Chapter 92: Domain of Darkness
Solomon stood quietly in the pitch-black void. He stared at the geometric mask and recalled exactly who these people were. He had read extensively about the Church and their Holy Empire during his years of research.
They easily surpassed the cruelty of the angel he had fought in the Eden kingdom. Uriel merely killed for a reason. The Church specialized in prolonged, agonizing eradication.
He remembered the Silk Valley incident. Official records claimed a village succumbed to the sin of greed, prompting the heavens to curse them to weep tears of gold until they died. In reality, Inquisitors suspected a minor demon might be hiding there.
They cast a grand miracle that transmuted the villagers’ tears into boiling metal. The liquid burned right through their skulls. The Church then harvested the resulting gold to fund a new cathedral, praising the tragedy as a bountiful offering from repentant sinners.
Solomon thought of the royal historian from the Eastern Isles. The man discovered ancient texts contradicting the Holy Empire’s foundational myths. The Church declared him possessed by a demon of lies. History books stated he willingly silenced himself in repentance and ordered his children to burn his heretical works.
The truth involved Inquisitors using a blessed relic to sew his lips shut with his own vocal cords. They locked him inside a transparent cage to starve while forcing his family to destroy his life’s work.
He recalled the terrifying fate of an unauthorized healer in the Whispering Woods. A young girl cured a regional plague using natural mana. The Church painted her as a devoted saint who miraculously shed her mortal flesh to become a living scripture. A divine sacrifice to purify the land.
In reality, the Inquisitors skinned her alive and grafted pages of their holy scripture directly over her exposed muscles. They chained her to a stone pillar in the salt dunes as a living monument for the vultures to read.
Then came the eradication of a coastal city that refused to pay mandatory religious tithes. The Empire preached that holy fire from the heavens purged a den of sinners. They claimed the event left behind a beautiful crystal monument to warn future generations.
The reality involved the Church deploying a radiant dome over the entire metropolis. They gradually amplified the internal heat over thirty days. The trapped population baked alive as the buildings melted into smooth glass. The Inquisitors recorded the collective screams of the dying citizens and broadcast them across the empire as a mandatory morning hymn.
He also remembered the punishment for their own dissident knights. When a squad of Paladins questioned a corrupt order, the Church announced these martyrs volunteered to have their souls forged into holy weapons to eternally protect the realm.
The Inquisitors actually forcefully extracted their souls and bound those trapped spirits into the blades of executioners. The fallen knights were condemned to spend eternity watching those exact weapons slaughter their own descendants.
Solomon cataloged these manipulated atrocities in his mind. The man standing across from him served that exact institution.
"We have complete privacy now," the Inquisitor said.
The Inquisitor began pacing across the black void to start the formal interrogation. He asked a long series of questions regarding the anomaly, the labyrinth structure, and the timeline of events.
Solomon maintained a completely nonchalant demeanor. He answered every inquiry with casual replies and detailed the dungeon layout without giving away his secrets. The Inquisitor completely avoided mentioning anything about an angel during this initial exchange.
The topic eventually shifted toward the dark greatsword.
"Where is the weapon you wielded during your broadcast?" the Inquisitor asked while bringing his pacing to a halt.
"The Grandmaster currently has it locked away for safekeeping," Solomon replied.
The answer was a complete lie.
’Keeping the greatsword hidden in my dorm room was the right call,’ Solomon thought. ’I knew these fanatics would immediately try to confiscate it.’
Keeping it out of his immediate possession gave him a strategic advantage.
The Inquisitor adjusted his black robes. "All royal kingdoms serve the Church. When a kingdom falls to ruin, its territory and remaining assets automatically become property of the Holy Empire unless living descendants exist or someone legally purchases the reclamation rights. Therefore, everything found within those ruined borders belongs directly to us. It is promised to us."
The masked man took a step closer to Solomon. "We allow ordinary adventurers to keep minor trinkets and basic monster loot. A Paladin’s sword is an entirely different matter. A holy artifact of that caliber belongs strictly in the hands of the Church."
Solomon locked his gaze onto the crimson triangles of the mask. "It belongs ’strictly’ to my hands."
Dark aura flooded the void. The sheer force of the energy slammed into Solomon’s shoulders, forcing him to brace his legs against the unseen floor. The crushing weight pushed down on his body, attempting to force him onto his knees.
"You need to choose your words carefully," the Inquisitor warned. "Students who speak recklessly often end up accidentally dead."
Solomon straightened his back against the oppressive weight. He tapped into his internal stamina pool to reinforce his physical stance and stared directly into the featureless mask.
"I defeated the Paladin myself," Solomon declared. "I earned that sword through combat. If anyone wants to take it from me, they will have to fight me and pry it from my dead hands."
Solomon offered a cold smile. "If you are interested in claiming it, you better get in line."
"Is that a provocation, a direct threat, or an open invitation to fight?" the Inquisitor asked.
Solomon maintained his relaxed posture and kept his hands firmly in his pockets. "You can interpret those words however you want."
The Inquisitor let out a dismissive scoff. "You think far too highly of yourself. You managed to defeat a decaying undead remnant in a completely uneven match. That confined labyrinth chamber strictly restricted the Paladin’s movements and severely limited his combat arts. Do not mistake situational luck for actual strength."
The masked man took another step forward. The dark aura swirling around his boots flared outward to press against Solomon’s shoulders.
"That Paladin was weak," the Inquisitor continued. "Even a novice holy knight currently beginning his basic training easily surpasses the archaic warriors of the past. At the end of the day, you remain an unregistered, talentless brat."
’He has no idea what he is saying. I have seen the paladin’s might myself, and I can confidently say that so far, he was the strongest person I have met in my life.’ Solomon tilted his head.
He had fought the Paladin endlessly for fifteen years inside a mental void. He knew the exact depth of the ancient warrior’s devastating power and flawless technique. The Church operative’s ignorant assessment meant completely nothing to him.
"You are free to try and take the sword," Solomon repeated. "Defeat me in combat, and I will gladly hand the weapon over to you."
Solomon was well aware of the rule that the inquisitor couldn’t convict anyone of anything unless proven. And that’s what the inquisitor has been trying to do.
The Inquisitor stared at the first-year student. Frustration burned beneath the geometric mask. ’Why is he completely unaffected by the isolation?’ the operative thought.
Normally, seasoned adventurers and veteran hunters fell to their knees inside this dark domain. They wept, pleaded for mercy, and surrendered their deepest secrets within minutes. The sensory deprivation and oppressive aura always shattered their minds.
Solomon, however, simply stood there offering combat challenges with a perfectly calm expression. The psychological interrogation tactics were failing entirely.
