Too Big to Be a Lamb?
In the papal chambers of the Holy Kingdom, the visitor's words drew a smile from Henri. He smiled at the elderly man who had come to express concern over his decision.
"Archbishop Hose. I know exactly what worries you."
Hose Arieslo, Archbishop. He oversaw the Third Archdiocese, which included Rucella and the Yura Kingdom, and served as head of St. Peter's Cathedral—the very place responsible for the brew priests Jenkinson so desperately longed to work alongside. And...
"Henri. This comes from me as your teacher. Are you truly certain? That place..."
He was also Henri's master and the previous Pope. The old man drew a slow breath, speaking not as the grand priest beneath the current Pope but as the mentor he had once been. At those words, Henri fell silent.
"..."
Hose waited patiently through that silence, his eyes calm and steady.
"That man will have no problem."
The answer came after long contemplation. A vein twitched visibly on Hose's forehead.
"My question was whether you obtained the child's consent before proceeding, Henri!"
Hose's roar echoed through the chamber. Anyone who knew him would have been stunned. The gentle Archbishop Hose—who seemed as though he had never raised his voice once in his entire life—was shouting in fury.
Even Henri was taken aback. This was the first time he had ever seen his kind-hearted teacher lose his temper. And to have that anger directed at himself... it was shocking.
"Furthermore, war! Spreading faith to the people of the north is a worthy cause. But if the method is war, then it must not be done."
From the continuation, Henri finally realized that Archbishop Hose was far more upset about the holy war he was preparing than about the matter concerning Priest Jenkinson. That had likely been the true heart of the discussion from the very beginning.
Henri smiled at the thought and replied evenly, "It is the best way to save them. To save even more people..."
But Hose cut him off sharply, as though no further words were needed. "And you call that war! War is no trivial matter!"
"..."
Henri remained silent. Hose's face had flushed red—perhaps because this was the first time in his life he had ever lost his temper—and his breathing came in rough gasps.
"Huff... huff... Why can't you see it? Those who die in such a war... are mostly the weak ones the Goddess Yuno sought to protect."
Henri flinched at those words. Then he sank once more into deep thought. How much time passed? At last, his lips moved slowly.
"I will... consider it."
Those who died in war were mostly the weak. The very weak Goddess Yuno wished to protect. Those words had stirred something in Henri's heart. It was worth further reflection.
"However, I will not cancel the order sending Priest Jenkinson."
"You..."
Hose began to scold him again, assuming this was another display of stubbornness, but Henri's resolve was firm.
"You may trust that man. He is the one who changed even Yoqheim. Sabron... he will surely be able to change it as well."
Hose's eyes widened in surprise. To that extent? Could a single priest truly purify a city that had fallen into corruption beyond redemption? If that was true...
"I will believe you. Still, there ought to be support, should there not?"
It was not just any man. If Henri was willing to vouch for him so strongly, the priest must possess ability beyond imagination. Even so, there were limits to what one person could accomplish alone.
At Hose's words, Henri considered for a moment before nodding.
"Support... I see. That much is reasonable."
With smooth, elegant strokes, Henri wrote a letter on the spot. Yes—since that man served as an inquisitor in the domestic sphere of adultery... it would be fitting to send an inquisitor from another field to accompany him.
Henri smiled as the thought crossed his mind. He was already beginning to look forward to it. The near-magical changes that man would bring about.
Proceed to Sabron and join Jenkinson.
— Pope Henri
--
Scratch. Scratch.
Asa stirred awake in the late hours, having fallen asleep in an awkward position on her seat.
Scratch. Scratch.
The diligent sound of a moving pen and the soft flicker of a small candle. Relying on its faint light, he wrote with practiced ease.
Was he drafting a report? But hadn't he finished that back at the inn?
"What... are you writing?"
"Hm? Did I wake you? My apologies."
Jenkinson offered a gentle smile as he apologized. It was strange. That smile... somehow eased the tension in Asa's heart.
"Ah, no. The bedding was just uncomfortable... More importantly, what are you writing?"
Asa asked once more, and this time Jenkinson answered.
"Ah, this? It's not so much writing as solving."
The notebook he showed her was densely packed with formulas. Every equation was meticulously calculated, including reverse derivations.
"I am a priest, after all. I cannot afford to neglect my study of holy laws."
So all of this is studying? Asa was stunned. The pages were filled with formulas so complex that her head spun just looking at them.
