Chapter 6
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 6
Chapter Title: Chosen by the Holy Sword (1)
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The Duke of the North and the Pope made their way toward the grand cathedral.
A towering young man with black hair and a black coat walked alongside a young girl with golden blonde hair dressed in ornate papal robes.
The people of the Northern Territory lined up on either side of their path were plunged into confusion.
In this solemn procession where no one was permitted to speak, some couldn't hold back and whispered to those beside them.
"What in the world is going on...?"
"How should I know? It's shocking enough that the Pope is such a young girl, but that dignified young man is supposedly the prodigal young master? Unbelievable..."
However, the shock rippling through the commoners paled in comparison to what the nobles inside the cathedral felt as they watched the pair arrive.
"Wh-what is the meaning of this?! Why is Robertus escorting His Holiness the Pope...?"
The Pope held the dual role of religious leader and political sovereign.
Thus, her authority in the Holy Kingdom was absolute.
For her to allow Robertus Bilheim—the heir to the Duke of the North—no less, to hold her hand and escort her personally during his succession ceremony, an event of utmost importance...
"His Holiness is publicly endorsing Robertus...?"
It was no different from Mercadie declaring to everyone present, "Robertus is my man."
"Hey, what happened?! Didn't you say Robertus was a pathetic drunkard addicted to booze?!"
"I-I only heard the rumors myself..."
The nobles who had come from outside the territory knew little about Robertus, who had secluded himself away in recent years.
They struggled to reconcile the vague image of a prodigal parachuted heir they had pieced together from gossip with the scene unfolding before their eyes.
Finally, the officials, the heads of families under the Bilheim banner, and the servants of the Bilheim estate...
"..."
They were so stunned that they forgot even to whisper among themselves like the others.
Those connected to the Bilheim Grand Duchy knew the history between the family and the Holy Capital.
Over 150 years ago, the Duke of the North at the time had committed a grave breach of etiquette against the Pope during his own succession ceremony.
Though the incident was smoothed over with official apologies and penance, no Pope had attended a Duke of the North's succession since.
The announcement that the Pope would attend this time—for Robertus, the new Duke—had already been shocking news to those involved.
But the spectacle now unfolding before them was several times more astonishing.
"...We never planned an event where Master Robertus escorts His Holiness the Pope."
Henriotte Ricart, the acting head of the family and chief steward, mentally reviewed the letters exchanged with the Papal Court regarding the succession ceremony over and over.
"Administrator, did you secretly contact the Papal Court without informing me?"
"Th-there's no way."
When questioned, the officials and servants in charge of the ceremony all claimed ignorance.
That left only one possibility.
The pair's entrance had been planned by Robertus alone.
At that moment, Eline quietly stepped up beside the chief steward.
"What is it, Miss Eline?"
"...I'm sorry. Actually, just a little while ago, I was summoned by His Holiness the Pope."
"Is that true?! Tell me what happened!"
And the story Eline relayed was equally astounding.
Eline had been summoned while preparing Robertus's succession attire. She headed to the designated location.
Waiting for her were the Pope... and Robertus, who was already with her.
The Pope treated Robertus with remarkable familiarity.
As if they had been close for a long time.
Eline was stunned inside but fulfilled her duties, helping Robertus change in the carriage before returning to the cathedral.
"...Did you ask Master Robertus about it? How he became so close to the Pope?"
"Yes, I did."
"What did he say?"
"He said it was simply fate guiding him..."
"...Fate?"
"Yes. He smiled quite calmly and said that. I didn't press further..."
"Hah. Fate, indeed..."
Henriotte fell silent in thought before speaking again.
"It seems we misjudged Master Robertus after all."
"What do you mean...?"
"From your perspective, having served him closest all this time, what kind of man is Master Robertus?"
"..."
Eline hesitated slightly before answering honestly.
Contrary to the infamous reputation she'd heard before starting, Robertus was surprisingly decent.
Unlike the family head or his other brothers, he never mistreated those beneath him, and he occasionally showed wise insight.
But that was it.
With no drive to achieve merit or live up to the Bilheim name, all he did was hole up in taverns, wasting his days on booze and women.
"Personally, he was surprisingly decent, but as for whether he's leadership material... well..."
At Eline's reluctant assessment, the steward grinned.
"Exactly. That's the common view among the servants who've worked with him. I thought the same."
"But that image of Master Robertus as a prodigal? It was deliberately crafted by him."
"Pardon?"
"Think about it. To secretly contact the Papal Court, captivate His Holiness, and lead her to endorse him publicly like this... Could a true booze-addicted prodigal pull that off?"
"Well, no... but it's hard to believe. If your hypothesis is correct, Chief Steward, why has Master Robertus been playacting as a prodigal all this time?"
"Just a guess... but probably to evade scrutiny from his four brothers."
Henriotte began laying out his theory to Eline.
Robertus was the son of the second wife; his four brothers were from the first.
With even his protective mother gone, the Bilheim household must have felt like enemy territory to Robertus.
So he chose a path.
Instead of revealing his ambitions, he lived thoroughly as a prodigal.
