Chapter 6: Inquisitor of Heresy

Chapter 6: Inquisitor of Heresy

"The true master of deception... never lies?"

Layman savored these words, feeling a subtle stir within.

Was the Book of the Evil God giving him some kind of hint? If he was to pass the test of the Inquisition, perhaps what he needed to speak was not lies, but "truth"?

"But I haven't even seen what the Inquisitor looks like—how am I supposed to know what he wants to hear?" Layman sighed. "Book of the Evil God, don't you dare screw me over... Hmph, Farming Expert. I'll remember you for the rest of my life."

He closed the Book of the Evil God. The heavy tome transformed into a stream of light that burrowed into his palm. The skin there suddenly burned hot, then quickly cooled.

All he could do was wait for tomorrow and improvise on the spot!

***

The next day, noon.

Deputy Captain Edton, who oversaw the black prison, arrived at the cell block.

Early that morning, two Senior Inquisitors had arrived at Cape Prison aboard the monthly supply ship. They'd barely settled in before one of them demanded to interrogate a prisoner. Deputy Captain Edton admired their dedication—at this rate, they'd have that heretic executed by evening, right?

Showing humanitarian concern, Deputy Captain Edton had the kitchen prepare a bowl of bread-soaked porridge as a generous last meal for the prisoner. Hopefully he'd pass on peacefully and confess his sins before the God of Dawn.

"Prisoner 1154! Food's up! Finish up and follow me!"

This prisoner, who usually spent his days hollering "I'm innocent!", was uncharacteristically silent today. He ate his last meal without a word, obediently let himself be cuffed, and followed Deputy Captain Edton out of the black prison.

The Deputy Captain naturally didn't believe this scourge of society had turned over a new leaf and become a model prisoner. He must have heard the Inquisitors had arrived and thrown in the towel, right?

That suited him just fine—Deputy Captain Edton liked compliant prisoners. His only complaint was that Prisoner 1154 kept gawking the whole way. He was about to kick the bucket, what was there to look at?!

"Quit gawking!" the Deputy Captain snapped. "You're not here for a sightseeing tour!"

Prisoner 1154 immediately let his head drop, shrinking into a small, pitiful ball as if deeply regretting his behavior.

"I'm sorry, sir. It's just that I've never seen such an impressive prison before, so I couldn't help but take a look... You must be really something to work here!"

His cowering demeanor was gratifying to behold, and his praise of Cape Prison (and of Deputy Captain Edton himself) warmed the officer's heart.

"Heh, you bet it is." The Deputy Captain puffed up with pride, becoming more talkative. "Work here for five years, and I'll get a promotion and transfer to the Holy City. If you want a position in the Holy City Guard, hands-on experience like this is essential. Cape Prison is where we cultivate talents for the Holy Nation—that's the... what's it called..."

"Cradle," Prisoner 1154 filled in for him.

"Right! You've got a way with words." Deputy Captain Edton found this prisoner increasingly worth mentoring. "Well then, drink it all in. You won't have many more chances to see our Cape Prison!"

He was so generous! Didn't the God of Dawn teach people to be merciful? He'd taken another great step forward in living by the holy word!

The breastplate bearing the Dawn God's emblem on Deputy Captain Edton's chest shone even more brightly!

............

Heh, too easy.

Layman glanced sideways at the Deputy Captain, whose back was ramrod straight and nose in the air, and sneered inwardly.

He'd dealt with the Deputy Captain for days now and knew the man well—a show-off who took inexplicable pride in Cape Prison, as if working there made his ancestors proud.

Now that he had "Masterful Acting," he could see right through the man at a glance:

All he needed was to show fear before the Deputy Captain and butter him up, and the man would be completely charmed.

Now, Layman could finally "tour" Cape Prison in the light of day. When he'd been brought here, it was nighttime, and a black sack had been thrown over his head, so he'd never seen the prison's entire layout. This time, he'd take the opportunity to case the joint carefully and prepare for a future escape.

This place was less a prison and more a fortress perched on a cliff overlooking the sea—surrounded by water on three sides, and the remaining side boasted not only a barbican but also two watchtowers standing watch. Through the narrow windows, Layman could see guards walking the ramparts. In the square by the main gate stood a black guillotine, where a hooded executioner was pouring water on the ground—perhaps to make the blood easier to wash away.

The prison's design prevented both prisoner escapes and attacks from outside. Whether fleeing or breaking someone out, it would be nearly impossible.

The main building had three floors, connected by a sky bridge to a tall central tower. Layman was marched to the fourth floor of the tower. The Deputy Captain knocked respectfully on an oak door.

"Enter." A low male voice came from within.

The Deputy Captain carefully pushed the door open, wringing his hands and bowing. "Your Grace the Inquisitor, the prisoner is here!"

Layman tensed, summoning the power of "Masterful Acting" throughout his body.

He tousled his hair and put on a pitiful expression, as if he'd suffered inhumane treatment in the black prison—anyone with a shred of decency would be outraged on his behalf. His eyes were dazed and helpless, wide-eyed and clueless, as if he had no idea why he'd been brought here.

"Send him in. You're dismissed."

"Yes, Your Grace!" The guard pushed Layman into the room. The door slammed shut behind him.

