Chapter 189

Creak.

The boy pedaled his bicycle with all his might.

The harder he pedaled, the faster the bicycle went, sweat pouring off him like rain with every turn of the pedals.

Even though it was early autumn and the dawn air was growing chilly enough to quickly dry his sweat, it seemed the boy had no intention of stopping.

Clatter.

Looking closer, the bicycle was laden with an impressive amount of cargo. It was no wonder the boy was sweating so much—it was a heavy load for someone of his small frame to handle.

Still, the boy felt immense satisfaction with the cargo on his bike.

Despite the difficulty, he couldn’t help but be content.

"Here! Today’s milk and newspapers!"

"Thank you as always, Patrick. You really are quick with your deliveries."

"Haha, please continue using Patrick’s Delivery Service!"

After all, he was making money. And that alone made the hard work worthwhile.

"I’ve already spread the word about you to others. When I told them how diligent you are, some people even said they wanted to meet you."

"Oh! T-thank you, ma’am! May you be blessed!"

"Hoho, so you’ll give me a discount now, right?"

"That’s not possible."

"…So firm, aren’t you?"

"Hehe, please understand, ma’am. I’m still operating at a loss. Once I’m turning a profit, I’ll make sure to reward my loyal customers generously. I’ll repay your kindness, no matter what!"

"Well, I look forward to that."

The boy grinned confidently and began pedaling his bicycle with renewed vigor.

Patrick.

A teenage orphan from the Imperial streets, Patrick had been in the kingdom for nearly a month now. He was quickly adapting to life in the kingdom.

‘…Honestly, it still feels like I’m dreaming.’

Patrick still remembered.

No, he would probably remember it for the rest of his life.

The night when the accursed Magic Tower crumbled to the ground, and the Fairy of Spring was revived.

Even boarding the Fairy’s spring breeze alongside the knights felt surreal.

To be honest, he had considered staying in the Empire after the Magic Tower’s destruction and the Fairy’s revival.

But no, not the Empire!

Even with the source of evil gone and spring returned, the Empire still felt like a mess to Patrick.

After a quick calculation, he realized the situation was far too unstable. War could break out at any moment, and even if a new emperor ascended, chaos would reign for some time.

So, Patrick made up his mind and continued on to Pendragon.

Now, he was proving his decision right by steadily establishing his "first business."

With some capital saved from his life on the streets and a small loan from the bank, Patrick had managed to start his venture—an impressive feat for a first-time entrepreneur.

‘If there’s no established merchant in the market, you have to expand quickly!’

Delivery Service.

From simple items like newspapers and milk to larger orders of fruits and grains, Patrick’s business was built around delivering goods on schedule.

For now, it was small and understaffed—he was running around tirelessly on his own.

But he believed that as demand grew and he hired more people, his business would flourish into something significant.

Some might dismiss his ambition as childish or overly optimistic, but Patrick saw hope in his business. His mind buzzed with ideas for other ventures, leaving no room for fear of failure.

‘…I wasn’t always this bold.’

Patrick found it remarkable how passionately he was living now.

This was why one’s environment mattered.

"-And why having a protector is important."

Patrick scratched his cheek, feeling a bit shy.

He thought of the knight who had taken him in.

It was already a lifelong debt of gratitude that the knight had destroyed the Magic Tower, but Patrick hadn’t expected to be cared for even after coming to the kingdom.

If he thought about it, the reason he could start his business so young and with such confidence was because the knight had vouched for him.

The knight had lent his name, allowing Patrick to join the merchants’ guild.

It felt like his debts were only piling up.

But the benefactor himself had said:

What debt? Did I lend you money or stand as your guarantor? I just lent you my name. So, just focus on working hard and succeeding—not for my sake, but for yours. Got it?

…The knight had only expressed his wish for Patrick to live well, nothing more.

‘…I’ll repay him! With interest, a hundredfold—no, a thousandfold!’

But rather than relieving him, those words only fueled Patrick’s determination.

Though he had grown up on the streets, Patrick had never resorted to theft or illegal means to make money. He had vowed to live as a son his late parents wouldn’t be ashamed of.

And how could he not repay the man who had avenged his parents?

It wouldn’t be proper. Patrick’s pride wouldn’t allow it.

‘I will succeed. No matter what…!’

Though he was still just a teenager, Patrick burned with ambition.

He vowed to succeed in business and make a name for himself, not just in this kingdom but across the entire continent, as a great merchant.

…For now, though, he was still living as a dependent.

"…Once I’ve saved enough money, I’ll move out on my own."

Sigh…

Patrick let out a deep sigh far beyond his years. Shaking his head to dispel his worries, he decided to focus on the task at hand. There was no use dwelling on depressing thoughts.

"So, the next delivery is… Hm?"

Screeech.

Despite being pressed for time, Patrick suddenly stopped his bicycle.

Even from a considerable distance, he recognized a familiar figure.

"That person is…"

With striking red hair and a perpetually shadowed expression, the figure looked male at first glance but was actually a priestess in disguise. She was a guest in the household Patrick currently stayed in—or more accurately, an "intern."

‘Right, she called herself an intern.’

It was Father Pierre.

Patrick blinked as he watched her wander the streets.

Ihan’s front yard had ten small huts—or rather, boarding facilities.

Each was built for the nine interns and instructors under his care. The sign "Made In Ihan" marked them as creations of the knight himself, a testament to the care he’d put into them.

