Into the Lion's Den (1)
Thirty minutes later, in front of the border gate.
Unlike the usual bustle, the morning border was utterly silent.
Under normal circumstances, the attendants would have been scurrying about by now, preparing to open the border. The Five Senses Officers and I would have each taken our seats, ready to begin inspections.
But today was a little different.
"..."
"..."
Everyone was going through their preparations in stiff, tense postures.
And there was exactly one reason why.
"Hm."
The King's Proxy had not yet left.
Like a towering lighthouse, he radiated an overwhelming presence among the crowd with his enormous frame and his infamous name.
Just then, the thoroughly terrified Taste Officer came creaking over, dragging her chair along, until she stood before the dragonewt.
"P-P-Proxy, sir. I br-brought you a ch-chaaaair."
She was so cowed that not only her legs but even her mouth was trembling.
"A chair."
His massive two-and-a-half-meter body turned, gazing down at the girl far below him. His leaning frame cast a shadow over her.
"..."
A wordless pressure, demanding an explanation. Under the gaze that pierced through his veiled silk, the already-small Taste Officer crumpled further into herself.
"W-well-well-well, it seemed... that sitting while supervising would be better than st-standing-standing the whole time..."
As the malfunctioning girl stammered out her reasoning, the Proxy straightened his posture.
"...My thanks."
And without a sound, he took his seat.
Only then did his presence settle a little.
"Phew."
"Haah..."
Small sighs of relief rose here and there.
Incansus Vermotem...
Why was he still here? His role should have ended with reading the imperial writ and delivering the royal command. I'd assumed he would return the moment the King's will was relayed.
But no. After finishing the decree, he had left one final remark:
"The Pilgrimage's admission process will be observed from beginning to end."
A warning that no tricks would be tolerated. The King's own eyes would be watching me — to confirm whether this immigration inspection obeyed the royal command or not.
Perhaps because of that, not only the attendants but the Five Senses Officers and even I had no choice but to stay razor-sharp.
Damn it, I feel like my blood is drying up...
It felt as though my workplace superior — no, the King himself — was processing through. The atmosphere was one you'd only ever see during an actual audit period.
Anyway, time to begin.
The clock pointed to 8:30.
I spoke quietly.
"Open the border."
GRUUUUMBLE.
The gate swung open with a heavy, ponderous groan. The morning sunlight flooding through the gap was damnably, blindingly bright.
And then came the voices, right on cue.
"The gate's open!"
"Everyone, get ready! It's finally happening!"
Far in the distance, the banner of the Holy Church fluttered.
But something was off.
The plain beyond the border, which should have been packed with tents and pavilions, was empty. In their place, people already packed and ready to depart had all gathered in a tight huddle, staring straight at us.
Their faces showed less surprise than a quiet so it's finally come. It was the look of people who had known, beyond any doubt, that the gate would open for them at this very hour, on this very day.
So they knew everything already.
A hollow laugh escaped me. To tip their hand this brazenly. The Queen must have relayed every last detail of the decree to the Church, down to the letter.
The Pilgrimage slowly made its way toward the gate.
The man at its head had a familiar face.
"...Sir Mohaim Espirentse. It's been a while."
"Indeed. It has been a while, Central Officer."
A brief exchange of greetings. Emotions strictly concealed, we locked eyes with expressionless faces.
Mohaim was unchanged. The sharpest blade of the Church. A living weapon of war, and the very model of a soldier.
Yes. You should be at the very front.
If he meant to report this and that back to the Pope, he'd want to witness the situation from the lead position and cross the border as quickly as possible.
I shifted my gaze slowly to the person behind him.
The woman directly behind Mohaim had a face I knew far too well.
"...Holy Saintess. We meet again."
"Central Officer Nathan Kell."
Our eyes met.
Her expression was worlds apart from yesterday's. Instead of that warm, endearing smile, she stared at me with a look brimming with revulsion, as if beholding an insect. Contempt and disappointment swam in her large eyes.
The moment I saw it, I was certain.
It worked. The opening move went well.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
Winding the clock back to the previous evening.