Compared to the damp, dark black prison, this room was downright luxurious. The floor was carpeted, soft and silent underfoot. Flames flickered in the stone fireplace, driving away cold and dampness while adding warmth to the tapestry of a hero battling a dragon that hung above it. In the center of the room stood a wide oak desk, upon which—besides ink, books, and scattered papers—sat a strange lion statue.

Behind the desk was an intricately carved high-backed chair. A man sat there, writing furiously.

He appeared to be between twenty-five and thirty, draped in an immaculate white robe, with hair like molten gold tied neatly behind his head.

The man set down his quill and looked up. He had sky-blue eyes. He would have been quite handsome, were it not for a deep scar cutting across his left brow, narrowly missing his eye. Some might call scars a badge of manhood, but to Layman, it only made the man look murderous.

"Your name?" the man asked coldly.

"Layman Vichard, Your Grace." Layman replied in a meek, honest tone, with "Masterful Acting" adding a touch of frailty.

The man's expression softened slightly, as if he felt he shouldn't be so harsh with a poor prisoner—that wouldn't be chivalrous. The man looked like he hadn't eaten in days and was about to collapse!

"I am Aether Orolan, Senior Inquisitor of the Holy Nation's Religious Inquisition," he said. "The Tribunal has assigned me to hear your case."

Layman stared at the carpet, looking utterly terrified, as if afraid to meet the Inquisitor's eyes. Ah, there were a few moth-eaten holes in the carpet...

"I-I'm innocent, Your Grace," he choked out. "No one would listen to me. They threw me in the black prison and let me starve..."

"Whether you're innocent or not, I'll judge for myself." Aether cut him off. "No need to be nervous. Do you think our Tribunal would extract confessions by torture and send innocents to the stake?"

Ah... wouldn't they?

Layman squeezed out a few tears, pretending to be frightened by his words. "The guard said I'd definitely end up on the guillotine..."

"That depends on whether you tell the truth," Aether said. "Some in the Tribunal advocate killing a hundred innocents rather than letting one heretic escape. I hold a different view. Killing good people reduces the number of true believers of the God of Dawn, which only emboldens heretics."

This Inquisitor actually reasoned—that was good news.

"So," Aether continued, "I've applied to the Tribunal for the use of this 'relic.'"

He stood and pushed the strange lion statue forward on the desk. The lion was frozen in a roar, its gaping maw just large enough to fit a fist.

"Put your hand inside."

Layman hesitated, then complied. An innocent man wrongly imprisoned naturally wouldn't refuse a chance to prove his innocence.

"This relic is called the 'Mouth of Truth.' If you speak the truth, nothing will happen. If you lie, it will bite your hand. Now, try saying a truth."

Though he had no idea what a "relic" meant, based on the Inquisitor's explanation, it had to be an object with special powers that could detect lies.

Hold on—wasn't the task the Book of the Evil God gave him called "Truth or Falsehood"? Was this some kind of hint?

Would the relic see through a lie backed by "Masterful Acting"? Was "truth" about fully expressing what was in your heart, or could a wishy-washy statement slip by?

Lyman mulled it over for a second and decided to give it a shot.

"The sun isn't white... ow!"

The Lion Statue's jaws snapped shut with a *clap*, its fangs digging into Lyman's palm.

Aether patted the lion on the head, and its mouth opened back up.

"I told you to tell the truth! What the hell are you saying?!" the Inquisitor said, displeased.

Lyman pulled his hand back. He wasn't bleeding—just a ring of teeth marks on the back of it.

What the heck? Was he lying? How could the sun be white?

Lyman stepped over to the window and looked up at the sky. From where he stood, he could see the shimmering sea and a pale celestial body hanging in the sky.

At first, he figured it was the moon that hadn't set yet, but judging by the angle of the shadows, that thing was the sun!

How weird—the sun in this world was actually white. Guess this world had plenty of differences from Earth—he'd have to be careful from now on.

"Sorry, sir, I misheard. I thought you wanted me to try lying," Lyman said quickly.

Aether's expression eased a bit: "Watch it next time. Don't mess around with the sun. If it were anyone else, you'd probably be charged with disrespecting the God of Dawn!"

He pointed at the lion statue. "Keep going."

Lyman did as told, sticking his other hand into the lion's mouth.

"If you tell the truth, it won't react," Aether added. "Try it again."

The statue's definition of a "lie" covered not just deliberate falsehoods, but also any statement that didn't match objective facts. So how accurate was its read on the truth?

Lyman thought for a moment and said, "Today, the warden allowed me to tour Cape Prison. He also brought me lunch."

The lion statue didn't react.

—He had guessed correctly.

A listener might think the warden allowed Lyman to tour first and then gave him lunch, but in reality, the "tour" happened after the "meal." Lyman deliberately swapped the order of the two events, yet the statue didn't catch it.

Moreover, the phrase "the warden allowed me to tour" could easily mislead others into thinking the warden took the initiative. But Lyman omitted crucial information: his initial attempt to observe the prison layout had earned him a scolding, and it was only after his performance that the warden reluctantly agreed.

In other words, this relic's lie-detection mechanism was rigid and mechanical—as long as the narrative didn't contradict objective facts, it was treated as "truth."

Lyman could easily get away with holding back info, flipping the order of events, or spinning things to deceive.