Chapter 363
Chapter 363
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Translator: uly
Chapter: 363
Chapter Title: Brother of the Lion
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"There's a misunderstanding."
Mecklenburg said lowly, gazing down at the bedspread.
"No more, no less—just that. You kept smiling the whole time."
"......"
I stroked my chin and let out a breath. Was it really a misunderstanding? What if it didn't feel like one? Of course, with an enemy among enemies now revealed, this wasn't the time to nitpick whether Narke was lying or not....
I turned back to Mecklenburg and asked slowly.
"Narke said he couldn't cast mind-manipulation magic on Mikhail Ismailov, but Ismailov countered that Narke could—and Narke denied it. That's what happened. Then what?"
"Mikhail Ismailov didn't say anything more. He'd already demonstrated it, so what was there to argue?"
"He demonstrated it?"
"He placed his hand on Ismailov's forehead and cast mind-manipulation magic. 'Enter through the narrow gate,' he said."
"Did he complete the incantation?"
"Of course. And yet Ismailov didn't even blink."
"......"
My head throbbed. Narke of all people had cast mind-manipulation magic, and it hadn't worked. With a bizarre title like 'Lion of the Covenant' attached to him, it was clear from the start he wasn't ordinary....
'So why did Mikhail Ismailov misjudge Narke?'
Hmmm. I made that sound and closed my eyes. While I was racking my brain, Mecklenburg placed something on my lap with a clack.
"Eat an apple."
"...Pardon...?"
I felt the blood drain from my face as I looked at the plate on my lap. An apple, neatly sliced.
"Why aren't you eating, Senior? Here."
"Eat it when I give it to you."
"Why are you being so nice all of a sudden, Senior? I'm getting goosebumps—feels like I'm dying...."
I could see the muscles in Mecklenburg's jaw tense. He wasn't taking my teasing lightly and was getting heated—his personality hadn't changed a bit. My face, resembling Adrian Ascanien's, must still irk him.
'That aside.'
Maybe because he's the type who wields a knife? Why does a noble know how to peel fruit? I've got over twenty years as a commoner, and sadly, when I peel fruit, a third of it vanishes. Of course, it's still edible. I'd peeled for Leo and Elias before, and they ate it without complaint.
'But I must never peel in front of this guy.'
Just then, Mecklenburg spoke in a crawling voice.
"...You."
"What."
"What?"
"Nothing. Tell me when you're ready, Senior."
Mecklenburg hesitated for a long time. The silence stretched, so I politely asked if he was satisfied, but he just stared at the floor without reacting. Finally, he cleared his throat and spoke.
"...Isn't it because you were cornered by Pleroma and stressed out that you ended up hospitalized like this?"
"Suddenly? Me?"
"Then who else is the patient here if not you?"
"Of course it's me."
"......"
"......"
What the hell was this guy saying all of a sudden...? Was this the answer to 'Why are you being so nice'? Why? We just blinked at each other. The silence continued. Then Mecklenburg's face twisted as if realizing something, his eyes widening.
'Ah.'
I knew what he was thinking. Time out. As his mouth began to open, I cut in quickly.
"Now that I think about it, maybe I was a bit stressed?"
"You weren't?! Then why the hell did you collapse?!"
"No, Senior, you're right."
"...There we go. Who else could I be talking about...!"
He wasn't even listening anymore. No tact to the end—such a shame. I clicked my tongue and leaned back against the bed headboard.
"Just keep being nice to me."
"Why the hell should I be nice to you? Dream on...."
Mecklenburg shot up, face flushed with anger, clutching his forehead as he paced the room. He seemed seriously pissed at having shown kindness to someone resembling Adrian Ascanien—his face was so pale, he looked like the one who should be in bed. Mecklenburg flung open the window and took deep breaths. Meanwhile, I quietly speared and ate the fruit he'd sliced, then chuckled.
"Senior. My mental game's not that weak."
"You...!"
Before his anger could turn on me, I grabbed something nearby to change the subject.
