Isekai Izakaya Nobu 62: The Witch and the Archbishop (Part 1)

The witch hunt had begun.

Rumors of it started spreading on an autumn evening, amidst a persistent drizzle.

A carriage bearing the archbishop’s crest had been seen picking people up one after another in the alleys of the old capital, Aitheria. The shadows of passersby grew sparse, and even the usual thugs had vanished.

It wasn’t just one or two people who had disappeared. Rumor had it that over ten people had already been taken to an abandoned mansion outside the old capital.

Even with the grand market festival approaching, the old capital was enveloped in an unsettling atmosphere.

“Shinobu-chan, you should be careful too, you know.”

Lorenz, the glassblower, said this as he tilted his beer mug. He explained that the bruises around his eyes were from a big fight with his son, Hans.

It was impressive enough that he’d fought with Hans, who was being disciplined by Berthold in the guard corps, but even more impressive that it ended in a draw.

The long-awaited father-son brawl must have sparked his appetite.

He’d been cooling his face with a wet towel while enjoying tempura as a snack, and was already on his seventh beer.

“Be careful? About the witch hunt?”

“Yeah. Rumor is they’re just grabbing anyone they can.”

Shinobu gently stopped Lorenz from ordering his eighth beer and rested her finger on her chin, thinking.

Why on earth would they start a witch hunt? She’d heard it hadn’t happened in about a hundred years. She felt like she’d gotten a decent grasp of the old capital’s affairs after living there for nearly a year, but she knew next to nothing about religious matters.

She’d thought it resembled the religions she’d learned about in history class, but upon closer inspection, it seemed completely different.

“And of course, old Edwin isn’t around at a time like this.”

Nikolaus, who was enjoying hot sake with beef tendon stew, grumbled resentfully, looking at the corner counter that had become the deacon’s designated seat.

Ever since the day the archbishop arrived, Edwin had vanished without a trace. It was true that if the usually nonchalant deacon were around, he might have been able to do something.

“It’s a rather unsettling topic, this witch hunt.”

“Everyone’s scared, wondering if they’ll be next. And I’ll have another plate of Napolitan.”

Gernot seemed to be his usual self at first glance, but he was apparently irritated that his complaint to the archbishop as a member of the city council hadn’t gone well. It was like talking to a wall, or nailing jelly to a tree.

He couldn’t even verbally defeat his opponent if they wouldn’t come to the negotiating table.

Above all, the fact that he, who valued the harmony of Napolitan above all else, was adding more Tabasco sauce than usual indicated his slight irritation.

“Can’t you do something to stop it, Gernot-san?”

“I’ve protested. The archbishop’s side is playing dumb. Normally, the old capital is directly under imperial rule, so even an archbishop shouldn’t be able to interfere so easily. If it escalates, it’ll become a political issue between the Empire and the Holy Kingdom of Lupicia. It’s precisely because they know this that they’re engaging in this witch hunt charade outside the city walls, where the city council’s jurisdiction is ambiguous.”

During the time of Backeshoff, the previous chairman of the city council, there had apparently been a proposal to have the archbishop also serve as the head of the old capital’s cathedral. If that had happened, the archbishop, who had no influence in the diocese except for the old capital, would have gained significant influence over it.

There had apparently been a strong request from the archbishop’s side, but that had also been dropped due to the incident.

Looking back, that was probably the right decision. If they’d allowed that, the witch hunt might have started much sooner.

“What about asking the lord who governs the area outside the city walls?”

“The great lord of Sachsenburg has influence in the Doctrinal Guidance Ministry. He really should have settled things by now… but there’s a rumor that he’s been bedridden with illness.”

“Nothing seems to be going right.”

Shinobu glanced at Nobuyuki, letting out a small sigh.

As soon as the rumors of the witch hunt started, Nobuyuki had sent Hermina and Eva home. He’d decided it was best for them to stay home until things settled down. He’d also told them not to go out much during such unsettling times.

Moreover, there was no need to worry about being short-staffed.

Usually, it wouldn’t be strange for the place to be full at this hour, but today, there were only three regulars.

It seemed that even the people of the old capital weren’t in the mood to go out drinking in this atmosphere.

“Speaking of witches, they stopped putting mushrooms in the tempura, huh?”

“Precaution is everything, you know.”

Shinobu replied to Lorenz, who muttered this while splitting a shrimp kakiage in half. She’d heard just the other day that the old capital had a custom of abstaining from mushrooms as a reflection on the witch hunts of long ago.

Autumn was the season for delicious mushrooms, but it was probably best not to serve them in this situation.

Everyone was feeling vaguely uneasy.

Shinobu was no exception. She didn’t know the criteria for those being taken away as witches, and she couldn’t understand the witch hunt itself.

If there was one saving grace, it was that the residents of the old capital also felt uncomfortable with the witch hunt.

So far, none of the regulars or anyone else had expressed support for the witch hunt. They considered it an outdated and shameful part of the past.

“Shinobu-chan, are you guys not going back to your hometown?”

Nikolaus asked, poking at his stew.

