Chapter 230
Chapter 230
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 230
Chapter Title: The Church's Commendation
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This world, where the gods' influence is so blatantly visible to the naked eye, is one where religion holds tremendous sway.
As a result, societal norms tend to be quite conservative.
Of course, that's just the general principle. In the end, both religion and society are run by people.
So, no matter how much the church preached, changes were inevitable.
Take clothing, for example. It had evolved slowly but steadily over time. Comparing a dress from 500 years ago to one today reveals a stark difference in style.
For instance, back then, emphasizing femininity was taboo, so women wore loose, nun-like dresses that covered up to mid-neck with high collars.
There were no corsets to accentuate the figure, no panniers to exaggerate an hourglass shape.
Hair was even considered a temptation to the opposite sex, so it had to be veiled before going out.
But now?
As long as legs aren't exposed, quite bold upper-body reveals are acceptable.
The church watches with displeasure, of course, but at least they don't punish it like in the old days.
That shift came thanks to a certain noble who argued, "True abstinence means resisting temptation even when it comes knocking."
At the time, it was dismissed as nonsense, and the noble was locked in a tower. But the idea had subtle persuasive power, and people started following his teachings.
Eventually, it led to dress designs that respected freedom around the upper chest, and even the church couldn't stem the tide. They stepped back from "Cover up absolutely" to "Covering up is recommended."
The key point is that they retreated reluctantly.
More than anyone, the church wants a regression of dress styles under the guise of "normalization."
So, they openly praise those who adhere most faithfully to doctrine, claiming it's to preserve a beautiful world from the church's perspective.
What they give is a commendation plaque.
It had some more elaborate title, but I couldn't remember it exactly.
I attend church more to avoid scrutiny than out of deep faith, so I don't know the details.
The important thing is that this is a major event, happening maybe once or twice a year—if that.
There are too many devout believers who even make donations, so they don't hand them out lightly.
You have to save at least one life, like the coachman who rescued two people from a fire, or the nun who reformed a bandit with a bottle of holy wine and got him to join a monastery.
Yet they're giving one to someone who faced a heresy trial and was fined just this year?
Even a passing dog would laugh.
It had to be a prank letter.
"Emily, hand me the letter."
"Here you go."
With my face set in stone, I held out my hand. Emily silently passed it over and cautiously stepped back.
I vowed to deal with whoever was behind this joke, no matter who, and turned my eyes to the letter.
"Oh, shit..."
Right away, I saw the church and cardinal seals stamped across it.
Why the real thing?
Even after a heresy trial and a mere fine, maybe I'd eventually get something like this.
But not half a year later. No way.
Even bureaucrats, mocked as rice bowls, face years of repercussions after a minor reprimand—no promotions or awards. And the church is stricter. I couldn't wrap my head around it.
"Hoo..."
Breathing felt hard.
An unknown terror from the incomprehensible washed over me.
"Huu..."
I took a deep breath and carefully unfolded the letter.
I skimmed it quickly.
It was long, filling two dense pages, but the gist boiled down to two sentences.
'Thank you for spreading veils far and wide, protecting public morals.'
'So, let's meet at a suitable time.'
"What the...?"
Only confusion grew.
The veil was one thing even I thought I'd done right.
It was one of the few outfits that truly embodied "beauty through covering."
So the church would be grateful, sure. But not to this extent.
It was a minor deed—a casual thank-you in passing would suffice.
This felt less like inviting me because they liked it and more like summoning me because they didn't.
There had to be complaints about the witch outfit I'd made.
My instincts were razor-sharp.
Calling me for an award, then slicing me up. Anything else made no sense.
"Can I ignore this?"
"You didn't secretly get tainted by heretics without us knowing, did you?"
"Guess not."
A chill ran down my spine, and the hassle of a mask felt vivid, but I couldn't.
Ignoring it would give them legal grounds to come after me.
"Ha... Get me some stationery."
"Yes."
They called, so I had to go...
