Chapter 230
Chapter 230
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 230
Chapter Title: Chapter 12. Letters to Windmage (23)
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****
What is a priest?
A priest is one who is blind with faith. Faith is born from pure belief untainted by logic, and holy power is the crystallization of that collective, unwavering conviction.
What is a mage?
A mage is one who comprehends. They comprehend the world in their own unique way, defying the natural order, and ultimately seek to project their perceived reality onto the true world—like dreamers.
Then... what is a knight?
‘Knights are the polar opposites of mages.’
Click!
The Professor straightened his clothes and carefully hung the holy relic around his neck as he pondered.
A mage projects their thoughts, experiences, and life onto the world based on their own understanding. Thus, their methods and subjects vary wildly.
In contrast, from a knight’s perspective, all their pursuits boil down to exactly one thing.
Me. Themselves. Their own living, breathing self.
In simple terms, they are the ones who believe more firmly than anyone else that they are the protagonists of this world.
They live to complete the epic saga of “my life.” They wield the tip of their sword as a pen nib, chivalry as ink, and their life as pages in a book, all in pursuit of personal perfection. If GG is a single storybook, then every knight is like an appendix to that book.
Thus, they are stubborn, arrogant, unshakable, and willingly bound by the rules they’ve created for themselves.
These complex yet simple beings are called knights... or so it goes.
“Got it?”
As the Professor loosened his throat and adjusted his voice, Yggdrasil raised her hand.
“...I have a question.”
“Hm, good. Ask away.”
“You’re the only one stepping forward to speak, Professor. Why are you explaining this to me?”
“To loosen up my nerves and my mouth. You just happened to be here. But Yggdrasil, if you put it that way, why’d you come along?”
“I’m fulfilling my duty of observation.”
“That’s not what the Grand Matron meant by... ugh. Never mind. Might as well be a good thing. It’ll make for a better picture with a rare elf by my side. Just stand next to me when I go out.”
“If necessary.”
The reason I’m preparing this farce stems from the very nature of those knights.
Not the fake knights who only got nominal knighting for show, but real knights—at least aura users and above. They are devotees and gods in their own myth of self, mages who seek to perfectly comprehend their personal world.
These old brats who fancy themselves the protagonists of the world go absolutely mad for being part of some grand event, thanks to that personality trait.
And what I’m about to show them is precisely that “grand event.”
Every knight has their own code of chivalry, and thus their own ideal self-image.
But there’s one theme that works on everyone, from “knights of loyalty” like Charlotte to the “tale-spinning knights” glued to high society.
First: a frail maiden in peril. Check—Lucilla kicked it off.
Second: an external threat to their liege. Check—the Empire’s declared “attack this and we’ll wipe you out” Felixhome is right there, smashed to bits.
Third: a mythic event surrounding it. Hm... this one’s mortifyingly embarrassing, but I think I can pull it off.
The Professor hid behind a pillar of the home and peeked at the situation outside. The old priests standing before the gatekeepers, eyes bloodshot, refusing to leave.
They were too frail and aged to join the holy war that mobilized the entirety of the Mercy Church, but their gazes burned like those of knights facing a duel to the death.
Suuuuck—exhale.
“Alright. Yggdrasil, how do I look?”
“Hm... Not extremely pretty.”
“...Huh?”
“You embody irregularity. The church’s blessed robes have torn at the top into a skirt, and the bottom has been utterly destroyed below the thighs. Covered in hardened blood crust and dirt, it’s hardly clothing anymore. In conclusion, ‘not pretty.’”
“Uh... yeah, okay. Thanks.”
“Hee hee. I learn slowly, but I don’t easily forget what I’ve learned.”
Yggdrasil wore a proud expression while spouting something incomprehensible. Not important right now—sounds like it means “heroic figure, battle-worn and weary,” which works.
“Alright. Follow close behind me. Not too close, not too far. One step left, one step back.”
Good. All preparations complete.
Finally, the Professor grasped the holy relic around his neck and, just as when he first sealed the saintess’s soul into it, nudged her soul with mana.
The holy power repelled the mana, pushing the saintess’s soul slightly out of the relic, revealing its true form...
Fwaaaash!
Sacred holy light filled the valley.
****
The valley brimmed with temporary tents and knights, along with their squires.
Lucilla bustled between them.
Gatekeeper mages stubbornly blocking the entrance, and before them, exhausted old priests pleading endlessly.
Fwaaaash!
In an instant, the sacred aura spreading from the home drew every eye in the valley to its source.
Clang!
“O... Ohhh...”