It was only when asked that Shinobu realized she had no intention of returning to Japan. She’d thought the same thing during the Toriaezu Nama incident, but it seemed she’d grown incredibly fond of the old capital. She couldn’t think of it as something happening in another world.

Besides, even if she went back to Japan, she probably wouldn’t be able to truly return to her real home anymore.

“My hometown is far away. Very far.”

She couldn’t bring herself to add “mentally,” and gave a vague smile.

Nobuyuki seemed to shrug slightly, but she might have been imagining it.

“I’ll continue running the shop here. Besides, this witch commotion might end surprisingly quickly.”

“That’s true. I’m worried about the people who’ve been captured, but it’ll probably be over soon.”

Lorenz, who had been poured his eighth beer by Nobuyuki, laughed heartily.

Shinobu tried to laugh along, but the dish she was wiping fell to the floor with a loud crash. The cheap but favorite plate shattered into pieces.

“Are you okay?”

She nodded slightly to Nobuyuki, who peered down, and crouched down to pick up the fragments.

A sharp, stinging pain shot through her fingertip, and she saw blood welling up. This was unusual.

Sucking on her index finger, Shinobu felt overwhelmed by a strange anxiety that welled up inside her.

The night in the old capital deepened quietly. Dawn still seemed a long way off.

The rain that had started falling at dawn had turned into wet snow.

Somewhere, a single snow-waiting crow cried.

Snow fell like a white cosmetic on the soil of the fields where the autumn-sown wheat seeds slept.

The fields of black soil, stretching as far as the eye could see, were still not enough to fill the stomachs of the people of the old capital. To support their vigorous appetites, the old capital purchased various goods from the surrounding areas.

A single black-painted carriage was traveling leisurely along the road that had been built for this purpose.

The crest indicating its owner belonged to the diocesan archbishop. A farmer passing by saw it and bowed respectfully.

However, the archbishop, who should be receiving this respect, was not in this carriage.

The person driving this carriage now was a small man named Damian.

Everything was going smoothly.

You could even say it was going too well. He’d ingratiated himself with the archbishop and revived the witch hunt in the old capital.

His aim was one thing: that accursed tavern, Nobu.

Losing both his positions at the Baron Branton’s house and the Backeshoff Trading Company was all because of that tavern. Revenge wouldn’t be enough with half-hearted measures.

The carriage passed through the main gate and smoothly entered the city streets of the old capital.

As long as it bore the crest of the diocesan archbishop, there would be no unnecessary questioning.

The carriage traveled along the cobblestone road.

It stopped in front of the Four-Winged Eagle Inn, the most prestigious inn in the old capital, near the central island. Damian, who would have been turned away at the gate when he was being hunted for his involvement with Backeshoff, was welcomed in as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

“What’s going on, Damian? What is the meaning of this?”

Enrico was the one who pounced on him as soon as he entered the room.

He was quite intelligent, but he was obsessed with strange fortune-telling. Because of this, he had been relegated to the idle position of document organizer, but the archbishop had picked him up.

“What’s wrong, Enrico-dono? You’re in the presence of His Grace the Archbishop. Please calm down.”

“How can I be calm? The city is buzzing with rumors of a witch hunt, Damian. The city council of the old capital has also lodged a protest.”

“Rumors are just rumors. It hasn’t actually started.”

It was true that he was gathering people in an old mansion in the suburbs.

It was also true that he’d made it seem like a witch hunt. He was fueling anxiety and directing suspicion towards the tavern Nobu. He was aiming for reputational damage through rumors, but this wasn’t going very well. A shop with many regulars was difficult to handle.

But even Damian wasn’t foolish enough to start a witch hunt on his own authority.

He would conduct the witch hunt under the archbishop’s authority. He couldn’t move until he had that approval.

“And where is His Grace?”

“It’s time for prayers. He’s in front of the statue of the goddess. He should be finished soon.”

Damian shrugged slightly, brushed the snow off his shoulders, and sat down on the chaise lounge.

The firewood crackled.

A fire was still burning brightly in the expensively built fireplace.

The buildings in this area were all built to withstand the harsh winters, but it seemed quite cold to Enrico, who was born in the Holy Kingdom. He was dressed in an unseemly amount of thick clothing for his thin body. It was still autumn, so what would he do when winter came?

That was also true for the archbishop.

Born and raised in the Holy Kingdom. The archbishop, who grew up in the warm southern lands, would probably find the winters around here quite difficult. Tickling the archbishop’s desire to leave this place as soon as possible was the source of Damian’s current power.

After the lager smuggling incident, Damian, who had lost his protector, had sought refuge with the archbishop.

He’d tried to use the fact that one of the archbishop’s subordinates had defaulted on a loan from the Backeshoff Trading Company as blackmail, but he was unexpectedly and readily employed.

Even a starving dragon won’t eat a cornered bird.

If he left the old capital, the officials would have little reach, and with the protection of the Doctrinal Guidance Ministry, he could escape most pursuits.

It was immediately clear that this cleric, born in the Holy Kingdom, longed to return to his homeland.

The reason was not so much the lack of splendor, but the cold and the food.

