117 — 12 (8)

A pope who trusted a priestess that had foretold his own death—he spoke of something eerie as if it were pleasant. It truly did not seem like a role just anyone could hold. No ordinary person would welcome death with joy. In any case, the priestess looked young. The women in Louis’s household were on the younger side as well, but the girl beside him looked about sixteen. Whether she had been born with it or not, she had a noble face that would still look priestly even if you stripped off her vestments. Being able to see fate could not be something trivial. There might even be a price—who knew.

Louis looked back to the pope. Sandra kept stealing glances at Louis. The way she tried not to make it obvious was oddly admirable.

‘I want to look more closely… why am I like this?’

She was startled by her own shyness. She had met countless people, including some of the Empire’s highest nobles, and she had always been confident even before them. This was too strong a reaction to call mere curiosity. And while she flustered internally, the pope, too, was silently admiring Louis.

Having lived a long life, he carried a history of all kinds of people. Especially among nobles, he had met everyone from the worst villains to sovereigns at the very top, and if someone had ability, he had met them without exception—even mages, who stood at odds with his position. The pope seemed to have seen something in Louis.

The pope’s carriage rolled along the well-maintained highway. Had the entire population of the Duchy of Eron gathered? It was an exaggeration, but crowds stood packed shoulder to shoulder along both sides of the road. The citizens praised the pope incessantly. Some prayed for their families’ safety. Others wished for blessings on the road ahead. There were more than ten thousand of them.

The people’s fervor was so hot the carriage itself seemed to shake. The nobles following behind grumbled, envious of Louis standing at the center of such cheers. Following at a distance was an honor, but it could not compare to riding in the carriage together. The one with the most strained expression was Prince-King Orpendius. Even amid the cheers, his mood was utterly ruined.

Yet the Holy Knight Order escorting them was startled by this reception. The well-developed city played its part too. Commander Evantes was shocked that so many people had taken root in such a small provincial city. Still, it was not truly strange—he had seen with his own eyes, on the way in, that food production supported it. The city looked extremely well developed, and at this scale it approached the size of a mid-tier city in the Empire.

‘I came with too much prejudice. This, too, is learning.’

The other knights also wore wide-eyed expressions. They had not expected the people to welcome them so fervently.

‘Not bad. This is a reception I did not even receive in the Empire.’

‘Good thing I sent the one who complained off on leave and came myself. Looks like there is plenty worth seeing.’

‘It is well managed.’

Then the carriage stopped. The place was the plaza. The Hanging Gardens of Babylonia. Commander Evantes’s eyes went wide. Even he—who had traveled the world on pilgrimage—had never seen a structure of this form in his life. If there was something especially odd, it was the waterway climbing upward in reverse. Magic was acting, but there was no “foundation” to it. No foundation—could that even be possible? In terms of sheer beauty, it could not surpass the Hagia Sophia Cathedral in the Holy See, but it was not the kind of beauty one could create in a small country like this. Who in the world had built it? As that question rose in him, the door opened, and Sandra stepped out first—and she, too, let out an exclamation no different from Evantes’s.

The next to set foot on the ground was Louis.

“Oh… Duke Louis was riding in the same carriage as His Holiness.”

“He must have personal ties…”

And then the next to descend was the pope himself. When the pope appeared, the people erupted in cheers. For these citizens, seeing the pope’s face was the sort of thing that might happen only once in a lifetime—if at all. The pope waved to various places, and the people, as if sick with longing, all wanted to receive his blessing. The plaza was so packed it felt narrow; that was how much they wanted to see him. And what had drawn the pope here was this very structure. The pope looked at the Hanging Gardens of Babylonia and fell silent.

Why is he—? The people nearby grew slightly uneasy at the pope’s sudden silence, but then the pope finally spoke a single sentence.

“A miracle…!”

“Waaaaa!!”

Thunderous cheers erupted again. The people rejoiced that it was none other than the pope who had acknowledged its value.

Ding.

Pilgrims meant clergy who possessed holy power. The more of them a territory held, the more its medical and sanitation standards would rise. An option that replenished itself automatically, without Louis having to beg for it, was attractive—especially since his investment in religion had been sparse until now.

The pope truly seemed awed, and in fact he was. He had finally witnessed a miracle. The moment he saw it, he recognized that this was beyond his common sense. Even if it had not been beautiful, he would have liked it—yet the gardens were beautiful. Naturally so. The blueprint Louis had received from the System even carried an explanation: that it was a structure a king had built through every hardship for his queen. In other words, it was a design born of master craftsmen’s intense deliberation in that era.

