When the Bitter Runs Out, the Sweet Arrives (5)
It was a light stronger than anything he had ever seen. Sacred, and at the same time wondrous. That merciful, mighty radiance was enough to captivate anyone who laid eyes on it — a pure, elegant halo, as if a god had descended before them. Or perhaps it was as benevolent as the Blessed Mother herself...
"You little shit, how dare you try to hit my meal ticket? You wanna die? No, actually, just die!"
Far removed from any such mercy, the baby babbled as the rattle began to swing once more.
CRACK!
The rattle, laced with enhancement magic, smacked the bishop across the face yet again. One of the perks of being a baby was that there was no need to watch his mouth. Nobody could understand a word he said anyway!
"Die! If your brats drag me off as a demon, I won't get chummy with the Emperor! And if I can't get chummy with him, I can't raid the imperial treasury, you bastard!"
That was Isaac for you — the moment money entered the picture, even his language turned vulgar with excitement.
"I absolutely must turn that Emperor into my lackey!"
Of course, this wasn't merely about money. The Emperor was the only person on this continent capable of checking the Pope's power. He'd be useful in an emergency, without a doubt. At the very least, if the Pope discovered his true identity first, he'd need to snatch whatever money he could and flee before getting sent to the great beyond.
And setting aside all those reasons entirely — so what?
Exorcism Holy Arts?
Put simply, it was holy magic for vanquishing demons. At the same time, it was the pinnacle technique of the divine faction, encompassing the One Demon through the Nine Demon. Among the faithful, it was a tradition-heavy art carrying deep meaning — the doctrine that only one who wields all nine demons may be acknowledged as a priest of true lineage.
But that's from the perspective of those priest brats.
From the demons' point of view, it was nothing but a killing technique — someone barging in uninvited, sword drawn, declaring you're a demon, so die. In a word: a spell that utterly denied the target's very existence, existing solely to forcefully kill them. What kind of lunatic would take that kindly?
Besides, not even the Pope, the supreme pinnacle of the Holy Empire, had been able to subdue the Skeleton King. Nor had the Saintess. The gods themselves had given up on destroying him. And this whelp — who had barely turned sixty — was what, exactly?
Even if he had come straight from the Papal Court's main seat, he was nothing more than a greenhorn who might, at best, be a 5th Tier. And above all, the Skeleton King hated people like this — the ones who smiled to your face while scheming behind their eyes. If you were truly going to exorcise a demon, at least have the decency not to announce it!
"You think I can't tell you're trying to assassinate someone while pretending to cast holy arts?!"
By the Skeleton King's standards the man was a greenhorn, true — but at a bishop's rank, killing an infant in secret under the pretext of exorcising a demon was no trouble at all. In reality, a young child was such a fragile, flickering life that mere exposure to a potent aura could snuff them out on the spot.
But.
"You're five hundred years too early for this, you brat!"
That only infuriated the Skeleton King, whose eyes flashed as if to say keep hitting me, then.
CRACK! CRACK!
The bishop, cheeks getting hammered senseless, glared daggers at him.
What is that? Holy power?
By appearance, it certainly looked like it. That light priests wielded when casting holy arts — and at a brightness only a high-ranking priest could ever produce. But the bishop, being the very man getting smacked directly by that light, could tell.
That's not holy power!
Yes, holy arts had offensive disciplines among them — but they were never this crass, never this vulgar. Judging by how flippant and lowbrow this nature was, this was, without question, magic!
Don't tell me... enhancement magic?
The bishop's eyes darkened. This brat. Could he really be using magic? And not just any magic at that.
The power of the demon clans!
The bishop grew grave in an entirely different sense.
"This child needs a thorough investiga— POW!!"
The bishop, reaching for the Skeleton King's head, took a blow square to the face. Having finally drawn blood, he staggered. The Skeleton King, rattle raised, bared his crimson eyes.
You think I'll let you investigate me, you mole-faced bastard?
The light snuffed out, and the Skeleton King's lips curled upward. Just as the bishop suspected, he had indeed cast enhancement magic on the rattle — it was the only way a baby's swing could knock a grown man's senses clean out of his skull.
Of course, he had exercised control. These people weren't fools, after all. Keep the enhancement active and the power held steady, but he'd be caught in no time. So he triggered the magic only for the true instant of contact with skin, then released it immediately — in a single blink, so no observer could ever catch it, yet with zero loss of force. It was the kind of control that gave even advanced mages a hard time. But he was a 10th Tier archmage at the absolute pinnacle. Spell control, to him, was easier than breathing.
The Skeleton King went back to pounding the bishop with the rattle.
"Whammy! Whammywhammywhammy!! Whammy!"
