Preparation Time (3)
When I stepped into the office, Carl naturally tried to follow me in, but I stopped him at the threshold.
What we were about to discuss inside was not something an ordinary person ought to hear.
Having more or less shoved Carl out the door, I ordered Alsaetin to deploy sound-blocking magic the moment I crossed into the office.
I had no idea how far Alsaetin's investigation had gotten, but I figured it was better to be careful.
"Already done, my lady. This is the kind of talk that could prove dangerous if it leaked."
His thinking apparently mirrored mine — Alsaetin had the sound-blocking magic up before I'd even finished asking.
Judging by how far ahead of me he was operating, he must have gotten closer to the truth than I expected.
The instant the office door closed, Alsaetin seated me at the head of the room as a matter of course and took his place standing before me.
'How far did you get?'
"Info broker. How far did you dig?"
"I could not dig too deeply. The time frame was short, you see."
Figured. The Church of the Chief God has its tendrils wrapped around the entire continent — there was no way it would be sloppy about its secrets.
Besides, anyone capable of unraveling all of that in barely a month wouldn't be rotting away in a back alley like Alsaetin.
Someone with that kind of ability would be pulling strings from the shadows of the underworld by now, manipulating everything from behind the scenes.
"That said, I believe I know what information you seek, my lady. The Church of the Chief God is conducting research on something. Or rather, on someone — the children of the orphanages it operates."
None of this meant Alsaetin was incompetent, of course. Merely touching one of the Church's many tendrils was proof enough of his capability.
I'd given him only a handful of clues, and he'd already pushed this far. His master's network of connections certainly helped, but still — this was no joke.
Hmm. Even once I'm connected to the Newmann family, I should keep my relationship with Alsaetin going. Definitely.
'Your evidence?'
"Info broker. If all you do is flap your lips, how would I know whether it's your delusion or the truth?"
"I was just about to explain that, as it happens."
Alsaetin began his explanation by noting that my warning — that the Church of the Chief God was committing some manner of atrocity — had proven an enormous help.
Working through contacts he'd cultivated long before our arrangement, he'd traced each thread one by one, and at the end of it all, he had succeeded in finding the trail at a Church of the Chief God orphanage tucked away in some rural backwater.
"I have not yet confirmed the precise details, but curiously enough, a number of unusual figures were seen coming and going from that orphanage.
A high-ranking cleric who almost never left headquarters. An alchemist who was officially purged by the Church after conducting research into life itself. A black mage who should have been a target for eradication.
It was a roster of visitors entirely unbefitting a tiny village in the middle of nowhere."
Even more suspicious was the fact that an undertaker had made frequent visits to the orphanage.
"I believe some manner of research using the children is underway. I withdrew before digging any deeper, as pressing further would likely have led them straight to me — but given more time, I am confident I could identify everything."
Listening to Alsaetin's report, I couldn't help but marvel at his information network.
Back when this was all a game, fetching information was just a matter of dealing with a conveniently omniscient NPC. Now that the world had become reality, it was genuinely awe-inspiring.
Anyone less capable would have vanished without a trace somewhere along the Church's trail.
I'd hired him on a fair degree of trust, but my admiration hadn't diminished one bit.
"That concludes everything I was able to investigate at present."
<Is what the man says true, lass?>
The moment the report ended, Halbae spoke in a trembling voice — unlike anything he'd shown before.
Unlike me, who held no warm feelings toward either the Heojeop Chief God or His Church, Halbae was a man of earnest faith.
He was, after all, one of the heroes whose deeds had allowed the Church of the Chief God to grow into the power it was today. Hearing that the institution he'd helped build had blackened to its core could not have been easy.
'Yes. It's true.'
Still, I had to tell him the truth.
He'd inevitably come face to face with all of it traveling alongside me anyway. Better to prepare his heart in advance than to see it all with unprepared eyes, no?
'To add to Alsaetin's explanation — what's happening in those orphanages right now is the creation of a person bearing immense divinity.'
It was common knowledge that our Heojeop Chief God never chose anyone.
While apostles of countless gods roamed the continent, Armadi had never once made an apostle of her own.
She merely spoke to those who believed in her, pointing them in the right direction — nothing more.
The Church of the Chief God praised Armadi publicly, proclaiming this restraint to be proof that the Chief God loved all the world equally. Privately, however, they harbored very different thoughts.
They envied the apostles of other gods.
Not because those apostles stood closer to their gods, nor because they possessed some special power.
The Church elite envied the apostles for one reason alone: legitimacy.
Whatever an apostle of a god declared was, for all practical purposes, the will of that god.
For a Church leadership constantly stonewalled by opposition every time they tried to accomplish anything, the existence of an apostle must have been almost unbearably tempting.
And so the upper echelons of the Church of the Chief God decided to manufacture their own source of legitimacy — by wielding the title of Saintess, an office that had existed since ancient times but rarely manifested.
'At first, they simply picked out orphans who were easy to control and searched among them for someone bearing divinity worthy of being called a Saintess. But a genius like that was never going to just appear, was it?'
