Something's Very Wrong Here (1)
A low murmur rippled through the air.
Countless children had gathered in the Eshua Territory.
Watching the scene unfold, Rillai and Isaac wore identical expressions.
Even a rough head count came to one, ten, twenty, thirty, forty, fifty, a hundred...
Faced with more than a hundred children, Rillai apparently couldn't hold his tongue any longer.
"Uh... something's wrong here."
Dude. You think this is the kind of problem you wrap up with one comment about something being wrong?
"I distinctly heard there were only twenty-five Saint candidates."
Yeah, you lunatic, that's exactly what the Bishop said too.
"So why are there a hundred and forty-eight Saint candidates?"
Exactly! Why did the number grow, you little brat!
They were in the middle of receiving the Saint candidates. Of course, the summons had gone out only a month ago. It might have been a tight window for a gathering this size, but the candidates were all already being educated at the Holy See—and the power of holy arts made the journey from the capital to the eastern Eshua Territory more than manageable.
The problem was that there weren't twenty-four of them.
"...It seems people who aren't even official candidates have come swarming in."
At the knights' bewildered stares, Rillai pressed a hand to his forehead.
"Well... the more, the better for us. It raises the odds that someone walks off with the item we're after."
"Fair point, my lord."
But still, this was getting ridiculous.
"As it turns out, there are even Saint candidates from other nations."
"What? From other nations?"
"Well... it seems a prince from a neighboring country showed up claiming to be a Saint candidate."
"What?!"
Unbelievable. So he'll go as far as renouncing his citizenship to become a Saint.
Then again, the Saint's existence was the kind of thing that could shift the balance of power on the continent. It was only natural for other countries to take a keen interest. They simply hadn't expected it to reach this scale.
But the truly surprising thing wasn't that.
"I can't believe His Majesty has come all this way in person!"
The crowd could barely contain its excitement. No one knew what magic had been worked on the Emperor, but a whole train of nobles had followed in the Emperor's wake.
"With a turnout like this, isn't this effectively an official selection?"
"Yes. With this many eyes on us, even the Holy See can't afford to ignore it."
"And if young Master Isaac happens to retrieve the finest treasure of all...!"
He would be regarded as the Saint in all but name.
That was why Rillai, who had opened the vault for Isaac, couldn't help but be flustered.
"This is unexpected. I assumed it was a trap and no one would come."
In truth, Rillai hadn't expected much either. Of course, having the nobles' attention focused like this lent House Eshua strength as well, so it was a good thing—but all he had really wanted was to put a fine holy relic in Isaac's hands. He had even planned to recharge Isaac's ring with his own holy power if it came to that.
And that was when it happened.
"As if anyone would mistake it for a trap, my friend."
"!"
A young man was approaching Rillai with easy familiarity.
"Every house in the Empire is in an uproar right now!"
"Simon!"
"The moment word spread that Eshua's own were participating, every noble house declared they absolutely couldn't afford to miss it."
At his friend's words, Rillai's face brightened.
"Really? It's an honor that they hold Eshua in such high regard."
"Oh? They're saying that with two of those weakling Eshua men joining in, there's bound to be no trap. Hahahahaha."
Crack.
Not just his uncle—the sound of the Eshua knights' blood pressure spiking was almost audible.
Isaac, too, picked up his rattle.
"And the boy's a fine-looking child, I'll give you that. Eshua really does breed a different stock entirely. Standing next to each other, you look like an elf and a mudfish glued together."
Too late for compliments now, you bastard.
"And with your grandmother putting something like that on the line, how could anyone stay away? The Pope's house won't be able to show its face unless it comes too."
Grandmother? Putting what on the line?
Isaac tilted his head in confusion—until Simon let out a shriek.
At the same moment, Rillai pressed a glittering, jewel-encrusted belt into Isaac's arms.
"Here you go, Isaac. That ugly mudfish of an uncle has given you a present. You like this sort of thing, don't you?"
"Hey!"
There was no way Simon didn't recognize his own belt. Clutching frantically at his trousers, he shouted:
"That's— I'm using that to steal abilities?! And you call yourself a priest— khack!!"
"Oh my, this time the ugly uncle has even given you money. Isaac, this generous uncle loves handing out gifts, so eat and drink your fill."
"?!"
That little bastard stole my wallet too?!
The knights standing nearby were floored.
Good heavens—Young Master Rillai, the model student, committing theft!
Meanwhile Simon, now stripped down to beggar's rags, stared at them in wounded reproach.
'Any other day he'd have laughed it off as a joke, but he goes and gets furious over his nephew's business.'
He'd had no idea Eshua was capable of family devotion rather than mere camaraderie.
"Give it back."
Least of all had he imagined that one of those Eshua devils was completely money-mad!
Simon, who'd had a ring swiped clean off him by Isaac, shrieked again.
"You— when did you even get this— ow! Ptui! Ptui! You do NOT put that in your mouth!"
"I'll take the ring out of your mouth, wash it, and give it back."
"That ring is genuinely important. You have to give it back, seriously!"
"?"
If someone from a house that rich was saying that, what on earth was it?
But his curiosity was cut short when Simon said something that caught Isaac's attention.