As everyone stood dazed by the holy power so thick you could taste it in the air...
That familiar yet benevolent aura—too sinful to even utter its name—let the priests of mercy know the unbelievable news was real. Their endless penance since losing the saintess had finally ended.
Stagger. Limp.
As priests crumbled amid joy at reuniting with the saintess and guilt over her loss...
The eldest priest began climbing the hill on his wound-covered feet.
‘How many nights did I spend awake in sorrow?’
He could only give thanks. That a sleepless old man like him received the Pope’s decree. That his equally aged and frail donkey ran like a horse. That even when the donkey collapsed in exhaustion, his old body could carry a bundle of crude holy items from the local temple all the way here.
And...
“Ohhh... Ahhhh...”
That a saint from a foreign land rescued the saintess from the evil god’s clutches.
In this moment, not even the gatekeepers could stop him. His bloodied old feet—blistered and burst repeatedly on the arduous journey—left their mark as they pressed toward the holy light atop the melted hill.
And at last, when he came face-to-face with the young saint enveloped in sacred radiance...
“Uhuh... Uhuhuh... Heuhuh... Euhh...”
Old Priest Giovanni, who had recited so many thanks and blessings inwardly on the way, could only weep.
Before the prostrated man appeared the even more exhausted and wounded saint, kneeling down.
“Latura. El-Samia.”
“Uhuhuh... Latura, Latura Ro-Haram... Ehuhuhu.....”
They had braced for his words. The Radiant Church had soured relations with the Mercy Church through decades of discriminatory actions. Whatever he demanded, whatever insults he hurled—they were prepared to endure.
Praise El-Samia.
Praise Ro-Haram.
But he said nothing, simply meeting the crumbling man’s gaze and invoking the Goddess of Mercy with warm eyes. The old rural priest, who had guarded his small temple alone through countless storms, broke down uttering praises of light.
“I am the Professor, humbly serving as an instrument of light, though insufficient.”
“Huhuh... Before mercy, mercy’s name, I prostrate... I am the old believer Giovanni.... Forgive my presumption, but she who stands there, the one you’ve brought here, is she truly... truly....”
Gasping as if his breath might give out, unable to continue, the old man watched as the Professor drew out the relic and lifted the saintess’s soul.
Fwaaaash!
The saintess’s soul fully revealed under the sun, radiating its glow.
No explanation needed. Tears streamed endlessly from the old man’s eyes upon seeing it.
The saintess’s soul shimmered atop the Professor’s hand. The old priest reached out a trembling hand but couldn’t bring himself to touch it.
“Nights... such long, endless nights filled with regret and atonement.... As a believer who failed to protect the goddess’s heir.... As an incompetent soul unfit even to join the holy war to reclaim her.... And,”
Sob!
“As a priest tainted by wicked thoughts, praying she wouldn’t fall to corruption in their hands, that she might pass quickly and painlessly.... I offered unspeakable, abject prayers....”
How he had startled himself awake in the dead of night during penitential prayer, unwittingly entertaining such thoughts. Not knowing what torments the saintess endured in the evil god’s grasp.
Recalling the Radiant Church’s fall seventy years ago after losing their saintess, he feared the same for Mercy—and thoughts like “if only her soul returns intact” surfaced. He knew full well their implications. How the goddess must despise this old, wretched priest for hearing such prayers.
That guilt spurred Giovanni onward to Stormhill. Laden with heavy temple vessels, without even time for a sip of water. Until his soles peeled away, feet bloodied.
Before the returned saintess, Giovanni confessed his wicked heart like a sinner at absolution.
“I... am unworthy to serve the saintess.... I prayed for her death—it’s no different from a demon weighing a living soul on scales. This old man has no right to face her. None... Uhuhuh!”
Clang, clink! Chink!
As he prostrated and sobbed, the bundle he barely carried unraveled, spilling its contents. Brass holy water basin before the icon, small candlestick with wing motifs, crudely carved wooden statue, well-worn Book of Mercy....
Everything sacred in that small temple. Knowing only that the saintess’s soul was rescued, he’d prepared vessels befitting her, however slightly.
The Professor picked up a slender metal rod from the spilled items—precisely what he needed. Used to light tall candelabras, with a spherical part at the end holding a small candle that opened and closed. At a glance, it resembled a high bishop’s ceremonial holy rod.
“Lift your head, Giovanni.”
“No, I... I...!”
“You’ve faced the saintess. Ask her. If you truly confessed your sins before her, what would she say?”
Amid the hill thick with holy power, the weary, cracked voice of the saint rang out quietly.
