The Pope
The Pope.
The Holy Church wears the color of pure white. Not a single other shade mixed in — a white of absolute purity, meant to embody the devout faith and clean hearts of its congregation. So that anyone might recognize a believer at a glance, they all carry a rosary at their breast.
They do not proselytize aggressively. The Goddess favors faith given freely, of one's own will. And yet they remain a power even the Empire cannot afford to ignore — for the simple reason that they carry, plain as day, living proof that the divine exists.
Holy Power. The strength to borrow the Goddess's power and work blessings and miracles. When its wielders go about healing people right before their eyes, what reason is left not to believe? And with the Church that swelled into a force on that very account all but monopolizing its priests, the imperial family has no choice but to accommodate them. Priests are, whatever else one might say about them, precious manpower.
And at the very summit of those priests stands the Pope — bishop of the Church, its highest authority, and adoptive father of the Saintess whom the Goddess dotes on so tenderly. He may look every inch the kindly old man, but he is, unmistakably, the head of a faction in his own right. He wields holy power to match that station, and he is said to be the closest soul to the Goddess after the Saintess herself.
And now, I have come to the Church to meet precisely such a man.
"Young master!! Where are you going this time?! Every single time you leave the house—"
"Sorry, Ella. I'll be back before you know it."
"Y-young master!!"
Leaving Ella's scolding behind me, I hurried off to the Church to meet the Pope. Not alone, of course — the Saintess came with me.
How long had we walked without exchanging so much as a word between us? Before I knew it, the Church's buildings had begun to rise into view.
"Halt. Stop there."
"None who are not of the faith may enter the Church."
"You may enter only if your visit has been announced in advance."
The Church's frontage looked less like a place of worship than a temple outright, and even the statues posted at every step of the grand stair stood in perfect symmetry. When I moved to enter through what appeared to be the main gate, knights clad in silver armor crossed their spears in an X to bar the way. Crosses were set into their breastplates and pauldrons, and the flats of their spearheads bore crosses painted on besides — one glance told anyone exactly whose house this was. They wore a stately, solemn air, as if nothing in this world would ever let me pass. And then, in an instant, that air flipped on its head.
"I have come to see His Holiness the Pope. Would you open the gate?"
"Hm...? Th-the Saintess?!"
"R-right away, Saintess!!"
The Saintess — who had been standing behind me from the very start — slipped quietly forward and made her request, and the gate that had seemed utterly impassable swung wide with almost embarrassing ease. That alone was enough to gauge exactly where she stood within the Church.
"What are you doing? Aren't you coming?"
"...Coming."
Inside, the interior proved every bit as magnificent as the exterior. The circular dome that had been invisible from the front — hidden, perhaps, by the sheer length of the nave — called to mind the great cathedrals of another world, and the gold inlaid here and there across the white pillars that caught my eye at every turn caught the light streaming through the oculus at the dome's crown and scattered it back, brightening the whole hall. Save for one thing — the statues of the Goddess standing watch in every corner of the interior — it could honestly be called a splendid place.
"...Um, if you keep reacting like you've never seen any of this before."
"Because I haven't."
"What? Weren't you a noble?"
No wonder she was startled. Nobles, as a rule, all visit the Church at least once in their childhood. Not out of any pious ambition to cultivate their faith from a young age — they come to receive the blessings the Church's priests confer. Blessings said to bolster natural healing, and the like. None of them amount to much, but they are nice to have, and so people come for them. Strictly speaking there was no need to receive them at all, but it made for a decent way to build rapport with the Church besides, and at some point the custom had come to be taken for granted among the nobility. The Church, for its part, collected its fee under the name of "donations," but it never demanded sums that would give even a noble pause.
But I could never come. Wasn't that only natural?
"You never once came to the Church as a child—"
"I was a bastard. He would have begrudged every coin."
"...I'm sorry."
"You have no reason to apologize, Saintess."
"...If you talk like that, someone might take offense..."
Her last words were barely audible, and I didn't much care. For a while after that, an uncomfortable silence hung between us, and I caught myself thinking that every last one of us must be wishing we would simply arrive already.
But the silence didn't last long, because believers were already spotting the Saintess from afar and hurrying over.
"Ah, Saintess!! Where are you off to?"
"Hello, Sister. Just to see His Holiness for a moment..."
It began with a nun, somewhat on in years but quietly composed.
"Hm? If it isn't the Saintess herself! Haha."
"Hello, Sir William."
"Haha. To think you'd remember the name of a man like me — I hardly know where to put myself."
A dependable knight in the Church's service, a silver sword slung at his back, dressed in armor light enough to move in.
"Saintess, it has been far too long."
"Deacon Tom... wouldn't it be wise to save the drinking for later?"
"Ah — you've caught me? Haha..."
...and it ended with a middle-aged man in black clerical robes, the flush on his face standing out all the more against them. Far more people than I had expected traded easy words with the Saintess, without a trace of hesitation. I had assumed people would be too awed to approach a Saintess; I hadn't realized she'd fit in this well.
Perhaps that feeling showed on my face, because the Saintess glanced at me once and then gave me exactly the words I'd been wanting to hear.
