Chapter 80
Chapter 80
11. War of Faith -11
Why had he not told Saintess Andersen? The Pope's answer to this question was as follows.
"I—I thought that, only then, Andersen would be able to escape from her position as Saintess. The method of wielding the Holy God's divine power, the secret history hidden behind the order, the matters concerning the 『Grand Sanctuary』 as well. And so I did not pass them on, but⋯⋯"
"⋯⋯So it wasn't just about the conclave. You failed to pass on everything that should have been passed on. Was your intention to strip Andersen of her qualifications as Saintess?"
"It was. Even if by such means, I wanted to give her freedom. I—I never imagined that child would be able to endure this long, but⋯⋯ this is a good thing for Andersen as well."
The Pope lowered his eyes with a sigh tinged with remorse. In those sunken eyes, instead of the marble tiles of the 『Grand Sanctuary』, scenes from a distant past in his memories were reflected.
"If—if I had known it would come to this, I would have been better off never taking in that child Andersen at all."
Beneath the seat where the Holy God watched, the old man began to lay bare his heart to a holy knight from another world.
The young newly appointed Pope Soleo had clearly once had a dream.
That dream, already whittled away to nothing, had weathered so much that by now he could not even recall what it had been. But he remembered vividly what had killed the dream—how the world had strangled the young Pope's ambition to death.
Decline. It was a period when the Holy-God Faction's influence was barely gasping its last breath.
The Holy God slowly weakened, and foreign gods, appearing as if they had been waiting for exactly that, scattered handouts and gnawed away at the faith. It had already been three hundred years since the great pillars had begun to tilt, little by little.
The Pope's authority had reached a point where it was about as useful as a scrap of paper.
"What about using this offering from the southeastern province for the relief of the poor?"
Look. Even a proposal to use a mere month's worth of offerings—and only to stabilize the very region where those offerings had come from—was met with this.
"You must see the larger picture, Your Holiness. The gods themselves have already warned what catastrophe the monster situation will bring. If you do not prepare for the great calamity and instead pour your devotion into small ones, will not future generations point their fingers at you for generations to come?"
"The plight of the poor is certainly regrettable! But the world stands on the brink of collapse, Your Holiness! You must save the world first—how can you concern yourself with common folk?"
When they pressed him like this, urging him to pursue grand causes, nothing ever passed.
—Even if he pointed out that the invasion of those plant monsters they made such a fuss about being dangerous was so feeble that it could be held off with nothing more than rotating deployments of holy knights.
Those bishops would ultimately crush him with the four words "just and noble cause."
Nothing in this world went according to his intentions, and before the thick wall called reality, he was like an insect caught in a spider's web. Summoned to the council chamber every time, nodding his head like a puppet at the bishops' words, then returning to do nothing but pray—such was the repetition of his days.
That slow, dying decline corroded and melted away Pope Soleo's heart, and more.
By the time about ten years had passed since his enthronement, he was living a life nearly indistinguishable from that of an idler, having half given up. If he simply chimed in with the bishops' words, all public business was finished.
And so the remaining time⋯⋯ he let slip away in a three-story house on the outskirts of the city, blankly watching people pass by beyond the window.
Surely. This "people-watching" must originally have had another purpose.
As had the decision to obtain a house not among the splendidly adorned luxury residences within the Church of the Holy God, but deliberately in a district where ordinary citizens lived. As had the act of taking in the sight of their daily lives from a position where he could closely observe the common people.
Originally, it had been to truly understand the hardships of their lives and to lead the Church in a direction that improved them—but now, he had forgotten. So the meaning was gone as well.
And then, one day.
"Andersen! That one's already done for, just leave her be! If she's meant to live, she'll pull through on her own!"
"She can be saved."
Pope Soleo witnessed a lone orphan.
It was a tragic accident, but one of those things that happened routinely. At construction sites, the principle was to hire grown adults, but to cut costs, they sometimes paid orphans pocket change and put them to work.
Naturally, when undergrown bodies hauled those heavy building materials, disaster followed. And so, in the middle of erecting a building⋯⋯ a single timber frame fell onto one orphan's shoulder.
"Aaaagh!"
"Oh dear⋯⋯"
A terrible accident had occurred, but the people around merely clicked their tongues. They made no move to help the child. Because the wound was far too severe.
If only an arm bone had been broken, that would be one thing. But a crushed shoulder was difficult to save even if brought before a skilled physician. To save the child, they would have to summon a priest for healing—and who, exactly, was going to pay that cost?
Since there was realistically no way to save the child, those accustomed to resignation quickly reached their conclusion. That child was already a corpse. Regrettable, but there was no reason to trouble themselves further.
