Chapter 5
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 5
Chapter Title: Robertus Arrives at the Succession Ceremony
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"..."
The rattling interior of the carriage felt endlessly uncomfortable.
I just kept my head bowed like a criminal, occasionally sneaking peeks at the person sitting across from me.
Like a new hire stuck in a one-on-one meeting with the company chairman.
"Hoo. No need to be so on edge. Where'd all that boldness from earlier disappear to?"
"Earlier, I didn't know Miss Elsa... Your Holiness was the Pope."
"Hahaha! You're like a completely different person from moments ago. What an amusing kid."
Elsa... His Holiness the Pope let out a hearty laugh like a drunken old-timer, utterly at odds with her girlish looks.
"By the way, did you really not notice I was the Pope? Looks like you need to sharpen your eye for people."
Yes, yes.
My bad for not realizing the lost little nun in the woods was the supreme and exalted Sixteenth Pope of the Radain Holy Kingdom, Mercadie Radain!!!
Popes are supposed to be blonde girls, right?
No matter how I looked at her... no matter the angle... she seemed no older than her early teens.
But she was the Sixteenth Pope of the Radain Holy Kingdom, Mercadie Radain.
A near-demigod who had ruled this holy kingdom for over two hundred years.
I'd learned about her midway through my successor training.
-Our current Pope was originally chosen as a Saintess. But after saving those in peril, endlessly scourging herself through asceticism and trials, she was finally acknowledged by the Lord God. Granted part of His power, she was reborn as His proxy on earth...
The Mercadie Radain from the history books was a straight-up mythical figure.
She saved the holy kingdom from monster invasions time and again, decisively judged the church's corrupt elements, converted assassins from heretical cults with nothing but sermons,
And even while racking up these heroic feats one after another, she lived a frugal, devout life right up to the end...
"You've been staring nonstop since earlier. Am I that fascinating?"
"..."
A life that simply didn't square with the obvious liar of a girl sitting across from me.
"Hmm..."
This time, she started staring right through me.
"I was riding in this carriage toward the site of your succession ceremony when I stepped into the nearby woods for a quick breather."
Her gaze was half curiosity, half admiration.
"That's when I ran into you. I was curious—and worried—about what sort of man the new Duke of the North would be. The reports painted you as a prodigal son treating taverns like his personal living room."
Yes. Spot on.
The Bilheim family's prodigal son, the house's black sheep. That's me.
So please, please forget that heartfelt speech I gave earlier?
"-There must've been some mix-up. After meeting you and talking face-to-face, the next Duke of the North turns out to be such a commendable young man, seriously pondering his duties and his territory's future."
Yeah, no dice, huh?
Yes, even by my standards, that speech was killer.
So His Holiness falling head over heels for me? Can't be helped.
...I'm losing it.
The look she gave me was kind and warm beyond words.
I knew that look.
A grandmother's gaze upon her proud grandchild.
The eager glint of someone dying to spoil her fine young grandson.
The only problem was...
"Don't worry. Until you've fully taken root as Duke of the North, I'll help however I can."
I was the next Duke of the North, and the girl-slash-grandma before me might as well be my direct boss: the Pope.
...No backing out now.
If I blurted out here, "Actually, that was all a lie—I don't wanna be Duke of the North," it wouldn't be inquisitors coming for me. The Pope herself would smite me with divine wrath (the physical kind).
"-I am endlessly grateful for Your Holiness's benevolence. I will become a fine leader and meet your expectations."
Internally retching blood, I plastered on the most confident smile I could muster and replied.
Watching her beam with satisfaction, nodding over and over,
I could do nothing but pray—my first real prayer ever.
-Lord God Juten, fine. I'll do it.
I'll be your Duke of the North...
Just no more of this raw deal, please. I beg you.
For the past few decades, Mercadie had been sunk in that feeling that inevitably creeps up on anyone granted a lifespan far beyond the human norm.
