Village (2)
I decided to set mana aside for the time being and try obtaining Holy Power instead, then began pondering how exactly to go about acquiring it. In the end I resolved to gather information at the used bookstore I usually frequented.
That day, after a leisurely breakfast, I headed to the bookstore and searched for anything on Holy Power.
“Nothing….”
More precisely, nothing of what I actually wanted. There were books examining Holy Power and detailing its characteristics, but not a single line on how to obtain it.
“Heh heh. Mana’s a bust, so now it’s Holy Power, is it?”
The bookstore owner sidled up again and sniped at me. I gave him no reply.
“Holy Power is granted by the whims of the gods. There’s no separate method for acquiring it.”
Whims, huh… Still, there had to be something…? I ignored the owner and kept hunting through the shelves.
The special power wielded through Holy Power—Holy Magic… Perhaps because Holy Power itself was a divine blessing, magic for recovery, regeneration, and exorcism was said to be highly developed.
The author seemed to be a mage; he treated Holy Magic as merely one branch of magic… yet noted that it could never be perfectly realized with mana alone.
I simply learned in detail what I had only vaguely known before.
“Looking at it this way, Holy Power is basically a superior version of mana….”
You could cast ordinary magic with Holy Power, yet you couldn’t properly perform Holy Magic with mana… That only made me want Holy Power even more.
Even if I kept reading, I doubted I would find a method, so I closed the book.
I debated whether to dig further here or seek another approach, then decided to leave the bookstore.
As always, when I handed over a little money and made to go, the owner called after me.
“You’d be better off going to a temple.”
That was the brief advice he offered.
A temple, huh… I had avoided them out of fear that the magic which turned me into a woman might be a curse or black magic. The fear remained, yet if I wanted Holy Power it seemed I had no choice but to visit one.
First I needed to learn what temples existed in this city.
After a long absence I went to the Adventurers’ Guild to gather information. All sorts of people filled the place—those hunting for quests, those simply killing time with nothing better to do.
“Something about the stares….”
Ah, right—I was a woman now. Of course eyes would gather. Ignoring them, I ordered simple food and claimed a corner seat.
While filling my empty stomach I collected what I could, yet nothing useful came in.
I had used this city as my base for a full year and only ever known that temples existed; I had never bothered to learn which ones. I had simply assumed they had nothing to do with me…. Looking back, I had been an idiot.
In the middle of it all, talk of the ruins floated over and startled me.
‘Under the lord’s orders an investigation team was formed, but everything had already been cleaned out.’
‘Some thief pulled a dangerous stunt.’
‘Right? Even the baron’s son went along and flew into a rage, I hear.’
Guilty! So guilty! That was me, wasn’t it? Having taken something from there left me squirming. What if I got caught?
No—there was no way I would get caught.
I was no longer a man; I was a woman. Even if they found traces, the trail would only confuse them.
There seemed nothing more to learn, so I simply filled my belly and left the guild.
“Hmm, not much time has passed.”
While the sun was still up I decided to search for temples.
Temples were ordinarily built tall and grand to display an order’s prestige.
Therefore any moderately large, lofty building standing on a wide plot was likely to be one.
The largest structure in the city belonged to the lord, so I excluded that and sought the next biggest.
“Whoa….”
The first temple I reached was enormous.
It looked exactly like the classic temples I had seen in comics in my previous life. The order’s emblem was emblazoned boldly above the main gate, and a statue of the god crowned the roof, making identification easy.
The order that served the god of light and justice….
The emblems I had studied in books proved useful. This was the order that wielded the greatest power within the Holy Kingdom….
Serving a god of justice, they would naturally reject black magic, right? If the magic that had rewritten my body was black magic and they sensed its residue…?
Better avoid this place for now….
Regretfully I turned on my heel at once and went looking for another temple.
I would return only when I could be certain the magic on me was not black magic.
I wandered diligently in search of other temples yet found none. While I circled the commercial district, a fruit merchant called out to me.
“Miss, where are you wandering about like that?”
My repeated looping of the same streets had clearly drawn his notice.
“Ah—um, a temple.”
“A temple? Which one?”
“Well… I’m not really sure….”
When I trailed off he smiled and explained. The city held temples to three gods: the god of fire, the god of light, and the god of wisdom.
“Ah, then—where is the temple of the fire god?”
I could not risk the powerful orders of light or wisdom.
“Head to the craftsmen’s street.”
The merchant was quite the resourceful fellow….
Out of gratitude I bought several of the fruits he was selling.
And the temple of the fire god I finally reached was….
“This is a temple?”
It was simply a workshop… and not even a particularly large one.
“What business do you have?”
As I loitered near the workshop a tall man appeared. He was so tall I could scarcely look up at him.
“Ah—um, is this really a temple?”
“It is a temple, though we don’t call it one. Heh heh.”
“Um… do you happen to know a way to obtain Holy Power?”
When I asked outright the man frowned.
“There isn’t one. Do you think receiving a god’s grace is that easy? Countless believers pray for it, yet fewer than one in five ever receive the blessing.”
Uh… um… At those words I had no choice but to close my mouth.
“I-I see.”
“There is no method other than praying earnestly and serving the god.”
His eyes were infinitely devout. Was I praying devoutly to any god? Honestly, I did not know.
While I was there I looked over the temple-cum-workshop; they sold an astonishing variety of tools—bowls, utensils, weapons, ornaments. I wondered how one place could handle them all.
