What Did You Just Say? (2)
"This is—!"
At the startled gasps around him, Isaac craned his neck to look.
The people of House Eshua stared at him as if they couldn't believe their eyes. And no wonder—the errand runner had produced, of all things, a medal.
Nestled in a golden box, the medal gleamed atop its golden ribbon. Stamped into the metal, shaped like a halo of light, was the emblem of the Pope.
The crown of victory that leads the Empire down the road of glory!
The emblem of the Pope—a triple tiara, a shield, and crossed staff-winged blades.
And engraved upon the medal was none other than Isaac's name.
Impossible. The Pope... for Isaac?
That was why the entire household of Eshua could hardly help but be stunned. The Pope bestowing a medal? In the Holy Empire, it was the supreme honor that no one—absolutely no one—could refuse.
The blessing woven into it was one thing, but the medal alone would fetch a fortune simply put up for sale. Honestly, the gift sent over was far too grand.
Sure enough, the errand runner from the Papal House beamed.
"Take it, Sir Rillai. It is for young Lord Isaac. A token of gratitude for dispatching the vicious demon and rescuing the precious souls who are to become Saints."
Isaac clenched his fist. That's right! Those bastards know how to read a room!
But the expressions of the Eshua watching it grew savagely, uncontrollably dark. There was even outright murderous intent in Rillai's eyes.
"Did His Holiness truly bid you deliver this to me?"
At that reaction, Isaac tilted his head. Why? What's the problem? What are you getting mad about?
But the Papal errand runner simply kept smiling pleasantly.
"That is correct. His Holiness the Pope bestowed it specially to honor young Lord Isaac's meritorious deed."
The Pope? Where the hell did these bastards drag that thing in from? I don't know what's going on, but yeah, that'd piss anyone off. Just tear it to shreds!
Of course, Isaac was baring his eyes out of personal grudge alone—there was no reason whatsoever for the Eshua to be angry. It was meant as commendation, whatever else it was. So just as Isaac was wondering why everyone was losing their minds, Rillai asked again, eyes brimming with lethal intent.
"I will ask you once more. If you are making this up, your head will leave your shoulders. Did His Holiness truly order this given to me? Not to Isaac?"
The errand runner from the Papal House smiled on, innocent as a lamb.
"Yes! I received orders to deliver it specifically to Sir Rillai—no one else."
"You insane—!"
In the end, the elders looked ready to storm the House of Verith on the spot.
"Have these insolent wretches lost their minds?! Sending Isaac's property to his family, of all people?"
Why? What's the problem? Isaac wondered. He's a suckling babe who doesn't even know what a medal is, so couldn't the family accept it on his behalf?
But Whisper cleared its throat and cut in, sounding as if it deserved praise for it—the ever-faithful servant who had read every book in the divine faction on its master's behalf.
[Awarding the medal itself poses no issue, my lord. The recipient is the problem.]
Why? If he doesn't accept it himself, does it count as fraud or something?
Clerics. Stone-headed bastards who believe in every useless superstition under the sun...
[In the Holy Empire, delivering an honor to a family member instead of the recipient carries the meaning of wi-ryeong—commemorating the dead. It is how one honors the merit of a person who has died.]
Those sons of b—! Why is nobody grabbing them by the collar right now?!
Isaac's neck flushed red as he looked about ready to hurl his rattle.
How was I supposed to be born into this body?! And these bastards have the gall to keep treating a living man like a corpse!
In short, the Papal House had effectively built their nephew's memorial tablet and handed it to his uncle. This went beyond crossing a line—it had vaulted clean over it.
Sure enough, Rillai—Isaac's own blood—looked absolutely furious. There was no way he could fail to grasp what intent lay behind the Pope's people addressing this to him.
Yet the errand runner only smiled, as if he couldn't fathom what there was to be angry about.
"Lord Isaac Eshua is far too young to walk, so His Holiness merely instructed us to give it to a member of his family."
Son of a—! He might as well have said "go ahead and put the kid in a coffin"!
And it didn't stop there.
"Flower embroidery on the medal's ribbon? Is this a declaration of war?"
Flower embroidery? Why? Isn't that just a sunflower? Isaac puzzled. It's the flower that praises honor—I've seen it all over humans' luxury goods.
[The meaning is correct, my lord. The color is the issue. Not always, but white is the flower used to extol the merits of the fallen dead.]
These damn bastards are doing it AGAIN?? Once might be an accident, but twice?! They really are asking for a fight!
The adults' eyes were streaming bloodshot as they muttered among themselves.
"Do they think Isaac died eating the Skeleton Demon King's flesh?"
"At this point it's practically a curse. They're wishing him dead."
"Or are they mocking the 'curse' that hangs over House Eshua?"
"!"
Isaac's eyebrows shot up at the troubling word.
A curse hanging over Eshua? What's that about?
But the elders were too busy preparing to grind every skeleton in existence into powder to notice.