Boredom born of endless years.
Distrust of humanity, glimpsed in the ugly underbellies of countless souls.
And the two blending into regret, questioning whether all she'd accomplished truly mattered... doubts about the life she'd lived.
As Saintess. As Pope.
She'd sheltered the weak per God's will, vanquished evil, judged those clerics who preached divine obedience while wallowing in sin.
But at some point, the thought struck her out of nowhere.
-What's the point of any of it?
Great Pope of the Radain Holy Kingdom or God's earthly proxy with His power granted—she was still just human, in the end.
Even as she showered this land with divine grace, evil sprouted anew across far vaster expanses,
Even as she preached the Lord's teachings, the vicious rantings of dozens, hundreds of villains spread far faster.
Watching the Radain Church and Holy Kingdom drift ever further from Lord God Juten's will, no matter her efforts...
Mercadie had despaired.
Going through the motions of her papal duties at absolute minimum, holing up without emerging.
-If not me, who will shoulder the weight the Duke of the North must bear?
Then Robertus Bilheim appeared before her.
A young man proudly declaring he'd gladly take on that fate—too heavy even for her now—and walk this path of trials to the bitter end.
The instant she heard his sincere vow, Mercadie's heart, stagnant for decades, began to beat once more.
She remembered.
The burning conviction she'd clutched to her chest the day she first became Saintess.
Robertus looked just like her younger self.
"...Hehe."
"Something wrong...?"
"No, nothing. Just some old memories."
The Pope gave Robertus a thorough once-over.
For a scion of House Bilheim—famed for iron constitutions and fiery tempers—he was on the slender side. Handsome, sure, but with a pretty-boy vibe somewhere.
'Tsk tsk... Skin and bones. A true Northern warrior's pecs should shred a shirt clean off. Gotta send some grub when I get back to the Holy Capital...'
But soon enough, she clocked the real pressing issue dogging him.
'His footing in the Northern Territory has to be shaky as hell right now.'
Suddenly inheriting the dukedom after his father and four brothers dropped dead.
Obviously, the entrenched bureaucrats and retainer houses wouldn't yet see him as their true liege.
And if Vatican intel was calling him a "drunkard," his rep in the territory was in the gutter too.
Hell, that rumor might even be a ploy by his enemies to topple him.
An unprepared handover. Zero allies. Total isolation.
The towering mountain range looming before Robertus was far too brutal for a fledgling adult banking solely on conviction.
'What to do? How can I help this delicate boy...'
Mercadie pondered briefly.
'...Start with what I can do right now, step by step.'
An idea dawned.
Their destination: Robertus's succession ceremony.
His first official step as Duke of the North.
And droves from across the Northern Territory—and beyond—crowded in to witness it.
'First things first: at the ceremony, hammer home exactly who his backer is. With a little theatrics.'
The grand cathedral in Branheim, heart of the Northern Territory—the site of Robertus Bilheim's succession ceremony.
It teemed with crowds drawn to witness the new Duke of the North's inauguration.
Typically, launch events or inaugurations for groups or individuals... brim with blessings and hopeful anticipation for fresh starts.
Not here. The vibe was something else entirely.
Senior officials from Bilheim lands, family heads, out-of-town nobles crammed the cathedral interior.
-Hope our prodigal Robertus doesn't stir up any messes.
-Tell me about it. Least then work stays easy...
Along the long benches flanking the central aisle on the ground floor, left side: bureaucrats murmuring bored gripes,
-Time to erode House Bilheim's clout while we can.
-Piece of cake, no? Slap a salon stuffed with courtesans right by the official residence. Our new Duke'll hole up there, ignore the outside world!
Right side: family heads whispering foul plots.
Upstairs guests peering down weren't much better.
-God, why drag ourselves to this frozen ass-end...?
-Hey, think long-term investment. Word is the new Duke's a clueless punk. Play him right, big payoff.
