Cardinal Loki interrupted with a serious expression, "Have you offended someone recently, Iver?"

"...What?"

Upon hearing this, Iver was taken aback.

"My advice is that you leave the Theocracy as soon as possible and do not return. The Theocracy is not absolutely safe."

Loki said earnestly, his furrowed brows giving him the air of a reliable doctor. "You bear the marks of a curse... very clear and persistent. Clearly, someone is hunting you."

"—How is the Theocracy unsafe?"

A soft yet firm voice came through.

Guarded by four Pope Guard, the Pure White Saintess saintess entered with poise and solemnity.

"If there is any place in this world that is absolutely safe, it can only be the Eternal Theocracy. On the contrary, leaving the Theocracy will allow some people with ulterior motives to act without restraint."

Pure White raised her slender, fair neck and said earnestly, "If Iver really encounters any danger, I will protect him. As if protecting the future and hope."

"Then please help the future and hope find people, Saintess Highness."

After the pure white appeared, Cardinal Loki's expression suddenly turned cold. "I have other work to do, so I won't see you off."

"Please don't leave yet, Cardinal Loki."

Pure White looked up at Cardinal Loki, who was more than a head taller than her, and said in a calm and emotionless voice, "I have a charge against you for murder. Please come with me."

"Murder?"

Cardinal Loki scoffed. "The death of the Bishop Mercedes? That's none of my business. I know about it because I saw it."

As he spoke, he pointed to the honeycomb array of mirrors in front of him. "Everyone knows I've been here all along. I haven't left for a single moment in the past few months. All the staff at the Central Observatory can testify to that."

"I know. But what about ' Controlled Fire '?"

Pure White retorted, "Do you dare say this matter has nothing to do with the extremists of Controlled Fire?"

"They and I have no direct control or affiliation; Controlled Fire is merely an idea, not a party."

Cardinal Loki countered, "Saintess Highness, if I am responsible for the emergence of dangerous extremists within the Controlled Fire, then what responsibility do you, as the de facto ruler of the Theocracy, bear for this?"

"As the director of the Central Observatory, you should be aware of everything that happens in the Theocracy in advance. You have a duty to stop such a dangerous act of murder. Not to mention that it was a bishop. At the same time, Bishop Mercedes is Candidate Saintess, and if I were to die unexpectedly, she might become the next Saintess."

"I am responsible for observing 'signs that could cause the division, destruction, irresistible disaster, or mass casualties of the Theocracy,' and for providing all citizens with accurate and timely warnings and evacuation guidance. Clearly, preventing the death of a bishop is not within my jurisdiction..."

"So you're admitting that you knew about this and were closely involved in it?"

"—Even if she is Saintess Highness's friend, it's the same."

Both of them were calm, their words were clear and logical, and neither of them was physically agitated. There was no light in their eyes... therefore, neither of them was taking it seriously, and it couldn't really be called an argument. However, the content of their conversation was entirely one of them talking past each other.

This conflict was clearly not caused by this incident, but rather stemmed from long-standing resentment.

... So, Loki and Pure White's relationship was already quite bad back then? This thought popped into Iver's mind as he watched from the sidelines.

The others remained silent amidst the argument between the two bigwigs, not daring to utter a single word.