“Would she condemn you, saying your prayer for her death caused this fate?”
“No...”
“Then. Unable to let an irreverent prayer-bearer touch the Eucharist, would she demand high bishops and holy knights?”
“No, she would never, absolutely never....”
“Then. Teach me, a stranger. With you before her, what would the saintess say.”
Giovanni lifted his head at the low, heart-stirring voice, meeting the saintess’s soul with tear-soaked eyes. Bodiless, yet exactly as he’d seen her thirty-five years ago. The same warm, motherly mercy that had held the hand of a stammering youth like him now. If it were her—the saintess—facing this old, wicked priest...
“She would... smile. Silently. Take this old man’s hand, with that merciful smile, full... Ahhhh, El-Samia....”
“You already know the answer. Now the one to entrust the saintess to is decided. The weakest, oldest body. The old priest who hurried to serve her faster than any.”
The Professor placed the light of Nelphia containing the saintess into the trembling old hands.
Embrace—
Like a large soap bubble absorbing it. The sacred soul illuminating the surroundings flowed gently within, and realizing the saintess had taken residence in his grasp, the old priest burst into tears once more.
****
By now, knights had emerged from their tents, gazing up the hill. The kidnapping of Mercy’s saintess had heralded the Eastern War.
Six months later, under the old priest’s tearful sobs of joy and atonement, Saintess Eleanor of Mercy returned to the church’s embrace.
The hero who rescued her after a grand battle with the evil god, delivering her into the old priest’s hands.
Evil god and Goddess of Mercy. Saint and saintess. Hero and old priest. Elf and Tel’drat’s suitor intertwined.
The knights realized they witnessed a legendary scene—one bards would sing of for a century.
Shing!
Unable to contain the surge of emotion, a young knight drew his sword beneath the fading holy light.
“Third son of House Selmeyer, Daplin Selmeyer, swears thus! By my oath to protect the weak, uphold noble honor, and offer my sword for the Empire! I swear to protect that old priest and saintess until they return to the church’s embrace!”
‘...Here we go!’
Unlike his clenched fist inwardly, the Professor’s half-lidded eyes and demeanor remained utterly calm and serene.
“Knight Daplin Selmeyer.”
“Yes!”
“Step forward.”
At the low voice echoing through the valley, the young knight pushed through the excited throng.
“To add weight to your oath, though only her soul remains, before Mercy’s saintess—you must swear to fulfill it truly.”
“Without a shred of deceit! Though only ten of my twenty-two years have proclaimed a knight’s duty, I’ve never taken it lightly!”
“By Radiant doctrine, I grant three chances. The saintess lacks a body, and all evils of the world target her to sever god and man. If you think it too perilous for youthful zeal, withdraw now. As a saint, I must pursue another evil, so I must entrust this duty. I won’t burden the unworthy with heavy sacrifice. Last question: Will you faithfully serve her until she reaches Mercy’s embrace?”
Clank!
In answer, the knight planted his sword in the ground and knelt on one knee.
“...Very well. Then, in the name of the Professor, instrument and saint of Ro-Haram, I proclaim you, Daplin Selmeyer, shall fulfill the duty of ‘Saintess Guardian.’”
The Professor raised the prepared metal rod, tapping the kneeling knight’s shoulder as in investiture.
As the young knight trembled in ecstasy under the grand title [Saintess Guardian], the saint’s low voice continued above him.
“Though ‘alone’ it’s arduous and perilous, I entrust it to your shining zeal and chivalry. Daplin Selmeyer, Light and Mercy shall surely remember that name. All knights gathered here—I beseech you as witnesses and observers. May the frail priest and saintess returned to us at last come to no harm. Latura, Ro-Haram.”
Each emphasized word in the low, cracked voice drew awkward coughs from the knights. Must sting. In a scene legendary in itself, one became part of the legend with hasty investiture—while they’re relegated to witnesses, observers, mere bystanders.
Amid increasingly overt coughs, several who seemed to be captains stepped forward.
“A moment. A suggestion for the saint.”
“A suggestion? What is it.”
“I agree with the saint. Too heavy and vital for one young knight. Like a miracle, she’s returned to human hands—we can’t lose her again.”
“My thoughts exactly! House Kalmain rears no cowards who shirk noble duty!”
Clank, clank!
Shing! Clang!
As captains drew swords, those behind raised theirs skyward.
‘The world’s most stubborn fools. Deciding it right here, for real.’
Kneeling knight in sacred light. Chivalry. Sacred duty. Saint of fitting rank to appoint it.