_
"Brother Howard, it's a pleasure to meet you like this."
"The honor is mine. A nobody like me getting a private audience with Bishop Paul is truly a privilege."
I'd wanted to schedule as late as possible, but separate from faith, as a believer, my wishes were ignored, and it was set quickly.
Suggest Sunday? No openings.
Say I'm too busy? Big trouble all around.
Such diligent, meticulous people.
I felt like crying, cornered.
"Please, sit."
"Yes."
But I couldn't cry. I smiled, pulled out the chair he'd gestured to, and sat.
Bishop Paul sat across from me after seating me, beaming as he picked up the teapot on the table.
"This is black tea brewed from leaves grown by our parishioners. Not sure if it suits noble tastes, but it's a delicacy for us."
"Ahaha, I see..."
As the pot tilted and tea filled the cup, I gave an awkward smile.
I had trauma from church tea...
The memory of the heresy trial grazing my mind made my heart pound.
"I'll gratefully partake."
I took the cup and, before adding sugar, dipped my tongue in lightly.
"Glad it suits your taste."
"Yes, it's hearty and goes down smoothly."
Thank goodness it wasn't bitter.
At least it wasn't some interrogation ploy.
"Never dreamed I'd share tea with a bishop. Isn't this a seat hard to reach without deep faith?"
"Haha, a mere bishop—what's so hard? Besides, the cardinal wanted to see you originally, but circumstances led to me instead."
"Whew, that's a relief."
I bantered lightly, flattering him a bit, but a chilling follow-up slipped out. I nearly made the sign of the cross on reflex.
A cardinal: dozens across the continent, six in the empire. They're treated as equivalent to dukes or marquises anywhere.
"Pardon?"
"Oh, what a shame. It would've been an honor to meet the cardinal."
"Haha, we're all humble humans—no need for such honors."
"Haha..."
Humans, yes.
But not the "humble" kind. That's the problem.
"So, why did you wish to see me? I read the letter, but much of it doesn't make sense."
Unsure how to react, I changed the subject abruptly.
"As the letter outlined, I called you to discuss the commendation."
"I haven't done anything commendation-worthy. Are you sure you haven't misunderstood something...?"
"No mistake. No one is under the church's closer watch than you lately."
"I... see."
Wait, they really called me for the award?
Why does everything sound so ominous?
"Of course, that's the surface reason. It's not solely for the award."
"What is it, then?"
"It's about that incident earlier this year."
"...?"
Not understanding, I furrowed my brow.
What else?
"We overreached on our end. Conducting an investigation and trial without minimal evidence."
"Well, the church was just doing its duty. It ended well, didn't it?"
"That holds in the Holy Kingdom. But here in the empire, the subject was an imperial noble. There are basic courtesies between nations."
Yet you rummaged through everything with gusto.
"You knew."
"The church doesn't compromise on heresy matters due to past incidents..."
"Can't be helped."
I narrowed my eyes and spoke sarcastically. Bishop Paul gave an embarrassed smile and bowed his head slightly.
I couldn't stay sharp with someone apologizing so readily, so I nodded awkwardly with a vague expression.
"So the award is your apology?"
"No, the award is genuine—the cardinal liked your clothes. He wanted to express thanks and give a plaque for caring for children and spreading doctrine-compliant attire."
"A man of rich emotions."
The cardinal's reaction seemed over the top, but this was cover for atonement.
Using the plaque as an excuse to justify something.
Like how they hand out thanks plaques for donations or heavy volunteering.
It barely qualified as a commendation—more like an oversized praise sticker.
True commendations start with merit plaques, a cardinal shouting you out mid-service, or awarding a silver cross. Those carry real weight.
Since it wasn't that, what a relief.
My mind eased a bit.
"Then what for the actual atonement?"
"We'll set a date for the award and praise you grandly during service..."
"Don't you dare."
Less than three seconds after relaxing, I glared at the bishop in earnest.
These people were about to cause real trouble.