The Pope (2)
"...is that so?"
"...Yes."
Two voices drifted out of the darkness. The only thought circling my skull was that someone had broken into my room, and the moment I woke I swept my surroundings, coiled and ready to lunge—
"Oh, you're awake."
"You must have been terribly tired, Brother."
"...Why are you here?"
The people before my eyes were the Saintess and the Pope. And each of them held a bottle of liquor from who knows where.
"Well, someone's come calling, so come over here and sit with us, won't you?"
"...Yes."
At the Pope's summons—delivered as he downed his wine in a single gulp—I took a seat with them, and he poured liquor into his own glass before offering me one as well. Of course, the Saintess cut in to stop that partway.
"Your Holiness, we are minors."
"Ah, so we are. My apologies."
Saying that, he went right back to savoring his wine, and I asked why they had come. If the Pope and the Saintess were calling on me at this hour of the evening, there had to be a reason.
"Hmm, well, I have a proposal for you. Nothing so grand as all that."
"A... proposal?"
"Yes, a proposal."
The look in his eyes as he said it, fixed on me, was so grave that I could hardly believe it belonged to the man who'd been enjoying his wine moments before.
"Tell me—have you any thought of accepting the Church's support?"
"...Pardon?"
The words were as heavy as his gaze. Showing up out of nowhere with an offer of the Church's backing—when I still didn't even know what the crest etched into my forehead meant.
"...Could you explain from the beginning?"
"Hmm? Explain what, exactly?"
"Why you would make such an offer to me."
"...Do you truly not know what that crest signifies?"
"...That the Goddess has taken notice of me?"
"You know it well enough, so why ask?"
With the Pope himself confirming it, there was no need to think any further. As I'd said before, even the Pope had never laid eyes on the Goddess. She was said to be impartial to every soul except the Saintess.
And now a human whom that Goddess watched with favor had appeared. To the Church, I was a fish they could not afford to let off the hook—one more living proof that the Goddess existed. Hence the proposal that I take the Church as my backer. It would suit them all the better if I became a believer in the bargain.
The Church's backing was certainly tempting. Anything I needed, I could likely have had. They were a power rivaling the imperial family itself.
"I'm sorry."
"Haha! Well, naturally—... what did you say?"
"I said I refuse."
But it didn't come with nearly enough merit. Money? The profits from selling scrolls alone were hardly lacking. Living arrangements? However large and lovely this room was, I far preferred the practical dormitory where Ella was. Honor? Did it look like I had the leisure to chase such things? I was looking at years of time just to hunt down the relics I needed for flesh creation.
Besides, with the Church standing behind me, they would inevitably keep pressing me to enter the faith. Other things aside, I could never bring myself to praise and worship that woman.
"..."
"Is that all you have to say?"
The Pope set his glass down, his face frozen in shock, while the Saintess showed no particular reaction, as if she'd known this was coming.
"Might I hear your reason?"
"I have no wish to be played like a piece on the political board of you bigwigs."
"Just a moment—you!!"
The Saintess shot to her feet, bristling at my words. Fair enough. The "bigwigs" I'd referred to included the Pope himself. He was her adoptive father besides, so her heated reaction was only to be expected.
"Is there some part of what I said that's wrong?"
"That's not the iss—"
"KWAHAHAHAHA!!!"
Glass set down, the Pope was snickering away at who knows what, laughing himself into a frenzy. Like a child gone wild over a brand-new toy. He laughed for a long while until he wore himself out, then flopped straight down onto the floor. Anyone watching would have called it blasphemy—such was the vulgarity of his conduct.
"Heh heh... Well, I admit, being on the receiving end of that would hardly put anyone in a good mood."
"..."
"I was on the receiving end of it myself, once upon a time. If I offended you, I apologize."
"...It's fine."
"Well, I am still the Pope of the Church, so forgive my shamelessness—I'll ask again."
"..."
"Will you not take our Church as your backer? Name any condition you like."
"Fa...Father!!"
"Oh! Now that's a sound I haven't heard in an age. Hahaha!"
It was an absurd concession. It meant the Pope was yielding a move to me. The Saintess seemed to realize it too and hurried to intervene, but the Pope, his mind apparently made up, let her voice slide past him far too easily.
"Any condition at all, then?"
"Hmm, that's right. In return, once the conditions are settled, I'd have you answer a few questions for me."
"I don't know what they'll be, but very well."
"Good. Then what are your conditions?"
I drew a breath, letting the moment hang, and with every beat of delay, the Saintess's and the Pope's attention sharpened further.
"First—do not press me to join your faith."
"Hmm... that one's a shame."
"I think so as well."
These people. Whatever else, I still felt nothing but aversion toward holy power—enough that I would never accept it in any situation where healing wasn't truly needed.
"Second—do not proclaim to the world that I am a human chosen by the Goddess."
"Ah, that one I can't allow."
"Isn't that asking a bit much?"
For once, the two of them agreed. Well, I'd expected this one to be contested. The Church needed its proof, after all—some people only believed once the Goddess's crest was shown to them.
But from my position, it could only be trouble. Eyes were already fixed on me for felling an intermediate-rank demonic beast. Granted, some had come crawling with praise and flattery, cooing about how they'd misjudged me—but the opposite camp most certainly existed as well. The mere thought of petty bastards stewing in envy and jealousy forever trying to hold me in check was already grating and unpleasant.
Detected a rapid surge in the user's displeasure
Analyzing cause...
And you—shove off.
In any case, that was why I wanted to stay out of the spotlight wherever possible. Even if they said that wouldn't do—so what? Just this once, I was the one holding the stronger hand.
"If you cannot accept these two conditions, then I cannot dance to your tune as you wish."
"...Even if I were to force the matter?"
