I’m an Immigration Officer!

In a forsaken temple in the northern Scardi Empire, Hattensilla, the Saintess of the Cult of the Evil God, had been preparing the ritual for hours, clutching the ancient altar.
It was an altar that would soon be stained and defiled with the blood of the Saintess of the Holy Order, to be sacrificed as a whore.
With the blood of a young goat, she drew a profane seal and aligned the cursed relics. Hattensilla knew full well that this opportunity would be a fatal blow to the Holy Order — one from which they could never recover.

For that reason, the ritual had to be flawless.
"Micassas Hirakin, Dias Reseneira."
She chanted the ominous incantations and lit the last candle. From the darkness on the opposite side, a man emerged.

"Not a bad altar. Almost good enough to serve as the old man’s gravestone."
His grinning face was covered in hideous scars and carved inscriptions.
"Haktas. It’s been a while since our last meeting."

The torturer’s sleeves were still damp with fresh blood — he had clearly just returned from his “fun.” He looked around the room.
"If you went to all this trouble, you must be damn sure that your mercenary can actually kidnap the Saintess."
"Not confident in my plan, are you?"
"Not really."
His snicker echoed off the walls. It was a clear taunt.

"Not even one of our cult’s devotees, not a cursed puppet, just a mercenary motivated solely by money? Are you serious?"
"Yes."
"Those bastards are unreliable. The second something goes wrong, they’ll run. You should’ve listened to me and brainwashed a couple of orphans and blown them up, just like I said."
Haktas tried to push his idea again.
But Hattensilla only smiled back.

"The mercenary I hired isn’t just some random thug. She’s the Vice Master of Blackhand."
"...What?"
Blackhand.
Haktas froze, hearing that name — the legendary mercenary guild of the northern continent.

"You… you’re serious?"
"Vice Master Shahal. She accepted the contract."
"Shit… Hattensilla."
This time, his smile wasn’t mocking but genuine admiration.
"How the hell did you manage that? You’d have to wait at least five years to get a contract with them."
Blackhand was a guild that took on only the deadliest of jobs, and only for kings or those of equivalent power. They were feared, ruthless, and damn near unstoppable.

But this time, the target was the Saintess.
Someone as significant as a king.
Which meant that under any other circumstances, Blackhand would never have accepted the job.

"Wouldn’t the Saintess of the Holy Order be off-limits, no matter how much money you offered?"
"It’s simple. More than millions of coins. A little bit of negotiation. And…"
Hattensilla paused and gave a sly smile.
"One piece of information they want more than anything."
"Information? What kind of information?"
"Oh, Haktas. It’s so impolite to pry into a lady’s secrets. Even I have a few secrets of my own, you know."

Her flawless smile said it all — she wasn’t going to reveal anything.
If the Vice Master of Blackhand accepted a job to kidnap the Saintess…
But what could it possibly be?

Haktas strained his mind, but no matter how much he thought about it, he couldn’t come up with a single clue.
"Screw it. I’ll find out when the Saintess is here anyway."
If it was Blackhand, the kidnapping was as good as done.

"Now that’s the spirit."
Hattensilla clapped her hands mockingly.
But Haktas just yawned and stretched.

"As long as that monster’s doing all the work for us, all I gotta do is wait. I can’t wait to hear that bitch Erzena scream."
"Doubtful. I heard she already screams every morning in front of a crowd."
Hattensilla moved her fingers in the air, as if playing an invisible guitar.
"Something about ‘rock spirit.’"
"What the hell is that?"

Haktas scowled.
"Not that. I’m talking about screams of pain and fear."
"Hehehe. I know. Get your knives and hooks ready. You’ll be needing your skills soon enough."
Her tone was deceptively calm.

"After all, we still have to carve a few patterns on our sacrificial Saintess."
Haktas grinned and looked at the altar.
"I’m looking forward to it."

Just then, the door burst open without a knock.
"Hattensilla! Haktas! Urgent news!"
"I told you not to enter without permission."
"I’m sorry! But you must hear this!"
Hattensilla and Haktas exchanged glances.

If a low-level follower was barging in like this, it had to be something critical regarding the Holy Order.
"Faster than expected."
"Indeed. I thought it would take them at least four more days."
Hattensilla silently praised the Kingdom of Crossroads for their swift handling of things.

"Speak."
The follower was pale as a sheet as he shouted:
"The pilgrimage group… they were denied entry!"

