A Priest's Life as a Villain

Chapter 10

All the men and women of Brinhill lined up in formation at the center of the village.

Ran slowly scanned the people standing in a row. He looked like a large crow drawn by the scent of corpses, prowling for the dead. No one could meet the eyes of the bird-beaked mask head-on. Occasionally, whenever he stopped walking, the face of the person nearby turned pale. An inquisitor can create guilt even from nothing.

Martin and the priests of the 1st Division watched the scene unfold. On one side, the mercenaries of the merchant leader also took their places. All the villagers—children and elders alike—had come out and were holding their breath, encircling everyone.

'Let's see how you find them, you mad dog.'

Martin crossed his arms, filled both with a strange sense of anticipation and doubt.

He, too, knew that most villagers were demons. Normally, there wasn't such an obvious difference in appearance between humans and demons on the surface, but their intonation, facial features, and behaviors had subtle distinctions. It differed by degree, but with just a little attention, it wasn't hard to notice.

But not every demon belonged to the Revolutionaries. Distinguishing them was the inquisitor's job, and Mad Dog Ran was known to be particularly uncanny at it.

Dante, too, watched Ran with caution.

'I can't tell even looking like this.'

Members of the Revolutionaries didn't know each other. Communication only went through intermediaries. Usually, only the immediate superior, like Zilla, knew the identities of subordinates.

He had always been curious as to how the inquisitor identified Revolutionary members.

'How wicked.'

Ran muttered inwardly. Demonic energy vibrated from all around.

This was his first time interrogating all villagers together in one place. Martin had pushed for this, intending to save time.

'It does save the effort of hunting them down one by one.'

He had to pick out the Revolutionaries' demonic energy from all the intertwining energies.

Ran decided to rely entirely on his intuition.

"What's your name?"

Finally, Ran spoke. The woman he addressed looked shabby, like someone from the slums. The neckline of her outer garment was so torn and stretched that her chest was plainly visible.

"L-L-Laila?"

"Laila. That's a nice name."

Ran placed a finger on Laila's forehead. Laila trembled.

His finger moved slowly downward, as if tickling, passing over her brow, tracing her lips, and descending to under her chin.

"Do you have a lover?"

"I-I have a husband?"

"Oh-ho."

Silence enveloped the crowd. Only Laila's ragged breathing was loud. Her eyes squeezed shut involuntarily. What touched her body felt less like a finger, more like a blade. She began to sob.

"I-I'm not with the Revolutionaries. Please, please spare me!"

"Shh, shh."

The finger paused as it slid down from her collarbone towards her chest.

"So, you're the husband?"

Ran spoke as he turned to the side. The man standing there, flushed red, was shaking. He couldn't meet Ran's eyes. Ran grabbed his shoulder and squeezed firmly.

Laila and her husband were not Revolutionaries. Ran knew. That familiar feeling was missing from both of them.

Ran spoke so that all could hear.

"Those bastards who clamor for the liberation of demons can't even step up while their kin are being harassed right before their eyes. Do you all see now? It's not the Holy Church oppressing and consuming you demons—it's the Revolutionaries! They pursue foolish ideals and deliberately turn away while their own people suffer. They claim sacrifice is unavoidable for the greater good!"

With those words, Ran closed his eyes, focusing on his subconscious.

He saw tangled threads. Even for Ran, it was the first time he had seen demonic energy visualized. It sent chills down his spine. Countless threads gathered into a fog, then crashed into him like a tidal wave.

In an instant, the vision shattered.

All images disappeared, leaving only a single blood-red thread like a vein.

Only then did Ran open his eyes, following the afterimage of the red line.

At the end of his gaze stood a large man.

"Name."

The man was flustered. The inquisitor strode toward him and met his gaze squarely.

They were of similar height, but the man's body was much larger.

"B–Berulf."

But Berulf felt overwhelmingly smaller than his opponent.

"That's right, Berulf. Heretic and Revolutionary. I arrest you for heresy and rebellion."

The murmuring around him grew louder.

The inquisitor declared unequivocally. Some people staggered in shock. Others spat curses at Berulf. There were fervent Holy Church devotees in the village—people who refused even ordinary demons as neighbors. They were the few who welcomed inquisitors.

Among these mixed reactions, members of the Special Unit's 1st Division restrained Berulf. He did not resist.

Even after the commotion subsided, the demonic energy boiled even more instead of calming. Hosts of resentful eyes fell upon the inquisitor.

In the midst of it, Ran discreetly suppressed his nausea. He wanted to collapse and throw off his mask, but there were too many watching eyes.

People who had gathered now began to disperse, one by one.

"'Tarok will curse you forever.'"

Laila's husband muttered in the extinct tongue of their kin as he passed by Ran, supporting Laila.

Since Ran had learned the language in Quersa, he understood right away but did not show it. He merely watched Laila as she stumbled away, eyes bloodshot from crying.

"Inquisitor. I observed you closely."

Martin approached and struck up conversation. Ran composed his emotions.

"How did you know that man was with the Revolutionaries?"

Ran pointed out Berulf without a hint of hesitation—without even presenting any clear context.

Any suspicion vanished quickly. Berulf's resigned attitude was proof enough. Martin was sincerely impressed.

Ran spoke in a low voice.

"It's intuition I've developed from experience."

"Hmm. I suppose there's little reason to doubt your instincts. He had a face that all but confessed."

"All that remains is to extract the location of their hideout."

"Leave it to us. He won't last without confessing soon."

"Wouldn't it be better if I handled the finish?"