Because they had to survive the coming day.
But one person was different. Little Andersen stopped hauling materials, ran over, and began binding the child's wound with her own clothes. At the time, Andersen was an ordinary nobody, but she knew at least this much: if there was bleeding, you had to make it stop first.
"A-aaagh⋯⋯!!"
"Hold on."
Pope Soleo, watching from the window, thought to himself. How far would that goodwill go? For the sake of a dying life, how long could that child pour out such meaningless effort?
The Pope had expected an hour at most.
Little Andersen's struggle continued past half a day.
She bound the wound, brought water and food from somewhere and shared them, dragged over a doctor only to hear that the wound was too severe and there was no hope, tried to bring a priest and was beaten and harshly driven away.
Even after every method she could attempt had failed, little Andersen lingered by the dying child's side. She still seemed not to have given up.
"I-it hurts⋯⋯ I can't see well⋯⋯"
"You can live."
"Really⋯⋯?"
"Yeah. You're going to live."
No. She cannot live. The injured child will die. Why does she not realize it?
It could not be stupidity—an inability to grasp the situation. Judging by the intelligence visible in little Andersen's eyes, she must have understood the current situation precisely. So why⋯⋯
Pope Soleo left the building as if entranced and revealed himself before the two children. Since he was wearing completely different clothes to conceal his identity, little Andersen did not even know he was a clergyman.
The Pope spoke.
"Give up now. It is meaningless any longer."
"No, it isn't."
"⋯⋯Even if I tell you to stop. Do you not know? And it is a cruel thing to do to that dying child as well. She will only suffer greater pain by meeting death slowly. You should send her off in peace."
"That's not right either. She wants to live."
"⋯⋯⋯⋯"
That stubbornness.
Seeing that stubbornness, which seemed as though it would never break, Pope Soleo thought two things. It was dazzlingly beautiful. She was a child who would accomplish something no matter what she did when she grew up. However.
A person who draws too near the sun is bound to burn and die. That is why people compromise. That stubbornness, too, would break someday—and if it did not break⋯⋯ those wax wings would melt and plummet.
Suddenly, Pope Soleo realized.
The child with the injured shoulder was already dying. But the fact that she was dying also meant that her breath had not yet stopped. For her to maintain her thread of life for half a day despite such grave injuries was a strange thing.
Such phenomena had often been reported when a person with talent for divine power provided nursing care. But even that lasted only a few hours at most⋯⋯ unless the Pope was mistaken. Little Andersen possessed an innate talent for holy arts.
She had both character and talent. If he took her in as an adopted daughter and raised her as a priestess—
No.
No. She would surely be unable to realize her aspirations. Even more so as a member of the declining Holy-God Faction. The Pope tried to drive out that greed.
But that was the moment. The moment the Holy God's sacred will dwelling within Pope Soleo responded.
Wooong—
"⋯⋯⋯⋯"
The Holy God's power chose Andersen as the next Saintess. Pope Soleo, though worn down, was not so far gone as to ignore the solemn command of the god he served. He hesitated—but he had no choice but to obey the god's command.
"⋯⋯Become my adopted daughter. If you follow me, I will save this child as well."
"I will."
"This is not something to answer so readily. Think on it more. This path, though splendid, is full of thorns. Perhaps living as one of the poor would be better."
"Just keep your promise. Then, it's fine."
"⋯⋯Why go so far? Judging by appearances, she does not seem to be a relative."
When the Pope asked her reason, Andersen answered clearly.
"Because I wanted to save someone, just once."
"⋯⋯⋯⋯"
That little Andersen had parents who had died of illness, and that Andersen carried a heavy sense of responsibility for their deaths—he would only learn this long afterward.
But even without the full story, that answer alone was sufficient. So the Pope accepted the girl.
Perhaps⋯⋯ with the faint hope that this child might change the Church of the Holy God.
But that hope was not realized. It was only natural.
The cases where a single individual could defeat an organization were exceedingly rare. No matter how hard Saintess Andersen ran herself ragged in every direction, there was no way to elevate the will and teachings of the declining Holy-God Faction.
And Pope Soleo watched.
"As holy knights, should you not have protected the weak?! How could you all flee just to save yourselves⋯⋯?!"
He watched that child, who had seemed unbreakable, being whittled away little by little.
"Please, I beg you. I am not asking you to lay down your interests. Is it so difficult to show just a little mercy?"
Her expression hardened, frost settled in her eyes. And at the end of it.
"I will pass judgment. Do not think your paltry faction will protect you. Standing here, do you still not understand? The matter is already settled."