Haktas stiffened.
Hattensilla staggered, and the carefully arranged relics toppled and clattered to the floor.
"W-What?"
"What did you say?!"
"Where are they now?!"

 
****
The plains bordering the Kingdom of Crossroads were deathly silent.

Hundreds of tents and flags flapped in the wind, but there wasn’t a single soul outside.
Despite the early morning, not one person had stepped out for fresh air.
Not the Saintess, not even Mohaim.

Mohaim sat in a deserted tent, quietly sharpening his sword.
— Screech. Screech. Screech.
Every time the blade scraped against the whetstone, scenes from two days ago played over and over in his mind.

— Welcome to the Kingdom of Crossroads, pilgrims!
This was supposed to be the beginning of the grand Crusade — the will of the Almighty Lord.
With the entire First Holy Knight Order and the Saintess by his side, Mohaim never even considered the possibility of failure.

— Thus, based on this officer’s judgment…
— No.
— Crack!

The whetstone shattered with a blinding spark as Mohaim pressed down too hard.
"Damn it."
Even something as simple as sharpening a sword wasn’t going right.

Cursing under his breath, Mohaim threw the broken stone into the corner of the tent.
And that’s when the Pope’s crystal orb shimmered into view in front of him.
— This time, I must interrupt your rest, Mohaim.
"Your Holiness!"

Mohaim, startled, immediately dropped to one knee.
"I apologize. I didn’t realize Your Holiness had activated the orb…"
— "It’s fine. It’s my fault for not announcing myself. Take a seat."
"...Then, if I may…"
Mohaim sheathed his sword and pulled a chair over to sit before the crystal orb. The Pope watched him for a long moment before speaking.

— "You look exhausted, Mohaim."
"I apologize for failing to meet Your Holiness’s expectations."
— "No, no. How could that possibly be your fault?"
There was no need to ask "What for?"
Both of them knew exactly whom they were referring to.

— "Even I didn’t expect the Chief Inspector to make that decision."
Mohaim’s gaze fell to the table.
There, a mountain of documents stamped with [ENTRY DENIED] was piled high.

Suppressing the urge to shred them into pieces, he muttered through gritted teeth.
"The Saintess was right."
— "Hmm?"
"He’s definitely a heretic. How dare he reject Your Holiness’s request?! Even after you personally guaranteed rewards and protection!"
— "Hahaha. So, even you’re saying that now?"
The Pope let out a hearty laugh and shifted the conversation to calm Mohaim’s rising fury.

— "Now that I think about it, Erzena hasn’t contacted me recently. Is something wrong?"
"What? Well… we’re not sure either. The Saintess hasn’t performed her morning shows for two days now."
— "Hmm. That is… rather unusual."
Mohaim nodded. Even he had not anticipated this.
After being chastised by the Pope, Erzena had withdrawn into herself.

Or rather, she hadn’t left her tent at all. Not even once.
Even when the Chief Inspector declared the [ENTRY DENIED] verdict, she said nothing.
Instead, she simply retreated to her tent without a word.

Whenever Mohaim tried to visit, all he got in response was a quiet, "I’m fine. I just want to be alone for a while."
Hearing this, the Pope nodded as though he understood.
— "Young girls her age often have much to think about. Just wait a bit longer. She’ll return to the Erzena we know soon enough."
"I hope so. The way she is now… it’s not like her."
— "And you, too, Mohaim. Don’t get so worked up. Last time, you almost caused a disaster, didn’t you?"

Mohaim knew ~Nоvеl𝕚ght~ immediately which incident the Pope was referring to.
"...Those bastards. They knew the pilgrimage group was coming and positioned the Border Guards at the frontline."
Border Guards.

Three-meter-tall ancient golems.
The moment the Chief Inspector declared [ENTRY DENIED], the reaction from the Holy Knight Order and the pilgrimage group was as explosive as expected.
And the instant one of the Holy Knights drew his sword, what had seemed like mere statues atop the walls began to move.

[Detected violent response toward the Immigration Officer. Preparing to initiate forced suppression.]
All twenty-eight golems, each standing three meters tall, simultaneously drew their five-meter-long greatswords and lined up against the Holy Knights.
Even Mohaim couldn’t help but tense up.

He wasn’t afraid of fighting them.
After all, they were powered by mana.
A single strike from a divinely blessed weapon would be enough to disperse the mana and shatter them to pieces.