He had deceived his brothers and those around him into seeing him as "a guy far too lacking to be a rival."
After enduring day after day with his head down, a sudden opportunity arrived.
The deaths of his four oppressive brothers and his father.
In that moment, he cast off the prodigal mask and was reborn as the true Robertus Bilheim—
"..."
Eline, who had heard Henriotte's tale, was too shocked to speak.
As his exclusive maid, she had served Robertus closely.
If even she had been completely fooled by his "prodigal young master" act...
How meticulously calculating was Robertus?
How deep and burning were the ambitions he harbored?
Kiiiiiik—
At that moment, the grand doors of the cathedral slowly creaked open.
Entering through them, naturally, were the stars of the succession ceremony: Robertus and his partner, Pope Mercadie.
Now, every spectator in the cathedral sat rigidly in their seats, holding their breath as they watched the pair's procession.
"Now, take a good look at their faces."
Henriotte nodded toward the attendees staring intently at the duo's every move.
"You can imagine the shock on their faces, can't you? We're no different."
"..."
"Master Robertus likely intended this. The incompetent heir whose reputation scraped the bottom. When no one expected anything from him, he appears with His Holiness. Just like this, exuding the dignity befitting a Duke of the North."
Henriotte's voice carried a hint of emotion, as if witnessing a historic moment.
Eline felt something swelling in her chest as she listened.
"Now, the image of Master Robertus entering boldly alongside His Holiness will be etched forever in everyone's minds here. And no one will dare question it anymore. No impious doubts like 'Is Robertus truly fit to be Duke of the North?'"
"I... see."
"Master Robertus set the stage. The most effective way to imprint his new image on the most people."
During the two weeks of training as the Duke's heir, Robertus had seemed pathetic—skipping lessons, lying down mid-training claiming he couldn't continue.
But in truth, it was all an act. Behind the scenes, he had secretly contacted the Pope, planning to turn his succession into a historic event for the Northern Territory—
Henriotte shivered.
Perhaps... unlike his father, he could truly become a great Duke of the North.
"Well, no need for more talk now, Miss Eline?"
"Yes. Our role is simply to bear witness to the ascension of the new Duke of the North."
Now, the two fell silent, subtle smiles on their lips as they took in the sight of their master with their own eyes.
"I've got a brilliant plan. Want to hear it?"
When the pint-sized Pope asked me with a mischievous grin, I thought:
This isn't what we agreed on, Lord God!
We'd clearly settled that I'd take the Duke position without causing more trouble.
"We'll appear at the succession together. Of course, you'll be dressed appropriately. And when we walk hand in hand... even those who looked down on you or doubted you will have to acknowledge you, blessed by the Pope herself."
When she laid out the details, I thought again:
Lord God, isn't this prank going too far?!
Of course, my protests never reached Lord God Juten.
Without my input, the Pope's plan proceeded smoothly.
The carriage stopped a short distance from the cathedral, and a messenger was sent to summon my maid, Eline, with my succession attire.
Eline's face when she saw the Pope... I'll leave that to your imagination.
"What in the world is going on...?"
Alone in the carriage as she helped me change, she asked. I could only reply, enlightened:
"Fate guided us, that's all."
And so, I escorted the Pope and made my grand "Ta-da!" entrance at the succession ceremony.
The commoners and nobles stared in shock.
Outwardly, I wore the dignified expression of a Duke of the North, but inwardly:
Please... isn't there anyone else? No one sees through me?! No! Don't cheer! I don't want to be Duke of the North!
I wailed pathetically as I walked hand-in-hand with the Pope along the path to the cathedral.
Step by step.
Finally, the cathedral doors opened, and we entered.
The altar on the distant pulpit felt like a guillotine.
And I was the condemned prisoner heading toward it.
In a final act of resistance, I halted.
"Oh? Nervous? It's fine. I'm right here."
The executioner named Pope kindly—yet cruelly—took my hand and led me forward.
Thus, I finally stood before the pulpit alongside the Pope.
"Uh, um..."
The elderly archbishop tasked with conducting the ceremony looked down at us in bewilderment.
"Y-Your Holiness? We must begin the succession now..."
"Right, of course. How thoughtless of me. ...Now, chin up."
She whispered that with a wink, released my hand, and took her seat in the ornate chair beside the altar.
"Ahem. Then, we shall now commence the succession ceremony for the fifth son of the Bilheim family, Robertus Bilheim."
With the archbishop's declaration, the organ resounded majestically.
After that, my memories blur.
The archbishop preached something, the choir sang, some commander or lackey knelt and swore loyalty before me...
In my dazed state, all I could do was stand there.
"And finally, the new Duke of the North shall swear before the holy sword."
Only when the archbishop proclaimed that did I snap back to awareness.
Four soldiers carried a massive transparent case onto the pulpit.
Inside was a greatsword embedded in a large boulder.
"This holy sword is the blade of the first Duke of the North and the symbol of succession passed down to the head of the Bilheim family. Now, Robertus Bilheim, approach the pulpit, kneel before the holy sword."