Dolores L Quovadis.
A saintess who turned 16 this year, she is the most likely candidate to become the next head of the Quovadis family.
An undisputed prodigy of the Imperial Academy Colosseo, she hasn't missed a single class since she entered her freshman year using the early admission system, and now in her sophomore year, she is the vice president of the student council.
Her appearance reminded Vikir of a time before the regression.
In the distant past, she had been a saintess, traveling to the front lines of battle against demons and healing the sick, demonstrating firsthand what it meant to be a living saintess.
Called an angel of the battlefield, she saved countless lives, a living example of goodness.
Although she is still young, she already has a strong heart and a clear mind.
Vikir, like all humans who have lived through the Age of Destruction, had respect and affection for the young saintess.
Vikir bowed his head, and the paladins nearby flinched.
Dolores paused, too.
Her senses were acute, and she could smell the animal scent of Vikir's soul, the smell of blood, the smell of oil, and the smell of violence, anger, and hatred.
And, at the center of all those swirling emotions, the smell of a terrible sadness, hidden deep within.
"Are you a lost sheep?"
"...Yes."
Vikir answered with a locked throat.
Dolores nodded.
"You look more like a... puppy than a sheep."
"...."
"A scarred little puppy."
As Dolores finished speaking, the faces of all the paladins gathered on the first floor turned a shade of red.
Mozgus exclaimed as well.
"Paladin, that's not a puppy! That's a blood-crazed wolf! You need to step back now...."
"Bring me tea."
Dolores raised her hand to stop Mozgus from speaking.
Then he said in a very firm tone.
"I need to talk to him."
* * *
Soon, a small parlor was set up with a table, chairs, and two teacups.
Warm, steaming cups of peppermint tea.
At the entrance to the parlor, a large Mozgus stood fidgeting.
In his hand, he held a small teapot with a floral design that looked like a large ring.
A small table was placed in the center of the room, and Bikir and Dolores sat across from each other.
Dolores sounded surprised.
"When I heard that Mr. Mozgus had come out, I was surprised and came to see you, because I thought you were going to get hurt a lot."
Mozgus has the temperament and philosophy of an inquisitor. So does his body.
So there was no reason for him to take kindly to the suspiciously dressed visitor.
But who knew?
That the man who was the military backbone of the Quavadis would be defeated so spectacularly.
Suddenly, Mozgus spoke up from beside him.
"Saintess. I didn't lose, if it had been a long game, the odds were definitely in my favor...."
The mere fact that he says this is a sign of defeat.
Dolores thought to herself.
"Mr. Mozgus was one of the few Graduators in the Empire, and if he can be defeated so easily, I can't imagine why anyone would want to....
She stared at Vikir's mask in front of her.
But there was nothing she could read in it.
As Vikir stared down at the teacup in front of him, Dolores spoke again.
"I don't think you can drink tea with that gas mask on."
Vikir nodded silently.
He hadn't said anything since earlier, so Dolores decided to cut to the chase.
"I've been under a lot of stress lately."
Vikir's head snapped up at her words.
Stressed about what? The studies at the academy? Or a home school class?
But Dolores shook her head.
"I'm taking a break from the academy and my family's affairs because it's vacation time. It's the nobles and merchants you saw just now who are really bothering me."
They dragged their sick bodies to the saintess and begged her to heal them.
Unwelcome visitors, begging for money or prestige.
"The things they ask me to cure are obvious: erectile dysfunction, sexually transmitted diseases, drug side effects – nothing really serious."
If he had the divine power to heal them, Dolores said, he'd rather help people who are really struggling and sick.
"Justice, righteousness, charity, equality, and the will of God may be these things... but people are too blinded by what's in front of them."
Vikir nodded in agreement.
"This is inevitable, since theology is essentially a process of understanding human beings."
It was a phrase he'd often heard from her mouth when he'd met Dolores on the front lines of the war before he'd regressed.
Vikir had only briefly recalled a memory from long ago, but Dolores' eyes widened at the sight before him.
