The Red Lamp of Lacorinto
What Beatrice first heard about Dithmarschen was several years ago. Of course, she had known the name of the place even before that. But that knowledge had only come from study—this was the first time she heard of it for any other reason.
At the time, she had just been appointed as an inquisitor. She went to visit her mentor, Vinicio, to share the news. Then they spoke at length about what she would do going forward.
"The archbishopric of Solna is going to become vacant."
Solna was the capital of the Kingdom of Osnover, and its only archdiocese. The archbishop there was the head who governed all dioceses across the country.
"Hasn't Lord Saleo only been appointed a few years ago?"
"He was. But it seems things have gone awry somehow."
Beatrice read between the lines of Vinicio's words.
"You intend to take that seat?"
Although Osnover had only one archdiocese, it was not a small country. It was a respectable mid-sized nation, making it a position well within reach for Bishop Vinicio.
"Hm… If His Holiness permits it, I would like to."
But Beatrice could not support him.
At the time, Osnover was in the midst of a civil war.
It had already dragged on for over thirty years, with no end in sight. According to what she heard, the chaos was so severe that even priests could die sudden, violent deaths. What could anyone truly gain by becoming archbishop in such a place?
Moreover, the Pantheon was also one of the causes of the turmoil. With motives unknown to her, it kept adding fuel to the civil war in Osnover. The Archbishop of Solna was the one who would stand at the forefront of that effort.
"Is it really necessary for you to do this?"
Knowing all this, Beatrice voiced her opposition. It wasn't only about Vinicio's safety—the position did not suit his temperament at all. She believed it would only wound his heart.
"It's not like this is your only chance. Even if it's disappointing now, wait a little longer. Who knows—perhaps the position you truly want will appear soon."
"There is no other place I desire. No… there is one, but… it is a place I cannot go to as I am now. So at the very least, I wish to make Solna my place."
Beatrice could not understand. Solna had no connection to Vinicio. It was not his hometown, nor a place he had ever served, nor even somewhere he had ever set foot in.
"Where is this place you truly desire?"
"Vice, do you know of Dithmarschen?"
"The northernmost edge of the continent—the entrance to the Ice Peninsula?"
Because of its location, the name itself was widely known.
And that was all Beatrice knew.
"Yes. It is where I originally wished to be. Before I became a bishop, I wanted to settle there. After becoming one, I no longer even had the chance—but now, at least, I can come close to it in this way."
Vinicio did not waver in his decision. He immediately sought an audience with Pope Marcello and was appointed Archbishop of Solna. Once a seat many had coveted, it had now become one no one desired, so he was readily granted it.
After Archbishop Vinicio departed for his post, Beatrice investigated Dithmarschen. In the archives of the Holy Church, she found a record.
– Hilde Dithmarschen, died August, Maudel Year 31.
– Ulrich Dithmarschen, succeeded January, Maudel Year 32.
It was a genealogy sent from the Solna archdiocese, yet it contained only two entries. That meant either the lineage before Hilde had been omitted, or it was deemed unworthy of record.
Why had Vinicio mentioned such an obscure family? Beatrice tilted her head in puzzlement, then realized something.
'The title of Count Dithmarschen should still exist even now.'
If the title's holder or its designation had changed, there should have been records reflecting that. But there were none.
After the record stating that Ulrich inherited the title in Maudel Year 32, there was nothing.
That meant one of two things.
'Were the records lost? Or…'
Either the records had been omitted, or Ulrich Dithmarschen was still alive, making further record unnecessary.
Neither possibility made sense. For something to be omitted, Dithmarschen was too well known—few people were unaware of the entrance to the Ice Peninsula.
The second possibility was even more problematic. Maudel Year 32 was more than 300 years before the day she examined the records. Could Count Ulrich have lived all that time?
'Should I assume mixed blood?'
Unless he was a dwarf or an elf, there was no other explanation. He must have possessed the blood of a long-lived race.
'It's unusual, but this alone doesn't tell me anything.'
What Beatrice truly wanted to know was the connection between the archbishop and Dithmarschen—what kind of relationship it was that he would not even tell her. But no matter how much she searched the records, all she could uncover was the count's age.
Her curiosity seemed to end there. There were no further leads, and the conflict between Kormilius and Jokuster was intensifying, leaving her no room to indulge in idle investigation.
But then, an unexpected turn of events occurred. The long civil war in Osnover ended, and a new dynasty rose. The one who founded it was Richard Dithmarschen—the count's adopted son.
Immediately after ascending the throne, the adopted son granted his father the title of duke, then began opposing the Kormilius faction. He sided with the Jokuster royal family, and in return, was excommunicated.
At that point, Dithmarschen was no longer just a subject of Beatrice's one-sided curiosity.
'The Hilderson clan? Just how many adopted sons does he have? They're not only in Osnover.'
While continuing her investigation, Beatrice exchanged letters with Vinicio from time to time. But as time passed, the correspondence grew infrequent. Though the archbishop tried not to show it, the crisis was approaching a second civil war.
