The Real Test
Was it because Jun stood with his back to Robin? Or because the look in Jun’s eyes as he watched him was so cold?
Tap. Tap-tap.
Leonard had been dragging his feet toward the cabin at a leisurely pace—until he caught sight of Jun. Then he came scrambling up in a frantic rush.
He stopped short, leaving a careful distance between them.
His mouth opened as if to offer a greeting, but no words would come out.
Jun spoke first instead.
“Hello, Father Leonard.”
“…Right.”
Perhaps because Jun hadn’t called him Boss the way he always did, Leonard’s face crumpled with genuine hurt. To Jun’s eye, the expression didn’t look like an act.
Could a man who took a mere orphan’s cold shoulder this hard really have been acting with such cruel intent?
Jun’s feelings whispered no. His reason, however, refused to be certain.
Unlike Robin, whose daughter Heni’s safety was now at risk because of all this, Leonard had nothing on the line.
So Jun decided to simply ask him outright.
Of course, he couldn’t take the man’s word at face value. He focused his Radar—his spatial observation—on Leonard to its absolute limit. If the man lied, something would show.
“Father, before we talk, I have a few questions. Is it true that you only recently realized I was in danger?”
“…I’m sorry.”
“If you’re truly sorry, don’t apologize—tell me the truth.”
Leonard hesitated, looking as if he felt too ashamed to answer, and only managed a “Yes” after Fortuna’s irritation finally got the better of him.
There was no sign of a racing heartbeat. It wasn’t certainty, but it was enough to trust a little. Even Leonard couldn’t control his own pulse.
So Jun had established that Leonard meant no harm—and still his gaze remained ice-cold.
He hadn’t asked the truly important question yet.
“Just one more. One more question. It may be hard to answer, but please be honest with me.”
“…I will.”
“Why did you take the post as the church’s priest? Didn’t you know you shouldn’t have?”
It was a doubt that had been with him ever since he’d learned Leon was of the imperial direct line. Before that, he hadn’t thought to question it.
The orphanages in Primuni and the other villages under Lemumni’s authority were all institutions under the direct control of the Lemumni Council. Most of the children left there were the offspring of adventurers who’d died in the Labyrinths, or children with gifts that made them likely to become adventurers themselves.
Welfare and the future. For those two reasons, the Council never stinted on support or attention for the orphanages.
In fact, Frank, the twins, and the mercenaries who’d tried to kill Jun had all been put under a Council-level kill order. The fat man who’d given the orders, his family, and the merchant who’d helped them had been permanently banished from Lemumni.
For Jun, who’d nearly died, it hadn’t felt like nearly enough—but from any other region’s perspective, the response was shockingly severe. That was why he’d wondered all over again why the merchant had helped them in the first place.
In any case, by being registered as an orphanage child, Leon had become someone most factions couldn’t touch, and Leonard, as the orphanage’s caretaker, had naturally been able to protect him.
If Leon had merely been some tragic collateral branch of the imperial house, even Jun might have made the same choice Leonard had.
But…
Not when he’s direct line. That puts the children in danger.
Anyone who tried to kill a direct descendant of the imperial house was almost certainly another direct descendant, a maternal relative, or a power under them. Even the Council couldn’t easily retaliate against people like that.
With hard evidence, perhaps—but those people weren’t fools. They would go after Leon from the shadows, leaving no proof, and in the process the orphanage children would start dying. For no reason except that they’d shared an orphanage with Leon.
No matter how much it helped protect Leon, any man with a conscience should never have taken the post as the church’s priest.
To put it coldly—
“You and Leon shouldn’t have come out into the world at all. You should have stayed hidden deep in the mountains. Even if your luck ran out, your location was discovered, and you were about to die—only the two of you should have struggled, and only the two of you should have died.”
“Jun! How can you say that!”
“Don’t you touch our Jun! He isn’t wrong about a single thing!”
The words were so cold and so blunt that Robin flared up and lunged at Jun. Fortuna, shifting into human form in an instant, stepped between them before Robin’s hand could reach him.
Robin staggered back under the crushing pressure Fortuna’s human form radiated—but he didn’t stop glaring at Jun.
Jun looked at him with the same cool, unchanging eyes and asked,
“Uncle Robin. Do you think what I said was too harsh?”
“Haa… I’m sorry for rushing you like that. But yes. I do think it was too harsh. Fighting to stay alive isn’t a crime.”
“If that fight to stay alive had simply been the best option available, I wouldn’t have gone this far either.”
Robin’s face went puzzled. Leonard flinched as if struck dead center.
