12 (7)

Along the neatly maintained highway, a carriage that looked less like a carriage and more like a small mobile house was passing by. It was the pope’s carriage. Around it, white-clad knights guarded the pope in an iron-tight formation. One could tell at a glance they were no ordinary knights just from the aura spreading around them. It was not quite mana—rather, an intensely noble holy power. It was an energy utterly opposed to monsters, so much so that even simple beasts would catch its scent from kilometers away and would not dare approach.

On both sides, golden fields stretched wide. They were so dense that anyone could see it was a bumper harvest of bumper harvests. Judging by the climate and terrain, even someone with a little experience would know wheat could not normally grow to this extent here. For wheat to grow in such quantities, the land would have to lie beside a great river and be part of a floodplain.

The clattering rattle of the massive wheels stopped. The mounted knights halted one by one in place, and the horses whinnied as if glad for a break. The source of the order, of course, was inside the carriage. The one riding within was so famous that there was no one in the world who did not know him: Pope Urbani Benedict III.

The golden plain, impressive to any eye, moved the pope’s heart. The door opened, and an old man in white robes stepped out. As always, he looked over the fields with a smiling face. Soon, as if stirred, he reached out and idly stroked the nearby wheat. Five farmers, sensing the procession was anything but ordinary, had been bowing their heads to the ground for some time.

The pope grasped a handful of soil beside the farmers and smelled it. Even the pope had begun as an ordinary layman. Before devoting himself to religion, he had been a tenant farmer. The soil was fertile enough, yet not sufficient to produce wheat in such abundance.

“…It is not sufficient. And yet, this is indeed a place watched over by a mysterious power.”

The people around him did not understand what he meant, but they made puzzled faces, then returned to blank composure as if to accept it.

“You there. I will ask you something.”

“Y-yes, milord.”

“Who is the lord of this land?”

“It has been House Pontina’s territory for generations. Recently, Duke Pontina Louis inherited the land.”

“Was it always like this?”

“No, it began after Pontina Louis became the lord.”

Urbani Benedict III smiled.

“Indeed. Whether it was God’s aid, or the skill of a young man named Louis, I will have to ask him for the details.”

“We will arrive shortly. Please return to the carriage. You will be able to meet this Duke Louis today. And you will see the miracle His Holiness wished to behold.”

The one speaking to the pope was Evantes, commander of the Holy Knight Order. He was a Sword Master, and at the same time a man who could wield considerable holy power—an all-around monster of ability. His name was so renowned that few did not know it.

‘It truly is strange enough to draw His Holiness’s interest. By location alone, wheat cannot grow like this. If it were only one place, perhaps I could understand, but the entire area is growing at this level. His Holiness calls it a miracle, but can that be? It must be the skill of a man named Louis—what method did he use? It is driving me mad with curiosity. We are almost there.’

The pope returned to the carriage, and Evantes looked ahead. Several highways converged into one. There stood the walls of Pontina territory. The land inside looked lively enough that each road was packed with crowds streaming in.

Louis had made thorough preparations. Inside, all the nobles who mattered in the Duchy of Eron were present. Even the Prince-King was there. The one to greet the pope as representative would be Prince-King Orpendius, and Louis’s role would end at assisting Orpendius. The territory was sufficiently ordered. He had expanded infrastructure and widened the internal roads connected to the highways. The central plaza had roads opened so that anyone could easily see it.

The Prince-King, Louis, and the other nobles were lined up before the gate. And from afar came a mass of white. The pope arrived. The first to step forward was Orpendius.

“Your Holiness, I offer my deepest gratitude for coming all this way. I am Gridio Orpendius, Prince-King of the Duchy of Eron.”

The carriage door opened, and an old man appeared. So this old man was the pope. His face was ordinary. And yet he stood at the very pinnacle of the world’s faithful. All Louis could see on the pope’s face were traces of time. The rumors seemed true: that the pope had expended all his holy power. If so, there might not be much time left until the next pope. The Prince-King looked so tense he seemed on the verge of collapse. It made sense—the pope’s office was far too immense for a small country’s ruler to receive.

Those standing beside him were also all famous figures. The man with a scar on his right cheek was surely Evantes, commander of the Holy Knight Order, and though Louis did not know the names of the knights beside him, their presence far exceeded even Mihoff’s. If they truly wished, they could kill everyone here. That was the gap. Of course, they would not.

Evantes’s eyes, curved like an eagle’s, met Louis’s. Louis looked back without burden. Louis, too, possessed the mana capacity of a Sword Expert. And from the bone, he was of a bloodline that did not easily bow its spirit. Evantes’s expression turned intrigued. Indeed, it was rare for someone Louis’s age to meet Evantes’s gaze so calmly.

“…Then which of you here is the one called Louis?”