The last letter came after several months. It was different from the previous ones—it carried hope. Though they stood at the brink of another civil war, Duke Dithmarschen had taken action.
The duke had sent another adopted son, Armin, along with a chief priest. The letter ended with regret at not being able to meet the duke in person, but expressed hope that an opportunity would come once the crisis passed.
After that, no more letters arrived from Vinicio.
"…Lately, I haven't been in a position to receive letters. I had to track down Jokuster's secrets. I only heard from passersby that Osnover's crisis had been resolved… but I never imagined it would end like this."
Having finished her recollection, Beatrice stood before a stream. As the cool wind blew through the forest, she nudged the pebbles at her feet.
Roberta silently watched her. It was difficult to say anything. She knew much of the truth, and Beatrice's deductions were, for the most part, correct.
She had to choose between telling the truth or a lie, yet neither option was easy. As an ordained priest of the Holy Church, she was in a position where she would either have to lie to an inquisitor—or reveal secrets not even written in the scriptures.
'If I make a clumsy excuse, it'll be exposed as a lie. But if I tell the truth, I won't be able to handle the consequences. What am I supposed to say? "The one you believe in is right there"?'
Roberta swallowed the scream rising to her throat.
"It is difficult for me to speak about Dithmarschen. It would be better for you to hear it directly from Lord Armin."
"I already spoke with him, but he didn't reveal anything."
Beatrice fixed her with a hardened expression.
"In that case, I have nothing to say either."
"You say that even knowing my position, Sister?"
"…Yes."
Beatrice held her gaze for a moment, then let out a bitter smile.
"How interesting. For it to be a secret that must be hidden to this extent… what could it possibly be? Borrowing the name of a dead person must be one of those secrets, wouldn't it?"
At the words "the name of a dead person," Roberta flinched. She didn't even have time to compose herself—she hadn't expected Beatrice to know that much.
"You shouldn't be this surprised, Sister."
"…Were you testing me? Or did you already know?"
"I knew. From the beginning."
A faint smile tugged at Beatrice's lips.
"After coming to this position, I've been able to encounter quite a lot of things. For example… people who bear the surname Dithmarschen without sharing its blood."
"Ah…"
Roberta let out a quiet sigh. She had heard that Ulrich had many adopted children. Richard was only one of those she had encountered in Osnover—there were surely others who had gone beyond its borders.
After Richard turned against Kormilius, Beatrice said she had met a woman who also bore the surname Dithmarschen.
"I mentioned that there was someone who used the name Armin, and she gave me an answer. She said he was her father. That he used the name because he could not forget his deceased son."
"…What was her name?"
"Adalaide. Naturally, her surname is Dithmarschen. You haven't heard of her?"
Roberta furrowed her brow. Adalaide. She turned the name over in her mind, but no memory surfaced. It was a name she had never heard before.
"…Did you hear anything more about Lord Ulrich?"
Beatrice shook her head. In truth, there was no need to ask. If she had learned anything substantial, she wouldn't have come to Roberta with questions.
"There are two things I realized after taking this position. One is that it amounts to nothing. It may seem as though there is nothing I cannot do, but in reality, it's the complete opposite."
The other was that she knew nothing at all. Just like the relationship between the adoptive father who used the name of his dead son and Kormilius—she could vaguely infer the circumstances, yet understand nothing of what lay beneath.
"The moment I was appointed, I thought my faith and ability had been acknowledged—but that wasn't the case. It seems something more is needed to be recognized by a great lineage."
Beatrice kicked the pebble she had been rolling under her foot. It flew across the stream and landed in the forest on the other side. She kept her gaze there as she murmured to herself.
"And yet, Sister, you seem to know more than I do. That person who goes by the alias Armin must have told you. The very one who kept silent when I asked earlier."
On that matter, Roberta had nothing to say. Ulrich was a man full of secrets.
No—he hid many things, but always with intent. It wasn't that he didn't want to tell her; rather, he concealed them as if waiting for the right time, only to reveal them later.
She carried many questions, but one of the foremost was Ulrich's purpose. What did he want from her, that he invited her to accompany him and revealed his hidden past piece by piece?
"A man who uses the name of his dead son… a man who has lived for at least three hundred years according to the records, yet appears younger than me, and holds secrets even my position cannot uncover. Sister—who in the world is this man?"
"…If the opportunity comes, you will come to know."
She knew the truth, but that was all she could say.
Beatrice was someone who could already sense that the essence was extraordinary from mere circumstances alone—and now she held multiple clues connected to Ulrich's identity. If they continued traveling together, perhaps she would arrive at the same conclusion as Roberta.
Of course, there was no certainty. The answer had not yet been revealed. Only fragments of circumstance were scattered about—so Beatrice might very well reach a different conclusion.
"I hope so."
Roberta let out a sigh as she watched Beatrice's figure grow distant.
'I have no idea what will happen from here.'
She could not imagine the outcome when the truth would be revealed—when someone of deep faith and the very object of that faith were traveling side by side.
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