Chapter 82: Chapter 82: Eyes of the Innocent
The ministers of Quavadis convened and reaffirmed Stage III's effectiveness.
The essence of divine power, capable of purging a vast area of afflictions with a single drop, had been fully effective.
Three drops of this highly concentrated holy water were produced as a backup.
Planus de la Edge (Saintess' Tears).
Just one drop was sufficient to eradicate all the ailments in the ghettos.
Dolores recited a prayer of dedication and gratitude over the last three drops of holy water.
[Behold, all of you. Here stands a woman with her only child. Do you know the pain of a mother losing her child? I, the wretched one who had to raise the Child of God, screamed from that night until the next, and it is so unbearable that my heart cannot bear it. This day, O my beautiful and wondrous child, will be the most bitter and sorrowful day for me... ... ]
The awe-inspiring composed by the original saintess shone forth, comforting all the divine sacrifices in this world.
Then, three drops of holy water began to emanate a radiant light.
Archbishop Mozgus bowed respectfully and placed the small glass container containing them on a plate.
Many bishops then followed him in carrying the holy water.
It was to be stored in a secure underground vault within the headquarters of Saint Mecca, part of the Quo Vadis family.
Soon, a crowd of ministers gathered in the main structure of the Quavadis family to witness the procession.
"...."
Dolores sensed the gravity and discomfort in the air.
The Heavenly City of Quavadis had recently been amidst a nationwide conflict, and here were the two leading factions, the Old Covenant and the New Covenant, in one place.
The plague, the Red Death, was a monumental concern.
Suddenly, a middle-aged man with a grave and sleek demeanor glanced at Dolores.
"Come closer. My Nymphet, my daughter."
Dolores hesitated slightly at the words, then lowered her eyes respectfully.
"... ... Yes, father."
With that, she walked with slow, hesitant steps to stand before the man.
Dolores' eyes met his.
'Humbert L Quovadis.
A man holding the title of Cardinal, the true highest honor of the Old Covenant, a position so elevated that there is no place higher except for the Pope.
He reached out and caressed Dolores' head once, gently.
"You've made a great contribution this time."
"You are flattering me."
Dolores was very cautious around her father.
It was an unusual demeanor for a father-daughter pair, but it was also typical in large families, so no one found it odd.
Humbert, on the other hand, recognized Dolores' reserved demeanor and nodded.
"Good. Give me a report on what's been happening."
" ... ... I've been working on a report, may I present it to you now?"
"Better express it without reservation. Speaking is stronger."
Dolores nodded quietly at Humbert's words.
"We will use the first batch of 'Saint's Tears' to purify all the streams that run underground in St. Mecca."
"Have you located the source of the plague?"
"Yes. It was an unregistered well high above the ghettos."
Dolores was a born investigator.
She was a member of the Academy's detective club when she was a first-year student.
Dolores focused her studies on ghetto patients, mostly children, and was able to obtain numerous testimonies of haunted sightings at a well.
When the children claimed that a ghost had cursed the well, Dolores went to investigate.
Sure enough, the well was heavily contaminated with plague, and she found a glass vial in which the perpetrator had supposedly placed the plague bacteria.
Furthermore.
"And while investigating the area, we found a suspicious item."
Here the report ends.
At Humbert's questioning look, Dolores pulled out the evidence, wrapped in a clean cloth.
Humbert's eyes widened upon seeing it.
"Is this ... ... ?"
A single dagger.
Emblazoned with a large serpent, it was clearly the symbol of Leviathan.
Also lying beside it was a badge.
A golden badge with a sickle and hammer on it, unmistakably the emblem of the merchant bourgeoisie.
"Where did you find these?"
"They were found in different places near the well."
Then, Cardinal Humbert's eyes darted around rapidly.
To him, the chain of causation was already being pieced together.
" ... ... You said that the construction of the plague seemed to be artificially made."
To create a plague of this magnitude, not only would it require an intimate knowledge of toxins, but it would also require immense research funds.
BANG!
Cardinal Humbert stomped his foot once, hard.
The white marble floor cracked, and the two stone support pillars around him crumbled.
"I declare a crusade! How dare those humble snakes and paramours attempt to swear... ... !"
