Allen’s neurotic and strange behavior nearly made Marianne, who had just breathed a sigh of relief beside him, jump out of her skin.
She stared at her young master in horror, her eyes seeming to ask if he had lost too much blood and had his nerves crossed.
Greeting an empty wall?
Had the young master’s madness escalated again?
On the other side of the wall, inside the dim and oppressive surveillance room, the air instantly froze.
Several inquisitors dressed in pitch-black uniforms with skull insignias pinned to their chests had completely lost control over their facial expressions.
How could Allen de Laval know that he was being watched?
They exchanged glances filled with an absurd disbelief and a barely perceptible trace of terror.
One young inquisitor even instinctively touched his collar as if it had been burned by an invisible gaze.
All the confused eyes finally focused on the extraordinary and commanding elderly man standing in the center of the room.
The elder wore a finely tailored deep purple robe, embroidered at the edges with golden threads depicting wheat sheaves symbolizing abundance and star patterns symbolizing guidance.
His gray-blue eyes were as deep as a cold pool, now locked through the one-way mirror onto the smirking black-haired youth in the sickroom.
He was the Archbishop of the Northern Diocese of the Kingdom of Lorraine, former Grandmaster of the Heresy Tribunal—
Archbishop Lucien Morel, Albert Morel.
A name that could silence even the most arrogant nobles in the kingdom.
After greeting the empty wall, the black-haired youth casually turned to his maid and started complaining about the rough fabric of his patient gown, saying it was too scratchy.
Then, as if nothing were wrong, he began chatting about everyday matters.
“Marianne, have you eaten?”
“…….”
“What did you have?”
“Bread and milk.”
“To eat something so normal—somehow I always feel like they’d serve something suspicious like corpse starch.”
“Young master, saying that is enough to get you branded a heretic.”
“You don’t understand heresy. Tell me, when the Inquisition interrogates suspects, do they serve pork cutlets?”
“What nonsense are you spouting now?”
“Exactly. Sigh, lately I’ve been craving rice, but it’s too expensive. The kingdom doesn’t produce rice, so all of it is imported, and the price is so high even nobles dare not treat it as a staple food.”
“There’s actually some rice left at home. If you want, I can make you imperial-style risotto when we return.”
“Aw…Marianne, you’re so kind. I was blind before. Oh, and if you poison me, remember to use a slow-acting poison. If I die halfway through the meal, that precious rice will be wasted.”
“Are you incapable of not being annoying?”
Allen’s relaxed demeanor—lounging in his own backyard, soaking up the sun while chatting casually—was completely at odds with the cold, oppressive atmosphere of the Inquisition that could crush even the toughest spirit.
He seemed entirely unaware of the danger he was in, even leisurely instructing his maid on how to make an omelette.
It was hard to believe that this carefree noble youth had just moments ago tested the watchers spying on him in a bizarre manner.
“The hardest type to deal with,” muttered a senior inquisitor under his breath.
“Either he has an incredibly strong mind, or he’s missing a screw.”
“Even scarier is that he didn’t even twitch an eyebrow when he saw the blood transfusion bag,” added another inquisitor.
This was utterly abnormal!
In an era when bloodletting was considered a legitimate medical practice, any normal person seeing blood flowing through tubes into their body would be scared out of their wits and cry witchcraft!
Yet Allen de Laval showed no sign of surprise, reacting calmly as if drinking warm water.
This guy cannot be allowed to stay!
A chilling intent to kill rose almost simultaneously in the hearts of all the inquisitors.
For the Inquisition, the unknown was the greatest threat!
No matter what the inquisitors thought, the final decision rested solely with the silent elder.
Archbishop Lucien finally spoke, his voice calm but striking like a gavel on everyone’s hearts: “You still let him escape.”
The “he” the archbishop referred to was the Bloodflesh Priest who had fled from the slaughterhouse’s underground lair.
The headquarters of the Judgement Court of Heresy was located in the Capital Lucien, where the Church’s finest forces gathered.
For a Bloodflesh Priest to break through the Order of the Protectors, the Armed Nuns, and the inquisitors’ multiple layers of blockade and escape, there were only two possibilities.
Either he had hidden his true strength, or the Inquisition was incompetent.
To let a heretic leader slip away under the Church’s nose?
It was like a slap to the face of the Order of Heretic Inquisition.
Everyone lowered their heads in shame, and no one dared to respond to the archbishop’s words.
The archbishop, unfazed by their silence, continued speaking to himself:
“There’s a heretic base less than five kilometers from Holy Elliot Cathedral. Even an illiterate noble youth like Allen de Laval knows about it, yet you…did not notice?”
The tone of leadership’s accountability was crystal clear.
Everyone present knew the archbishop’s personality.
When he was dissatisfied with his subordinates’ incompetence, it was best not to argue about “Allen de Laval is probably involved with heretics, he deliberately leaked information to cover a deeper conspiracy.”
They could only scramble to make up for their mistakes.
The current Grandmaster of the Heresy Tribunal, who had once been the archbishop’s attendant, immediately stepped forward, lowering his posture drastically:
“Your Excellency, after destroying the heretic base, we accelerated the netting operation, rounding up all other heretics registered on record. None have escaped. We are concentrating our efforts to root out the increasingly rampant heretical activity in the Capital. The arrogance of the heretics will soon be extinguished.”
“We will also strengthen patrols and capture that escaped heretic as soon as possible! We did not expect those heretics to be so bold as to set up their base in the densely populated Undercity. It was our negligence that led to this grave outcome. We will immediately carry out self-inspection and rectification…”
The archbishop raised his hand to stop the subordinate’s official-speak.
After-the-fact fixes like these meant nothing.