"Sorry. But for a noble, you must've peeled fruit often?"
"What a pointless question. Why do you care?"
Mecklenburg snapped in a subdued tone.
"It's peeled so perfectly round."
"Well, isn't it supposed to be peeled round? How else would you peel it?"
Asking me that.... Are there people who peel fruit square? Has this bastard seen me cut fruit before? I glared at Mecklenburg, but he'd already lost interest in me. Instead, lost in thought, he kindly answered my question.
"Not often. This is maybe the third time. I think the first was back at the 1st Education Center, slicing for friends—that's it."
"I figured. But this isn't a result you'd get on the third try."
"Don't you know how fruit shows up on the table? Just peel it like the chef does."
"It's not that simple just by looking."
"It was for me."
"Lucky you."
Wouldn't this guy say it's fine to draw a picture exactly as you see it? Anyway, subject changed successfully. Mecklenburg scowled at me, then sat back down.
"...Fine. Anyway, what I've told you so far is about a third of the negotiations. After that, it proceeded like any ordinary negotiation. But something felt off to me."
I nodded, spearing more apple to signal him to continue.
"When we were kidnapped together in Brandenburg, the bishops said we Germans needed to unite against France and Britain. The leadership said the same now. They already have immense power. No matter how unstable the external situation, they have no reason to bolster the German Empire. To them, humans are divided into Pleroma and non-Pleroma—not German or French. If they're not using the chaos of war to rampage against the French too, that's a relief."
"Hmm... So you think they're making excuses to lull the government and stab us in the back?"
Mecklenburg answered with a glance. I nodded and continued.
"It's not an excuse. Another cult group has started operating in France. The wizard kidnappings at the beginning of the month were Pleroma trying to check them—but the Empire's power was stronger than expected, so they switched to proposing negotiations."
If they all united, they could crush our command, but having already lost two dioceses, further losses would make it hard to counter the French cult. Think of typical ceasefire situations—it's understandable. I stopped short of saying that, figuring he'd snap about stating the obvious. Right on cue, Mecklenburg narrowed his eyes.
"...Hold on. What did you say is doing what where?"
"There's an organization in the French court similar to—but definitely not—Pleroma."
The blood drained from Mecklenburg's face.
They're the ones who stole Maria of Austria-Este's jewel and are suspected in the holy relic thefts. The words rose to my throat. Obvious to me, but I couldn't tell him. He doesn't know the jewel's power, so he won't see the gravity. Needing more explanation, I continued.
"That French cult's tech is better than we thought. If Pleroma's wary, you get the picture. So offering valuable collateral to bolster their power fits their needs. They have plenty of capable people even without the Lion of the Covenant, and handing over a symbolic figure reassures the Empire, buying time from domestic attacks—mission accomplished."
"......"
Mecklenburg exhaled with a confused look. He composed himself quickly, but couldn't easily accept another mad group. I crossed my arms, lost in thought, and said.
"But here's my curiosity. The name 'Lion of the Covenant' is weird—no matter how I turn it, it doesn't click, but at its core, why would they approach us like this?"
"What do you mean?"
"Let's break it down. They see the 'Lord you seek' and the 'Lion of the Covenant' as different beings. The government must be analyzing the leadership's words with theologians and captured Pleroma by now... Daring to speculate—ignoring theology, just from their perspective—Pleroma emphasizes that the Lord and Lion are distinct hypostases."
Una substantia, tres personae—one substance, three persons. Father, Son, Holy Spirit: distinct persons, same essence. As an atheist, I don't want to invoke the Trinity to decode these lunatics, but I have to now.
A slightly different clue, but let's use it. Previously, the Freiburg Archbishop said:
[When Christ came, people didn't know He was the Lord. Did Christ know His essence from the womb? Opinions differ, but growing to know is dominant now.]
From that, I hypothesized the Lion knows only his humanity, not divinity. So Pleroma just waits for him to realize it.
'But these maniacs sent the Lion to us....'