Even the commoners mobbing outside for a gawk acted cocky.
-Big shot now, eh, our wastrel young master! Wonder if he'll hack it, though. Bet as lord he'll just booze it up in his office nonstop?
-Who cares. Long as he doesn't grope innocent girls like the last one.
A flip attitude, like ogling some freak show.
Gazes on the incoming Duke varied by class and origin, but the baseline assumption was the same.
No one held even a shred of expectation for him.
Distrust. Schemes to exploit.
Not a whiff of blessings for his new chapter or hopes he'd prove himself.
And the Bilheim retainers handling ceremony prep? They knew the mood full well.
But their focus was elsewhere.
"Still no sign of Lord Robertus?!"
Head butler Henriotte Ricart's sharp bark at the servants.
"S-sorry, sir! We've mobilized the guard and patrols for a total sweep—should find him any minute...!"
In the meeting room behind the chapel of the ceremony cathedral.
With the star of the show, Robertus, gone AWOL, retainers scrambled to track him down.
"...I slipped up. He buckled down on training these past two weeks, so I figured he was committed to becoming Duke..."
Amid the chaos, Robertus's personal maid Eline pressed her forehead with a sigh.
Robertus couldn't cast magic, had no superhuman physique either.
Couldn't have gone far—so why haven't they found him yet?
Eline's mind reeled in confusion when,
"...Maid of House Bilheim, Lady Eline?"
An unfamiliar priest sidled up behind her, unbidden.
"Yes? ...Yes, that's me. What is it?"
"A moment..."
The priest glanced around, then whispered in her ear.
"Yes... yes? Oh, thank goodness! You've found the young master. ...What?! With who right—"
"Shh!"
The priest hushed her startled gasp.
"Keep it down. Everything I tell you now is confidential—you handle it solo."
"Y-yes, sir..."
The whisper resumed.
"..."
Eline's face hardened as she heard it out, then vanished somewhere.
Clop, clop.
Hoofbeats echoing from afar.
The outside throng noticed first, then those inside the cathedral.
-What's going on?
Gazes locked on three opulent carriages approaching the cathedral, flanked by knights.
Insiders peeked out windows or trickled outside to see.
Clop, neigh...
The procession halted at the cathedral's main entrance.
The lead knight dismounted and bellowed,
"The great Sixteenth Pope, His Holiness Mercadie Radain has graced us with her presence!"
Silence fell over all.
"All pay homage!"
One knee to the ground, heads bowed.
Commoners, nobles, merchants, officials, retainers—every soul there.
The Radain Holy Kingdom, founded by Lord God Juten's decree.
Anyone living here knew the weight of "Pope."
Bowed low, yet hearts thumped with thrill at beholding His Holiness in the flesh,
All held their breath, awaiting her descent from the carriage.
At last, the first carriage door swung open.
But it wasn't the Pope who stepped out.
Robertus Bilheim.
The new Duke of the North.
Everyone froze in shock.
First, at his abrupt arrival. Second, at how utterly unlike the man they'd heard of he looked.
Black hair, silver eyes.
Sharp features, sturdy Northern build.
Topped with the Northern Duke's signature black coat, he radiated regal authority.
No sign whatsoever of the drunken lout staggering through streets.
As those witnessing him traded bewildered glances,
Robertus alighted and strode slowly toward the second carriage.
Knock, knock.
A brief pause after the rap.
He opened the door, then—like everyone else—dropped to one knee before it.
One difference: his right hand extended inside.
The nobles clocked it—etiquette for escorting a noblewoman from her carriage.
A girl took his proffered hand and stepped down.
-...!
The crowd reeled.
Commoners, at the Pope being such a young girl.
Nobles and retainers... at the pair arriving together, with Robertus escorting the Pope no less.
Forgotten were proprieties; heads craned openly to gape at the two.
Bathed in every eye there,
The pair, hands clasped, began a slow walk toward the cathedral through the parted masses.