The Bishop's Visit
The shock that struck Waldstein, the Commander-in-Chief, ran deeper than most.
He was no Sword Master whose name resounded across the continent. Yet he was a general who had spent a lifetime rolling through battlefields, commanding armies. Because of that, Waldstein could tell at a glance that the physique half-hidden beneath Evan’s formal robes was anything but ordinary.
That is not a body one gains through mere training.
Like steel quenched again and again to harden its temper, forging a physique like that demanded time and drills that carved down to the bone. If the First Prince were clad in armor and sword rather than ceremonial robes, he would possess the body of a thoroughly tempered soldier ready to be thrown onto any battlefield at a moment’s notice.
How does the First Prince, long rumored to be frail, come to have a body like that…?
For an instant the events of two months earlier flashed through the Duke’s mind—the First Prince’s sudden, inexplicable actions, and the unbelievable stories that had followed in their wake. When he first heard those tales he had refused to believe them. Like the factions of the Second and Third Princes, Waldstein had assumed Marquis Gregory was simply using the First Prince as a pawn in some scheme of his own. Outraged that a man who had stood with him in the neutral faction would behave so out of character, he had even stormed off to confront the Marquis. All he received in return was that slippery, foxlike reply: he would understand when the time came. Convinced the Marquis had finally sold himself to the lure of power, Waldstein had kept his distance and condemned him.
But now, seeing the First Prince with his own eyes, doubt began to gnaw at him. What if… what if none of it had been the Marquis’s doing? What if every last move had been the First Prince’s own unilateral will?
Something soon confirmed his suspicion.
With quiet steps, Chancellor Marquis Gregory approached Evan. Then he bowed his head.
“I present myself before His Highness the First Prince.”
Evan gave a slight nod.
A collective gasp of astonishment burst from the nobles standing nearby. It was not the greeting itself that shocked them. Marquis Gregory had never lowered his head before any Crown Prince, nor before any envoy of the Empire. And yet here he was, willingly bowing to the First Prince—the very prince the royal palace had cast aside. It was as good as an official declaration that the Marquis would henceforth support Evan.
Does he truly mean to take the First Prince as his liege?
Waldstein’s eyes flew wide with disbelief. There was not a trace of falsehood in the Marquis’s bearing.
The First Prince… an unforeseen problem indeed.
Duke Barsha’s expression likewise grew grave. When the first reports concerning the First Prince and Marquis Gregory had reached him, he had dismissed them as the neutral faction’s last desperate thrashing—using a discarded prince as a figurehead. But the presence pouring from Evan and the Marquis’s open reaction made it clear this was no trivial matter. With Gregory’s influence behind him, the First Prince was no longer a figure one could simply ignore. One careless moment and a single unexpected loach might thrash hard enough to overturn the board Barsha had so carefully arranged.
Queen Margaret felt the same unease rising in her chest. Why would that old fox throw himself behind the First Prince…?
While the Queen and the others reeled from Evan’s appearance and the Marquis’s open pledge, a distant cloud of dust resolved into a galloping messenger. Reining his horse hard before the gate, the herald cried out:
“A messenger! The Holy Empire’s envoy, His Excellency Bishop Augustus, approaches by carriage! Prepare to receive him!”
The shout shattered the heavy air. Beyond the horizon, banners bearing the sun crest of the Holy Empire unfurled, followed by an opulent golden carriage and white-armored Holy Knights. The Empire’s overwhelming prestige had at last reached the outer gates of Phanelia.
Beneath a cloudless sky, the Imperial procession advanced on the outer walls, radiating an almost crushing sense of pressure.
Thud-thud-thud-thud!
The ground trembled with the thunder of hooves until the magnificent carriage finally drew to a halt before the gate. Through the ranks of Holy Knights the golden coach gleamed. Inside, no doubt, rode the Empire’s bishop.
