Strategy Prep (19)
"...What is that supposed to mean?"
Phoebe blinked at me as I told her she might have to sell her dignity, so I understood her confusion. I got it. If anyone else had said something like this to me, I would have told them they were out of their mind, too.
But this was something I absolutely had to say.
The person we were about to visit, one Isabel Artea, was a pervert obsessed with the Chief God's divinity. It was a certainty that she'd react to Phoebe, Saintess of the Main God Church, much the same way she reacted to me.
Phoebe or not, standing before that pervert was bound to deal her some serious psychological damage. The least I could do was give her time to brace herself beforehand.
And above all—if worst came to worst, we might genuinely have to sell our dignity together. Better to warn her now than earn her resentment later.
'Because that person is... no, extremely weird, you see.'
"That disgusting fanatic is several leagues removed from normal. If she senses divinity on you, she'd lick a ditch if you asked."
"The head of House Artea is... like that?"
'...Huh? Phoebe. Don't tell me.'
"Hey, shrine brat. You know about that pervert fanatic?"
"Of course. She's one of the Main God Church's most generous benefactors. We've crossed paths several times at official events, actually."
Now that I thought about it, that was true.
Isabel Artea had been closely tied to the Main God Church for a long time. Where else would all that intel about the sacred relics she'd been snapping up have come from? She had used her enormous wealth to forge ties with the Church, and through those ties she'd purchased one holy relic after another.
Naturally, she would have attended plenty of events along the way, and she'd have crossed paths with Phoebe as well.
"The Lady Artea I know is a woman overflowing with grace and composure."
'That woman? Seriously?'
"That madwoman is?"
Grace? Composure? Where in that pervert's entire being could anyone possibly find words like those?
When I pressed her with genuine seriousness, Phoebe let out an awkward laugh.
Hmm. So she's saying Isabel really didn't do anything to Phoebe? This is the woman I stared at like I wanted to lock her in a cage the moment I laid eyes on her?
Come to think of it, even in the game's story, I don't recall any scene where Isabel actually did anything to Phoebe.
Was it because Phoebe was a fake Saintess back then?
"In any case, we're to visit Lady Artea and make a request of her, yes? I will do my very best."
Phoebe, knowing nothing of Isabel's true nature, clasped her hands together and swore she'd be a help to me no matter what. That pure, clueless expression of hers is honestly a joy to behold.
That's right, Phoebe. I won't spell out the reality for you.
You'll find out soon enough on your own, once you become a true Saintess.
And when that time comes, you'll naturally understand that everything I said was the truth.
There were several reasons I'd gone to see Phoebe before visiting House Artea.
Because she would play a crucial role in executing the plan I had in mind. Because she was the person closest to me. Because she seemed like the type who would grant my request.
And among that long list of reasons, there was also this one: she would make it easier for us to get into House Artea at all.
It had only been yesterday that I'd blasted through the Artea family's guards.
No matter how favorably—fine, very favorably—the head of House Artea regarded me, that sentiment was unlikely to extend down to her security staff. There was a real chance yesterday's standoff would simply repeat itself at the gate.
And that's where Phoebe came in. The face of the Main God Church, a woman who had piled up good deeds across half the continent—she was, quite literally, the idol of the continent!
If Phoebe smiled and greeted someone, there did not exist a single soul alive with the guts to answer her rudely!
Which meant that with Phoebe out front, we could march into House Artea without a drop of blood shed!
That had been my thinking, and I'd planned to hand the guards over entirely to Phoebe before we set foot inside.
"Welcome, my lady of House Alrn!"
""Welcome!"
"We caused you a grave offense the other day. We are deeply sorry!"
""We are deeply sorry!"
As it turned out, my worries had been entirely, magnificently pointless.
I mean, the moment they saw my face, the guards at the entrance were bowing their heads to the ground.
That's strange? When I left yesterday, they were glaring daggers at me, were they not?
Just what on earth had Isabel done after I walked away?
I was curious, sure—but I wasn't about to ask. Finding out seemed unlikely to do me any good.
And so, welcomed with open arms, we were escorted straight to the receiving room.
There was no such thing as a waiting period. Isabel Artea, head of the household, appeared before the tea her servant had brewed had even finished steeping.
"Welcome, Lady Alrn. To think you would honor us with a second visit. There is no greater glory."
Isabel Artea entered the room and, befitting a noble of her standing, attempted a dignified greeting—an attempt that failed spectacularly.
The immaculate attire and the measured, graceful movements were all fine. It was the face that was the problem.
That flushed, melting smile of hers was, no matter how you looked at it, not the expression of a noble. Honestly, not the expression of a human being.