"By the way—where's the Pope's house? Even His Majesty came. Didn't they show up?"
Rillai looked at him as if he'd sprouted a second head.
"There's no way the Pope's house would come."
One of the Five Great Ducal Houses—and the ones more uncomfortable than anyone about the existence of a Saint.
The Gold Faith, House Berith.
They despised the Saintess's family, House Eshua, more than anyone—and above all, they were the ones who would hate Isaac most of all.
Simon shrugged his shoulders, as if that much was obvious.
"Well, yeah. Those insufferable royal bloodlines would never deign to appear at something like this. Aren't they the ones who won't even share a breath of air with commoners—not that they'd ever admit anyone to their circle but House Berith?"
"Simon, watch your tongue..."
"Oh, why should I?! My son is a Saint candidate too! As long as he brings back something better than those Pope's-house snobs with their perpetually constipated faces—!"
And that was when it happened.
"Fringing with those beneath your station. And gossiping behind backs is unbecoming. Eshua."
"!"
The moment Rillai laid eyes on the man, his brow furrowed.
"Cardinal Verith!"
Mid-twenties, brown-haired—a young man who looked slightly older than Rillai.
This was the man who, through the Bishop, had ordered Isaac killed with Divine Poison.
"I came out of curiosity about Eshua's child, who dares proclaim himself a Saint candidate. Though I don't see the boy anywhere."
Rillai answered only with a deeper scowl.
Why would the man who hated Eshua—no, who hated Isaac above all—be here?
'Don't tell me a child of the Pope's house is participating too?'
That child everyone was already calling the Saint in all but name?
And sure enough.
"The son of a weakened Eshua holding a Doljabi. He'd better manage to carry out at least something, if only to save face."
Just as expected.
So the reason he'd shown up here at all was to tarnish Eshua by any means...
'No. Wait—no!'
At the Cardinal's smile, Rillai realized something and went white as a sheet.
The Saint candidates had suddenly swollen to a hundred and forty-eight. No matter how you looked at it, their numbers didn't balloon like that overnight.
'Every last one of them was the Holy See's doing.'
And there was no way the Holy See would tolerate unofficial children who hadn't been formally recognized barging into the Doljabi as self-proclaimed Saint candidates.
Which meant the Cardinal's aim was something else entirely.
'They mean to harm Isaac without dirtying their own hands.'
Of course, one would think the Holy See above such petty schemes...
'But the seat of Saint—the next Pope—is no ordinary prize.'
The nobles had already been scrambling to make their own children Saints. Whoever brought back the finest treasure would win the greatest recognition.
So what happens when you pack the vault with those children? They'll shove their rivals aside to seize the treasures for themselves.
It would also make it trivially easy to plant their own agents quietly among the crowd and do harm.
No—there might already be monsters loose in there.
'Isaac!'
His young nephew was in danger.
* * *
The reputation of the sons born into House Eshua was famous throughout the Empire.
All the good looks and none of the good sense—useless pretty boys who could do nothing for themselves.
In a word: easy prey.
But they were not without value.
Eshua might be a shadow of its former self, but it remained one of the Five Great Ducal Houses that propped up both the Emperor and the Pope of the Holy Empire.
More than that, it was the house that bore the legend of facing the Skeleton Demon King—the mightiest Demon King, now a myth.
To some, they held political value. To others, Eshua's superior bloodline. There was value enough of every kind to make them worth everyone's scheming.
And weak, yet highly valuable?
What splendid game to hunt.
At the same time, every noble of the Holy Empire knew one thing: just how deeply the Papal faction—the dominant power of the Empire—hated the Saintess's house.
So wasn't humiliating Eshua a golden opportunity to score points with the Pope's house?
Say, by slipping something into the child's drink so he couldn't lay a finger on the treasures.
If the host's own house walked away empty-handed, they'd be laughingstocks.
'So play a little prank.'
'Drug it and deal with it.'
The children acting on their parents' orders had already moved swiftly.
They certainly had...
"Da-ah! Da-ah da-ah!"
"......????"
At the entrance to the vault, every single one of the hundred-plus Saint candidates was staring at Isaac with faces twisted in bewilderment.
Shuri, perhaps embarrassed by all the attention, was quietly pretending to be a stranger—definitely not one of them.
Isaac was guzzling his drink like a man possessed, and the candidates who had handed their drinks over to him were sweating buckets.
Something was wrong.
Isaac, child of Eshua, was the sole nursing infant among all the gathered candidates. They had confirmed him as their target and quite naturally offered him their drinks—citing the sweltering heat inside the vault and how pitiful the nursing baby looked, so parched.
And the water flask was the only personal item permitted in the vast vault. Inside those bottles, under strict orders to disgrace House Eshua, was a mixture of poison and laxative. Definitely.
So why.
"Da-aah! (Gimme!)"
Why??
"Daddya! (Pour me another!)"
Why is this kid perfectly fine after drinking poison???
"Ddu-ddongya! (You all poured that stuff in thick, didn't you?)"
And why do his eyes look glazed over like a drunkard's?!
"Dda-yaaaa! (My mana's filling up, so hurry up and pour more, you little priest chicks! Is the word of your elders funny to you?!)!!"
And why is this kid demanding seconds while shaking them down for it?!