The Unyielding Bishop's Sudden Storm
My question had been met with a response that was, at least, heartfelt on his part. Yet something had clearly failed to land, because the Archbishop suddenly accelerated into a rapid-fire barrage of words, as though a dam had burst behind him. It was clear from the torrent that there was much he had been holding back for a long time.
Given the information I already held on him, it was almost strange that nothing had been piling up.
But I never imagined that the name of my father would spill from the lips of the Archbishop stationed at the western edge of the diocese.
Perhaps his connections were far broader than I had ever imagined.
“This is most unfair,” I said, laying my thoughts on the table as plainly as possible. “You have not even heard what I intend to offer, nor what I wish to request.”
“I did speak,” he cut me off with absolute finality, as though my words had never been necessary. “I want nothing from you. I wish to give you nothing either. For twenty years in the Church I have felt this way, and I will continue to feel it in the future.”
The Archbishop spoke as if I were not even in the room, and I felt a flicker of curiosity brush past my mind.
Would he maintain this attitude even after I revealed what I intended to donate?
“What if the object I offer is one of the holy relics the Holy Kingdom desperately seeks?” I asked, deciding the moment was ripe.
“…What…?”
The single word from my lips plunged the Archbishop’s study into sudden silence.
He leaned forward, eyes blazing with barely contained fury. “You are asking what, Edwin Reed? What exactly are you claiming to possess?”
“The item I intend to present,” I answered calmly, “I refer to as a relic.”
“Edwin Reed. Do you even know what you are saying right now?”
He launched into a lengthy sermon, voice trembling with rage.
“Since the fall of the Great Demon, no one has ever recovered a single lost relic. Holy priests, saintly knights, the Imperial Guard, adventurers, guild masters, bounty hunters— even the lowliest street rats—have hunted for centuries, yet not the smallest thread of a clue has ever been found!
And now a mere child, Albert’s son, claims to bring such things to me! I give you one final chance to think carefully before you answer. Depending on how you respond, I may be forced to treat this as blasphemy against the goddess herself.”
“If you wish to verify,” I said, unfazed, “then verify it yourself. If I am deceiving Your Grace, then do as you will—declare me a blasphemer and execute me for the highest crime the Holy Kingdom can impose.”
My composure seemed to throw him for a moment. “I have heard that all Archbishops of the Holy Kingdom always carry the means to verify relics in times of crisis. It would be a simple matter to test it.”
I finished speaking and placed the small box I had carried at all times onto the table. With deliberate calm I opened the lid and turned it so that the contents lay directly before him.
“Th-this… this is…”
“Saintess Cynthia’s sacred vestments and rosary,” I said. “The very garments she wore before her final crusade.”
The Archbishop stared, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. “Impossible… truly…? This cannot be… this is madness…”
He could not bring himself to speak further. Even I, a religious novice, could sense the overwhelming sanctity radiating from the items. From the gaze of a man who had never known true faith, the holiness pouring off them would have been enough to shatter lesser souls.
The fire that had burned in his eyes only moments before had been replaced by confusion.
“I have said all that needs saying,” I continued. “Now, I beg Your Grace to use the power you carry and confirm beyond any doubt that these are genuine relics.”
The Archbishop’s expression had barely begun to settle when he reached into his robe and withdrew a small glass vial. It contained a single strand of bright, silver hair, sealed with a thick cork stopper.
“…This is the very lock of hair Saintess Cynthia cut before she marched to confront the Great Demon on her final campaign. Tens of thousands of strands were preserved with preservation magic and distributed to Archbishops across the kingdom as sacred legacy.
And this particular strand carries the Integrity Verification Magic. When placed upon a claimed relic and bathed in holy power, it reveals the truth.”
I watched his hands tremble as he spoke. “Should the relic prove false despite the hair, the presenter is punished with the highest penalty the Church can impose—regardless of rank. Consider that carefully, my boy. This is your last chance.”
“I swear on my name,” I said without hesitation. “These items are unquestionably Saintess Cynthia’s relics.”
The Archbishop let out a long, shaky sigh and spoke as though the decision had already been made long ago. “…Then it cannot be undone. The choice was yours alone. Whichever outcome follows, you must accept it completely.”
He placed the vial atop the box, murmured a prayer, and began chanting in a voice that grew louder and more fervent. The glass rattled violently. A flash of blinding white light filled the entire study.
I instinctively turned my head away, then forced myself to look back only after the light faded.
The box now held the vial in its original place. Yet the hair inside had vanished without a trace.
The Archbishop stared at the empty vial as though he had seen a ghost.
Did I detect a flicker of fear in his eyes? Had the verification failed?
*Thud.*
“O… Ooooh…!”
I had just opened my mouth to speak when he suddenly dropped to his knees in front of the box, head bowed, hands clasped together in prayer.
Tears streamed down his face in thick, unrestrained drops. “O… Ooooh… This… this cannot be…! In all my life I never imagined I would live to see the Angel’s Holy Shroud and Benedetta’s Rosary with my own eyes…! Ah, Goddess! Ah…!”
He was almost sobbing, tears falling so freely that they pattered against the floor.
I realized then that the verification had succeeded beyond doubt. My heart had sunk for a single terrifying moment, thinking it had all been a cruel trick, but the truth was clear.
I approached the still-praying Archbishop and spoke gently. “How… does it feel to finally have your words believed?”
He startled, then lifted his head to meet my eyes. It seemed he had momentarily forgotten I was even there—a reminder of how dangerous blind faith could sometimes be.
“I believe,” he said at last, voice thick with emotion. “No… I cannot help but believe. The vestments and rosary you brought are, without a shadow of a doubt, the relics of Saintess Cynthia.”
After several deep breaths to steady himself, he launched into a rapid stream of questions. “But how did you obtain these? Or did your father retrieve them? And why were you sent to me instead of one of the other Archbishops? The Angel’s Holy Shroud and Benedetta’s Rosary are the very three sacred relics the Holy Kingdom hunts with burning eyes. Any one of them delivered to a cardinal would have brought you wealth and glory beyond your dreams.
Yet I possess no such power. The title of Archbishop of Westford is nothing but an empty title. As a noble of the Empire you surely understand this. So tell me—why did you choose to bring these items to me?”
“I’m afraid I cannot say.”
“Afraid? I am not joking! I demand—”
“First, my father has no knowledge of these relics whatsoever. They are something I recovered entirely through my own efforts. I am sorry, but I cannot disclose the full details of their origin. Such matters are of a kind Your Grace would not be able to understand.
Moreover, I have no need of wealth or glory. Wealth already surrounds me, and glory is merely a burden that brings only annoyance. Therefore, there is no reason for me to deliver these relics to the Holy Kingdom.”
“Then why…?”
The Archbishop stared at me in genuine bewilderment, but the fury that had filled his face earlier had vanished. He had checked that I sought no personal gain, and the relics had been proven authentic. There was no longer any reason for hostility.
It was time to lay bare the true purpose of my visit.
“I have been searching for someone these past days. I sought one willing to carry the cross and walk the thorns for my sake. And today, at last, I have found that person.”
“…What?”