Chapter 539
Loki and the Saintess
After breakfast, Eivass led Sherlock and his companions to the inn where the trolls were staying.
Among the three trolls, only the hunter with green skin had woken up early. When Eivass arrived, he was voraciously devouring the inn’s all-you-can-eat breakfast.
Various races were present among the guests, with humans being the most numerous. Eivass also spotted rare Lizardmen.
Although the atmosphere was quite harmonious, and the conversations were light and polite, with no one mocking or attacking the troll hunter, everyone had tacitly chosen to look away, leaving a large space around the hunter.
The troll hunter, however, seemed unfazed by this. Instead, he was delighted to occupy a large area by himself, having taken a large portion of meat and spread it out on the table before him, eating with juice dripping everywhere.
When he looked up and saw Eivass, he almost choked to death.
His previously unrestrained expression turned timid in an instant, and he stammered as he stood up, like a child who had made a mistake, gesturing to Eivass.
Eivass said nothing, merely patted his shoulder with a smile, signaling him to sit down and continue eating.
However, it seemed Eivass’s presence had reduced his appetite, or perhaps he dared not let Eivass wait. The hunter ate only a few more bites before quickly standing up. As he left, he didn’t forget to grab seven or eight white bread rolls, stuffing them into his embrace.
The hunter led the way, occasionally glancing back at Eivass, muttering something.
As they neared the room, they heard the thunderous snoring emanating from within. Eivass and the other two waited outside the room, while the hunter bent over and crawled inside. They heard him shout something, and the snoring quickly stopped.
With a flurry of rapid activity, akin to dismantling a house, the troll Ritualist who had come to see his grandfather soon emerged in a disheveled state.
“My deepest apologies, Respected Archbishop. Thank you for your patience…”
He spoke in slightly obscure Avalon language, his mouth still moving, clearly chewing on the bread the hunter had brought them. He then pulled the other two along and followed Eivass and his group to the elevator.
While they waited for the elevator, Eivass observed the troll he had just swallowed, pondering.
…Speaking of which, he still didn’t know the name of this… oh, this young hero.
With that thought, Eivass looked at the troll’s considerably larger physique and slightly adjusted his thinking.
—Or should he be called a great hero?
So Eivass began to chat with him: “By the way, I don’t know your names yet. I’m Eivass… How should I address you?”
“Rabih,”
The troll with brown skin pointed to himself and said, “meaning ‘wizard’.”
Then, before Eivass could ask, he pointed to the Curse Master and the hunter respectively: “They are Zumaydi and Babulu. Meaning ‘bone paste’ and ‘horse hunter’.”
Eivass was immediately filled with respect.
—The hunter’s name, what aggressive connotations!
“Bone paste?”
Sherlock, standing nearby, asked with some confusion, “What is that?”
“It’s bone marrow,”
Eivass replied. “He might not know that word.”
“Oh,” Sherlock suddenly realized, “that does sound like a Curse Master’s name.”
Wizard. Bone marrow. Horse hunter.
The trolls’ naming logic was quite easy to understand… all derived from words with tangible imagery.
“And your grandfather? What’s his name?”
Eivass pressed.
“Rabih.”
Rabih answered without hesitation. “My father’s name is Rabih, and my grandfather’s name is also Rabih.”
“So, is that your surname?”
Sherlock asked.
Rabih looked at Sherlock with some confusion, not understanding the question.
“Trolls don’t have surnames, only tribes. Because their family concepts are unclear, it’s difficult to distinguish a child’s father,”
Eivass explained. “They refer to someone as ‘person of the X tribe.’ Some key successors all use the same name for convenience, while others have different names. Some are given by high priests, and others by parents.”
Sherlock understood. “So, he’s the successor of that tribe? Like… a troll prince?”
“If not for being a prince, he couldn’t possibly know so many languages. He looks at most… twenty?”
“We are from the Beast Song Tribe. Eighteen years old,”
Rabih quickly said. “I am Rabih of Beast Song. Other tribes also have their own Rabih.”
Sherlock glanced at Eivass. “You know quite a lot.”
“I read a lot,”
Eivass said with a sigh. “If you’re weak, train more! If you don’t understand, read more!”
After exchanging names, the atmosphere visibly eased. Eivass chatted with Rabih, while Sherlock huddled with the Curse Master, whispering something.
Although the other party didn’t understand Avalon language, Sherlock was intelligent enough to convey the general idea through gestures.
They soon arrived at The Eleventh Ring. Aside from The Twenty-second Ring where the Eternal Pope resided, this was precisely the central location of the Church.
With Cardinal Matilda’s letter of introduction and a map, they easily gained entry to the Central Observation Bureau.
The place was much more bustling than The Thirteenth Ring. Most of the people were Elves, with the rest being mostly Half-Elves. They all wore white coats, and many had colored monocles perched on their faces, giving the impression of a sci-fi research facility.
Another distinguishing feature of this place was the abundance of mirrors.
Large mirrors, small mirrors, floor-to-ceiling mirrors along entire corridors… combined with undecorated hallways, save for the “sticker torches” that burned quietly, one would likely get lost in this mirror maze without a guide.
Each Elf would lead them to a crossroads before leaving and handing them over to the next person. After repeating this relay for over ten times, Eivass and his group finally reached the end.
It was a place that resembled the cockpit of a sci-fi spaceship.
