Naturally, the news of the Emperor’s death reached Vanitas’s ears as well. He had only been informed of it a week ago, during a briefing with the High Council of Nobles.
To his surprise, the news brought him a subconscious delight.
That wretched man, who had taken Julia Barielle as his Empress, who had fathered Franz, Irene, and Astrid, was finally gone. The very same woman who bore such an uncanny resemblance to Kim Minjeong that it wasn’t even a joke anymore.
No… with the facts he now knew, it was more accurate to say Julia was most likely an incarnation of Kim Minjeong.
That truth alone made Vanitas deeply uncomfortable.
But that didn’t matter anymore.
Had he still been alive, had he stood before Vanitas now, he couldn’t even begin to imagine what he might’ve done. Something that would have been branded as an Imperial crime. most likely.
At present, the cult had gone quiet, deciding to lay low in the aftermath of Vanitas’s initiative. The greater concern now was Franz. The man was dangerously unstable. One wrong move and the entire Empire would be plunged into civil war.
No, perhaps it was more accurate to say that the unrest had already begun. The riots erupting from the working class weren’t going to stay as riots for long.
In the middle of the silence, a knock echoed through Vanitas’s study.
To— Tok.
He didn’t look up from his seat. “What is it?”
The door opened, and Evan stepped in with a bow. “My Lord, there’s… a situation outside the estate gates. The knights have tried to suppress it, but it’s proving difficult.”
“And?”
“There’s a person requesting to see you. And they refuse to leave.”
“Who is it?”
“They say… they’re an acquaintance.”
“….”
Vanitas stood and exited the mansion without another word. As always, the manor grounds bustled with staff going about their duties. In the distance, the Illenia Knights could be seen training in their designated arena.
From across the yard, Vanitas caught sight of the commotion at the front gates. Several guards were engaged in conversation with a lone man.
“…?”
Vanitas narrowed his eyes. He didn’t recognize him. As he approached, the guards straightened immediately, bowing in respect as the commotion died down.
“What’s the situation?” Vanitas asked.
“My Lord! He claims to be from Reamont University, but he’s refused to provide any identification—”
“Vanitas Astrea!” the man suddenly barked, cutting through the explanation. “I don’t care what status you hold. I demand justice!”
“Justice?” Vanitas turned his full attention to him now. “Since when has my home become a circus? Why are clowns showing up at my gates, performing without an invitation?”
The man flinched but stood his ground. “I am Professor Callum Weiss. You killed my son, Marcus Weiss, during your western purge.”
At that, the surrounding guards tensed. A few instinctively reached for their hilts, awaiting Vanitas’s cue.
Vanitas’s voice dropped an octave. “I killed a lot of people in the west. Be more specific. What made him worth remembering?”
“He was a trainee knight!” Callum’s voice cracked. “And you dragged him all the way to the west just to get him killed!”
Vanitas’s eyes narrowed. “If he was dragged, he wasn’t fit to wear armor in the first place.”
Callum’s lips trembled. “He admired you! He volunteered to serve under your command because he believed in you!”
“And that belief got him killed. It’s not my fault he wasn’t strong enough to survive.”
“You—”
“You what?” Vanitas cut in. “You’ll throw a punch? Draw a weapon? Die like your son?”
“….”
Silence fell again. The wind blew against the iron gates, and even the guards remained motionless, watching the entire exchange. They knew Vanitas was ruthless, but he had all the reasons to be.
“He was seventeen…”
“Then he died a man. I don’t mourn cowards. If he fell, then he fell doing something he chose. This isn’t a fairytale, Professor Weiss. You don’t get to pick the ending.”
Tears started to fall, but Callum blinked them away. “You’ll regret this. One day, the lives you’ve trampled—”
“Send him away.”
At that, the guards began to move. Vanitas could hear Callum screaming his name behind him, but he simply ignored it.
Until a single shout made him pause.
“Put yourself in my shoes for a moment! What if it was your family?!”
Whoosh—
Vanitas didn’t turn around. He just stood there with his back facing them, the cold breeze brushed past the edge of his coat.
“I’ll send you money for compensation,” he said. “That should be enough.”
“You monster!” Callum screamed. “You think money can bring my son back to life—”
“I wish it could.”
Leaving off those words, he walked away, his shadow long against the stone path, leaving behind a grieving father who could only scream at the perpetrator.
“I’d give everything to bring Charlotte back to life….”
He gnashed his teeth.
* * *
“Have you been conspiring against me, Sword Saint?”
“…”
Aston Nietzsche stopped in his tracks. He had only been passing by when the Pope Telos Alexander IX, called out to him with that pointed accusation.
He turned slowly. “What do you mean by that, Your Holiness?”
“This heretic, Vanitas Astrea,” Telos said coldly. “You’ve not lifted a finger against his transgressions. Worse, you even approved his ascension to Great Power. I have every right to ask.”
Aston didn’t answer right away. His expression remained calm, but behind his eyes was a sense of something colder.
“I approved his ascension because the Great Powers demanded stability. And Astrea, whatever you might call him, is a stabilizing force.”
“Stability?” Telos scoffed. “He murdered a Cardinal. Desecrated our sacred grounds. He is a blight. And now, that blight walks unchecked and unchallenged. Do you not see the danger?”
“I do,” Aston replied. “But I also see the greater one.”
“And what, pray tell, is greater than a godless heretic running loose?”
“The absence of balance,” Aston said flatly. “He’s a sword, Your Holiness. You may not like the way he swings, but even you must admit, he’s cutting through enemies we can no longer afford to fight head-on.”