"Inquisitor. Cooperation with the 3rd Unit ends here. We'll take care of the rest. Return to headquarters at once."

Martin turned away.

'I can't let them take all the credit any further.'

At this rate, he'd have nothing to show but riding the 3rd Unit's coattails. His dignity couldn't allow that. The spiteful merchant would spread rumors, too.

It was an operation under close observation from above. Martin grew impatient.

* * *

Berulf endured cruel torture. He lost even his right wrist, but did not betray a word.

'Stubborn bastard.'

Martin eyed Berulf in the corner of the torture room with growing impatience. Because of the uproar, any delay would only give the Revolutionaries time to run.

He brought Berulf's ailing mother into the torture cell. Berulf's and his mother's screams resounded for a long time.

"Seven armed priests, three mercenaries."

Martin checked his headcount. At last, Berulf opened his mouth. The mercenaries had been hired with half the cost covered by the merchant leader.

They pressed deep into the mountains.

"How much farther?"

"On... On top of this hill."

Berulf answered weakly, bound with rope.

Martin demanded their route in exchange for his mother's life.

It did not take long to consider. No matter how important the cause, it didn't outweigh his own blood. He trusted his comrades would understand.

"All right. We'll make preparations here."

The Special Unit 1st Division usually handled public Holy Church missions. Its priests had ample combat experience. Martin led seven priests on a reconnaissance. They needed to survey the terrain before infiltrating.

"I signed up for merchant escort and now I've got to fight demons."

"Ha! They said they'd pay extra, why refuse? Besides, not that many to fight, right?"

The mercenaries assigned to Berulf's guard joked among themselves.

"Hey, guys. I have a favor to ask."

Dante looked around cautiously before speaking. Two mercenaries regarded him with distaste.

"What, what's up?"

"Haaa, every time I see a demon like that, I get all stiff down there. Seriously, I've been holding it back this whole time."

"What? Are you kidding? You're into that? You should've told us ahead of time! Ugh! Ptooey!"

"Respect a man's preferences. Just give me a moment of privacy. I'll be quick."

One mercenary gagged. Dante, flipping them a silver coin, sent them scurrying away.

But the torment wasn't over. Berulf's face went deathly white.

Dante checked the surroundings, then brought a finger to his lips.

"Comrade. I am Dante, branch manager of Revolutionaries' 13th Branch."

Berulf's eyes went wide. He could only mouth wordlessly.

"There's no time. Our branch comrades are lying in ambush all around. We intend to fight here before they hit the hideout. Will you fight with us?"

"O–Of course! Give me a chance! I'll rip out all their eyes and chew them up!"

"Good. But even so, I can't simply overlook the fact that you betrayed the organization and ratted us out."

Berulf said nothing. He barely had the wits left to think.

Dante turned, checked the area again, and spoke in a firmer tone.

"I am a dark mage. Let's make a contract. Sacrifice yourself for the Revolutionaries."

A mercenary was sneaking glances from a distance. The recon priests would return soon.

Berulf understood Dante's meaning.

'Servitude contract.'

A demon consumed by hatred offers his soul to a dark mage. The price: his life.

"... Understood. I accept, with honor."

He had always thought this day might come. Any demon of the Revolutionaries knew what to do with their remaining life at the final moment on the battlefield.

Dante slashed across both his own and Berulf's palms with a dagger. An incantation in an almost archaic tongue flowed from his lips. Each man licked and drank the other's blood from their wounds.

"I, who harvest burdensome souls, bid you not to succumb but to overcome.
I, in exchange, shall take charge of your reason, and in return you shall share in my power."

First, his own younger brother; second, Hilda. Berulf became Dante's third vessel for a demonic beast.

All were those with deep grudges.

"Hey! That's enough! Martin is coming!"

One mercenary shouted. When he got no response, he grumbled, parted the undergrowth, and stuck his head inside.

"Huh?"

Those were his last words. His head thudded to the ground—Dante had been hiding and struck with a sword. Berulf convulsed, frothing at the mouth, showing only the whites of his eyes.

'Ran. You terrifying bastard. Just how far ahead did you plan this?'

Dante wiped away the sweat running down his face. Everything proceeded as Ran intended. He was several steps above Martin.

'Even a genius tactician like myself finds it chilling.'

Now that the Special Unit had moved in earnest, the Revolutionaries' branch near Brinhill wouldn't last long.

That is, if not for Ran. He had minimized the sacrifices of many.

Dante faced Martin, who had returned after reconnaissance.

The priests, sensing something was off, drew their swords.

A sly smile curled up one side of Dante's lips.

"I am Dante, branch manager of the 13th Astana Revolutionary branch."

Shock spread across Martin's and the priests' faces—but not just because of Dante. A massive figure loomed behind him.

Growwwwwwl—!

A demonic beast, savage and animal-like. It was larger than two wild bears put together.

Martin shouted.

"Don't panic! If we attack together, we can take it!"

Even without holy power, subduing a demonic beast was possible—destroy the head or heart, or cripple it so it can't move.

Martin and the priests calmly took formation.

'Just one dark mage and a demonic beast.'

Martin steadied his breath, shaking off distractions to focus on the enemy before him. This was a fight they could win.

Clack—

A sharp metallic sound rang from all sides. From between the thick trees and brush, Zilla's Revolutionaries emerged from hiding.

'Shit.'

Martin's sword hand trembled.

-------------= Clacky's Corner -------------=
Dante is a bit of a narcissist.
Also, this is one of those times where I don't mind if the MC isn't in the scene.
Martin will get what he deserves.
【ദ്ദി(⩌ᴗ⩌)】