"H-Holy Saintess?"
Mohaim was stunned to the point of fainting. No — stunned twice over.
The first shock was that the Saintess, who he'd assumed had shut herself in her tent, had suddenly appeared from the direction of the Crossline Kingdom. The second was that her golden divine power, which he should have been seeing with his own two eyes, had vanished without a trace.
"What — what in the world is going on here!"
It was enough to send his mind reeling.
Fifteen years ago the previous Saintess met the same fate, and now it's happening again!
Misfortune, as a rule, does not repeat itself. Once is chance, twice is circumstance — wasn't that the saying? Yet under exactly the same conditions, the exact same thing had happened to exactly a Saintess.
So Mohaim dredged the situation for every scrap of causality and arrived at a single hypothesis. The last time, the Saintess retired at these people's border. If it happened again, there was only one suspect.
Don't tell me the Crossline Kingdom dogs did something to the Saintess...!
If that were true, this was absolutely not a matter to be taken lightly.
"Holy Saintess. Will you explain? What have those wretches done to you!"
When he demanded answers in hopes of understanding anything at all, the Saintess replied:
"I must speak with His Holiness the Pope."
Mohaim activated the crystal orb at once. This was information the Pope, too, absolutely had to know.
And the moment Escabaor's face appeared, Erzena laid out exactly what her situation was. More precisely — she laid out the false narrative she had constructed together with the Central Officer.
"Erzena. Why did you travel to the Crossline Kingdom without a word?"
After hearing her full account, the Pope asked in a benevolent voice. But beneath it simmered a quiet fury.
"What possible thought possessed you? Of all times — now."
The road for the Holy Crusade had been blocked. It was slated to open with a little more patience, and the Saintess had very nearly ruined everything. The knowledge left the Pope deeply displeased.
"And now your divine power has vanished as well... this is truly..."
Seeing his troubled expression, the Saintess answered.
"I wanted to give the Central Officer one final chance."
"A chance?"
"You said it before, Your Holiness. That one must not view the world in extremes, or nothing would remain in it but enemies and allies."
She deftly turned the Pope's own words against him.
"So... I thought that even one who has obstructed a great work of faith might yet repent, if given the chance..."
"Oh, Erzena. My words must have taken deep root in your heart."
The Pope's voice softened a degree.
"Still, you should have confided in Mohaim at the very least. And then—"
Suddenly, the Saintess's expression contorted.
"But he refused! He waved that worthless law of the secular world in my face!"
Erzena cried out as if spitting the words on the ground.
"The audacity! To defy the will of the Church over worldly law!"
A masterful performance. Every word was carefully chosen to condemn the Central Officer.
"...The Lord God no longer answers me. My divine power is gone too. Just like... the Saintess before me."
And she wielded her own predicament as a weapon.
"This is..."
She aimed the target of his rage and hatred squarely at the Pope's heart.
"This is all that Central Officer's doing."
Her expression grew more furious, her voice rising.
"He stamped his rejection on the entry permits...! He blocked the Pilgrimage, that's what caused this...!"
Thoughts she'd been consumed by in her fanatical mania mere days ago — words that would have shamed her utterly to look back on now — she uttered once more.
"This is a trial! A trial for our Church to become greater still!"
And this — this was precisely what the Pope had longed most to see from her.
"...Yes. This is a trial."
His expression turned benevolent once more.
"A trial from the Lord God, commanding us to punish those who dare bar our path."
He smiled, visibly pleased.
"You have truly grown, Erzena. To finally understand His true will..."
Escabaor murmured that heaven itself was lending its aid — then his voice dropped abruptly.
"Which brings me to this... there is one thing you can do for me."
"Break the one who obstructs the great work — and your divine power may, perhaps, return."
The Saintess knew exactly what he was about to propose.
"Come appear at the Central Officer's trial with me, as a witness. Let us realize the Lord God's will together, Erzena."
Precisely as Nathan Kell had predicted.
And there was only one answer Erzena could give.
"Gladly."
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
Erzena, glaring at me, spoke in a low voice.
"...You had your last chance."
I held my silence for a moment, studying her.
