12 (10)

A vein stood out on Evantes’s forehead. Of course, it wasn’t because of the allied houses’ bold words—it was because of Louis’s trait, the Intimidation effect. But the surrounding knights didn’t know that, and they began to stir. It was the first time they had ever seen Evantes—who always carried out his work with perfect composure and a blank expression—show such intensity. Evantes stared straight through Louis with a complicated look.

‘Rare as it is, some mana-users do possess unusual natures. He’s no ordinary man…’

Evantes himself was such a case. He was different from other swordsmen. The mana he wielded was something forged by deeply rooted faith added atop that difference. That unique effect was, in truth, the very merit that had propelled him into an elite promotion to commander of the order.

Just then, crackle—a zapping sound—and another man stepped into the boundary. The hem of his fine clothes fluttered, and within his robes a crystal orb shone. The runes etched into it were unmistakably magical power. A mage—one who actually knew how to use spells. He was the eldest son of House Orsini, a bloodline of mages: Orsini Spessart. There was a steely determination beneath his pale face. Anyone who couldn’t cultivate mana would fall apart the moment they entered this space. Even mages were no exception. That was why mages activated their magic power—to resist.

“Ah, excuse me. A weak mage like myself can hardly breathe in a place like this.”

Unlike Akiteia and Mesond—who had struggled their way inside—Spessart strode in lightly and took his place at Louis’s side. The knights’ wary gazes snapped onto him at once. A mage was always to be watched—that was a phrase drilled into holy knights from trainee days. Especially because it had the worst possible affinity with their holy power.

“I am Orsini Spessart of House Orsini. I, too, believe the honorable Sir Evantes has made a slight mistake.”

One of the knights bristled and barked,

“What? A mage. We don’t need your opinion.”

Evantes raised a hand to stop him, then continued,

“Explain what you mean. The structure Duke Louis claims to have built contains no holy power anywhere—and even its source is unclear.”

“Before I offer my opinion, let me state this: I am a certified mage affiliated with the Mage Tower. My house has been mages for generations, and therefore, I understand magic power better than anyone here. The Hanging Gardens Duke Louis built are not a mere building. They are a magitech structure. Magitech is always a hot potato in academia. I do not know what the root principle is that allows the building to operate on magic power, but I sense none of the heretical, impure magic Sir Evantes is wary of. Impure magic is so peculiar and blatant that it cannot be missed… Ah—this opinion is not mine alone. Twenty-five mages under my command all reached the same conclusion. Those twenty-five are also formally affiliated with the Mage Tower. His Holiness’s word—‘miracle’—is true.”

The hall stirred—especially the holy knights. After clearing his throat, Orsini Spessart continued.

“Ahem. Yes, it is true. I intended to ask separately, and to report to the Mage Tower, but—unbelievably—it is pure magic power. Magic power this pure has never been recorded. Even its origin is mysterious. I dislike the word ‘miracle,’ but in the case of Duke Louis’s design, I believe that word is appropriate. That is my opinion.”

Silence. Evantes and the entire holy knight order shut their mouths. The level of magical power Spessart displayed meant he had formed a circle Evantes could not simply dismiss. This was an official opinion spoken with credentials declared. No investigation team had even been dispatched yet, and Evantes—truthfully lacking deep knowledge of magic—found himself cornered. His justification had evaporated. The momentum slipped to Louis’s side. Evantes gave a thin smile.

‘This is a first. Even in the Empire, I have arrested people on the spot—yet here, I can’t even pressure a single man with mere suspicion.’

A languid clap broke the flow. No—it shattered it.

A colossal holy power exploded outward—holy power enough to render everything meaningless. Like a mana storm, a wind swept everything and shoved it outward. Orsini Spessart, especially, lost all of his magic power in an instant. For a moment, he became an ordinary civilian. He stared like a rabbit and turned toward the source.

Pope Urbeni Benedict III.

Louis also looked at the pope. For an instant, something like a halo was visible.

‘So he “lost all his holy power,” my ass.’

Louis laughed inwardly. He had ridden in the same carriage as this man, and won his recognition. The absolute ruler of the faithful. God’s proxy—Pope Benedict III. Not only the physical pressure, but even the tension itself was wiped away.

“Heh-heh. Youths are full of hot blood, as expected. Evantes—this time, you were too greedy.”

