A Small Stone Cannot Stop the Wave (1)
My body reacted before my head could.
"I greet His Holiness the Pope!!!"
The chair I'd been sitting in went completely forgotten as I dropped to one knee where I stood.
"Before the peerless saint of the continent, the noble one who carries out the Lord's will, I offer my respects!!"
Ho ho. What a spirited fellow.
At the sight of me, a smile spread across Escabaor III's face.
It was a kindly, grandfatherly laugh — but to me, it sounded like the laughter of a death god.
The Pope.
The name weighed more than a mountain of gold and loomed as large as the sun itself. If the Saintess was the face and symbol of the Church, the Pope was its king and its spiritual pillar. And now a being whose name I could hardly bring myself to utter had materialized before me without a moment's warning.
What in the world is happening right now!?
My mind still couldn't keep up. All I could do was churn out an endless stream of question marks and strain with everything I had to stay conscious.
Raise your head. This isn't even a formal audience, is it.
"Th-that cannot be! How could this officer dare look upon Your Holiness's face as an equal? I beg you, withdraw your gracious words."
Oh come now, really. As you can see, I'm on vacation at the moment. So for now I'm no different from any village grandfather.
He raised both arms slightly, gesturing at his shabby clothing.
Don't be so stiff with an old man in his pajamas.
Easy for him to say.
What lunatic would happily lift his head in this situation? Not unless someone prompted him to, that is.
As I remained frozen stiff for a long while, Mohaim, standing beside me, subtly stepped forward.
"Central Officer. His Holiness finds this awkward. Do rise."
You.
So you were the culprit.
Glaring at him as if I could kill him where he stood, I opened my mouth.
"...Then I ask your forgiveness for my rudeness."
Up you get, now. You're only dirtying that nicely pressed uniform for nothing.
I rose slowly to my feet. Barely keeping my legs from buckling beneath me, I addressed him.
"Sir Espirentse, thank you for granting me the tremendous honor of an audience with His Holiness."
What I meant, of course, was rather different.
You absolute madman.
If you have a problem, you talk it out — why on earth would you bring the highest leader of your entire Church here?
"I will repay this debt someday. Without fail."
Just you wait.
I will never, ever forget this.
I'll put every single one of the 358 entry regulations under full scrutiny — for you and only you.
Reading my expression, the Knight Commander gave a knowing smile and nodded.
"I look forward to it."
For a while, insincere pleasantries passed back and forth. Watching the exchange with evident satisfaction, the Pope drew my attention.
"It is a true honor, Your Holiness, though I never dreamed you would come in person to such an insignificant border."
Mohaim and I made a small promise — that he would call on me should a problem arise that he truly could not resolve.
"Then that means—"
Before that, might you grant me a moment?
The Pope raised a hand to cut me off, then raised his voice.
Erzena. Are you there?
Mohaim turned the crystal orb toward the Saintess. From a short distance away, she — still crumpled where she'd been flattened — came scuttling over.
"...Yes. I'm here."
A completely different demeanor from the way she'd been bouncing off the walls earlier.
If the Knight Commander had to switch the orb on, I take it he couldn't calm you down.
"Ugh."
Erzena flinched.
Good! Very good!
I agreed with that assessment passionately, in my heart.
Looking guilty, she rubbed at the swollen bump still lingering on her forehead.
What trouble have you caused this time?
"Well... there's something I need to tell you. Just the two of us."
Is that so? Then let's hear it, shall we.
The Saintess's eyes gleamed. Then, at astonishing speed, she snatched the crystal orb from Mohaim's hands and leaned in close, murmuring something quietly.
"The Central... urk... the Church... black..."
Like a child tattling to her teacher, she babbled on without pause. Cupping her hand around her mouth so I couldn't possibly eavesdrop, she succeeded only in feeding me disconnected scraps of words.
Oh ho. Is that really true?
"I'm certain! It was black, I'm telling you, black! What else could it be if not those people!"
But even before the Saintess's ringing certainty, the Pope merely offered a gentle smile.
Dear me, dear me. You must have had a terrible time of it, Central Officer.
"I beg your pardon?"