The capital had been peaceful for so long that the Inquisition’s blade…had grown dull from disuse.
This failure was, in fact, an opportunity to reform the atmosphere.
The archbishop’s gray-blue eyes, capable of piercing through the soul, remained fixed on Allen’s lazy expression.
“Begin the interrogation.”
The white light in the interrogation room was painfully bright.
An inquisitor with a cold, iron-like face sat opposite Allen, his sharp gaze trying to cut through every layer of the young man’s disguise.
“Allen de Laval, how did you learn that the heretics planned to assassinate you? And how did you pinpoint their hideout so precisely?”
The interrogation had been going on for some time.
Under endless questioning, Allen appeared distracted.
He glanced around, carefully observing the interrogation room, which was padded with collision-absorbing soft panels.
To alleviate boredom, he even tried to find hidden cameras.
Given that the Church possessed black-tech, Allen was no longer surprised by its advanced state.
Since the Inquisition existed, having a Mechanical Order wasn’t unusual either, right?
Earlier, he had been anxious about dealing with Livia, but now he had an answer.
I admit you’re strong, but can your body withstand a 7.62×39mm intermediate power round?
Can you?
Wait…she might actually be able to?!
The plot of Starshine Serenade only appears to be set in a low-magic world, but that’s not actually the case.
Livia’s Star Emblem is already terrifying in its potential.
But in the original work, there were monsters even more terrifying than Livia, the proud phoenix!
Not to mention, the possibility of gods truly existing makes this world’s scale frightening.
Thinking about it, although the Church holds black-tech, it chooses to suppress technology and stop social progress.
There must be some deep meaning behind this.
The inquisitor pounded the table forcefully, the loud noise breaking Allen’s wandering gaze.
“Are you pretending not to hear? Answer me!”
Allen blinked, wearing an innocent expression that said, “Why are you mad at me?”
“I already told you! It was the Lord’s Revelation! The great Lord couldn’t stand your dithering, so He sent me a dream!”
“Be serious! This concerns your life and death!”
“I’m serious!”
Allen’s expression instantly switched to that of a saint full of pity, even radiating the glory of a martyr.
“Want to kill me? Go ahead! To die for the Lord is my honor! But think carefully, killing a devout believer enlightened by the Lord—what does that make you? An accomplice to heresy? Blasphemers? The Lord is watching from heaven!”
Inquisitor: He had worked for twenty years, interrogating the most cunning heretics and insane cultists, but this was the first time he had met someone so shamelessly turning the tables with such righteous logic!
This kid’s every word revolved around the Lord, but each cut struck at the Inquisition’s weakest points.
“Why would He give you Revelation?”
“What do you think?”
Allen grew more impassioned, nearly spitting on the recorder’s face.
“The Lord was fed up with you! He bypassed you and gave a revelation to me—a rake who’s not even a believer! That means you disappointed Him!”
“You take the tithes people work hard to pay and, under the Church’s nose, let such a huge heretic nest take root. That’s your incompetence!”
Allen was genuinely angry now.
If the Inquisition had taken his intel seriously from the start, would he have needed to risk his life against that Fake Mark Knight?
Besides, looking at the inquisitors’ attitudes, it seemed the Inquisition hadn’t caught the heretic leader and intended to squeeze some information from him while pinning the blame on him.
The hazards the Inquisition created would ultimately fall on Allen to solve!
No wonder Livia was able to single-handedly take them down—their professionalism was abysmal.
“In any case, please reflect! Are you working seriously? What about efficiency? Responsibility? Is the taxpayers’ money just being wasted like this?”
The inquisitor’s forehead veins throbbed, his blood pressure soaring.
Most people would feel nervous during interrogation, but Allen took a tough stance, even turning the tables and interrogating the inquisitor.
It was truly a rebellion of the heavens!
The inquisitor forced down his rising rage and calmly pressed: “What is your connection to the Crimson Spiral Cult?”
“I have zero connection to those anti-human lunatics! The only connection is the blood feud between my family and theirs! I nearly got stabbed into a sieve by them!”
“If it weren’t for the Lord’s Revelation warning me to prepare in advance, there’s no way my alcohol-ravaged body could have fought those drug-fueled madmen!”
Allen rolled his eyes.
“Anyway, the intel source is the Lord! I’m innocent! How do you prove you don’t have traitors inside? Otherwise, why have you been kept in the dark so long?”
A perfect logical trap had formed—question me?
Prove your own purity first!
The experienced inquisitor was slightly stunned, his thoughts involuntarily thrown off course.
Indeed…why could heretics hide in the capital for so long?
Could it really be…there’s a mole?
A chill ran down his spine.
The inquisitor wanted to discard his doubts about the Inquisition and continue questioning, but Allen suddenly demanded the inquisitor produce evidence proving the Order of Heretic Inquisition’s trustworthiness.
This absurd demand enraged the inquisitor, but Allen completely ignored the fiery glare, instead provoking further: “I seriously suspect you are a heretic spy. You’re so anxious because you realize I’m a huge threat to the cult. Your torture of me will only be forced confessions. If you kill me, it only proves you intend to silence a witness.”
“I heard the Inquisition masters all kinds of tortures. If you don’t mind, you can try them all on me! The more my body suffers, the purer my soul becomes. If I can’t endure the torture and kick the bucket—hey, I’ll go complain to the Lord then.”
The surveillance room fell deathly silent.
Watching the silver-tongued youth twist the inquisitor’s mind, then seeing their own subordinate’s growing confusion and self-doubt, Archbishop Lucien sighed softly, weary with a hint of disappointment: “Enough. Bring him back. Any more questions and we’ll just make fools of ourselves.”