My sword had broken and was gone anyway… should I buy one…?
Checking my purse, I found about thirty-five gold remaining.
“Did I waste too much….”
I picked up a longsword that looked serviceable and asked,
“How much is this?”
“Thirty gold.”
Ugh, expensive as expected…. Or was it cheap, given the sword’s condition? It was quite finely forged. If only I had the money I would have bought it… if only I had the money…….
“If you haven’t the coin, put it down.”
“Hing….”
I really should not have been so free with my gold. Regret lingered, yet I had to turn away.
The sun was sinking, so I decided to return to the inn.
Still, there had been some small harvest….
The priest—or craftsman—who served the fire god had not recognized me.
Most likely the magic upon me was not black magic after all.
A place that could have passed for a library. Between towering bookshelves stood a great round table, and around it sat five people.
Their garments all looked sacred; they sat in solemn posture.
“Another oracle has descended….”
At those words their expressions twisted.
“There was an oracle six years ago, and now another….”
The atmosphere grew steadily more gloomy; a heavy silence settled over them.
“It must be because we failed to fulfill the god’s will.”
Six years earlier, an oracle had descended upon three cardinals of strong Holy Power and five archbishops within the order.
“I bestow one who will carry out my will; spread knowledge throughout the world.”
It was an oracle that descended upon the order with fair frequency; the same words had come decades and even centuries before, so no special interpretation was required.
Its meaning was singular: the goddess had chosen an apostle.
Confirming the oracle, they had searched in secret for the god’s apostle. Past records showed that a Holy Scar—the mark of divine selection—existed upon every apostle, so finding one should not have been difficult.
It took them three years to realize that assumption had gone awry. They had quietly scoured every temple of the order for a believer bearing a Holy Scar, yet discovered none.
“This is all because we insisted on moving in secret!”
There had been reason for secrecy.
The Metis Church was an order far removed from worldly power. Its doctrine placed the preservation and management of wisdom and knowledge above all else; the natural disposition of its clergy only widened that distance. They preferred to gather in small groups to pursue knowledge or debate, or to serve as librarians tending books.
“We moved in secret precisely because word of it would have been dangerous!”
The Holy Kingdom… a realm of the faithful formed by the union of many orders. The problem was that the very mixture of orders bred fierce friction among them.
Some orders would not scruple at base acts in pursuit of power, so the oracle had been concealed.
The appearance of an apostle would naturally strengthen an order’s influence; other orders that wished no such thing might well move to harm the apostle.
“Exactly! Right now the other orders have no apostles of their own, and the strife only deepens!”
The Metis Church did not keep its headquarters within the Holy Kingdom; it was seated in a land distant from that realm. Yet the existence of a Saint was another matter entirely.
A Saint bearing a god’s Holy Scar was a presence that, by mere existence, could shake the foundations of the Holy Kingdom.
“It is their own faithlessness that keeps the Holy Scar from descending upon them!”
They knew all too well the ways of the many orders that had set faith and doctrine aside to wallow in the sweetness of power.
“Leave that for later. Should we not first resolve the new oracle?”
The new oracle was the great worry now weighing upon them.
“Hurry and find the one who carries out my will.”
It was as good as a command. They could also guess why it had come. For a full six years they had failed to find the Saint.
Now they were searching even among those who were not believers, yet progress remained painfully slow.
“The Goddess is angry!”
An order that prized records kept a wealth of information. Among those records was one noting that the longest previous search for a Saint had taken six months.
And now? Six years. Fully six years!
They were beginning to grow frantic.
“Where in the world can the Saint be living that we have heard not a single word?”
“You know as well as I that the places beyond the reach of the temples are far wider than those within it.”
“And even if a Holy Scar was granted, there is the possibility the Saint has not yet awakened Holy Power.”
With a Holy Scar present there were methods to force the flowering of Holy Power, so the lack of awakening itself was no true concern. The difficulty lay solely in the finding.
“Hah… so the Holy Power has not yet awakened….”
The Goddess appeared to be watching this particular apostle with special care, yet the Holy Power remained dormant? Whatever the reason, it was an absurd state of affairs.
“We have already issued orders to the practitioners. We should find the Saint before long.”
“We must….”
“There is another matter besides that one.”
“The Varga Kingdom issue, I take it.”
It was the kingdom that housed the order’s headquarters and the greatest number of its temples; relations with it had been reasonably good.
“They asked us to send someone to the Academy, did they not?”
The cardinals made no effort to hide their displeasure. The priests of an order also known as the stewards of knowledge were, as their renown suggested, often men and women of exceptional learning. Many academies and educational institutions therefore wished to invite them as instructors.
“In exchange for sending a teacher, they offered to accept several of the order’s orphans as students.”
Though the order stood aloof from power, the kingdom’s invitation—an opportunity for the children of the orphanages the order ran—held real allure.
“Then we shall have to send someone.”
“As it happens, there is a promising child at the temple under my charge.”
According to the bishop’s description, the child was bright and lovely.
“Next year the second prince and the sons and daughters of ducal houses—high nobles all—will enter the Academy. It is a chance to forge connections. There will be no loss.”
Given the strained relations between the order and the Holy Kingdom, good ties with the Varga Kingdom that housed their headquarters were vital.
“Then let us decide whom to send.”
Setting aside discussion of the oracle for which they still had no solution, they began selecting the priest and the children who would go to the Academy.