In a bubble-shaped spherical room, there were countless hexagonal mirrors carved like a honeycomb. Each mirror displayed a fleeting, clear image, constantly switching.
Undoubtedly, this was as mysterious as heaven to the trolls—they stared at it all, dumbfounded as if their souls had left their bodies. Even Sherlock’s eyes were glued to these hexagonal images, visibly excited, his face even flushing.
The man facing away from them, amidst hushed exclamations, turned around.
This was Cardinal Loki.
He was a Cardinal dressed in a gray robe, with black Sin Thorns around his neck, resembling a noose.
What caught Sherlock’s attention the most was his fiery, burning hair. The smooth long hair cascaded down to his shoulders, looking like an inverted flame. His appearance was effeminate and beautiful, yet Sherlock felt a sense of familiarity.
“…Huh?”
Just then, Lily suddenly exclaimed.
She looked at Cardinal Loki, as if she had just discovered something. Sherlock looked at her curiously, but found that Lily wasn’t looking back at him; instead, she stared at Cardinal Loki with a frown.
Cardinal Loki also noticed Lily’s presence at the same time.
He raised an eyebrow, said nothing, and then naturally shifted his gaze away from Lily.
He looked at Eivass and smiled, “Young Archbishop, I heard Cardinal Matilda sought me out? Is there something you require?”
Cardinal Loki’s voice was gentle and clear. Although his appearance suggested a man in his thirties, his voice was as bright as a youth’s.
Eivass’s gaze lingered on his stitched lips, then he politely bowed and said, “I am Eivass Moriarty, Respected Cardinal Loki.”
Eivass then lightly tapped his chest three times, bowed slightly, and said, “May the Candlemaster watch over your light.”
“May the Candlemaster also watch over your light,”
Loki bowed in sync, returning Eivass’s gesture.
He murmured the name, a thoughtful expression on his face. “Eivass Moriarty…
“…Hmm, I have heard of your name. I will call you Eivass directly.”
“Yes, Cardinal Loki. The reason we are here is very simple…”
As Eivass spoke, he gestured to the trolls behind him.
Just then, Cardinal Loki interrupted with a stern expression, “Have you offended someone recently, Eivass?”
“…What?”
Upon hearing this, Eivass was taken aback.
“My advice is for you to leave the Church as soon as possible and not return. The Church is not absolutely safe,”
Loki said sincerely, his furrowed brow resembling that of a reliable doctor. “You bear the mark of a curse… very clear and persistent. It is obvious that someone is pursuing you.”
“—How is the Church not safe?”
A gentle yet firm voice cut through the air.
Escorted by four Pope’s Guards, the Pure White Saintess entered with noble dignity and solemnity.
“If there is any place in this world that is absolutely safe, it can only be the Eternal Holy Kingdom. On the contrary, leaving the Church will make those with ill intentions unrestrained.”
The Pure White Saintess raised her slender, fair neck and said earnestly, “If Eivass encounters any danger, I will protect him. Just as I would protect the future and hope.”
“Then please help the future and hope find the person too, Your Highness the Saintess,”
After the Pure White Saintess appeared, Cardinal Loki’s expression turned noticeably cold. “I have other work to attend to, so I cannot escort you.”
“Please do not leave yet, Cardinal Loki,”
The Pure White Saintess looked up at Cardinal Loki, who was significantly taller than her, her voice calm and emotionless. “I have a charge of murder against you. Please accompany me.”
“Murder?”
Cardinal Loki scoffed. “The death of Bishop Mercedes? That has nothing to do with me. I know about it because I witnessed it.”
He then pointed to the honeycomb mirror array before him. “Everyone knows I have always been here. I have not left for the past few months. All employees of the Central Observation Bureau can testify for me.”
“I know. But what about ‘Controlled Fire’?”
The Pure White Saintess retorted. “Do you dare say this matter is unrelated to the extremists of Controlled Fire?”
“I have no direct control or affiliation with them. Controlled Fire is merely an idea, not a political party,”
Cardinal Loki countered. “Your Highness the Saintess. If you consider the dangerous extremists within Controlled Fire to be my responsibility, then as the de facto ruler of the Church, do you bear no responsibility for it?”
“You are the director of the Central Observation Bureau, and you should be aware of all matters occurring in the Church in advance. When encountering such dangerous acts of murder, you should have intervened. Not to mention that she was a bishop. Furthermore, Bishop Mercedes was a Saintess Candidate, and if something were to happen to me, she might have become the next Saintess.”
“My responsibility is to observe ‘omens that would cause the Church to split, be destroyed, or result in massive casualties,’ and to provide accurate and timely warnings and evacuation guidance to all citizens. Clearly, preventing the death of a bishop is not within my purview…”
“So you admit that you knew about this matter and were closely involved?”
“—Even if she was a friend of Your Highness the Saintess, it would be the same.”
Both individuals maintained calm expressions and logical speech. Neither resorted to physical action nor displayed emotional outbursts, their pupils not glowing intensely. Thus, their conversation wasn’t taken too seriously as an argument. However, their words clearly indicated they were talking past each other.
This was evidently not a conflict that had just arisen from this incident, but rather a long-standing resentment.
…So, the relationship between Loki and the Pure White Saintess was already strained at this point?
Eivass, observing from the side, had this thought.
Meanwhile, the others present remained silent, intimidated by the dispute between the two figures.
(End of Chapter)
