Regressor of the Fallen Family novel Chapter 270

Chapter 270

Amidst a sea of black-robed inquisitors donning steel helmets, a lone elderly priest clad in a pristine white robe bellowed out the command.

It had only been a day since their arrival at the royal capital.

Disregarding the king’s invitation to stay longer, Esel Fabrun immediately convened the heresy inquisitors. Something urgent compelled them to depart from the royal palace at dawn—just as the day was breaking.

‘Must solidify the facts before the king crafts some scheme.’

Harrowing testimonies that spoke of blasphemy against the divine had been relayed by the local diocese of Maclaine.

The mission’s essence was to verify and record these accounts, then report back to the church. Moreover, they were tasked with apprehending parts of those ‘forsaken ones.’

Such was the gravity of the situation that the Pope himself had personally selected and directed him.

– A reliable informant exists, merely verify the report. Do not delay excessively. Should your idiosyncrasies hinder our work…

– Such an event will absolutely not transpire. Please place your faith in me, Your Holiness.

The chilling gaze of the Pope seemed to pierce through him, causing Esel to shudder.

It was he, among all the former colleagues and archbishops in this diocese, including Pamiel Gernheim, to ascend to the rank of cardinal the fastest.

Initially, he was confident that his politicking had paid off.

But it was a mere illusion.

He realized the next day after his appointment that his rapid rise was part of the Pope’s plan: put those with weaknesses in high positions, then puppeteer the next Pope at will.

– Should this information become public, excommunication is inevitable, Cardinal Esel.

Esel had become the Pope’s pawn the moment he assumed the role of cardinal—meant to check the Pope’s power at times.

And he was not troubled by this fact at all.

He knew that the vast majority of the current nine cardinals were in a similar bind.

Tossing aside the Pope’s echoing directive in his mind, Esel gazed forward once more.

“Let’s complete the task as swiftly as possible…”

Thud-thud-thud-thud.

He had intended to give a brief homily before their departure, but before he could even start, the sound of the earth trembling caught his attention from behind. Turning, he saw flags adorned with the emblem of an eagle encircled by a whirlwind, fluttering high in the air. Ꞧ𝖆ΝοΒЕ§

“The knightly order?”

Hiiii!

Beneath the banner that bore the crest of the Esperanza family and now symbolized the MacLaine royal second legion, some 700 knights brought their horses to a halt in unison.

A mature knight with streaks of blond amidst his white hair gently smiled as he dismounted and approached Esel.

“Are you Cardinal Esel Fabrun?”

Although his face bore the semblance of a man in his fifties, Esel could read traces of wrinkles that ‘had been’ there.

The signs were not of natural aging but hinted at a power that forcefully erased them. Unless the knight before him had sought magical or clerical cosmetic treatments, cases such as these typically meant one thing.

A knight who had honed the life force—Force—to its limits, defying age itself as a byproduct.

“…An Aura User?”

A murmur slipped out, and the knight, aged yet youthful, continued with a smile.

“Felix Esperanza, at your service. My duty is to ‘escort’ the investigation team during your stay in the kingdom.”

“Ah…so you’re the famous Sword Saint. But an escort? We did not request for such a service.”

“The gesture is His Majesty’s kindness. He worries for the well-being of honored visitors in unfamiliar lands.”

Yeah, right.

Recalling yesterday’s encounter, the suggestion sounded outright ludicrous to Esel.

“Surely you’re not suggesting interference with the church’s proceedings?”

“Of course not. We are simply here to assist with the investigation.”

“We need no aid. We are perfectly capable of handling our own affairs.”

“Very well then. We will discretely fulfill our escort duties.”

Their eyes clashed fiercely.

“Clearly, you have plans to follow regardless.”

“This is MacLaine land. Please do not reject the king’s hospitality.”

Esel, his expression unreadable, scanned the knights behind the Sword Saint and then, with a chilling smile and a nod, acknowledged the situation.

“Hmm…very well. But be warned, any improper actions will be seen as a challenge against the church.”

“Such a thing would never happen.”

Despite his seemingly mocking demeanor, a flame burned within the Sword Saint.

– I entrust this to you, Master. The aims of the inquisition are clear. To take advantage of innocents like Stella…

Driven by his liege’s words, the Sword Saint had not hesitated.

‘Dare they threaten my daughter…’

Her voice calling him ‘Daddy’ reverberated in his ears.

Starting and ending his days with Stella’s smile was his ultimate joy.

To him, this investigation team was no different from villains plotting to demonize his precious daughter.

‘Whatever you intend to achieve, it will not go as planned.’

Watching Esel’s retreating figure as he commanded the departure, the Sword Saint wore a deadly smile.

*** The trio of inquisitors and elite knights from the second legion maintained a tense coexistence for three full days. Throughout their journey to Lafftan territory, not even a jest was exchanged—complete mutual disdain.

The transformation started with the fall of Eric Lafftan, the previous lord, and the appointment of his cousin Tenon Lafftan as the new lord.

To alleviate the massacres committed by his cousin, the new lord poured kindness onto his territory. Continuing the royal tax relief policy and even reducing it by 20 percent provided a substantial relief to the people, who were still groaning from the aftermath of the plague.

Another significant change was the unique method in which the local defense forces’ training was conducted.

“There he goes! Catch him!”

“He’s already been hit! Just surround him!”

“Just a bit more!”

Chasing a limping deer shot by an arrow, the hunters realized that it was trapped and barraged it with bolts from their repeater crossbows.

Thwack-thwack.

The deer, its mournful death cry cut short, collapsed, and the men chasing it shared victorious smiles.

“Got him!”

“Nice!”

“Quick, drink while it’s fresh!”

Drink.

The word would have bewildered outsiders, but none of the assembled men objected. Instead, they excitedly produced bowls from their belongings.

“Come on, hurry up!”

One of the men with a crossbow sliced the deer’s artery, and a rush of blood poured into the proffered vessels, which they gulped down greedily.

“Ugh, I can never get used to this metallic taste.”

“It’s good for your health; just endure and drink.”

“Right. It’s the panacea that conquered the plague.”

The men covered in blood looked grotesque as they laughed, the light of vengeance in the deer’s innocent eyes fading fast. The blood-drinking spectacle, though abhorrent, was something they took in stride.

It was a cultural ritual rekindled from the ashes of the Grant territory, extinguished seventy years prior—awaiter of the craving for life blooming post-plague. Understandable, despite its repulsiveness.

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