"GRRRAH! That damned Skeleton Demon King! If it weren't for that bas—urgk! This humiliation, this humiliation!"
What did I ever do to you people?!
But the Papal errand runner grinned until his arms looked ready to drop off.
"Sir Rillai. You will not accept it?"
The adults frowned and scolded him.
"Rillai, take nothing."
"Right, that's it. I did wonder why the tribute seemed excessive. The intent was this obvious all along..."
Then Goel stepped in with a lecture.
"Elders, please do not interfere without cause."
"!"
A medal, after all, was a gift infused with the Pope's power. What would happen if they refused it for no better reason than that it soured their mood?
"It would amount to a formal declaration that House Eshua intends to stand against the Papal House. The situation would escalate."
"You can say that even after seeing that flower embroidery?"
"In the age of the Skeleton Demon King it meant death, but the distinction has blurred in recent years. It's too ambiguous to seize upon as a formal grievance. The embroidery was crafted so that only the elders would recognize it."
So they'd been mocking the living ever since the Demon King's era, had they?
"In any case, stay out of it."
"Why, you—!"
Naturally, the senior elders were seething.
"Is this not the pettiest scheme you've ever seen? Sending this filth precisely while the family Matriarch and the Head are away...!"
Goel answered only with a scoff. They sent it because they're away, obviously.
The one who had sent this was most likely Cardinal Verith. And that man was exactly the sort of man he was.
He's got my maternal blood in him, which makes it all the more disgusting. A man who has truly mastered the art of tormenting others.
Simply put, the message was: don't get uppity with Rillai, and don't get uppity with Eshua. Look at this medal and know your place. Content yourselves, leeches, with wallowing in the same muddy water as always.
Well, even so, the one swallowing the humiliation is Rillai, my own blood.
As an uncle who cared for Isaac, it would infuriate him—but from the perspective of the family's interests, it was simplest to thank the Pope appropriately and swallow the insult on his own account.
He knows that perfectly well himself, I'd wager.
Goel wasn't exactly in high spirits either, but for a Goel who found Rillai and Isaac distasteful, this situation was a net gain. Even those frightening ones who didn't grasp the embroidery's meaning would rein themselves in a little after this. And before the Head of the House returned, he could grind these two's standing down a notch.
The treasure vault stunt was nothing but a fluke anyway—all it did was unleash his mother's power.
Shuri had clearly gotten help, so what was with the hero act? Well, they were still his nephew and his little brother for now. If they behaved themselves, he might toss them a few crumbs.
The Papal errand runner smiled brightly once more.
"Ah, yes. I was instructed to bring back a formal response to the gift after delivering it. What message shall I carry?"
What? A response? You hand over that and ask for a thank-you note? Is this bastard insane?
The adults bristled with fury. But the errand runner just smirked and smirked.
"Yes, it deviates somewhat from proper protocol, but what can one do with a child too young to receive a medal in person? You wouldn't dream of sending no word of gratitude at all, would you? His Holiness went to the special trouble of imbuing the medal with his blessing."
Rillai answered him with a stare instead of words. However lowly an errand runner he appeared, the man was an envoy of the Papal House—a properly ranked cleric of the 5th Tier or above, and a noble of the Pope's faction.
The second son of Viscount Yovel, is it.
Well, one of the Pope's inner circle, come to collect revenge with a vengeance—for Isaac forcing Kina to grovel before the assembled nobility. And a man who hungered to witness Eshua's humiliation. He knew full well that no hand could be laid on an envoy of the Papal House, so he pushed his insolence right to the very edge of the line and not a hair beyond.
Just then, as Rillai was grinding his teeth, Goel pressed him.
"What are you doing? Accept it graciously and thank them, for now. Deal with the rest afterward."
"!"
"It's one petulant child, nothing more. No sense stirring up a scandal by hunting for slights that aren't there."
Right. That IS the textbook answer.
Rillai knew it too. But as an uncle, he could not hand his nephew an insult. Accepting this would be nothing less than an acknowledgment of submission.
And yet, what other choice is there...
But at that very moment—
Fwoosh!
"Wh-whuh?"
The smirking errand runner jolted back in shock.
"Huh? Wh-wh-wha—AAH!"
The medal in his hands had caught fire. And it was no ordinary fire. The flames leaping from the medal burned blue.
The people of Eshua were startled.
Sacred Fire!
Fire kindled not from nature but from holy power was called Sacred Fire—in plain terms, flame conjured through divine arts. At low levels it wouldn't even burn the skin that touched it, but the higher the rank, the more merciless the flame, capable of consuming the very soul. Above all, nothing bearing the blessing of the divine faction could ever be burned by anything less.
And a Sacred Fire of blue was a color only House Eshua could produce!
The vivid blue fire-demon devoured the golden medal savagely.
"AAAGH!"