“There are any number of places the Britia imperial direct line and their maternal kin can’t reach more easily than here. Just go to another empire and you could live your whole lives without worrying about assassins. With you there, Father, you wouldn’t have to worry about being cast out either.”
The Church of Bright was the sole religion of this world, Lumen. Other empires might not be as fervent about it as the Britia Empire, but they would never slight a man of the cloth of Leonard’s standing.
If they’d only had the will, Leonard and Leon could have lived quite comfortably in another empire.
And the fact that the two of them were still here meant—
“It means you never had that will to begin with. And why would that be? Ambition, of course. Ambition for the throne. If you sought asylum in another country, the right of succession would be stripped away forever.”
“That… can’t be.”
Robin had investigated who Leon was, but apparently he’d never thought through why Leon and Leonard insisted on staying here. The shock on his face was plain.
Jun found him a little pitiful and a little pathetic for it—and yet his regard for the man didn’t drop. If anything, it rose. Here was someone ready to repay a debt without even asking questions.
Still, this was a serious problem. He’d have to call him on it later.
Jun made that quiet resolution and pressed on.
“If Leon knows about his own bloodline, that means he’s ambitious for the throne too. Whether it’s for ambition or for revenge, greed is still greed.”
Leonard had opened his mouth as if to defend Leon—then shut it tight again at the last line Jun had so quickly tacked on.
Jun looked at him once more and finished what he had to say.
“If you’re going to be greedy, the least you can do is not make the people around you pay for it. Don’t you think?”
At that, the tightness already in Leonard’s chest grew worse. He drew a deep breath—and found himself looking up at the sky without meaning to.
The autumn sky was high and brilliantly clear.
Staring blankly upward, his thoughts settled, and one realization rose to the surface.
For a friend. For the empire. For the world. No matter how fine the surface looked, the inside was nothing but greed and stubbornness.
“Haa…”
The moment he admitted it, a long breath slipped out from deep in his chest. The crushing weight eased, just a little.
“You’re right, Jun. We should have just stayed hidden deep in the mountains. We should never have fallen for the Council’s sweet talk.”
To the end, Leonard never said they should have fled into exile in another country. That, Jun figured, meant there was a story behind it—so he didn’t press the point.
Still. So it really had been someone at his side pushing him into the priesthood.
From everything Jun had seen of Leonard’s character, the man would never have wanted the post in the first place.
But that was that, and this was this. What had happened had to be answered for properly.
“Regret’s enough. What matters more is what you do from here. What are you going to do now? If I don’t like how you handle this, I really will pack my things and leave the church.”
“I don’t know. The conversation’s gone in a direction I never expected.”
Leonard gave a bitter smile and shook his head.
Then his face set with certainty. He closed the careful distance he’d kept from Jun and said,
“But I do know what I have to do first.”
With that, he dropped to one knee before him and pressed Jun’s left hand—the one marked with the Stigma—to his own forehead.
"I swear before the Most High Father that I will protect Jun, Heni, and every orphan of this church with my life. Should any of these children lose their lives, strip from this lowly servant every ray of light that would come to him."
Fwaaat—!
As if answering the vow, a brilliant light burst from the Stigma and poured into Leonard.
Clink. Faintly, the sound of chains.
A Geas. A blessing and a curse both—you swear before God and gain power, but if you break the oath, you receive His curse.
As Jun stared in confusion, Fortuna explained through thought-speech what was happening. The moment Jun nodded, Leonard rose—still holding Jun’s hand tight.
“I swear it to you as well. I will protect you and the children with my life. But… regrettably, my strength alone won’t be enough. It feels wrong to say this to the one I’m meant to protect, but—will you lend me your power?”
“…That’s a hell of a thing to ask. If you’re going to protect someone, you protect them properly.”
“I’m sorry.”
At the sincere apology, Jun let out a low, pained groan and turned his head toward where the church stood. Memories of everything he’d built there rose one after another in his mind.
“…You can’t leave the church now, can you?”
“I made a promise with the Council. If we leave now, it won’t just be our enemies—the Council itself will come after Leon and me. I don’t want to make more enemies than we already have.”
“What about living in Lemumni?”
“The Council won’t want to completely burn bridges with Leon’s enemies either. They’d refuse.”
“Then can you at least get support?”
“I’ll try.”
Every answer was unsatisfying. Jun let out a sigh thick with irritation—and still,
“Remember this. I’m not doing it for you or for Leon. I’m helping the two of you for the other children at the church.”
—he shook the hand that held his.
Watching him, Fortuna tilted her head.
“Tsundere?”
“No.”