Before even exchanging more than a few words with Orpendius, the pope delivered an unexpected question. He was asking for Louis directly. The Prince-King flustered and stumbled in a pitiful display. Even Boarne Gregor—said to be the strongest among those present—was sweating cold under the pressure radiating from the Holy Knight Order. For the Prince-King, closer to an ordinary man who had not built even a little mana, simply standing here must have been agony. Fortunately, this pressure came from holy power, a different kind than the “oppressive aura” mana users commonly emitted. It was… softer, perhaps. It seemed it was time for Louis to step forward.

Louis took one step out and, at the same time, gave proper respect to the pope.

“It is an honor. The one Your Holiness, Pope Urbani Benedict III, seeks is none other than I. I am Pontina Louis. As the one who rules Pontina territory, I serve Prince-King Orpendius of the Duchy of Eron.”

The old wrinkles spread wide the moment he saw Louis. And the pope spoke.

“Oh…! Oh…! So you are the one! I have long awaited meeting you! Would you come a little closer?”

The pope was showing great favor. Why? Still, if he had come all this way himself, he surely had something he wished to ask or satisfy his curiosity about. Having reached that thought, Louis stepped forward a few paces.

“A proper young man. And so young—when I was your age, I wandered from battlefield to battlefield! Back then, I was a medic! Your vigor is considerable. Have you personally attained Sword Expert? Splendid. To achieve such a thing at that age would require effort that carves the bone—and your territory, too, is managed very well.”

To guess it in one go… In front of the pope, Louis was suppressing his mana as much as possible, so what was visible was only around sixty to seventy in quantity. It was a bit difficult because of that. When the pope spoke the words “Sword Expert,” all of the knightly order looked at Louis. Sword Expert was not a realm one reached easily. And for a noble to have attained it was all the more astonishing—nobles were, after all, usually seen as decadent, pleasure-loving, and wasteful.

“Yes, that is correct. I am currently a Sword Expert. As for the territory, your praise is too generous—I hardly know where to put myself.”

The pope continued to pour praise on Louis. But the situation grew awkward. It was welcome that the pope seemed to like him, yet the prince-king and pope had only just exchanged basic introductions. The prince-king’s dignity had been completely crushed. As expected, Orpendius’s face had reddened. There were also many nobles who had come here hoping to introduce themselves before the pope (Gregor, most notably), but it looked as if they would not even be given the chance. After rambling on about various things, the pope invited Louis to ride together. With events unfolding oddly, Louis hesitated briefly. Noticing it, Evantes spoke.

‘An opportunity offered by His Holiness is not a common opportunity, young man. If you refuse, it is not an insult to an individual, but to the Papal Court. However, you do have the freedom to refuse.’

It was astonishing. Evantes had not spoken a single word, yet his voice boomed inside Louis’s head. Louis turned his eyes and looked around, but no one else seemed to have heard it. Louis looked at Evantes’s face, glaring sharply. It was clearly a message Evantes had sent. Louis had never heard that a Sword Master possessed such an ability—perhaps it was related to holy power…? It was a suggestion bordering on a threat; put more plainly, it was a strong-armed demand to accept while he still phrased it politely.

Louis nodded in an ambiguous way—unclear to whom, exactly—and answered that he would do so. The pope opened the door again and went back in. A girl who looked about sixteen emerged from inside. Seeing Louis, her face flushed, and when attention focused on her, she urged Louis to come in. Without looking back, Louis entered the pope’s carriage.

The carriage was enormous—big enough to look like it could seat about sixteen. No, everything about it was custom-made. The patterns carved within were clearly concentrating high-grade holy power. It was plainly forming a grand warding array strong enough to block most circles even if attacked by some kind of magic. Modest, yet not cheap-looking, antique ornaments hung in clusters, and the pope sat by the window. Before him was a table, and a seat where Louis could sit.

The girl who had urged Louis a moment ago—the girl nicknamed the Prophet—had been curious enough to want to see Louis badly, and yet she did not even look at him properly. She sat down abruptly by the door and only said, in a bureaucratic tone, “Go sit over there.”

Louis sat facing the pope. Comfortable. The pope wore a truly comfortable smile. Louis suddenly thought he would never again meet someone who could smile like that in his entire life.

“I do not even know what to say, to be welcomed so warmly.”

“Louis, in here, treat me comfortably. I loathe discomfort. The knights never listen to what I want, you see. They are reliable, but somehow inflexible children.”

“…Your Holiness!”

A sharp voice came from the side. It felt as though Sandra was scolding him for saying strange things to a stranger. The absolute, imposing atmosphere seen outside had, before long, turned into something like being caught between a grandfather and granddaughter as they talked. Louis, however, did not feel uncomfortable. The one who needed to make a good impression on the pope was Louis himself. So if that was what the pope wanted, it was right to adapt rather than question it.

“That child there—her name is Sandra. She attempted to divine your fate.”

“My fate…?”

It was the pope speaking. Sensing it was no ordinary matter, Louis tensed without realizing it.

“She said she could see nothing at all! Astonishing, is it not! I have never heard her say such a thing in all my life! She is a remarkable child—she even foretold the date of my death!”