Evantes bowed in proper respect.

“I apologize, Your Holiness. I abused my authority. I will accept punishment when we return.”

“It is an age when heretics run rampant. In any case, I will speak to the old men of the Mage Tower and have an investigation team dispatched. When that investigation ends, formally apologize to Duke Louis for this affair.”

“Yes, Holy Father.”

A formal apology from the Papal Court—especially from Evantes, who handled heresy interrogations—carried tremendous weight. It was certain that Louis’s name would become known to the world because of this.

Fifty thousand points? Louis couldn’t believe it even while staring at the window. Fifty thousand was the sort of reward one received only after winning a full territorial war. If this ended well, that much would flow in—an unmistakable sign of just how massive the Papal Court’s weight was in the world. Louis reflected inwardly.

Religion is strong. Extremely.

The unpleasant incident was buried quickly—and quietly. More than anything, this “crisis that wasn’t quite a crisis” only raised Louis’s value even further. Rumors leaked in an instant. The citizens grew even prouder of Duke Louis. And more rumors attached themselves to the Hanging Gardens as well—flesh added to Orsini Spessart’s words. Grand Duke Orpendius didn’t know what to do. He stayed silent, terrified. That ridiculous display was natural in the moment, but it drew scorn from the surrounding nobles.

Louis himself remained utterly unbothered. The nobles found that image deeply impressive. Implicitly, they began to accept that Duke Louis stood above the grand duke—no, above the other marquises as well.

Even Marquess Gregory of House Boarne—whose feud with House Louis ran deep—found the scene striking. The thought rose to his throat: If only he were my son. He had believed his own heir Remitri had never “lost” to anyone, but that certainty flipped in a single stroke. Pontina Remitri had birthed a true lion. The future would need to be handled carefully. Gregory was ambitious. He hated the idea of backing Louis with the tide—but after seeing the grand duke’s haggard face, he decided returning to his own territory for now was the priority.

The standing of the three houses that aided Louis was now firmly secured. More than anything, Louis began to see them differently. He had never experienced help like this, so the feeling was unfamiliar—but not unpleasant. Perhaps building his core alliances around these three houses—Parse, Batenberg, and Orsini—would not be a bad path.

Naturally, the other houses had missed their chance. Louis’s value had soared again, and they had failed to seize the opportunity to become close to him. Every marquess representing each faction had been present, so instead of blaming themselves, they blamed their sons. After the party ended, the children of each house could not escape their fathers’ nagging. The gist was always the same: Why didn’t you step forward like Akiteia did?—even though Akiteia had acted independently before her father had issued any judgment.

The head of House Parse had not intended to pass the title to Akiteia, but this incident began to move his heart. Akiteia had shown courage and accomplished something significant. At the same time, he shook his head at Louis’s audacity. And lastly, Maximilian—head of House Batenberg, who had sensed Louis’s true worth by instinct—praised Mesond until his lips were worn out. Maximilian was not a man who gave praise easily. That was how brilliant Mesond’s judgment had been, helping Louis in a sudden, high-stakes situation. Linsia, the younger sister, adored her brother so much she thought she might die from it. After it was all over, that night, she pounced on Louis in her dreams. The only flaw was that she woke up and kicked her blanket.

On the last day, an immense crowd surrounded Louis. How many were there? Tens of thousands—no, counting was foolish, it was packed beyond measure. Louis knelt. Before him stood the pope in full formal vestments. The pope acknowledged Louis, and that sacred holy power left a peculiar light on Louis as it surged around him like a whirl. The people stared wide-eyed, awed—then when Louis rose and stood beside the pope, they erupted as if the sky itself might burst. Applause poured from every direction, deafening.

If he were a swordsman training brutally, he’d be drooling over that option. The effect seemed immediate; his body and mind felt lighter.

The holy knights seemed to think, That was then, this is now, and they held their swords with sincerity for Louis. Evantes, with an unreadable expression, continued clapping in silence.

This incident would likely never fade from Evantes’s life. He stopped clapping for a moment and looked at the work behind Louis and the pope—the Hanging Gardens. Indeed, he could not sense even a strand of evil power. Yet that odd, alien quality still remained. In the end, though, he corrected himself.

‘Prejudice. It means I held that much negativity toward magic. This, too, is learning.’