At this point, might as well finish this one off and call it a profit. The more attention I draw, the harder it'll be for them to kill me in secret!
The paladins gasped in admiration at the bursts of light exploding with every strike of the rattle.
"Behold! That light! He is without doubt wielding holy arts!"
"To use holy arts before even making a contract with a god — this is proof he is the Saint!"
At those words, the bishop's eyes bulged. Saint, my ass!
There's no way an Eshua child could be the Saint! Hell, there's no way a "Saint" could exist in this world at all!
That light is clearly magic too!
The Skeleton King's eyes curved with feigned innocence as he read the meaning behind that glare. Right, it's just a spell. He had reproduced the burst of holy light that had erupted back during the fake nanny incident. Even a Skeleton King versed in every discipline of magic needed to at least cram the fundamentals before properly wielding holy arts. And divine light? Replicating it perfectly was child's play for him. Granted, it was only a momentary illusion, so he had to choose his targets carefully and use it sparingly — but still.
You think the likes of you can seize evidence on me?
And in truth, genuine holy power was flowing out of him. Roughly one in ten of the bursts of light, perhaps? Which meant the Skeleton King was, privately, rather startled. Why can I use holy power? Come to think of it, hadn't holy power suddenly gushed out of him during the fake nanny incident too? But no matter how much of a Saint one was, holy power shouldn't pool in the body without a contract with a god.
Don't tell me... am I siphoning the bishop's holy power from my surroundings? Like my own mana extortion? If that were true, high-ranking clergy brimming with holy power might make excellent prey.
Perhaps because he read that cunning, glinting smile for exactly what it was, the bishop handed the Skeleton King off to the priests like passing over a sack of grain, gathering his thoughts.
"Summon the inquisitor... no, never mind! I will bring him before the Pope personally — to the Holy See itself!"
At that, the paladins blocked the bishop as if to ask whether he was still being stubborn.
"Did you not see the light!"
"Is he not wielding bona fide holy arts!"
"Did you pull your eyeballs out on the way here?! How in the world does that look like holy arts?! That was magic, plain and—!"
At that very moment.
"HAHAHA!"
The Emperor suddenly burst into thunderous laughter. That booming mirth startled the paladins, the bishop, and the priests alike. Worse, it showed no sign of stopping.
"Hahahaha."
The bishop looked flustered by the Emperor's continuing laughter. He had never once seen the Emperor laugh so heartily, so loudly, in all his days.
"Y-Your Majesty?"
The paladins were equally bewildered. But at some point, the Emperor's laughter cut off as if by magic.
"Magic, you say."
At that murderous tone, even the air itself seemed to chill. The Emperor curled his lips upward, as though shielding the Skeleton King from the bishop's designs.
"Bishop. How old do you take that child to be?"
"Wh-what?"
The bishop made an incoherent sound before he could stop himself. The Emperor's very eyes had changed from their usual cast. Perhaps from the long war between the imperial house and the Papal Court — but this was nothing like the weary, irritated gaze he always wore when enduring the Holy See's presence.
"You claim that child used magic?"
"Y-yes."
"Indeed. They say a human child not yet three who uses magic bursts apart and dies, do they not?"
The bishop panicked. Who on earth doesn't know that, you bastard? But why bring it up now, of all times?
"Your Majesty. Are you saying that child is... a demon..."
"So. Then you wish to declare, here before me, that this child is of demon blood?"
"Why, naturally—"
In an instant, the bishop's mouth slammed shut mid-answer. Then, turning deathly pale, he began to sweat. He had grasped the Emperor's intent. And no wonder — in this very room, at this very moment, there were words that could cost him his head no matter what.
That the child was a demon's offspring.
They say the imperial bloodline possesses eyes that can distinguish human from demon. It came from the royal family's extraordinary blood. With those eyes, the imperial house beheaded demons — anything that was not human. Of course, all of that was a story from the founding era. Thousands of years on, who could say whether it was even true anymore? But the Emperor, whose claim to the throne rested on that very blood, was saying it now, aloud.
"So then, Bishop — am I to understand that you believe your Emperor cannot so much as tell a demon child from a human one, that you disregard my command even now, and that you intend to treat this child as a demon and dispose of him?"
The bishop closed his eyes tight, as though conceding defeat. Damn it all.
The reason the empire's citizens and the Papal Court alike honored the imperial house lay in that bloodline — yet never once had they brazenly used it to crush them. The relationship with the Holy See could not simply be ignored. But for the Emperor to change his stance this far, even bending political currents for a child's sake...
This isn't a simple order to spare him. It's a threat.
It meant: erase that child, and I will take the Papacy's head.
The Emperor has taken a liking to that child. But why, in heaven's name? Common sense said no man of the Emperor's station could possibly fail to be suspicious of this situation. Is he truly willing to throw away the Crown Prince's investiture ceremony over this?!