Even Mozgus, who stood in the doorway.
"Old Testament, Azmoth, chapter 6, verse 9. Very philosophical and profound."
"...."
"I can't believe you know these old words. You must be well versed in theology. Are you a member of the Church of the Runes?"
Vikir was silent for a moment.
He didn't know or care about Runes, the state religion of the Empire, so it seemed like a good time to change the subject.
"More than that. There is a plague in the slums of St. Mecca."
"... Is that reliable information?"
"You've seen the water in the streets. It comes straight from the wells of the slums."
"You didn't have anything to do with it?"
"Why else would I have come here of my own accord?"
Vikir spoke again.
"I hate to see innocent people harmed. Especially since this is my home."
"Oh, is this your home? I'm from here, too."
Dolores' eyes twinkled at Vikir's words.
It was the first time she had heard of his homeland, so Vikir simply shook his head.
"I believe in absolutes, too. I hope the plague will be eradicated soon."
"A rough soul, but... a good one, you are."
Dolores turned serious.
"You told Mr. Mozgus earlier that you saw some suspicious people, didn't you?"
"Yes, sir. I saw them pouring liquid in vials all over the wells."
"If this plague is man-made... who spread it and for what purpose?"
Dolores seemed to be thinking a lot.
Plagues are not a simple matter.
Once a plague starts to spread, the hardest hit are institutions where many people live in community, usually monasteries and schools.
When a plague hits a monastery, the number of priests decreases, and cults, religions, and superstitions begin to flourish, requiring even more priests.
In this way, when uneducated and inexperienced priests go out into the field, more heresies, cults, superstitions, and so on are created.
Thus, in the event of a plague, the Quavadis would be at a significant political disadvantage.
To prevent this from happening, they would have to suppress the Red Death early.
Vikir's answer was brief.
"Those who wish for the downfall of House Quavadis, and those who profit from it."
"...That's particularly difficult."
Dolores furrowed her brow in thought.
Even her mind, rumored to be the brightest in the academy, could not predict the future.
But Vikir knew what was coming, that's right, because I've experienced all of these things before returning.
With that, Vikir drew a map from his bosom.
The locations of the Seven Houses, circled around the ecliptic of the Empire.
Vikir pointed them out, explaining them to Dolores.
"Those who stand to gain the most are the Leviathan and the Bourgeois."
The extremely poisonous Leviathan will use this opportunity to collect samples from numerous patients, investigate, study, and improve the plague to use as their own weapon.
Since they are a family that uses poison and medicine as their main weapons, the fact that a strong plague has spread is a very good thing for them.
Furthermore, the fall of their arch-enemy, the Quavadis, would be a blessing in disguise for the Leviathan.
In addition, the oligarchic bourgeois were also likely to see significant reflexive gains.
Gold and silver treasures do not disappear in a plague.
The deaths of the workers would bankrupt the landowners, and their warehouses, gold and silver coins, banknotes, and production facilities would be taken over by the bourgeois.
Once the bourgeois has gobbled up the dead and empty factories, farms, stores, guilds, and other real estate capital, they can use their accumulated wealth to start new businesses.
Fashion businesses for the newly wealthy, health supplements for those who remember the horrors of the plague, and so on... sales will soar like crazy.
'Merchants from bourgeois families would visit Balak's villages and try to buy up antlers and ginseng and things like that, right?'
Vikir thought to himself.
'The ones spreading the Red Death must have been Leviathans, the extremists.
And they probably have a tycoon Bourgeois as an ally.
It was highly likely that they were trading information with each other.
The religious Quavadis and the natives of the jungle are the scapegoats.
"... Therefore, for these reasons, I believe they may be intimately involved in the plague. Just a hypothesis, of course."
Vikir had actually seen, heard, and experienced the events before his regression, and he was able to flesh them out a bit.
What?
I don't feel much of a reaction from the front.
"...?"
Vikir tilted his head slightly, as if looking for something.
Then he sees the faces of Dolores and Mozgus behind the gas masks.
Both were frozen in place, their mouths half open.