The royal family and nobles of Phanelia held their breath and stared fixedly at the carriage. Instead of the door, a small window slid open. The man who appeared beyond it was Bishop Augustus of the Holy Empire.
So that is the bishop who serves the gods?
Evan scoffed inwardly. Anyone expecting the serene countenance of a holy cleric would have recoiled in disgust. The face framed by the window was thick with greedy flesh, glistening with sweat and grease. It belonged less to a priest conveying divine mercy than to a black-market merchant who would sell anything for profit.
Augustus swept the assembled throng with eyes full of avarice. Though a queen, princes, and the nobility of an entire kingdom had come out to the dusty gates to greet him, he showed not the slightest intention of stepping down from the carriage. He merely poked his face through the narrow gap, receiving their salutations as though they were lowly servants.
“Hmph…”
At that open insult, Duke Waldstein, standing at the head of the neutral nobles, clenched his jaw so hard his molars threatened to crack. Marquis Gregory kept his outward composure, yet the knuckles of his tightly balled fist trembled ever so slightly. It was blatant contempt. The nobles who cared for their country seethed with humiliation, yet none dared challenge the absolute authority of the Empire that ruled the continent; they could only endure in silence.
Only Queen Margaret’s face bloomed with satisfaction, buoyed by the powerful backing she now possessed. Intent on seizing the momentum and reclaiming the initiative Evan had stolen, she gathered her skirts with elegant poise and prepared to step forward to meet Augustus.
At that very moment—
Step.
Before the Queen’s foot could even leave the ground, a quicker footfall shattered the silence. A figure in fluttering indigo robes strode straight toward the bishop’s carriage. It was the First Prince, Evan Edriger.
That—that madman again…!
Margaret’s venomous eyes shook as though struck by an earthquake. Without a shred of hesitation Evan walked all the way to the golden carriage itself.
“I am Evan Edriger, First Prince of the Kingdom of Phanelia. It is a profound honor to receive His Excellency Bishop Augustus, great guide of the gods. You have traveled far; your labors must have been great. From this moment I shall personally attend Your Excellency.”
His low, resonant voice rolled across the entire outer gate and claimed the space. Count Carlyle, who had been guiding the bishop, was the first to startle at the bold, natural welcome.
The First Prince? Why is he even here?
Carlyle shot a frantic glance toward Queen Margaret. The bishop had been brought with great difficulty precisely to bolster the Third Prince’s claim to the throne. Now this unexpected First Prince was already tangling the opening moves.
The Queen wanted nothing more than to seize the brazen prince by the scruff of the neck and drag him back, yet they stood before the bishop. She could not afford the undignified spectacle of a power struggle in front of him. Worse, she risked being branded an incompetent who could not even handle a single discarded prince. Duke Barsha shared the same calculation; he could only swallow his rage and watch the First Prince’s insolent back.
“Ho?”
Inside the carriage, Bishop Augustus watched the entire scene with growing interest. The reports he had received painted the First Prince as a powerless, incompetent royal. The figure standing before him now was nothing of the sort. A gleam like that of a child who has found a fascinating new toy lit his eyes as he regarded Evan.
I was growing bored with the monotony of everyday affairs. Perhaps something entertaining is about to unfold… Khuhuhu.
The bishop’s gaze, cold and serpentine, traveled slowly from the crown of Evan’s head to the tips of his boots. Then he gave a low chuckle and nodded.
“The First Prince of Phanelia… The kingdom’s hospitality is truly warm. I shall gladly accept your guidance.”
Despite Evan’s provocative seizure of the initiative, the bishop had taken his hand. Queen Margaret and the Third Prince’s faction seethed inwardly.
“Move out.”
At Evan’s command the golden carriage’s wheels creaked into motion and began to pass through the outer gate. Walking steadily alongside the slowly rolling coach, Evan glanced back at the Third Prince’s faction, who glared daggers at him, and offered a cold, knowing smile that said the real game had only just begun.
I will never allow things to proceed according to your designs.