For the archbishop, who was accustomed to luxury, living in the northern part of the Empire, centered around potatoes, must have seemed like hell on earth.

“Ah, Damian. You’ve come.”

“I am honored to see your noble countenance.”

Rodrigo, the archbishop, who had emerged from the specially prepared prayer room, was large.

From Damian’s perspective, who wasn’t very tall, he looked like a giant. He also had a considerable girth, but he was tall. It was understandable that it might be difficult for this body to eat only potatoes.

“I believe you’ve already heard from Enrico, but it’s about the witch hunt.”

“Yes, I understand that Your Grace is concerned about these unfounded rumors. As I explained to Enrico-dono, it’s just gossip. The fact that I gathered people in a suburban mansion must have made it seem that way to the common folk.”

“I see,” the archbishop nodded and immediately began drinking hot wine, pouring it himself.

It was probably more that his body craved heat than that he wanted to get drunk.

The cup was a gift from Damian, lined with lead on the inside. He seemed to like it because it made the Empire’s wine, which was not as good as that of the Holy Kingdom or the Eastern Kingdom of Oiria, taste sweeter and smoother.

Damian sneered inwardly at how carefree he was.

This archbishop might be an excellent scholar, but he wasn’t much of an actor when it came to scheming.

When Damian suggested that he would search for witches on behalf of the busy archbishop, he readily agreed.

It was a miscalculation that he’d come in person when he reported that there might be witches in the old capital, but it was manageable. The archbishop’s current goal was to find witches. He hadn’t heard the details of what he intended to do, but he probably intended to say that witches had reappeared due to the corruption of the Doctrinal Guidance Ministry. If Damian were in the archbishop’s position, he would definitely do so.

Find the witches and return to the Holy Kingdom.

Damian couldn’t predict whether such a thing was possible, but the archbishop’s enthusiasm for finding witches was genuine. He was investing a considerable amount of money in this investigation. Of course, Damian was taking a generous share of the sweet nectar from that.

Currently, the person in power in the Holy Kingdom, Hürchtegott, was reputed to be a very sharp person. It was unlikely that Rodrigo could fight him just by finding witches. It would even be difficult to become one of the vacant cardinal positions.

“So, Damian. I understand that the rumors of a witch hunt that the street sparrows are chirping about are unfounded. So, how will the witch hunt proceed from here?”

“There is a shop that I suspect is a witch’s den. We will strike there.”

“Hmm, a witch’s den, you say. Are there witches there?”

Enrico, behind the archbishop who was stroking his chin, tried to say something but stopped.

Since Enrico wasn’t very enthusiastic about the witch hunt itself, he was probably about to say some boring objection.

“There’s no need to worry. It’s a shop with various suspicious rumors. There are witches there.”

“Don’t misunderstand me, Damian. As a cleric, I hope that there are no witches. If that shop is not a witch’s den, that would be a good thing.”

“As you say.”

As he replied, he cursed inwardly, thinking, “This is why big, slow-witted people are…”

There was no point in pretending here. It was a well-known secret that the archbishop had been searching for witches for many years. It was as if wisdom couldn’t circulate throughout his entire body. It was easier to carry a palanquin if the head was light, but it was difficult to handle if it was too stupid.

It was fine if the fool was a fool, but it was even more foolish to be dragged down and suffer disadvantages because of it.

However, he hadn’t forgotten to prepare for that.

The number of people gathered in the suburbs was preparation for escape in case something happened. He’d already made arrangements with the Princess Regent of the Eastern Kingdom. Once they crossed the border, anything was possible.

Of course, if nothing happened, that was fine too.

It would also be interesting to get revenge on the tavern Nobu and stay in the old capital with the archbishop.

The current solidarity of the city council was strangely strong, but it could be broken from the inside.

His sweet fantasies, however, were shattered by the archbishop’s unexpected words.

“Then, Damian, let us go to that tavern, Nobu, now.”

“…Now, Your Grace?”

Damian almost fainted at Rodrigo’s words, which were said with the ease of someone about to hum a tune.

He was planning to gradually set traps that Nobu couldn’t escape from.

Tricks using thugs, a fake food poisoning incident, and deceitful pamphlets about the mushroom dishes served at Nobu and their connection to witches—he was going to build up irrefutable evidence.

As a first step, he had spread rumors of witch anxiety throughout the city. This was still just the preparation stage.

“But Your Grace, isn’t it a bit premature?”

The archbishop frowned at Damian’s strained voice.

“It’s best to confirm whether there are witches or not as soon as possible.”

“Ah, yes, but…”

“You seem to be busy with various things. If you’re cooped up in the suburban mansion, aren’t you only eating potatoes? It’s best to finish difficult work quickly. Come, let’s go now. We have a carriage, after all.”

With the archbishop taking him by the hand, Damian had no choice but to move.

He stood up, almost grinding his teeth.

It’s okay. He could attack. The tavern Nobu was a witch’s shop. Telling himself this, Damian got into the carriage.

Sitting next to the large archbishop, the scenery looked completely different, even though it was the same carriage as before.

The black-painted carriage began to move smoothly, carrying his impatience and frustration.