But a conflict at the border was as serious as open war.
If even a single drop of blood were spilled, the Holy Crusade would be forgotten, and a full-blown war against the Kingdom of Crossroads would begin.
So Mohaim had to swallow his boiling anger and force himself to calm the Holy Knights and the pilgrims.

"They tethered us here, waiting for us to make the first move. And if we did, they would have crushed us with those golems."
He spat the words as though they were venom.
"And if that’s not heresy, then what is?! Those cowards, how dare they—"
— "Mohaim."

The Pope’s voice was calm, almost soothing.
— "Every plan must face some kind of obstacle. If the world were perfect, there’d be no need for saints or heroes, would there?"
Despite Mohaim’s seething anger, the Pope continued with a calm, almost dismissive tone.

— "If you react to strong resistance with equal strength, it will only make the situation worse."
"Aren’t you angry, Your Holiness? They outright defied the will of the Almighty Lord right to your face!"
— "The harder we push, the harder they will push back. It’s better to approach them with softness, not force."
Mohaim fell silent.
How could he be soft in a situation like this?

They had already been denied entry. The gates of the border wouldn’t open for them no matter what.
Seeing his expression, the Pope said,
— "The Chief Inspector is just a small stone. Insignificant, but he’s a stubborn young man. I like him. Not sure if he’s a heretic yet, though."
"Your Holiness!"
— "But that’s only if he chooses to align himself with us."

The Pope raised a hand, stopping Mohaim from speaking further.
— "I just finished speaking with the Queen of Crossroads. I told her I would personally bestow my blessings upon her. She will contact the Foreign Ministry soon."
"Does that mean…"
— "You needn’t worry any longer. I guarantee it. The border will reopen within a few days."
Mohaim stood up abruptly and bowed deeply.

"Thank you, Your Holiness! I will carry out the will of the Almighty Lord!"
— "You must have been through a lot these past two days. You look utterly worn out, my son."
The stronger the resistance, the softer the approach.
The Pope had executed that strategy flawlessly.

Without clashing directly with the obstacle, he had reached higher up, making the problem disappear as if it had never existed.
— "I hadn’t intended to make such a fuss, but it seems I had no choice. This time, I had to use my influence."
"If only the Chief Inspector had cooperated, things would have been much easier."
— "A regrettable fact. If he were more like Gerard, competent and willing to turn a blind eye, things would’ve gone much more smoothly."
Mohaim couldn’t deny it.

The Chief Inspector was sharp — sharp enough to piece together the true purpose of the pilgrimage group from scattered clues.
But he had no idea when to stick to his principles and when to compromise.
Unlike Gerard Monarch, the former border commander.

They both knew why Gerard had been executed.
"Collusion with criminal organizations, smuggling, and abetting illegal entry."
He was a corrupt man, but thanks to him, the Holy Order had been able to carry out its secret missions without any suspicion.

Gerard had been the type to keep the border wide open as long as he was paid.
— "Unlike that man, Nathan Kell is a very different type. A pain in the ass to deal with, really."
The Pope shrugged.

— "At least the fact that this is a Crusade remains a secret. Any minor rumors will soon be forgotten."
"What if… what if the Chief Inspector reveals the truth?"
Mohaim finally voiced the fear that had been gnawing at him.
The Pope chuckled softly.

— "Between my word and that of an Immigration Officer, who do you think the world will believe?"
The answer was obvious.
This was over.

The Pope waved his hand tiredly.
— "Now, go rest. I’ve talked too much."
"I will forever cherish Your Holiness’s grace."
Mohaim moved to deactivate the crystal orb.

But just then…
— "Ah, one last thing before you go. I feel I can be a little more honest with you, Mohaim."
The Pope’s smile vanished.

The benevolent, wrinkled face of the shepherd of the faithful was no longer there.
— "Every choice comes with a price. That young man will learn that very soon."
"Your Holiness, what do you mean…?"
— "The Chief Inspector has formally insulted me and the Holy Order. And he did so on a diplomatic stage."
Mohaim’s eyes widened.

The punishment for a Border Officer who committed such a grave mistake was only one thing.
The Pope leaned forward, eyes dark with the cold, unforgiving gaze of the Grand Inquisitor he once was.
— "Once we pass through that border, the Chief Inspector will be executed. By his own rules, no less."

There can be no one who defies the Holy Order.
No matter the reason.
No matter how small the defiance.

A small stone can never stop a tidal wave.
Never again.