<So you mean to say they are now manufacturing people with artificially elevated divinity?>
'Yes.'
<Ha. It's enough to drive a man mad. Why is it that the ones who claim to believe in gods grow more sinister with every passing year?>
The way Halbae sighed suggested the Church hadn't exactly been pristine in his era either.
Well, of course. Every organization has its rot — how could every single member of a collective be good? That kind of thing only happens in fairy tales.
<Then tell me this. That friend of yours — the girl called Phoebe. Is she one of them?>
'That's right. She's a manufactured Saintess.'
Phoebe probably doesn't know yet, but she too is a Saintess artificially created by the Church.
Her personal story arc was to realize she was a false Saintess, endure wave after wave of turmoil, and in the end become a true one.
I'd always loved that about her — the way she never lost her kindness, even at the end of every hardship.
<...That child, so shaken of late. If she learns this truth, it will break her.>
'Probably.'
The Phoebe of right now carried far more turmoil than the Phoebe of the game.
She worried over her own failures. She harbored doubts about her god. What would happen if this truth crashed down in front of those very eyes?
Since this scenario never existed in the game, I couldn't say for certain — but it would not be a happy one.
This was exactly why I'd ordered Alsaetin to investigate. To use this as the foundation for slowly revealing the truth to Phoebe, piece by piece.
You don't inject the strongest vaccine right off the bat, after all.
You acclimate the body gradually, so that when it finally faces something more virulent, it can endure.
That said, everything Alsaetin brought back so far amounts to circumstantial evidence — nothing conclusive enough to actually show her yet.
Well, no rush. Phoebe won't approach the truth until after second year begins anyway.
By then, Alsaetin will surely have something more substantial for me.
'Keep up the good work.'
"Haah. Info broker. So in the end, all you've got is circumstantial evidence? You call that a job's worth of work and aren't embarrassed? Absolutely Heojeop. The name 'info broker' is wasted on you."
"...I will endeavor to improve."
A few days after the Field Trip ended, Phoebe had more or less sorted through the confusion of recent days.
Not that she no longer envied Lucy. As the Chief God's apostle who heard the voice of the divine, Lucy remained an object of envy in Phoebe's eyes.
But she no longer lashed out with blind criticism and jealousy the way she once had. Phoebe had accepted that Lucy was truly worthy of the mantle of God's apostle.
What happened during the Field Trip had weighed heavily on that decision.
The girl who shouldered immense humiliation for her sake. The girl who feared nothing — not even infamy — if it meant others could grow. And the girl who, at the end of it all, succeeded in crafting a happy ending for everyone.
Having witnessed all of it from arm's length, Phoebe found herself utterly incapable of denying Lucy anymore.
Unlike herself, so full of nothing but shortcomings, Lucy was someone genuinely suited to the seat of apostle.
It was only natural. The great Chief God would never harbor an impure heart in choosing an apostle.
From the very moment Lucy was chosen as the Chief God's apostle, she had possessed every qualification there was.
And once Phoebe accepted all of it, she found her heart growing lighter.
To put it another way: Armadi did not speak to her because Phoebe was still lacking.
If I devote myself a little more and become a better person, then surely one day Armadi will speak to me.
And so until that day comes, I must simply strive to become better.
Yes. There's no way the Chief God could possibly love that brat Lucy's insolent mouth, after all.
He must simply have something else — something that more than makes up for it.
As for me, who doubted him despite knowing full well he would never... a person like that can only be described as lacking.
On the road back to the church after the Academy's classes ended, Phoebe berated herself — then stopped mid-step and giggled, a bright laugh escaping her lips.
Ah. Setting down at least some of these worries feels wonderful. I should have done this from the start.
"What thoughts occupy you, that you smile so sweetly?"
Just then, a voice came from behind Phoebe. Grave and heavy, yet clinging like a shadow.
"You."
"It has been some time. I prepared a satisfying answer for you, who aided me — though it took rather longer than expected. My apologies."
The Apostle of the Evil God smiled, using his towering frame to trap Phoebe within his shadow.
"In exchange, I have found an answer I trust will please y—"
"Go away."
"Hm?"
Phoebe took a single step back out of that shadow and spoke.
"I have no desire to hear anything more from you. If you come one step closer, I will call the people of the church. Leave."
"Are you certain about that? Do you not wish to hear why Armadi does not speak to you?"
"I already know the reason. I have no need of you."
Perhaps the old, beguiled Phoebe would have wavered. But the Phoebe of now already held her answer.
Every problem stemmed from her own insufficiency, so there was no reason to listen — none at all.
"Aha. I see. Might you be thinking something along the lines of — he does not speak to me because I am lacking?"
The Apostle of the Evil God studied Phoebe's face, then curled the corner of his mouth upward as he said it — as if sneering at the very shape of her thoughts.
"How predictable. How foolish. What a boring answer."
"What is that supposed to—"
"Then let me declare this: the reason Armadi does not speak to you is not that."
Your very beginning was wrong. No matter how hard you strive, you will never hear Armadi's voice.
So spoke the Apostle of the Evil God, drawing Phoebe once more into the depths of his shadow.