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But I have my own methods. We've wasted too much time here. It's we need to consider how to can get this done quickly, with no loose ends.

And so you decided to deploy a special forces unit?

You make it sound so easy. You know full well that deploying troops and giving the order are two different things.

Do you know how hard it was to come up with a justification that even His Holiness could not rebuke?

Now, I have one.

That Sarkaz boy—Raimund? Arson of a sacrarium is a serious offense, that's before I mention that he's Sarkaz. We're perfectly justified in seizing him and taking the investigation into our hands.

He was not the one who set fire to the sacrarium. Your justification is baseless.

I have no need of your intervention until I uncover the truth.

The truth? Ha. Is the truth really important?

What is more rational and logical than taking control and securing order?

Did you not consider it, Federico? Is the truth really so important to you?

Did you not consider the possibility of the locals resisting, Oren?

I didn't think you'd say something so silly, Lemuen. If the Sarkaz want to resist...

So much the better.

Who's there?!

The sound of knocking echoes through the hall.

The door creaks open, and the unusually bright rays of the moon pour in through the gap.

There is a figure standing in the moonlight.

Senior Federico...

Clément?

I finally found you, Senior Federico.

I was asked to bring you this...

By whom? What is—

The rest of the sentence vanishes into the night.

The tall and thin figure approaches, his back to the moonlight, his head bowed.

It is as if all the light in the room had converged upon him, but the overly bright light also casts a dark, suffocating shadow.

Now, Federico sees what Clément is holding.

What he said he was asked to bring to Federico.

A dagger.

Old, but no less sharp for it, once hidden in the belt of a certain someone.

Next to the dagger...

There is a package wrapped in cloth that has been dyed a deep shade of red, from which some sort of liquid continues to drip.

What is it?

It is...

The sinner, Holst Tyfindale, offers his head freely.

The sinner had admitted responsibility for all the crimes, all the evils committed hitherto.

He has now paid his price. All that remains is a band of insignificant vagrants.

Will the reverend emissaries of Laterano show grace and mercy?

Senior Federico... I bring you Gerald's last words.

He begs you take the head of the fugitive Holst and his weapon...

In exchange, spare Fortuna and Raimund...

Spare the other Sarkaz.

There you are, Father.

It's your turn to clean the chapel today, Jori?

Gratias.

Just doing my job. I had trouble sleeping anyway.

I'll fetch the sacramental bread.

No, no need.

Oh, right, look at me, dust all over my hands.

Say, do you smell something...? It's pretty faint...

A strange smell?

No, a pleasant one. It's fresh. I sense in it... vitality.

It's hard to put into words. It's like standard downwind. I don't know where it comes from, but I feel like I'd get somewhere if I followed it.

I think it's the smell of flowers, Jori.

We don't have enough flour, so flower powder was added to the sacramental bread.

The few remaining bottles of wine in the cellar have started to go sour, so I also added some flower powder to those too.

Clément harvested some flowers a couple of years ago, grinding them into powder and storing it in the cellar...

He loves the flowers, just as he loves us.

Mm...

This will be the final communion we take before the abbey departs. We are short on food, however, so we must reduce each share of sacramental bread, even mixing in... other grains.

Please don't say that. I'm very much looking forward to today's communion...

Then go and wash your face. Come back with the others when it's time for Matins.

I'll do the rest myself.

Yes, Father.

Will we be saved after today, Father?

All of us, Sankta and Sarkaz... will we all be saved?

Even though Gerald is already...

Go, Jori.

O-Okay, see you later, Father.

The old man closes the door.

He climbs the chancel slowly.

Stefano Torregrossa, the aging abbot of Sanctilaminium Ambrosii, carefully divides the sacramental bread and wine.

His head is bowed. It is still early. The dim morning light shines through the windows behind the holy statue. The face of the statue is hidden in darkness, as is the abbot's own.

Yes. We will all be saved.

She walks into the broken sacrarium, crushing the charred remains of plants to powder beneath her feet.

The arched roof of the sacrarium has collapsed in the fire, exposing the interior in the sunlight.

The wind has carried away the smell, but there is no one to clean up the rubble.

The marks of the fire will remain forever, unless the chapel is rebuilt.

She takes a look at the collapsed statue, then abruptly turns to the empty space behind her.

Humans struggle, punish and forgive themselves, like a sonata at its climax, the keys dancing a frantic tune.

When a decision is made, the long and steady coda begins, the emptiness at the end of catharsis, yet infinitely determined.

Emotions are complex, but the changes are always alike. The melody is conventional, regular, devoid of surprise.

I sense your serenity. You have made your choice.

In any case, the song I should play is you. Hear the voice of your own heart, here at the very end.

You lost, vibrant soul.

All the pots and chopping boards... signs of baking, but no smell of yeast in the air... oh, I guess it's unleavened bread.

This looks like they were preparing the Eucharist here.

There is unidentified debris... it feels wet. Is it because we're underground?

No.

There is flour left in the corner... why is it so damp and sticky?

This smell...

Is this the only path the pious abbot saw, at the end of it all?

Can't get in touch with Federico... tell Oren? That will only make things more complicated.

Am I the one who's going to have to do this? I barely know where Iberia even is.

This is such a headache.

My forces will soon surround the monastery...

I will command them to block every path in and out. You stay here and coordinate with the assault.

Mm...

What is it?

Are you sure you want to do this, Oren?