He spoke as one gently reproving a child.
Tsk, tsk. Just because something can be seen and felt does not mean it is the whole truth.
"I-I don't understand what you mean. I saw it with my own two eyes!"
When the reaction she wanted didn't come, Erzena couldn't hide her fluster and pressed again.
The Lord is always giving us unexpected gifts. Even when something seems like poison in the present moment, when we look back on it later, it very often proves to have been a great blessing indeed.
"Some things are obvious at a glance! Like that man over there!"
Who can say. Even if he seems that way now, that young Central Officer might become someone of great use to our Church. He might even become someone great to you.
"How could a heretic ever—"
You must never make such judgments lightly, Erzena. One must always doubt, always labor over the question, always ask oneself whether we are truly looking at the essence of things.
The Pope's voice grew grave.
If your life has been extreme, and you look upon the lives of others the same way, then in the end only allies and enemies will remain in this world.
"..."
The Saintess could not answer. She merely clung to the crystal orb with trembling hands and stared at the Pope, her face a mask of incomprehension.
Into that long silence, he asked:
Would you have our Church count even those who have fallen into injustice and ignorance among its enemies? Must all who do not believe simply die?
Erzena cried out, startled by the horrifying question.
"That mustn't happen!"
The sharp cry rang out, struck the sanctuary walls, and came echoing back to her.
"It... it mustn't. You're right, Your Holiness."
A small, quiet voice.
"I'm sorry. I'll... think about it some more."
With those words, Erzena bowed her head low. The divine power that had been raging wildly now dwindled entirely, flickering weakly only behind her.
I'm glad to see there is still room for you to grow.
The Pope smiled with perfect understanding. Watching this unfold, Mohaim silently approached her, took the crystal orb back, and returned.
Forgive me. I called you all this way and then indulged in idle chatter.
"Not at all. On behalf of the Crossline Kingdom, I offer my gratitude."
I could have applauded right then and there. To crush that wild-child Saintess with words alone — I feel awkward even saying this, but honestly, it was rather satisfying.
Serves her right.
Now then, let's return to the matter at hand.
"Gladly."
Good, good. It was a matter concerning entry, yes?
He cleared his throat a few times.
But where is Gerard, the chief authority at this border? A matter of this nature must be discussed with him.
A name I never wanted to hear again dropped out of nowhere. My expression changed in an instant. I caught myself and quickly papered it back over with a gentle smile, but my voice couldn't keep pace.
"...The former chief authority, Gerard Monarch, has been executed."
Gerard Monarch. The previous Central Officer. The man who brought tragedy to the Southern Border. The trash who sold inspection officers to a criminal syndicate. Merely speaking that revolting name aloud made something inside me twist.
...Ah, that's right. Forgive me. Age makes one forgetful.
"Not at all. It is deeply humbling that Your Holiness extends his concern not only to his followers, but to us officers as well."
Then you are the chief authority now. This will make things simpler.
Escabaor wiped the smile from his face and put on a serious expression.
Central Officer. Would you not open the way for our Pilgrimage — no, for our Holy Army?
There it was. The real agenda, at last: clearing a path for a show of armed force. The answer came out of me immediately.
"I offer my sincere apologies. However, I cannot give you a definitive answer."
Hm? Is that a no?
"It is not. I am telling you that this matter is beyond my authority to resolve."
Now that the Pope himself had appeared, this had left my hands entirely. From this point forward, it was no longer a border matter — it was a diplomatic one.
"Effective immediately, all inspections will be suspended. I will shortly connect you with the Foreign Minister of our home country, so I ask for your patience."
Once this was reported as an emergency and the foreign ministry notified, no stamp could be set to paper until the two sides reached an agreement. Only if consensus failed at the very last extremity would the entry-refusal stamp finally come down — an elaborate procedure known in the trade as the Border Interim Measures Protocol.
In other words, this is no longer my affair.
This was not something a border chief could shoulder. Affairs between a nation and a Church were beyond my jurisdiction to begin with.
And that meant — I could finally step away from this.
There was no time to hesitate.
I want out of here.