"They're incredibly difficult."
"One must be able to solve equations of this level mentally to qualify as a priest. It seems the priesthood would be too much for you, Lady Asa."
Solve these in his head? Asa stared at Jenkinson with that exact question in her eyes, and he chuckled.
"Holy laws are relatively simple, all things considered. Magic is far more complex. In that regard, unique magic—which can be invoked through sensation alone rather than these formulas—would naturally feel easier to those who wield it."
And that was the fundamental difference between unique magic and ordinary magic. If unique magic belonged to the realm of intuition, then magic was the domain of reason, demanding precise formulas and exact arrangements of mana.
Take, for example, a man capable of manipulating gravity through unique magic. Could he wield gravity magic without any formal education? The answer was no. Converting sensory control of gravity into calculated precision required tremendous additional effort.
If someone researched Jenkinson's unique magic and attempted to replicate it through formula, could Jenkinson himself use that version? Likely not—unless he fully understood its mathematical structure and mana configuration.
That was the nature of it. Unique magic existed outside the conventional magical framework... and was therefore that much more special. Some were born able to use it. Others might live their entire lives without ever grasping it. It was, without question, the domain of pure talent.
"By tempering my holy laws, I can save more people."
Even so, the reason Jenkinson never neglected his training in holy laws was straightforward. Holy laws primarily consisted of healing magic used alongside medicine. For that reason, he focused his studies on holy laws rather than general magic. After all, what a priest truly needed was mastery of holy laws—not magic or combat prowess.
"I... really don't think I could ever become a priest."
Asa returned the notebook with a slight shiver after examining its contents. It was a moment in which her respect for priests blossomed anew from deep within her.
--
"Head to Sabron and join Jenkinson."
Ilena smiled brightly as she read the letter that had flown urgently from the Holy Kingdom on magical wings.
A joint mission after so long? If she was honest, she felt a spark of joy. She could count on one hand the number of times she had worked alongside him.
"Sabron, huh... Well, if that priest is with us, it should be fine."
Horaya, dressed in a comfortable blue shirt, murmured the words and promptly reserved their passage. Sabron was a dangerous place for her to visit... but with that priest accompanying them, she could breathe a little easier.
"More importantly, we've come all the way to your homeland. Are you certain you don't wish to see your family?"
When Horaya asked the question with a hint of mischief in the imperial capital, Ilena scratched her cheek.
"Hmm... If I had to describe it, I'd say it's similar to how Jenkinson feels about the matter?"
Ilena answered with a laugh. Of course, returning home would not end with mere scolding. They might very well try to detain her there... Thinking about it, simply meeting Limia in the first place had been quite the risk.
"Being a princess... really is exhausting."
"H-huh?"
Horaya's words left Ilena flustered, but it was hardly a secret. Ilena Johansson. Her secular name, before she received her divine calling, was Ilena Ozen Luca. As the daughter of Crown Prince Lugvel Ozen Luca—son of the current emperor—she carried undeniable imperial blood.
--
"Whoa... you're strong. And you're a warrior, not a mage. A pretty powerful one at that."
Limia wiped the blood trickling from her nose and spoke in a refreshingly bright voice.
"..."
No reply came. Alkai, already half-charred, could barely manage to open his mouth.
"Ah, maybe I went too far? This is awkward... The healer is running a little late."
A mage capable of healing would arrive soon enough, so treatment was assured... but Limia looked somewhat troubled, realizing she might have beaten him too severely.
"Anyway, that friend asked me to pass this on. If you want to see him, come to Sabron."
It wasn't much of a repayment, but... Limia at least delivered the message he desired. Besides, it aligned with Jenkinson's wishes as well.
"...!"
Alkai's eyes flew open wide. Limia scratched her cheek.
"Well... that's the gist of it. Mr. Little Lamb."
A lost little lamb... At first she had wondered whether such a massive lamb could even exist. But after fighting him, she understood clearly. This man was wandering. He had built his own standards, his own absolute truth, only to fall into the doubt that they might not be absolute or perfect after all. He was searching for answers and losing his way in the process.
In that sense, Limia could more or less grasp what Jenkinson had meant. The words "lost little lamb" suited this man perfectly.
More than that, though... Sabron...
Would it be all right? Limia knew he was a stubborn priest, yet she suspected he wasn't nearly as inflexible when it came to women.