With every knightly trigger pulled, the ones behind must be itching to join. They’d waited to save face, not wanting to be late.
But with investiture nearly done, they pressured the captains, who—swept in the mood—swore oaths.
“...Very well. Here and now, I proclaim all knights gathered shall bear the duty of [Saintess Guardians].”
That day, under the clear noon sun. Amid brimming holy power, the saint announced the saintess’s final journey—and new beginning.
‘...Confirmed a great warrior, yet truly a priest serving god. Perhaps divine will has returned to the worldly Radiant Church....’
‘I’ll remember this day. Long ignored due to clashing aims, but in this pivotal moment, Light’s mercy extended a hand. Ro-Haram, Saint Professor...!’
Witnessing a scene none could deny his sainthood...
The [Saintess Guardian Knight Order], appointed by the saint, set forth for Lordric West, Mercy Church headquarters.
****
“Huuup—Kaaaaah! Ow, my throat. Held my head so high, neck’s killing me.”
“Eeehhh...”
“Ah, Lucilla! Good work! You handled all the prep crap upfront, so I skipped straight to buttering them up! Thanks!”
“Ehhh... P-Professor?”
“Yeah?”
“You just... formed a knight order from Empire knights... to carry out a church mission?”
“Yep.”
Rustle—
Grab!
“Right? Riiight?! Do you know how dangerous and messy that is! Empire knights! Emperor’s vassals! Even waving the church banner, egging those idiots on and sending them off—that’s infringing on military authority! All my hard work keeping good relations with the Empire!”
Lucilla, face drained despite exhaustion, charged like lightning and shrieked. I grabbed her by the scruff, plopped her on Yggdrasil’s back, rolled my stiff neck, and waved it off.
“You think I didn’t account for that? Relax. No issues.”
“There will be! Huge ones!”
“No there won’t! That’s why I said it right in front of them! ‘Light and Mercy won’t forget this.’”
Lucilla’s fury gradually settled into calculation.
“Uuuumm...”
“Still not getting it?”
“It’s... about compensation...”
Hm. Figured a sharp mind like hers would catch on. Probably unfamiliar with Empire quirks.
“They’re knight captains. Even if knights are all stubborn idiots, captains use their heads.”
“Yes.”
“The Empire’s a place where anyone can relay info in a day, max. Right? They’ll letter home the moment they depart. [Undertaking such-and-such glorious duty. Appointed by the church saint personally.] Smarter ones’ll add, [Sworn by house and knightly name. Saint himself said both churches will remember this.]”
“Ah...!”
Lucilla’s face lit with realization.
The Empire wasn’t wrong to call half an information society. News reaches anywhere in hours to a day. A century of this made field commanders far more flexible than elsewhere—unlike candidate nations where couriers on horseback take over a week.
Swept by the mood or not, the captain calculated and saw it as not just fine, but irresistibly appealing—hence accepting.
It was the Emperor’s order, sure, but departing immediately meant surplus forces with nothing nearby. For such folk to get an official church mission tied to the saintess’s soul, with the saint promising reward personally...
“And it won’t cause as much trouble as you think? Itinerant knight orders roam anyway, squire orders train by traveling—perfect fit. Local knights around Stormhill are outer-outer fringes, dying for big opportunities like this.”
“Th-then knights leaving the country without imperial orders...”
“Won’t happen. Merciless knights are charging from the western front to the saintess’s location, mowing down everything in sight.”
“Rewards! We never discussed pay with the church! Mercy’s weakened from war already—once they have her soul, they could just wash their hands—”
“Those soft-hearted Mercy priests? That’s why I sent my relic along. Could’ve used one of that Giovanni guy’s items, honestly.”
Mercy’s saintess in a Radiant relic—super symbolic. They’ll transfer her to the sacred ark, return the relic, and out of conscience—or to avoid reputational rock bottom—send heaps of gratitude with it. The rest? I made bank, so tell them to cover knight rewards.
“So... really no problems?”
“Uh... aside from hamming it up as the soulful saint who rescued her post-bloody battle. Yeah, no issues.”
“H-Hueeeek.”
At my words, Lucilla slumped over Yggdrasil’s back.
“Thought you’d pissed off the high society and gotten us blacklisted...”
“Heh heh. Good work. Knocked out one headache thanks to you. Rest up, prep for next.”
“Uuuuh... What now?”
“Obviously. Time to leave this place.”
Stroking slumped Lucilla’s head, the Professor turned toward the home.
Terrifying on arrival, but after experiencing it—not so horrific, the wind mages’ homeland.
Time to truly leave Stormhill.
****