The Blood Heaven Cult forces that had pursued the train had all returned to their headquarters. Hidden behind a distant tree, Simon, Lethe, and Prince watched the cult’s base of operations. The headquarters was a massive cave that had been converted into a building. From the outside, it appeared to be an empty field, but as soon as Lethe dispelled the perception-distorting magic, the colossal structure became visible. Cultists scurried about in a frenzy of war preparations, meticulously stationing zombies at every post. [Even in the Dark Alliance, there aren’t many organizations that can command this many zombies,] Prince observed. [And a good number of them are humanoid. How is this possible?] Lethe, standing beside him, sighed heavily. "What do you think? They were all made from our citizens."
"I have a question, too," Simon chimed in. "The Holy Federation cracks down so hard on heretics. How could a group with such a massive force even emerge?"
"The Blood Heaven Cult is different from ordinary heretics," she explained. "They’re a special case."
The history of Devaism, the state religion, had always been intertwined with the history of heresy. As the faith’s power grew, so too did the number of heretics. The ignorant masses were more easily swayed by sweet promises than by difficult scripture. Lethe offered a simple example. "They go to some backwater village, completely out of the loop, and demonstrate that they can use Divinity." She held up her palm, and a soft light manifested. "What would people who’ve farmed their whole lives know? They see Divinity with their own eyes, so they believe."
Most heretical sects formed around expelled priests or those who awakened Divinity naturally, twisting doctrines to suit their own needs. But the Blood Heaven Cult was different. Their expansion was planned and radical. "They began to spread ‘Cores’ to the citizens."
At that, Simon’s jaw dropped. "Cores? In the Holy Federation?"
"As you know, the media is thoroughly controlled by the central government in Efnel. The people are taught that the Dark Alliance is vile and evil. That’s all they know. Of course, they have no idea what a Core is."
Simon fell into deep thought. "I see why Efnel would hide the existence of Cores."
"Why’s that?"
"Because anyone can awaken one."
Lethe nodded, her expression grim. "Exactly."
Jet-Black was far more accessible than Divinity. With a practitioner to perform the procedure, one simply had to create a Core in their body. People with low aptitude for Divinity, destined to a life of farming, could awaken new talents if they unlocked Jet-Black. But Efnel’s doctrine denied the very existence of Jet-Black and necromancers. "What if necromancers with awakened Cores began to spring up like mushrooms across the Holy Federation? What if they formed organizations, gathered power, and challenged the establishment"
Listening quietly, Prince chuckled. [From Efnel’s perspective, it couldn’t get any worse.]
"That’s exactly what the Blood Heaven Cult is doing," Lethe continued. "They shove fake scriptures at clueless citizens, claiming it’s the true doctrine of the Goddess Deva. They sweet-talk them, promising that anyone can use Divinity. While Efnel restricts it, they claim they’ll make it available to all."
"So they lure people in, implant Cores, and turn them into necromancers?" Simon surmised. "Yes."
The cultists, thoroughly brainwashed, believed that Jet-Black was the ‘true power of the Goddess.’ This had given rise to a strange hybrid: necromancers who wielded Jet-Black while praising the Goddess Deva. "That is the true identity of the Blood Heaven Cult."
Simon nodded gravely. The story sent a shiver down his spine. [Wait a minute, woman. You went way off topic,] Prince interrupted. "What do you mean?"
[I mean, why do they have so many humanoid zombies?]
She sighed, her voice heavy. "What do you think? The people who died during the Core procedure, the ones who couldn’t master the morphological change of Jet-Black, those who refused to join, and others they kidnapped or captured... they use them as test subjects and then turn them all into zombies."
The cult used a modified ‘special Core’ for their procedures. It drastically reduced the one-to-two-year period it normally took to progress from simple emission to morphological change. It also granted higher resistance to Divinity and the ability to use special blood-flow magic. But, naturally, the side effects were severe. "And all these atrocities," Simon summarized, putting the pieces together, "are to be blamed not on a heretical sect from the Holy Federation, but on Kizen and the necromancers of the Dark Alliance. That’s the Inquisitor-General’s goal, isn’t it?"
"Exactly. And it’s the goal of the cult’s leadership, too. They’ve probably hidden a trove of fake documents in their headquarters, claiming they’re following Kizen’s orders."
The scale of the incident was spiraling far beyond what he had imagined. Saving Anna was critical, but at this rate, the moment she was cured, Leshill would be plunged into war. "We have to stop this, no matter what," Simon said quietly, clasping his hands. Lethe nodded. "We averted the absolute worst-case scenario by stopping the train hijacking. Now we just have to prevent the Inquisitor-General and the Blood Heaven Cult from manipulating the information."
Simon glanced at the briefcase in his hand. The evidence from the cult’s bishop was the key. But releasing it to the media was impossible with the information lockdown, and the Inquisitor-General would surely interfere. Informing the Pope directly was out of the question. The next best option was to deliver the evidence to the anti-war priest Lethe trusted. That was the plan. "Alright, it’s about time. I’ll set up the teleportation guidance magic circle," Lethe announced, crouching to draw on the ground with a Divinity-coated fingertip. Simon and Prince watched quietly. "What the...?"