The instant the words left him, a considerable volume of holy power erupted from his body. The air around us grew heavier by the moment, bearing down on me with its oppressive weight. But it was at a level I could just barely endure, so I gritted it out where I stood and met his gaze.
"This... the Goddess... has chosen me..."
"...You're right."
In the next breath, the holy power that had been crushing the room vanished as though it had never been, and the Pope—still clutching the glass he'd been pouring wine into, now cracked clean through—opened his mouth.
"Well, I shall grant your conditions. The Goddess must have her designs, after all. Resources or anything else—only say the word."
"...Ought I to be giving my thanks to the Goddess, then?"
"You! Mind your tongue!!"
The Pope snickered at my words yet again, wiped the tears from his eyes, and carried on.
"Haha! You're a more entertaining fellow than I took you for. Truly no thought of entering the faith?"
"Not even if the sky falls."
"Kheheh, figured as much."
With that, he refilled the cracked glass and tipped it straight back, draining it in one long swallow. For all he'd drunk, not a trace of intoxication rose to his face. Whether that was the holy power's doing, I couldn't say—but it wasn't a gift I envied all that much. There are times in this world when a man ought to be drunk.
"Ah—may I ask my questions now?"
"...? Yes, ask whatever you like."
"You met with the Goddess, didn't you?"
"Yes."
"What did you do when you met her? What does she look like? Is she beautiful?"
The questions came like rapid fire, and I staggered back a step; the Saintess, as if coming to my defense, moved to rein him in.
"Your Holiness! He's clearly uncomfort—"
"Daughter."
"Ye...yes?"
"Are you not curious? About the Goddess's appearance?"
"...."
"What might she look like? What might her voice sound like? If I could meet her, what would I do first?"
"...."
"Are you not curious?"
Before long, the Saintess, seemingly infected by the Pope's fervor, gave up reining him in—instead she closed in on me with questions of her own. What the Goddess looked like, what her voice had been like, whether I'd perhaps glimpsed an angel as well. Questions that seemed to distill the Pope's entire lifetime of longing came flying at me, and I answered every one I could. Each answer, honest.
The Goddess, truthfully, had been beautiful, her voice that of a young maiden. Michael, needless to say, boasted beauty of the very highest order—and the scenery of the divine realm, I told them, was breathtaking beyond words.
"Then! In that case—what did you do when you met her?!"
"Ah, I tortur—"
"WHAT?!"
Oops. Seemed I'd said something wrong. Holy power flickered in the Pope's eyes at a glance—probably to verify whether my words were true, but it was terrifying. They were flashing like a cat's eyes in the night. The Saintess's holy power, in place of her eyes, was crackling from her fists. If my words turned out to be true, she looked ready to charge me then and there.
"Y...you!!"
"Just a moment, please calm yourself. I can explain everyth—"
"You blasphemous wretch!!"
It seemed explanation would come a little too late.
'Damn it all—to make a fool of me in front of all those people...'
The pig of a bishop kept chewing over the thought even as he crammed food into his mouth. It was Bishop Rignil. On the bed where he sat, a nun lay gasping for breath, fondling her own chest and moaning—a sight no different from a common whore.
Having just had his fill of her body and settled into a brief rest, Rignil was turning over and over in his mind the Pope, who had humiliated him before all those priests. Rignil had always believed himself a man chosen. He'd believed this holy power, too, was a grace the Goddess had bestowed upon recognizing him—never once suspecting the true nature of that talent.
Greed had always run deep in him, and once the power of a bishop was placed in his hands, he ceased to be a sane man. He came to believe that commoners ought to grovel before him, and he became a beast who violated women at his whim.
Today, too, he had picked out a nun to his liking, drugged her, and had his way with her—and as he whiled away the pleasant hours, a knock sounded at his door.
Tap... tap...
"Who is it?!"
"It's Antonio, Lord Bishop Rignil."
"...What is it?"
"I have a matter to discuss, if only briefly... might I come in?"
"...Enter."
The door opened to reveal a tall, striking man with ash-gray hair. A big man of at least a hundred and ninety centimeters, praised for his fine character to boot. His origins were unknown, but one could hardly turn away a man begging to join the faith—and though he had been admitted with some unease, he had proven a man of good reputation and steady diligence.
"What is it? I'm in a foul mood today."
"Ah... might that be because of His Holiness?"
"...Shut your mouth."
"His Holiness went too far, I think. Whatever else, to rebuke you so publicly..."
"...."
Perhaps simply delighted to have someone on his side at last, he spewed out the whole store of resentment he'd stockpiled against the Pope. He was midway through the thirteenth reason the man displeased him when Antonio cut him off with a proposal.
"...Lord Bishop, have you no desire to become Pope?"
"...What?! What did you just say?"
"A... certain power I have joined hands with has infiltrated the Church. They say a Saint may soon emerge within it... and would that not throw the whole interior into an uproar?"
"...I'll pretend I never heard that. The risk is far too great."
"Aid us, and we will hand the Saintess over to you."
At those words, Bishop Rignil's turned back stopped dead. The Saintess. The Saintess, of all people. They would hand that darling young thing to me? That girl, whose body was so scandalously lewd it stirred a man's blood despite her tender years? The mere image of crushing that small, slender body beneath him had him standing rigid beneath his trousers, and Antonio, catching sight of it as if determined not to let the moment slip, began whispering into his ear, softer still.
"Just imagine it. That girl, pinned beneath you, mewling..."
"..."
"Join hands with us, and even the Pope's seat will be no dream."
"Ahem... and what would you have me do?"
Picturing the Saintess spread across his bed and the Church laid low beneath him, a grin spread across Rignil's face—and Antonio, whose eyes had at some point turned violet, curled his lips into a smile of his own in answer. Like a child of the purest, most perfect innocence.