Having learned carpentry as a hobby—and having been forced to improve his skills due to a certain clumsy maid who frequently broke things—the knight had managed to craft boarding houses that, while simple, were surprisingly cozy and comfortable.

Though they looked somewhat like doghouses, each hut was spacious enough for one person to sleep in, with room for belongings and a decently soft bedroll. In some ways, they were ideal homes for those who embraced a minimalist lifestyle.

In short, while modest in appearance, they were well-made and comfortable.

"…Lately, I’ve been growing fond of this place."

"As much as I hate to admit it, these are really well-built."

"Did you notice the rain the other day? Not a single drop leaked in. Even the typhoon a fortnight ago didn’t budge them. Remarkable."

"Ugh, I feel like I’m being domesticated…"

"……."

Sigh…

The nine interns—or rather, inquisitors—let out heavy sighs.

They weren’t the kind of people to sit around idly, and the idea of being "domesticated" like this was deeply frustrating.

Somewhere out there, heretics were surely multiplying like weeds…

Not being able to hunt them down while lazing about like this made their hearts ache.

"-Shut up, you lunatics. Half the people you call heretics are innocent. You’re nothing but psychopathic butchers."

"……."

"As if you care. You’re only saying that because you’re comfortable. Lazy bastards, all of you."

"…Ugh…"

The mocking tone was familiar—it reminded them of their landlord.

But this time, it wasn’t the knight.

It was none other than—

"Instructor Damian…"

Damian Pollet, heir to a prestigious knightly family and their senior by over half a year.

"Life must be easy, huh? Back in my day, I didn’t have the luxury of lounging around like you lot. Tsk! Sure, it’s not entirely your fault. The instructor’s busy training these days, so nothing’s been stirring. That’s why you’re acting like this. Ha… The world’s going backwards, it really is…"

Damian Pollet, typically polite to his equals or superiors, dropped all pretense of courtesy when addressing those he deemed beneath him. His speech could become as rough as that of a common thug.

But perhaps he had forgotten who these people really were—Inquisitors of Heresy.

…Wasn’t he afraid of the consequences?

"And you, brat! It’s not just ‘Instructor,’ it’s Instructor Sir! Where do you get off acting like an equal to me, you pathetic intern?"

"S-sorry, sir…."

"Does saying sorry end your intern life?"

"N-no, I—"

"Why are your eyes glaring like that? Oh, are you mad? Is your pride hurt because some lowly instructor is scolding you? My goodness, I didn’t realize I was disrespecting such noble heresy inquisitors. What a grievous mistake on my part!"

"……."

"Are you going to answer me or what?"

"S-sorry, sir…"

"Does apologizing end your intern life?"

"…Ugh."

Today, Damian’s tone was harsher than usual.

Was it because he’d been pulling all-nighters recently?

No, he was used to that by now.

Damian Pollet wasn’t angry for any trivial reason.

"Don’t cry. No one here’s on your side anyway. Really, how cushy must your upbringing have been? I guess no matter what you did, the temple coddled you, and that’s why you grew up so insolent. The instructor called you worse than delinquents, and now I understand why he said that."

"!?!!"

"Do you want to deny it? Are you boiling with anger? Then go complain to the instructor. Oh wait, you can’t, can you? Because the assassins you took down were sent after him first. …Pathetic scum who disgrace the name of the Light."

"!!!"

His biting words came from genuine contempt.

‘How have they not improved at all?’

At first, Damian had been excited to have subordinates to train. But in less than two months, he realized something.

‘There’s no saving these people!’

Was it their nature as inquisitors of heresy?

Or had they been brainwashed beyond repair?

Whatever it was, something fundamental, something human, was missing from them.

That missing piece might have been "compassion," "guilt," or what the instructor often referred to as "reason."

Even Damian, known for his abrasive personality, had at least a shred of compassion and guilt.

But these people? He couldn’t see a trace of it.

Just listening to their conversations was enough to confirm it.

‘They talk about purging heretics, but they’re the real heretics….’

They had no qualms about killing people.

As long as they received orders, they carried them out without hesitation.

They were assassins stripped of will and conscience.

Today cemented Damian’s belief—they were nothing more than puppets.

Puppets wielding the name of the great Light of Radiance as a shield to exert their power.

‘Ugh, why are these abnormal freaks under my supervision?’

Damian was disgusted by the interns and wished they’d just disappear.

Sure, they were competent, but their presence was revolting.

He now understood why society ostracized and feared heresy inquisitors.

And he was certain:

‘These people… will cause trouble the moment they get the chance.’

"…He suspects us."

One of the inquisitors narrowed their eyes in secret. Damian Pollet had just become a far greater threat in their mind.

‘…He’s not as foolish as he looks.’

At first glance, he seemed like a typical arrogant noble brat. But he was sharper and more observant than expected.

‘He’s dangerous. Should I eliminate him?’

…No, that wasn’t a viable option.

Despite looking perpetually exhausted, Damian had been toughened and strengthened (albeit against his will) by constant training under the knight. His endurance and skill were remarkably high for someone his age.

Unless success was guaranteed, attempting to eliminate him could backfire.

So.

‘For now, I’ll lie low.’

This wasn’t the worst-case scenario yet. There would always be another opportunity.

An opportunity to escape from the knight’s watch and fulfill "the temple’s other mission."

Irene Windler.

The chance to abduct her.

In the unwritten laws of romance fantasy novels…

The heroine was always a target.