Lethe was concentrating, but one side of the formula kept vanishing. When she redrew it, another part disappeared. Prince sneered. [Hey, woman. Didn’t you say you were the best in Efnel?]
"Hey! Stop calling me ‘woman’! I’ll smash your head in!"
[But you keep calling me an undead!]
After calming the bickering pair, Simon crouched beside the magic circle. "What’s the problem?"
"My calculations are correct, but the teleportation formula keeps being artificially erased. Something’s wrong."
She lifted her finger, then slammed her palm to the ground, stamping the magic circle with a burst of Divinity. This time, it tore apart with a sharp crackle. "Teleportation nullification? When did they...?"
Her gaze shot to the sky. Dozens of white, holy cannonballs were streaking toward them. "Son of a—! Move!"
The three of them launched themselves away from the spot just as the volley of divine energy slammed into the ground, erupting in a series of blinding explosions. "Ugh!" Simon cried out, sent tumbling by the shockwave. Lethe and Prince had also narrowly dodged, now lying prone on the scorched earth. [Wh-What was that?] Prince stammered. "A teleportation-nullification barrier has been set up around here!" Lethe yelled over the ringing in her ears. "They destroyed my formula and used my coordinates to target us!"
[Was it the Blood Heaven Cult?]
"There’s no way those heretics are capable of such a high-level operation!" she gritted out. "This is the work of the Heretic Inquisitors! How did they get here so fast?"
Simon lifted his head and looked north. Just as she’d said, a column of soldiers was emerging from the forest, marching steadily toward the cult’s headquarters. "Th-This can’t be! They were supposed to arrive in two or three days!"
"It is strange," Simon agreed, his mind racing. The Inquisitors should have arrived after the cult had spread its misinformation. But the cultists hadn’t even escaped yet, and a nullification barrier was in place to ensure they couldn’t.
There was only one explanation. "It seems the Inquisition’s intelligence was a step ahead of everyone’s."
At Simon’s words, Lethe nodded grimly, finally grasping the situation. "That aside, what do we do now? This wasn’t part of the plan at all."
After a moment’s thought, Simon said urgently, "Prince! Get into the Subspace!"
[Huh? Oh, okay.] The instant Prince vanished, a spear of pure white light shot past them. They twisted away just in time. "This is...!"
Two men in the armor of Heretic Inquisitors were charging toward them on horseback. Simon and Lethe broke into a run.
"We are the Heretic Inquisitors!" one of them bellowed. "Surrender now and submit to interrogation! Refusal will be met with death!"
They were ruthlessly efficient. First, the cannonballs, now a kill team to confirm. "Don’t listen to them," Lethe growled, leaping between branches. "They just tried to blow us to pieces, and now they want to interrogate us? They crossed the line first. We ignore them."
Simon nodded. Surrendering now would mean losing the evidence for good. They kicked off a tree and fled as the two Inquisitors gave chase, their blades cleaving through trees as they closed in. "Stop!"
"Running will only increase your guilt!"
They spouted the logic of interrogation, but their eyes held the unmistakable gleam of fanatics. Simon glanced back. "This isn’t working. I’ll take them down."
"We have to."
They broke from the treeline, landing on the dirt path below. The Inquisitors reined in their horses, halting before them. They seemed momentarily surprised by Lethe’s Efnel uniform but showed no sign of intimidation. "Kneel and put your hands on your head."
"Resistance means immediate death."
Simon and Lethe lowered their stances, ready to fight. One of the Inquisitors smirked, pulling a heavy hammer from his back. "Oh, you want to fight? That’s even bett—"
’Float.’
Suddenly, the two Inquisitors and their horses were enveloped in shimmering bubbles of water, lifting silently into the air. "Wh-What is this?!" one of them yelled, just before they were sent flying into the distant sky. Simon blinked. "What just happened?"
"Oh! She’s here!" Lethe cried, a brilliant smile on her face as she pointed upward. The advancing column of Inquisitors had also ground to a halt. Descending from thousands of meters in a blaze of glory was a woman with sea-blue hair. She held a white flute to her lips, playing a slow, haunting melody that sounded less like music and more like the voice of nature itself. Simon swallowed hard. "That person is..."
"Yes," Lethe said, clasping her hands, her face flushed with reverence. "She’s a direct junior of my teacher, Ms. Anna."
"It’s Saintess Israphel."
At Israphel’s sudden appearance, both the defending cultists and the invading Inquisitors were stunned into silence. Rate’s face, in particular, turned a shade of furious red. He gripped his cross-shaped sword, his teeth grinding together. "Just when we were so close, a meddler shows up...!"
No one in the Holy Federation was exempt from a heretic inquisition. Even an archbishop’s intervention would not supersede Rate’s authority. The seven Saintesses, however, were an exception. Treated as demigods, they wielded extralegal power, unbound by any regulation. And Israphel was a well-known moderate who opposed the war. ‘What are you planning, Saintess!’ Rate fumed internally. The sky began to ripple in time with her music. He knew, with dreadful certainty, that his worst-case scenario was unfolding before his very eyes.

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