I turned at once to my attendant, who stood behind me like a screen, suppressing his presence as much as humanly possible.
"Request an emergency audience with the Minister."
But before my attendant could act on my words, the Pope's voice came first.
No, there's no need for that. I'm making my request to you, Central Officer.
"...I beg your pardon?"
What is he talking about?
I managed to speak.
"Forgive me, Your Holiness. I don't follow your meaning."
I heard you perfectly. What I want is for this to be handled quietly.
The bewilderment didn't last long — because I'd already realized exactly what he was implying.
"Your Holiness... do you mean to say you do not wish this matter to become known to the world?"
My, my. You really are the chief authority. Straight to the heart of it.
He gave a sheepish shrug.
That's right. I would prefer this holy crusade proceed as secretly as possible. That's why we disguised ourselves as a pilgrimage.
The truth came out of him easily enough. But I couldn't make sense of it.
If your designs are so grand, why would you want to keep them secret?
If one harbored a great purpose, proclaiming it to the world was the natural course. Spreading word of what one intended to do, what one had done, and expanding the Church's influence — that was the whole point of a religious order.
Reading my face, the Pope continued.
A crusade is a glorious thing, yes — but it demands blood in equal measure. And blood always draws leeches.
He shook his head with an air of disgust.
Central Officer. What do you suppose happens when blood is spilled in the world in the name of the Church?
What would happen if war were declared on this continent, where peace had barely held for ten years? The answer was already written.
"...Other churches, other nations — those who wanted war would surely emerge as well."
Precisely.
War is contagious. Whether the cause is greed, vengeance, or some lofty purpose makes no difference. A civil war erupting in one country becoming a regional conflict, then a full-scale war, then a continental conflagration — such escalations are anything but rare. All it takes is for someone to strike the first spark.
Violence is like desire. The moment it catches fire, it grows beyond all restraint.
That is why we stood where we stood — to keep that fire from spreading across the entire continent. That was why the Crossline Kingdom maintained absolute neutrality and never opened a road for armies.
If this were handled through diplomacy, word of it would certainly reach the world. It could become the foundation for an even greater war to come. Would your kingdom truly wish for that?
Escabaor's voice dropped all of a sudden.
But if you were to let us through while 'unaware' of what we are — then there is no problem at all.
The Pope's true objective finally stood naked before me.
The crusade will proceed in secret, and the world will remember it as nothing more than a pilgrimage.
He was asking me for 'cooperation'.
"...Your Holiness. What you are saying—"
I know. I know full well that if you accept, your position becomes extremely perilous. I hear that in the Crossline Kingdom, the punishment of an immigration officer is terribly severe?
The Pope lightly raised his palm and tapped the flowerbed.
One small block came clattering down to the ground.
What that signified, every one of us understood.
I'll speak to your King directly — not the Foreign Minister. That you are not to be punished.
"That... is not something so easily arranged."
I could hardly breathe. The sheer weight of the situation was making it harder and harder to hold on to my sanity.
The Queen Consort of the Crossline Kingdom is one of our faithful. A word in her ear, and the King will have no choice but to listen. He is devoted to her, isn't he?
He smiled.
You are safe. I guarantee it.
It was an offer beyond anything I could shoulder. And onto that offer, the Pope heaped more.
Furthermore, I promise you compensation for this as well. I swear it by the Lord — you are destined to play a great part in a great undertaking.
Only then did I see it.
The Pope's eyes — burning exactly like the Saintess's, blazing with blind faith and conviction.
But he was no zealot like her, simply crying out the will of God. He was someone who knew how to wield restraint and magnanimity — and that made him far, far more dangerous.
This is the will of God, come to scour the world's evil. It is no worldly war.
A voice full of power — gentle and unyielding all at once.
Do not stand against the wave, I beg you. The harder you resist, the greater your suffering will be.
Ensnared by that voice, I froze.
Central Officer.
"...Yes."
He called my name — the way one calls a son.
Those you are inspecting right now — are they a pilgrimage, or are they a holy army?
The final question was laid down.
"..."
A wave of helplessness washed over me. No — something far more tangled than that. Not fear. Not anger. It was conformity.