“So then—who designed this? I wish to see that person.”

Since he had decided to conceal the System, the answer to that question was summarized in one line.

“It was I.”

The pope’s pupils widened.

“You, Louis?”

“Yes. It is true. More precisely, I designed it and instructed talented architects to build it in this manner. However, since your question seemed to be seeking me, I answered as such.”

“Is that truly so?”

The pope looked unable to believe it. Even considering Louis’s age, this was not the kind of work even experienced craftsmen could easily conceive. Taken together, it pointed to Louis’s worth as a man: lord of a vast territory, a Sword Expert, an able administrator, and the originator of a miraculous structure. It was indirect evidence for the rumor that Louis received favor from God.

Louis’s head began to hum again. Evantes was speaking to him.

‘It is not a lie, is it? If it is a lie, you will naturally receive the punishment that follows. You must speak only truth before His Holiness. I will investigate separately, and if it is revealed to be false, I will arrest you. Prepare yourself.’

Strictly speaking, it was a lie. Yet since Louis was the only one who knew that fact, it was also the truth in practice. No matter how fiercely Evantes tried to cow him, there was effectively no way to uncover Louis’s secret. Louis looked at Evantes’s face with calm composure. Evantes, for the first time in nearly ten years, saw someone look at him like that—but the results Louis had produced were enough to support his confidence. Even at such a young age, Louis possessed talent great enough to astonish Evantes—so what would he become in ten years…? Without realizing it, Evantes felt expectation stirring. The empty thought brushed past him that perhaps, from this small territory in a small country, a turning point for the world might begin—and he shook his head, dismissing it as absurd.

The party for the pope’s visit proceeded more modestly than expected. Given his status as a religious figure, it could not be conducted in decadent fashion like a noble banquet. Half of it was a religious rite, and the rest was more accurately described as a space where people could converse. Nobles of every stripe from across the Duchy of Eron stood lined up. Most wished to receive blessings for their house, themselves, or their children. Nobles and commoners alike were similar in what they wanted from the pope. As the nobles lined up, offering things and waiting their turn, everyone’s attention was on Louis.

That was especially true for the Holy Knight Order and the priestesses, since Louis had earned the pope’s trust.

The priestesses’ gazes burned hot. They usually restrained many desires, but it was not that they lacked desire—only that their standards were high, and once stimulated, their interest grew all the stronger. Celibacy was merely encouraged. Only a few special ranks were absolutely required to keep it, so when opportunity arose, they even married without hesitation.

‘How can someone be that handsome?’

‘He already has His Holiness’s approval—his future is paved… The woman who marries him… will be lucky.’

‘Younger men really are nice.’

In a sense, they were the ones who thought the most shameless things in their heads without hesitation—yet they never let such words escape their lips. They only tried to strike up conversation with Louis under various pretexts.

“I would like to give you a personal blessing, if you will permit it, Duke Louis.”

“Oh, of course.”

Louis offered his hand, and the priestess panted slightly as she kissed the back of it. All she did was recite a short, sacred blessing, but the important part was that skin had brushed skin, however briefly. At first Louis allowed it, but before he knew it, priestesses surrounded him. And the one who only watched them was Sandra.

Unlike the priestesses, Sandra had to be careful with her body and conduct. Especially, she had to remain pure regarding anything sexual. She was a prophet—so even more so. But the “girl” in her had faded now; she was a woman. The way her heart raced whenever she saw Louis was not the sort of thing she could easily endure. Why was it that the priestesses, whom she had gotten along with so well until now, suddenly looked mean? She kept gulping down water. Only wavering—should she approach or not.

The Holy Knight Order was composed mostly of the young. Many were nobles who lived on pride in their own excellence, yet quite a few showed strong favor toward Louis. And because nobles from all across the duchy were gathered here, there were also many noblewomen. If not Louis, then—better a chicken than no pheasant: dancing just once with a holy knight was a kind of romantic ideal, so many exchanged glances, talked, or shared a light dance.

However, not everyone looked at Louis with goodwill. Most notably, Commander Evantes was openly glaring at Louis with a murderous intensity. The lingering doubts were the problem. But apart from that, there were also many knights who shot Louis hostile looks out of simple envy and jealousy. They, too, came from good families in their respective countries. Most were not first sons like Louis; many had been pushed aside by elder brothers, gave up inheritance, and entered the Order grudgingly. So whenever they looked at Louis, their bitterness was inevitable.