The heat was beyond what even a 5th-Tier cleric could bear to hold. The errand runner had no choice but to let go. In an instant, the box, the embroidery, the entire ribbon engulfed by the fire-demon turned to ash, and the metal itself was left a charred cinder.
"AAAGH! His Holiness's medal!"
"My bad."
Isaac waved his hand with the delight of a child at play. The adults were astonished.
"Don't tell me Isaac did that?"
"Isaac!"
But the errand runner flared up instantly, like a struck match.
"What is the meaning of this?! You dare reduce the medal bestowed by His Holiness the Pope to THIS?! I am well within my rights to call this an act of treason against His Holiness himself!"
At that, the elders spat, having clearly been waiting for the opening.
"We did it on purpose, did we?"
"The child did it. The child."
There was no telling whether the priests were being petulant or whether it was the rogues.
Rillai flashed a bright smile too.
"Well, what can you do? The boy's far too young to receive a medal 'in person,' you see."
"?!"
"Ah—and since the accident occurred before the medal could be handed over, we'll count the delivery as never having been received."
"...What! Is that something a man can say!"
"Or, if you prefer."
Rillai paused for effect, then smiled icily.
"Surely you're not claiming that an object belonging to His Holiness the Pope just melted from a flame made by a mere child?"
"......?!"
The errand runner's face drained ghost-white. Reading that expression, the elders erupted into theatrical outrage.
"Oh, heavens above! The blue flame wrought by a child too young to even receive a medal has melted the gold of the Papal House! Has there ever been such sacrilege!"
"Yes, yes! Sacrilege, rank sacrilege! At this rate we must formally proceed to the Holy See, report the matter, and offer our apologies!"
"Ohh, but will that be enough? Let us announce it to the entire Empire! Only then will His Holiness's righteous anger be soothed, no?"
At the elders' near-shrieking wails, the surroundings began to stir. The servants of other noble houses who had come to deliver their own gifts started to show interest as well.
By then the errand runner, thoroughly flustered, looked at Isaac. Had that brat really cast that Sacred Fire? What is this? The Saintess's power? He hadn't sensed even a flicker of casting!
Deciding things were spiraling out of control, he hurriedly moved to retrieve the medal.
"N-now, it seems the wrong item was brought, so I'll withdraw this and return with a repl—AAAGH!!"
Blue flame erupted from the errand runner's backside.
"F-fire! Someone put it out, please!"
As a rule, Sacred Fire could only be extinguished by someone of the same faith—or by one of overwhelmingly higher rank, who could smother it through sheer rank supression. But for some reason, it refused to go out.
With heat that felt like it would burn his buttocks clean off, the errand runner shrieked. The surroundings, however, were utterly serene.
"Oh dear, our Isaac does play too rough."
"Just give it a moment. It was cast by a child too young to receive a medal, so it'll gutter out any second now."
"Surely a flame cast by a child too young to receive a medal isn't something you CAN'T put out?"
"Come now, he's a child too young to receive a medal."
Goddamn it! Damned Eshua to hell!
The errand runner frantically sought out Goel. The only sane man in this whole asylum of Eshua lunatics—and his only ally—was Goel, cousin to the Papal House itself!
"L-Lord Goel! This, please, this!"
At the sight of the errand runner pointing at him and scrambling over, Goel's face went red with rage. This utter simpleton.
When Goel ignored him, the errand runner looked at Isaac instead. Sacred Fire dies if you blind the caster! It has to!
The errand runner moved to lunge—and Rillai's foot sent him flying straight into the lake of the Eshua estate.
SPLASH!
"Elder, why won't you put it out for him? He's an envoy of the Papal House, after all."
"Aww, who knew a man of the Papal House couldn't even quench a flame made by a little child?"
"The Papal House's standards have truly fallen low!"
The elders chuckled and cackled. Isaac grinned ear to ear at the sound of the errand runner thrashing in the water—but the eyes watching him were bone-chillingly cold.
Shadow Lich. Attach yourself to him. He's the Papal House's errand runner, so he'll wring out some usable intelligence on their side.
[It shall be done, my lord. Though... will that be quite all right? When the Shadow Lich latches onto a human, it brings mental derangement and auditory hallucinations...]
Then how long was he planning to flaunt the Papal House's name in front of me anyway?
[That Sacred Fire—you read the secret art from the Triple Crown Treasury, didn't you? The one you spirited away in secret?]
That's right! Weaker than the fire of a proper fire-mage like me, but it does the job!
[You intend to keep hiding the secret art, then? The moment this family finds out, they will faint dead away.]
Shut it! That's MY private slush fund!
Well... Rillai does do right by me, so I suppose I could raise him a little...
"Come on now, Isaac! Eat these fruits with me—nyom nyom! Only two hundred to go!"
"SLAP (you little bastard, why does the count keep going UP)!!!"
Truly, this family of his. Best to sell them off fast and make a run for it!