He watched her force her own temperament into this cramped, suffocating frame—putting forward a face like iron instead of kindness, struggling with a sharp pen nib instead of goodwill to achieve even a little of her intent.
He came to witness that entire tortuous process of compromise.
It was a process the Pope himself had endured to the bone. How could he not know the pain of one's heart being carved away like flesh? He could not stand by and watch. All the more so because, having spent long years together, he now regarded her as his own daughter.
She had risen to a high position, and so she tried to save more people. That was the problem. If she had remained merely a woman of the slums, she would never have harbored such ambition.
She would have stopped at small acts of giving, like saving that injured child. And in attempting such things, she might have succeeded a few times. But what of now?
What of now, when her authority was being usurped by the bishops moment by moment?
She was a child who would have lived far more happily if she had never received the position of Saintess.
And so he had deliberately not passed it on.
The secret art of hearing the Holy God's voice and drawing forth true power.
Pope Soleo, Andersen's adoptive father, asked.
"What in the world is that child Andersen doing? The situation is chaotic and changing quickly—I, I cannot even begin to guess. A bird that flies high is bound to fall."
"⋯⋯⋯⋯"
"Holy Knight Noah, things have changed since you appeared. That child Andersen must be being swept along by you. P-please, do not do this. Do not let that child be hurt further. She has already been whittled away enough. She has been disappointed enough. So⋯⋯"
"No."
I cut him off because I did not want to hear any more of that grumbling. I respect a father's heart worrying over his daughter, but everything else in it is, frankly, bordering on bullshit.
Sure. Trying and failing is painful. I know Andersen's temperament too. Seeing her laughing with the children, I sometimes think her personal happiness might lie in a humbler life.
But still.
Pope—it seems the old man's eyes cannot see it. Andersen's eyes are blazing like the sun. The ember that little Andersen carried has not gone out even now.
He saw the pain, but did he not count the passion and the zeal?
I cannot tolerate dismissing that as "she has suffered enough" or "she may give up now." In the first place, if her adoptive father does not believe in her, who will? It's ridiculous. I said flatly.
"Saintess Andersen is making the Holy-God Faction great again with an unshakable heart. Do not worry—just watch. Watch the world she will change."
"⋯⋯⋯⋯"
"And⋯⋯ I trust that, after we win, you will apologize to Andersen. I will take my leave now. May you be well."
Thud—!
I left the Pope behind and exited the 『Grand Sanctuary』.
Shouting "we have reached the threshold of success, Andersen can do it" at a man who has lived his whole life crushed underfoot—he probably wouldn't even hear it properly.
So, showing this stifling adoptive father the results Andersen has achieved through her efforts—that is something I intend to shove in his face only after everything has actually been accomplished. So that he cannot deny it.
And until that happens, there is only one day left.
Third floor of the orphanage.
Saintess Andersen, who had been burning a cigar on the balcony, listened to my entire account and then looked up at the night sky, puffing out white smoke in billows.
"So that was what happened. No wonder⋯⋯ I thought something was strange."
"Are you all right?"
"Yes. I'm all right, Noah. Even if it was a stifling way of going about it, His Holiness was thinking of me. Ah, I have some good news on my end."
Good news?
Tap—
Andersen placed a single letter on the table. In the corner of the letter was stamped the seal of a bishop belonging to the Moon-Shadow Faction.
"I've secured a promise of defection from one Moon-Shadow bishop. So the conclave victory is now all but certain."
"Really?!"
"Yes."
If this was true, the vote count was 8 to 4. Even if both neutral votes went entirely to the Moon-Shadow Faction, it was a margin by which we would win. I was marveling at this when something suddenly occurred to me, and I spoke.
"Shouldn't we use the 『Record Analyzer』? What if that bishop's declaration of defection is false? If we're going to cross even a stone bridge after tapping it⋯⋯"
"No. There's only one use left. I have to give Hunter Noah Won his reward. Wasn't that the contract from the start?"
That was true.
I pulled over a chair and sat across from Andersen. Then, pouring wine from a glass that had been prepared beforehand, I asked casually.
"Once you've successfully finished the conclave, what do you want to do?"
"Hmm."
Andersen thought about it for quite a long while⋯⋯ then raised her wine glass and spoke.
"At the very least, I don't want to give up on making a better world."
"I'll be rooting for you. Andersen."
Clink.
The glasses touched.
The day of the conclave. At the moment when all those belonging to the Church of the Holy God were watching the movement of the votes, and each bishop was gathering in twos and threes at the conclave site with their respective attendants—
I entered the 『Grand Sanctuary』 together with the Saintess. The curtain rose on the final act.