"I was raised in the Church from the time I was little, you see. Anyone who's anyone here has crossed paths with me at least once."
"I see."
"It's hardly for me to boast, but I'm rather good at getting along with people... There aren't many in the Church who'd say they were on bad terms with me."
Chatting away like that, we arrived at the meeting room, and pushed through its doors — enormous and imposing, like the gates of a royal palace.
The first thing I saw was light. The next was holy power of staggering, overwhelming density. And last, what drew the eye most of all: the statue of the Goddess standing proud and unyielding at the far end of the chamber. My eyes narrowed at the light, at the Goddess's image — but every trace of that discomfort was swept away in a single stroke by the sheer weight of the divine power filling the room. And at the center of it all, a man stood alone upon the dais.
To an ordinary eye he might have passed for nothing more than a genial old man, his presence that warm and unhurried. To me, he felt nothing of the sort. Small wonder — this was the man holding that ocean of holy power reined in with his own two hands.
Him, alone on the dais, and figures who could only be bishops standing in ranks to either side of him. It was a tableau straight out of some historical drama. While I stood struck dumb for a moment, the Saintess, thoroughly at home, strode briskly ahead.
"Saintess Hildegard, come to pay her respects to His Holiness."
"..."
I hurried to follow her lead — but I had not one thread of connection to the Church, and naturally I knew nothing of its exclusive rites of etiquette. So of course I failed to echo her formal greeting in time, and one of the bishops, thickly built, took one look at me standing there at a loss and rebuked me.
"Mind your manners before His Holiness!"
The moment that clergyman — who looked as though he'd been rolled in grease from head to toe — barked at me, whispers about me began rising from every corner as if in chorus.
"Truly, a man with no notion of even basic courtesy..."
"He does look distinctly wanting in refinement, I'll grant..."
"And from what I hear, even at the Academy..."
The quiet room had filled with murmurs before I knew it, and as if to press the mood further, the first bishop stepped up to the Pope.
"Your Holiness, however I consider it, that a man without so much as basic etiquette should have received Her favor — something must be wro—"
"Seal that mouth of yours, Bishop Rignil."
At that cold tone — utterly unlike the genial old man of moments before — everyone jolted and fixed their gazes on him.
"So. Because the boy does not know the Church's etiquette, you — a mere bishop — presume to doubt the judgment of the One who chose him?"
"N-no... that is not it, I only..."
"Or have you perhaps come to believe you can fathom the Goddess's choices on your own?"
"N-never, Your Holiness!!"
"Then hold your tongue. It will not be too late to pass judgment after we have observed the boy."
At that single remark, the clamorous mood iced over in an instant — and in the same breath, a solemn voice, entirely unlike the cold one, left his lips once more.
"My apologies. I would like to move straight to the matter at hand."
"...That would be most appreciated."
"Hm. Then might you show us that crest of yours first?"
The moment the words left his mouth, I swept back my bangs and bared my forehead — and gasps of disbelief burst out from every direction. Even the Pope standing before me failed to keep his expression, frozen where he stood with his eyes gone wide.
"...Verify it."
"Y-yes, Your Holiness!!"
At his command, several nuns at his side came toward me, peering at my forehead, even touching it, subjecting me to the most meticulous of examinations.
"It... it is genuine..!"
"Without question — it is the Goddess's own crest, and Her holy power!!"
The nuns' ringing proclamation seemed to echo off every wall in the chamber, and the room promptly filled to bursting with the buzz of voices all over again.
"It's... it's really true?!"
"The Goddess... She chose that man..."
At that moment, a hammer forged of holy power came down upon the Pope's dais, and with a thunderous crash the dais shattered to splinters.
Perhaps having every eye in the room fixed on him was no burden at all — the Pope's expression never changed a hair, and the atmosphere had somehow turned warm and grandfatherly once more.
"Everyone, compose yourselves, if you would. At any rate, it is now confirmed that the crest is no forgery."
"..."
"Jenison? I'm sorry, but could I ask you to stay with us just this one day? There is a good deal of preparation we must see to on our end, you understand."
"Preparation? What sort of...?"
"Well, we have our own share of things to arrange, here and there. I ask for your understanding. When the time comes, you may ask anything you wish, freely and to your heart's content."
"...Understood."
"Then we had best show you to a room. Might I entrust his guidance to you, Saintess?"
"I shall see to it."
Their conversation was moving so fast I couldn't have wedged a word in edgewise. The Saintess seized my arm and hauled me out of the chamber, and the place where I arrived, dragged along helplessly, was a room so vast that holding it up against my shabby dormitory would have been an insult.
"I'll come by this evening and fill you in on the details. Please rest for now."
"Ah — wait, just a moment."
Her words and the closing door landed at the same instant, and the room was left to its resplendent furniture, standing guard over the silence.
Unable to collect myself after everything that had happened so abruptly, I lay down on the bed meaning to sort through my thoughts — but I had walked without a moment's rest, and my body seemed to sink helplessly into the plush mattress. Before I knew it, my eyelids fell shut, and sleep took me.
"Hm... Do you drink, my boy?"
"...Yes."
"Your Holiness, we're minors!!"
Which was certainly true...