Maybe the Pope is right.
This was never a matter I was meant to judge. I had no power to refuse it, either. A colossal church spanning the entire continent, and one tiny nation sitting at the crossroads of its path — and one immigration officer of that insignificant nation. The gap in power was simply too vast. It couldn't be helped. How could a mere immigration officer hope to block a tide this immense?
And then the Foreign Minister's words came back to me too.
Let nothing happen to the Saintess. Good things or bad — nothing involving her must cause trouble.
Whatever situation arose, if it involved the Saintess, I was not to make waves. There was no retreat. There was only the road they had paved for me — a road I could neither run from nor refuse.
Only one thing was left for me to do.
Not to fight the wave. To walk their road.
"...I understand."
I nodded, slowly.
"A wise decision, Central Officer."
At the sight of me, Mohaim let out a sigh of relief.
Excellent.
The Pope smiled and gestured to my seat.
Then all that remains is to put the final stroke to it. It has been an honor, Central Officer.
As if in a trance, I sat back down. Once the decision had been made in my heart, there was no reason to waver.
"Erzena Selaphe. Sir Mohaim Espirentse."
I called the two names.
"And all members of the 1st Holy Knight Order."
I pulled the entire stack of documents bearing their personal details toward me and set it before me.
"I apologize for keeping you waiting so long. It seems this officer... harbored a foolish thought for a moment."
My hand closed around the [Entry Permit] stamp. The words for the entry procedure flowed out smoothly.
"You have all stated a legitimate purpose for entry and given consistent testimony. Therefore, in the judgment of this officer—"
I paused there.
Yes. All I had to do was certify that there was no problem with their stated reason for entry, and it would be over.
Squeeze your eyes shut, stamp it down, and hold out just three more days — the bonus pays out, and the Zero-Accident record survives too.
I could give paid leave to my exhausted Five Senses Officers and attendants, and preserve my standing as their superior as well. And that wasn't all. The Church would shield me from any punishment — and a greater reward had been promised on top of it.
A matter that couldn't be caught, and even if caught, wouldn't be punished.
Just once.
If I closed my eyes just once. One time only. A brief moment of silence, a brief moment of blindness — that was all it took. If not for my own sake, then for my subordinates'.
And the instant I raised my arm to bring the stamp down—
[Central Officer... please, please, don't cry... It isn't... your fault...]
The Sight Officer's final words surfaced.
"...The Sight Officer."
My mind snapped awake.
Why she was no longer in this place. Because Gerard had sold her off — once, a single time. Because her desperate plea for rescue was ignored — once, a single time. Because I, for my part, had bowed my head to Gerard's authority as chief — once, a single time.
That was what I remembered now.
Just once.
A single occurrence — enough to overturn everything from its very foundations.
"..."
Without a word, I stared at the wall of the hourglass that had run out five minutes ago. My reflection in the glass looked no different from Gerard's.
A compromising chief authority. An inspector who closed his eyes.
Bile rose in my throat.
Nothing has changed since then. Not a single thing.
"Central Officer?"
"...Therefore, in the judgment of this officer—"
I opened my mouth again. And I spoke what I had resolved.
"You persisted to the very end in false testimony despite the existence of conclusive evidence, and you exerted pressure upon inspection officers through the abuse of authority—"
"—!!! Central Officer, what is the meaning of this!?"
Mohaim cried out, aghast at the sudden reversal. I raised my voice louder still.
"It is unmistakably evident that you intend to rationalize an act of war under the name of a holy crusade and carry it out, thereby undermining the peace of the continent—"
Loud enough to ring across the whole border. I shouted until my throat tore, so that every soul present could hear.
"As all of these matters stand in violation of the entry regulations, this officer hereby declares, in this very place—"
I lifted the stamp.
And then—
"I refuse entry to the Pilgrimage — no, to the Holy Army."
THUNK.
The blood-red seal carved itself into the documents.
To all of them — every pair of eyes fixed on that stamp — I spoke.
"There are no exceptions at the border."
I said it like a vow, sworn to myself.
"Not even if they are the apostles of God."