A last chance. She didn't need to say that line.
The plan was supposed to end with us appearing to be at each other's throats, the Saintess in full-blown fury. Lines like this one served no purpose. Why go further, and speak words instead of curses and mockery, to someone you supposedly despise?
Why is she like this... oh.
In an instant, I understood what she meant.
It was rhetoric. Meaning passed along by indirection, the way one speaks at a diplomatic table. Right now, Erzena was delivering to me the Church's current situation.
With that in mind, the meaning of her line became immediately clear.
'You had your last chance.' — meaning: our final gambit worked.
The Saintess, reading my expression, continued.
"His Holiness was terribly grieved by it all." (Meaning: the Pope moved exactly as we planned.)
Whoa. That was close.
I froze my face at once and answered stiffly.
"This officer merely followed the rules."
"Ha."
With a scoffing laugh, the Saintess turned her head as if exasperated.
"You — you heretic."
"...Tch."
I barely suppressed a laugh that nearly burst out of me.
So awkward.
The word 'heretic' — which she'd been shrieking nearly like a fanatic only days ago — now sounded utterly contrived. It felt as strange as if I were hearing it for the first time.
Is that what happens when a person changes?
Doing her best to twist her features into loathing, the Saintess spoke.
"The great work was destined to be accomplished in the end. Were it not for your arrogance, you too might have bathed in grace." (Meaning: the Pilgrimage could not have been stopped, just as you said, Central Officer.)
"If one must be blamed for doing one's duty, so be it." (Meaning: it was unavoidable. Nothing to be done.)
"I pray you find rest — even if only in the fires of hell." (Meaning: I pray nothing goes wrong before the trial.)
Her words, weighted to the bone, struck like a dagger. They didn't hurt. Quite the opposite — they settled over me like relief.
"Thank you for your concern, Holy Saintess."
The first exchange had gone off smoothly, then.
For a brief moment, a flicker of warmth passed through Erzena's eyes. I looked away from it.
Wearing the expression of a man thoroughly displeased, I dragged the documents over roughly.
"Saintess Erzena. And Sir Mohaim Espirentse."
I stamped the seal.
THWACK.
"Welcome to the Crossline Kingdom."
At last, the Pilgrimage had crossed the border of the Crossline Kingdom.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
The decree's order of 'unconditional approval' was a formidable thing.
"Approved. Approved. Approved."
Wham, wham — the sound of stamping never ceased. The entry process moved at a pace never before seen. There was no five-minute interrogation, no thorough cargo inspection; all that was required was to stamp, mechanically, over and over. Take back the manifest we'd once rejected, and pass anyone whose name matched.
"Next. Approved. Next. Granted."
The result: one person every three seconds — a record without precedent.
Normally it's one per five minutes, so that's roughly a hundred times faster.
Even I found it absurd. A speed so fast I wondered whether we were allowed to do this.
"Ten — no, twenty of you at a time, come through this way!"
"Fifteen at a time over here!"
The Five Senses Officers were tearing through the work at a frenzied pace as well. Entry clearance for the entire Pilgrimage — cargo included — took less than thirty minutes.
"You may enter."
THWACK.
I stamped the final remaining set of papers. When the storm had passed, all that remained behind was an empty lot and a stamp run dry of ink.
"I didn't expect it to end this fast."
"Three thousand people in thirty minutes — that's a new record."
"My wrist is throbbing..."
The Five Senses Officers each heaved a sigh and slumped into their seats.
At last, with the inspections of all 3,374 people complete, the Proxy — who had watched the entire process without so much as a twitch from his corner — rose from his chair.
"It seems everything is finished."
"Yes, that's correct."
"Having verified it, I assure you that you have faithfully carried out the royal command. This I guarantee, as the King's Proxy."
"This officer merely followed orders."
"Then only one royal command remains to you, Central Officer."
He turned his head toward the outside of the administrative building as he spoke.
"Present yourself at the Royal Castle. I shall escort you."
Meaning I was to come with him.
"...I shall comply."
There was no reason to refuse.
After all, to catch a lion, one must walk into the lion's den.