Even the King bows to the will of the Quovadis, so how dare these humble toxin-makers, money-grubbing creatures make such a challenge!
Indeed, there was a tendency of conflict among the seven factions of the realm.
"...."
Dolores remained silent, her mouth agape.
Then, something emerged from Cardinal Humbert's mouth that made her eyes widen.
" ... ... Did you say Hound of the Night?"
Humbert said, his handsome face contorting.
"He's suspicious, too. Take him in and place him before the Inquisition. Make him divulge everything he knows."
At this, Dolores visibly panicked.
Her composed, cool demeanor shattered in an instant.
She appeared like any other sixteen-year-old girl and cried out desperately.
"He's not guilty!"
"...?"
Dolores suddenly objected, and Humbert's demeanor froze for a moment.
"...Him?"
Humbert looked down at Dolores in disbelief.
"Girl, what are you talking about... ... ?"
Dolores, the girl who had always moved so obediently, without a word of dissent.
She had been a good daughter who had never clashed with her father's wishes since birth, except for her adversaries in the New Covenant.
But what about now?
"...."
Dolores met Humbert's gaze, her
fists clenched and shaking.
Perhaps not fully determined to defend the Night Hound's existence.
"It's impossible for a man so devoted to the poor to be malevolent!"
Dolores had heard the testimonies of many patients.
A man who stayed up almost all night to care for them, apologizing repeatedly that he was sorry for what he had done.
A man who used divine powers, albeit weak ones, and who gave all his resources to his patients.
'Why did he say he was sorry to his patients?'
For not being able to heal them sooner or more effectively? If that was the case, Dolores had a firm opinion about it.
She had felt sorry for sick people every second. Then, others would ask her what she was sorry for. Or rather, how could someone who should be grateful be sorry?
Nevertheless, still, Dolores was sorry. She always felt sorry for everyone.
And the Night Hound figured that out. Sympathized with her.
She remembered a conversation she had had with the Night Hound not long ago.
'I was lucky enough to be born with divine powers, but I'm weak in body, mind, and faith. Someone as strong as you should have been born with these powers... ... .'
Why did God choose her to be a saint? There are plenty of others with strong faith who don't have divine abilities. Why did he give her the unfair title of saint?
The Night Hound turned to Dolores, his head bowed and tears streaming.
'The very fact that you are so troubled and sorry must be the reason the gods chose you. It must be the love of the gods you speak of that shines through in the lowest, fiercest places.'
Dolores couldn't help but sigh softly.
The words were comforting, as if spoken by a seasoned saint who had seen all the highs and lows.
This advice struck her like a knock on the door from her future self to her present self.
Like a wise old saint from the classical era, or an older brother to emulate and follow.
Observing the Night Hound, she felt like that.
'When I grow old, can I say the same words you just said?'
'... ... Maybe you will.'
He replied strangely, giving Dolores a faint glimmer of hope.
The sixteen-year-old girl appreciated that.
Perhaps that's why she was so adamant about the Night Hound's innocence before her father, Cardinal Humbert.
But.
"...."
The more fervently Dolores defended him, the harder Humbert's expression hardened.
Then, Humbert signaled to several bishops.
"Prepare for an urgent arrest. We will interrogate and question him."
Dolores' pleas were to no avail.
Humbert stormed off, his demeanor even more menacing than before, heading toward the chambers where the Night Hound was supposed to stay.
Dolores followed Humbert in a panic.
He was ready to throw himself down and wrap his arms around the Night Hound if he had to.
... but.
"!?"
Everyone standing before the cabin couldn't help but widen their eyes.
Whirring.
An empty cabin. The curtains billowed with the wind coming in through the cracked glass window, puffing up like ghosts.
The Night Hound, gone.
The priests' urgent shouts from downstairs heightened the situation.
"There's trouble! A drop of the saint's tears has gone missing!"
The event.
"...aah!
Dolores quietly opened her mouth.
Now she had an inkling of why he had come here.
And the vague determination that now that he had served his purpose, she might never see him again.
As Humbert and the paladins protested and organized a search party, Dolores looked out the window into the darkness.
The empty rooms, the broken windows, and the cold breeze brought the reality back to her.
...Thud!
Her heart sank again.
It was a different beat from the last.
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