Chapter 32

"Heretics. I will give you some time. Time to deeply regret your insolence and sins, and to confess to our god."

With those words, the woman known as the saint turned on her heel and returned to the chapel. Indeed, she seems to have no interest in us at all. She probably thinks we’re just tomb raiders. Well, that is the truth, after all.

The room was piled high with books and cluttered with small objects. In one corner of the room, where Fiaraart La Borgograd had been dancing with lively steps just a moment ago, we now found ourselves.

Next to me, Fiaraart hunched over, her eyes brimming with tears. Her entire body seemed to embody the elements of tragedy, such as her tear-streaked cheeks and her pale, trembling shoulders.

But it’s no wonder. After all, several executioners were wandering around the room, intent on taking our lives, and the exit was far away. To make matters worse, our hands were tied behind our backs.

I’d like to show some compassion and wipe away her tears, even if she’s a woman I don’t particularly like. But I’m in the exact same position, so I can barely stick my head out.

A candelabra made from the fat of a magical beast, crafted from pottery, was placed in front of us, as if watching over us. The shadows cast by the flickering flames lay lazily on the wall, and it seems that any slight movement on our part would bring us into clear view.

"So, how long do we have left to live?"

While Fiaraart kept muttering, "We’re going to die, we’re going to die," in a low voice, I moistened my dry lips and called out to the guard.

There was no response. Indeed, the guard seems to understand that he is not to speak with the prisoners.

Well, even if he could speak, I doubt he would be the type to be swayed by negotiation or bribes. After all, we’re dealing with the famous fanatics of the Order of the Heraldic Knights and their entourage.

I let out a deep, despondent sigh, wringing it out from the depths of my lungs.

The situation is bad. Very bad. The number of soldiers has decreased because they’ve gone to capture other intruders, namely Celia and Helt Stanley. Of course, they won’t be caught. They’re not the type to be easily captured, even by skilled opponents. I understand that well. Besides, they might have returned to the city after seeing us fall into a trap.

In other words, all the problems are on our side. They’re probably keeping us alive to deal with the remaining intruders, or perhaps to torture us for information later. Given that we’re just tied up and left alone for now, the former seems more likely. Of course, it could be both.

But even so, they have their limits. The idea of our lives being in their hands is far from comforting.

"Helt… Helt… Help me…"

And Fiaraart, next to me, doesn’t seem to be holding up well. She kept calling out to Helt Stanley with a vacant expression, her cheeks repeatedly wetted by the tears streaming from her eyes.

I had never seen her like this during our travels. She was never this flustered, and I never imagined she would rely so heavily on Helt.

My eyelids trembled for a moment, and I could feel my forehead growing hot. Indeed, he is a reliable man. Even in a situation like this, I can imagine him easily resolving it, unlike me, who is captured and helpless.

"Ha… You know, it won’t do to keep whining like this. Come on, do something about this."

I whispered in a low voice, moving my bound hands to show the rope. The shadow flickered slightly.

The only fortunate thing in this situation is that they don’t know Fiaraart is a mage.

She doesn’t have any magical tools on her, and there are no visible runes on her. Moreover, mages rarely travel with dirty adventurers like me. If they haven’t noticed yet, this is a good opportunity.

With a simple rope like this, Fiaraart could either manipulate the flow of air or spark a flame to burn it. If she can move freely, we’ll have options. We don’t have to face them head-on like before.

At my words, Fiaraart fell silent for a moment, then muttered something. The tears on her cheeks were illuminated by the flame produced by the magical beast fat.

"...I can’t. I can’t do it in a situation like this."

Her lips pouted, and her eyes filled with tears as she spoke in a tone that didn’t suit her, almost like a sulking child. At first, I gaped, then frowned and opened my mouth.

"No, you can. It’s just a simple magic trick. A genius like you can do it..."

"What do you mean, genius? Are you mocking me... Or are you teasing me even now?"

Her words were dismissive, brusque, and impossible to connect with.

After saying that, Fiaraart shed more tears. When her cheeks were soaked, she wore a self-mocking expression.

This is too much. She’s losing it. I’ve never seen her like this, not even in my imagination. That Fiaraart. That Lady Mage.

"I’ve never been able to do anything like a normal person. I’ve been able to do a lot of things below average, but I’ve been versatile in my poverty."

I can’t do magic in a situation like this, where I can’t even focus, she said in a thin voice.

My mind went blank. Nothing came to mind, and my lips couldn’t form words. For a while, I couldn’t process her words at all.

She can’t do anything like a normal person. Her, Fiaraart La Borgograd. That’s ridiculous. During our journey to save the world, she was overwhelmingly knowledgeable in various fields and could do anything better than average. At the very least, she always tried to be that way.

And yet, what is this girl? So small, so frightened, so trembling, so fragile that she could be blown away by a breeze.

"Of course, it’s impossible. I’ve always just given up. I can’t do anything. I stubbornly studied abroad at the academy and ended up here, but in the end, I’ll die a miserable death. What a stupid end. Ah, I’ll probably be a laughingstock to my family."

My head started to hurt. Giving up. Don’t talk nonsense. Whose line is that?

First of all, wasn’t she revered as a talented woman in Galar Amaria? At least, that’s what I had heard.

What’s going on? Has the story been twisted in some way that I don’t know about? Or was Fiaraart always like this, and something triggered a change?

As I tried to find the right words to stop Fiaraart’s self-deprecation, her small lips let out a single word.

"What can you do even if your ropes are cut?"

It was a spiteful remark, spoken in a tearful voice, with slurred speech, like a crying child.

I narrowed my eyes, taking in her words. My spine felt cold, and I had unknowingly widened my eyes. My body tensed, and my blood seemed to heat up as it coursed through me.

"The same. You’re the same. You can’t do anything. You’re just captured in a disgraceful way, waiting for help to come..."

My thoughts were unusually clear. I gathered every broken word and forced them into a coherent thought in my head. My heartbeat resonated loudly, almost thundering through the world.

"Ah, if only I had been captured with... Helt, Helt Stanley..."

A terrifying emotion crept up from my heels, my fingertips, and even the ends of my hair.