Even so, my hypothesis held. What I told Mecklenburg wasn't far off. He responded immediately.
"The Lion is the Son, the Lord we seek is the Father?"
"Close. They'd be the same essence, but only the Son incarnates before us. The Father sent the Son to the temple, so the 'Lord Pleroma seeks' already knows them. They judge Lord and Lion as different hypostases, so even accounting for a lag between the Lion's appearance and new era...."
Mecklenburg nodded slightly. I smiled and continued.
"If a new era opens soon, why not just wait? Why hand over the Lion to reassure us? Logically, the French cult can't expand massively in that short 'soon,' they've got a guaranteed win, and if command bothers them, they could crush us at personal cost—salvation's coming anyway. Or less extremely...."
"Just back off moderately in negotiations, secure mutual interests, and tie the Empire's hands."
That was Mecklenburg. I snapped my fingers.
"That's it, Senior. Quick on the uptake."
Simple story, but thanks—I had low expectations. Mecklenburg, touched by the praise?, pressed his lips down and turned away. Suppressing a hollow laugh, I looked away and continued.
"I get if they want to ally or reassure us truly, but no need for weird symbols. So there must be a clear reason they need the Lion by our side."
"He's a spy to backstab the Empire later...."
"Boring."
Mecklenburg furrowed his brows. Face reddening again, he shouted.
"No other hypothesis fits besides the ones you call boring. Logically!"
"Two new ones just came to me. So, Senior."
I turned to Mecklenburg and asked.
"Did the government accept Mikhail Ismailov?"
* * *
At the same time.
Narke looked at the student before him. Leonard looked at his classmate before him. After a long silence, Leonard spoke first.
"Mikhail Vladimirovich Ismailov, was it? Impressive name. Patronymic Vladimir.... Since when is God Vladimir?"
"Haha. You know Russian names well."
Narke chuckled lightly, sipped his tea, and continued.
"It's intentional, to make it more complete. A strategy to brainwash himself through his name about who he is."
"Hm."
How do you know that? Insight again? Swallowing the question, Leonard nodded, glanced out the window, and said.
"You can cast mind-manipulation on Ismailov, right?"
"You saw I can't, Leo."
"Then why did he misunderstand your ability? It's no simple mistake."
"You trust Ismailov over me? Haha."
"You know what happened to Lucas."
Narke didn't flinch at the out-of-left-field remark. He just gazed at Leonard with a faint smile. Leonard pointed outside the lounge and continued.
"Why did Lucas's mana deplete right then, of all times? One more. When the Lion first appeared—when everyone was on guard—why weren't you? You didn't stand or draw your wand."
Narke lightly gripped his teacup handle. Leonard glanced at his fingertips, then back to those yellow eyes.
"Or should I ask: Knowing I'd suspect you, why stay calm? You could've at least faked surprise."
"You're my friend."
"......"
"Others don't pay a seminary student like me much mind. You're the only one watching close enough to suspect, Leo. You know that, so you ask. Right?"
"Yeah."
"Should I act to deceive a friend? Is that what you want?"
Narke smiled at Leonard's impassive eyes.
"Then it's my turn to explain why I wasn't surprised. I saw the future. I was certain no one would get hurt for at least half a day."
"Then this future? You didn't foresee Ismailov contradicting you and me grilling you now?"
"Inevitable."
Leonard quietly listened despite the answer skipping lines—as if he could predict their mental exchange.
"The government would've reached the same conclusion regardless. Pleroma would've persuaded us to the end. Knowing it's inevitable... I just tried speaking up to maybe sway hearts, even once. I had to say it, even if Ismailov contradicted and you suspected."
"......"
"Sometimes you loop knowing the outcome. Some things you can't endure without throwing yourself in, even if it looks foolish. That's conviction, no?"
Narke's clear voice burrowed into Leonard's ears—like a sound absent from this reality. Leonard clenched his fist below his knee, nails digging into palm. The wizard before him resembled Mikhail Ismailov not at all. Ismailov resembled no one. Yet Narke Parneche was undeniably linked to Ismailov. Why?