But whatever the case, the Emperor smiled at the Skeleton King — a smile laced with genuine affection.
Startled by the sight, an attendant hastily presented something to the Skeleton King. It was none other than a golden rattle! The Skeleton King's eyes spun — in an entirely different sense.
Pure gold! And judging by the craftsmanship alone, enough to let a farmer live idle for a decade! Wait, they made THIS out of a rattle? Are they out of their minds? Isn't this supposed to be the Holy Empire, where everyone practices asceticism? How rotten with gold can you get?!
Right then. The bishop, at a loss yet glaring at the Skeleton King with deep displeasure, tried once more. "Your Majesty, he may be an assassin come to kill the Saint. Grant us leave, at the very least, for a simple examination—"
At that look that said let's settle this peaceably through words instead of losing our heads over one brat, the Emperor smiled like a serpent.
"Hmm. I see no need for an examination. The child appears to be a Saint to me."
"...!"
The moment the bishop's face twisted completely out of shape, the Skeleton King shook his rattle with glee. My meal ticket! Well done, well done, well done! Yes! More! Keep it coming! Throw in another expensive rattle while you're at it!
The Skeleton King raised the heavy pure-gold rattle to strike the bishop's head again. A priest's eyes went wide and he hurriedly snatched the bishop away. And perhaps because he'd seen the Skeleton King trying to take the bishop's head clean off — the Emperor gave a small gesture, and the attendant sighed and produced yet another jewel-studded rattle. The meaning seemed clear: while we're at it, shut your mouth and let's knock those teeth out too.
And so the Skeleton King grinned, wide and wicked, like the demon he was. Because he could see straight through to the political landscape of the country he was about to live in.
Well, I expected as much — but these bastards hate each other even more than I thought.
No, "hate each other" was putting it politely. Their relationship was, without question, absolute garbage!
On the surface, of course, it was the imperial house and the Papal Court — a peaceful Holy Empire ruled jointly by "Sun" and "Moon." But really.
There's that old question, isn't there — who is the true master of the Empire: the Pope or the Emperor? A relationship of neither side yielding an inch, each checking the other until blood spurted.
Well, one look at that Crown Prince and anyone can see why they don't get along.
The head of the boy the Emperor held in his arms bore jet-black hair — an ill omen in the Holy Empire. He must have clashed monstrously with the Pope without a word needing to be said. The arguments probably reached the level of personal defamation. Which was no doubt precisely why the Emperor took such a keen interest in the Saint.
Once someone becomes the Saint, they likely stand on equal footing with the Pope itself. And what would happen if that Saint were brought over to the imperial side? Driven mad by the thought, the Skeleton King's eyes folded into something sly and covetous.
He had no intention of getting along with the Pope to begin with. Everyone would assume that, being the Saint, he would naturally belong to the Papal Court, which served the Pope — but not a chance. You think I'd become a lackey to those lunatics?
The Skeleton King intended to devour this nation of the gods from the inside out and make it his own. Make the Emperor his lackey, sweep aside the irritating Pope — and then, with the supreme power of the land, swallow up the other continents and even the God Realm itself!
Just imagining it was delicious. Which meant the first thing that had to be secured was the title of Saint! But the Pope's faction looked as though they would never, ever hand the Saint's seat to another candidate. Judging by what that bishop lackey has been pulling, it's obvious.
But with the Emperor's support at his back, they couldn't just snatch the Saint's seat away in broad daylight.
Sure enough, it happened then.
"It was indeed my mistake to say the child is not human."
The bishop, after having the priests fetch his bag, narrowed his brow. "However, Your Majesty — to call him the Saint is to directly deny His Holiness the Pope. Are you truly certain of this?"
Apparently, getting whacked on the head with a rattle a few times by an infant had driven the man out of his mind. The killing intent in his eyes — the absolute conviction that the Skeleton King must die — made Isaac's tongue click involuntarily.
My, what a man who doesn't know when to quit. And he'd held back reasonably well, too. No gratitude whatsoever. Judging by that attitude, he was determined to eliminate him one way or another. Exactly how much has he been paid?
At any rate, at this point, if he was going to get rid of the man, it couldn't be a casual disposal — he'd have to send him off for good. Otherwise the bishop was bound to keep clinging like a tick. And if he was going to be sent off anyway, then it might as well be in a way that benefited him.
But how to dispose of him? There had to be some way...
And then — the bishop drew some object from the bag the priests had brought. The Skeleton King, who had not missed that opening and stole a peek inside the bag, felt his eyes light up with delight.
What is that? Why is that thing in there?
No. Don't tell me... was that what I sensed in the temple earlier — the true identity of that mana?