Telos just stared at him. “I’ve known you for decades, Aston. I’ve practically raised you. You were once loyal to the faith.”
“I still am,” Aston said. “But I am not loyal to blindness. If you truly believe that faith means ignoring the tides rising beneath your feet, then it is not me who’s betrayed the Church.”
Telos’s face twisted in disbelief. “Do you even hear yourself? I can’t believe this. Even Aetherion’s Emperor himself is protecting him.”
The implication was clear. With Emperor Franz Barielle Aetherion shielding Vanitas, it meant the Empire had, in some way, acknowledged the allegations against Cardinal Ester, perhaps even believed them. That Cardinal Ester had been in collusion with the cult.
“That Ableton might’ve been guilty,” Telos spat. “But now they’re dragging our Cardinal into this farce. They’re slandering one of our own, slandering the Holy Goddess herself! And all without a shred of valid evidence!”
His voice rose.
“And you stand here… telling me you believe in their blasphemy?!”
But despite their back-and-forth argument, Aston remained calm as much as possible. Though he could feel his palms starting to moist.
“I believe in what I saw with my own eyes,” he said. “And I believe in the cries of the victims who had no voice until now. If you call that blasphemy, then perhaps the definition of faith needs to be rewritten.”
“You’ve been corrupted…”
Thump!
The Pope struck his staff against the floor. A wave of divine mana burst forth. Aston collapsed instantly, catching his breath as his body spasmed against the weight of the spell.
The Sword Saint was still the Sword Saint, but that title came with shackles. His allegiance to the Theocracy had been sealed long ago.
Back when he was just a child on the run, Telos Alexander had extended his hand to him. He had raised him, taught him, guided him, and to consolidate his hold, he had implanted a divine bind within Aston’s very soul.
Of course, Aston had known this. And he had accepted it, not because he trusted the clergy, nor because he believed blindly in doctrine.
But because he had believed in Telos Alexander, the man who had saved him.
The man he had regarded as his own father.
“Cough—Cough!”
From the far end of the hall, the heavy sound of coughing echoed as the door burst open.
Clad in a ceremonial white robe, a woman stepped in. Her eyes widened at the sight before her.
“S-Sword Saint! Father!”
Saintess Selena rushed to Aston’s side. She knelt down and placed a hand on his back.
“What are you doing?!”
“The Sword Saint speaks of devotion. Yet what is devotion without obedience? What is faith, when not absolute? He—” Telos’s staff pointed at the trembling Aston. “—has dared to doubt the Church. Dared to doubt me.”
“I’m sure he had his reasons!” Selena screamed.
“Then talk to him, Saintess. You’ve always had his ear more than I ever did. If there’s still loyalty in his heart, you’re the one who can reach it.”
His gaze hardened.
“Set him right. Remind him of who he serves… or watch him fall further into blasphemy.”
With that, the Pope turned and left, leaving Selena and Aston alone in the chamber.
Selena helped Aston ease onto a nearby seat, supporting him as he caught his breath. His grip tightened suddenly around her wrist.
“…Saintess,” he said, voice hoarse, “may I ask you for a favor?”
“What is it?”
“Let’s leave this place….”
* * *
These days, the Grimreapers had been very busy. Alongside the Crusade Orders being deployed to exterminate demons and chimeras, the Grimreapers, too, had been dispatched across the Empire.
However, after weeks of continuous movement, everything had suddenly grown stagnant. For the time being, there was no work to be done.
“If he was going to hunt demons, he should’ve just joined us…”
First Inspector Damien Ryker of Grimreapers, Unit 07, muttered as he flipped through a handful of documents. His thoughts went to Vanitas Astrea, the man he had once offered an unofficial position to within their ranks.
A man who had eluded every charge thrown at him without leaving behind a single trace.
Yet recently, something had changed.
That name, Vanitas Astrea, just kept climbing. His reputation continued to soar, leading hunts, issuing commands, and taking on matters others wouldn’t dare touch.
“What’s he up to these days?” Damien asked without looking up, addressing another inspector seated across from him, Klaus Arenhall.
“Estelle,” Klaus replied. “He’s been invited to be a panelist.”
Damien raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t he quit his job?”
“He’s still a Scholar, technically,” Klaus said. “Can’t really erase that.”
“Huh. Is that so…”
Damien leaned back in his chair. Ever since Inspector Adrienne’s death, he’d been keeping a close eye on Vanitas.
He watched Klaus furrow his brow, still poring over something with that same frustrated look he’d had for hours now.
“What are you working on?” Damien asked.
“I can’t get a read on it. Every crime seems to have some strange justification behind it, but the man responsible remains completely off the grid. I keep thinking, maybe it’s some kind of Robin Hood charity thing? Or maybe a hired hitman under the payroll of some noble.”
“Let me see that.”
Damien walked over and glanced at the document Klaus had spread out. A string of homicides. Each victim had their throat slit open, and at every scene, the same cryptic signature was left written in the victim’s blood.
Ripper.
That was the only name they had to go by. For months now, the Grimreapers had been hunting this ghost.
They weren’t police, nor were they knights. But when they weren’t out slaying demons, the Grimreapers were some of the most capable inspectors in the Empire.
And this Ripper, who had first appeared in a Theocracy city over a year ago, had proven himself far more elusive than most monsters they faced.
“You know who we should ask?” Damien said suddenly.
“Who?”
“Vanitas Astrea.”
A beat of silence passed.
“….You’re obsessed, Inspector Damien. Do you swing that way or something?”
“Fuck you!”
Damien flipped him off.