"You knew it'd corner you like this but spoke to chase him out. Why? Some reason you can't face Ismailov?"
"No such reason. He just irks me. Satisfied now?"
Hardly. Leonard knew he couldn't uncover what Narke hid—divine power useless against Parneche. Parneche wouldn't reveal truth, no matter what. Why think that? He'd answered everything so far. Leonard recalled last year, asking Narke who'd jumped from the clocktower and returned.
"A seminary student from the Vatican, yet Papal Secretary of Faith and Doctrine."
Leonard let out a light laugh. His smile slowly hardened.
"That was enough. But now you seem to know Pleroma's Lion of the Covenant. You're the only Empire wizard who can read him."
"I showed I can't...."
"Easy to show. Wonder why Mikhail Ismailov didn't press your lie."
"......"
"Narke. Who have I ever befriended?"
No answer. Ice floating in lukewarm tea cracked against porcelain—clearly. Leonard broke the silence again.
"What's your relation to Mikhail Ismailov?"
Narke shook his head readily.
"None. Really."
"Then why, when no one in the Empire can use mental magic on him, can you read his mind? Why recognize your words despite soundproofing? Even with foresight, how stay so calm?"
"......"
"Sorry, but 'no relation' doesn't fly. In this mad setup where Pleroma points at Lucas as the only one to face Ismailov—and that monster now staring straight at Lucas—I can't ignore it."
"Mikhail Ismailov is a monster to you."
"Who wouldn't think so?"
Taming a berserker with one Requiem verse, confiscating Vitriol—isn't that monstrous? So we need facts. Are we in the storm's eye enjoying brief peace, or not? Don't want to grill a friend, but can't ignore brewing danger.
"......"
Narke smiled and sipped tea. His expression held no emotion. Leonard sensed he'd smiled at "monster."
"If your caliber tops Mikhail Ismailov—even that false prophet—then you...."
"Enough."
Divine power brushed Leonard's lips, then dispersed. Narke, hand slightly raised, spoke bitterly.
"You don't believe me. I know you're asking for everyone's safety, Leo. I want you all safe most of all."
His voice gained strength—still soft and clear, but Leonard knew. Those calm golden eyes were an ocean, faintly rippling from depths most never glimpse. A chill heat thickened.
"I wouldn't have come this far if I meant to end at Economiteca."
By the end, those eyes fixed on Leonard—not the cup. No time to parse the Italian. Narke sipped again, then spoke lowly.
"Tired?"
* * *
I stepped into the dim building with Mecklenburg and Albertina of Hohenzollern. Or rather, I couldn't tell if they followed or what building it was. Eyes blindfolded for utmost secrecy.
Not even discharged yet, the government summoned me and the two squad reps to meet Mikhail Ismailov—because he seemed linked to me.
'Pleroma spilled it, so no choice.'
If unacceptable, we'd refuse—but I had questions too. The guiding wizard stopped, removing my blindfold.
"Here. Ismailov's real body is elsewhere—no worries. We'll handle issues."
"Got it."
Government wants Pleroma and Ismailov's true intent. They sense something fishy too, even if just Mecklenburg-level guesses. I entered with their prepared questionnaire.
"Nice to meet you."
A white figure, eyes bound in white cloth, sat—restrained—in a chair. I looked where eyes should be. White irises, per Mecklenburg.
"You know who I am. Government called me to assess your possible release."
"......"
No reply. I skimmed the questionnaire, shrugged, then went off-script.
"Unique name. Mikhail Ismailov.... Ironic, almost."
"......"
"I know someone with a similar name."
"......"
"Gabriele Caetani—know him?"
[Excellency Ascanien, unapproved questions....]
Artifact judge interrupts awkwardly. I raised a hand to the watching wizards outside. It stopped.
Still no reply. I checked my pocket watch. A minute of silence. As Mecklenburg's hand touched my shoulder, a hollow voice spoke.
"A brother in faith."