I can say with absolute certainty: that was the face of a certified pervert.
Small wonder that Phoebe, utterly shocked, had frozen her smile in place.
"...Ah. The Saintess is with you as well. My apologies."
Having been muttering her reverent little monologue at me, she noticed Phoebe standing beside me, hurriedly composed her features, and finally took her seat before us.
So her reactions really are normal around Phoebe.
Is it not the quantity of divinity that matters, but the quality of the divinity within?
...Damn it. If that's the case, then in the worst-case scenario I'll be the one thrown to the altar alone, won't I?
Fine. Nothing for it. I'll just have to make sure that situation never arises.
Once the ceremonial greetings were out of the way, Isabel took a sip of the tea her servant had brought and studied both my face and Phoebe's. Then, setting her teacup down toward me, she turned her gaze my way.
"So then, my lady. What brings you to us today?"
'There's something I need.'
"Some things even too good for a pervert fanatic like you. So I've come to take them."
"Did you not tell me there was nothing else you needed beyond the lithographs?"
Right, I had. Isabel had tried to sweet-talk me with talk of all sorts of goods, and I'd told her I needed none of them.
But circumstances had changed. To save Burrow Territory.
To drive out the darkness lurking there.
To raise a second sun beneath that darkness.
I needed the sacred relics in Isabel's possession.
'The situation has changed.'
"Still, the more I think about it, the more I'd say these things are wasted on you."
"What items could possibly be so wasted on me?"
Rather than answering Isabel's question directly, I pulled a sheet of paper from my coat and handed it over.
Isabel read the list in silence—and for a moment she went rigid, before forcing out a strained laugh and beginning to read the items aloud.
"The Staff of Taornati. A staff once wielded by one of the ancient saints. Its historical value makes it an exceedingly expensive piece."
The Staff of Taornati.
Historical value and all that meant absolutely nothing to me. Only one thing mattered: that staff carried the ability to amplify divinity once per day.
"Sacred water born when the Chief God descended upon the world. As the Main God Church classifies it as a holy relic, it was terribly difficult to acquire."
The lousy Chief God may be a pervert who just wants to dress little girls up in bunny suits, but a Chief God is still a Chief God.
Anything touched by that guy's hands becomes a top-tier catalyst in its own right.
In this case, it would serve as the perfect bridge connecting my divine magic with Phoebe's.
"Soil taken from the grounds of the Holy Land itself."
The earth that would serve as the foundation of the miracle I was preparing.
"Powder ground from an angel's wing."
The dust on which the picture would be painted.
"A holy sword consecrated continuously for a hundred years in ages past."
The sword that would stand at the very heart of the miracle.
"And finally, the Chief God's power that you, my lady, gave me in place of the lithographs."
And last of all, the power that would become the wellspring of the miracle itself.
Having recited everything I'd written down, Isabel lowered the paper onto the desk and let out an empty laugh.
"Every last one of them is a treasure beyond price."
Isabel was right. Everything I'd listed on that paper was, item by item, worthy of being called a holy relic.
If you tried to acquire all of this with cold, hard coin, wouldn't you need to pour in several hundred platinum coins?
"I won't deny I'm wealthy, but holding all of these at once is beyond even me, my lady."
Exactly. Of course. These aren't things money alone can buy.
'Oh, but you do have them, don't you?'
"Guess what? I came here knowing everything, you clueless fanatic."
Because, Isabel—you're not merely a rich woman, are you?
More than enough wealth. The power to be first through the door whenever a holy relic surfaces on the market. And an obsession with sacred relics that borders on madness.
With all of that, you hold every one of these things. Don't you?
You might fool other people, but you can't fool me.
I plundered your territory more times than I can count back in my pillaging heyday, you know.
"I see. So when it comes to sacred relics, deceiving you is simply impossible, my lady."
Isabel didn't deny a word further. She nodded without hesitation.
"Yes. You are quite right, my lady. Every item written here rests in my vaults. However, as you well know, each one is an extraordinarily rare treasure. No matter how fondly I regard you, they are hardly the sort of things I could simply hand over as a favor."
I knew that. Even a woman as unhinged over divinity as Isabel Artea had her limits.
At her core, she was a merchant. She would never donate that mountain of wealth to some cause with nothing to gain.
"What, then, do you intend to trade for those relics?"
Heartless as I may be, I wasn't about to demand goods worth hundreds of platinum coins for nothing. Naturally, I'd come bearing a trade condition that would have Isabel drooling.
An offer that no one but me could even conceive of, let alone put on the table.
'The right to help me.'
"I'm going to grant you the right to help me. So? Not a bad little bargaining chip for a pervert fanatic like you, eh?"