Dungeon Creation (11)
Countless magic circles sprawled across the ground around Phoebe as she recited the verses of divine magic with her eyes closed.
Each and every one of those entwined circles was more refined than what most ordinary priests managed with a single spell.
There was no need to explain just how monstrous Phoebe had become, sustaining so many of them at once.
Johann, who had been quietly observing the scene, noticed a tremor forming at the tail end of several of the magic circles and spoke up at a leisurely pace.
"Saintess. Let's stop here for today."
"Bishop, I can still—"
"Pushing yourself further will only hinder tomorrow's practice."
At Johann's firm voice, Phoebe let out a long breath and opened her eyes. The divinity wrapped around her scattered with a bright glow, settling softly to the ground.
"Thank you for your hard work."
"Oh, I've hardly done anything worth mentioning."
Phoebe wiped away her sweat and expressed her modesty, but Johann simply shook his head in the face of it.
"Excessive modesty can be a poison in itself. The growth you are showing, Saintess, is remarkable enough to catch even my eye, and I have seen countless people in my time."
"Is... is that so?"
"Do I look like a man who jokes?"
Johann had served the Church of the Chief God for decades, ever since the days he'd first escaped the Mak household.
Even from his perspective, having watched innumerable clerics rise and fall over the years, Phoebe's growth was astonishing.
Phoebe had only just taken her first steps down the path of the priesthood, had she not?
Yet she was already a cleric whose skill had grown to the point that she could rightly be called a Saintess.
Common sense dictated that the higher one climbed, the harder it became to climb further — and the growth Phoebe displayed now denied that common sense outright.
Someone who had already reached a sufficient realm was showing explosive growth as though she had nothing beneath her to begin with.
"Heh heh. It seems the training method the young lady taught you has been a great help."
"The method she shared was certainly outstanding."
The training method passed down by the one beloved of the Chief God was unlike any of the countless methods Johann knew.
It was as crude and barbaric as the brute exercises knights used to build muscle — a method no one in the Church of the Chief God had ever employed.
"It was enough to teach this old man, who'd been waiting for the day he would die, the joy of growing stronger."
Still, Johann had placed his faith not in the Church of the Chief God but in a person named Lucy Aln — and as a result, he had succeeded in achieving far faster growth than before.
"However, the Saintess's..."
Johann had been speaking half to himself when he caught Phoebe tilting her head and cut himself off mid-sentence.
What he had been about to say was that Phoebe's rapid growth likely wasn't the product of a change in training methods alone.
The breadth of her growth was too extreme to be attributed to a mere shift in her regimen.
It almost seemed as though she had grasped some kind of enlightenment while reproducing that miracle in the Burrow Territory.
The reason Johann withheld all of this was that he had a rough idea of the true cause of her growth.
Something like this only held meaning if one perceived and understood it oneself. If it were handed over through another's explanation, its significance would be diminished.
"Bishop?"
"Ah — my apologies. I was simply wondering why you so often refer to the Lady Aln as 'my lady,' when you call all the other young ladies by their title alone."
So Johann steered the conversation elsewhere, hoping that Phoebe would come to realize the truth on her own one day.
"...I'm sorry, what?"
"All the other young ladies, you address quite plainly as 'young lady' — so it struck me as curious that you alone reserve 'my lady' for the Lady Aln."
It was something he had wondered about idly for some time, so Johann pressed on without a hint of hesitation.
What he failed to anticipate, however, was that with every word he spoke, both of Phoebe's cheeks grew steadily redder.
"Saintess?"
"W-well... it's... that is to say..."
"Is there some reason you cannot speak of it?"
"No! It's not — it's nothing like that. Um. When everyone else just calls her 'young lady,' if I'm the only one saying 'my lady,' I'd stand ou— stand out... to her..."
Her voice dwindled away to a dying whisper, and Johann finally could not hold back his laughter.
And here he'd wondered what reason could be so difficult to speak of — so it was that she simply wanted to catch the Lady Aln's eye!
"Don't laugh! I told you not to laugh!"
"Ahem — ngh. But thinking of you agonizing over that form of address, Saintess, the laughter simply rises of its own accord."
"Bishop!"
At the sight of Phoebe, flushed scarlet and at a complete loss, Johann let his eyes crinkle with mirth.
Come to think of it, the reason she'd sought his tutelage in the first place had been to win her bet with the Lady Aln, hadn't it.
So she wished to be thought special by the very person she herself regarded as special.
How utterly endearing.
"If the Lady Aln ever learned of this, I imagine she'd find it endlessly amusing."
"...You absolutely must not tell her?!"
"I shall consider it, depending on how you conduct yourself going forward, Saintess."
"Ugh. If I'd known this would happen, I should have just kept my mouth shut."
The dignity of a Saintess, it seemed, had been tossed clean out the window. Raising her voice and flailing both arms, Phoebe begged him to keep her secret until the very last, then fled from Johann's chamber.
She's like this even when I'm the one asking — what manner of reaction would she show if the young lady herself posed the question someday?
Preferably somewhere he could witness it with his own eyes. It promised to be thoroughly entertaining.
"Did you hear that, Lady Karia? The Saintess asks that we keep her secret."
Some time had passed since Phoebe's departure — by the time the sound of her footsteps had fully faded, Johann spoke, and the door swung open to reveal Karia.
"Don't worry. She's not the type to be malicious enough to let something like that slip."
"Then I am relieved."
The instant the door closed behind her, Johann rose from his seat and moved toward the cabinet.
"What of the ring I gave you?"
"Lost it. Dropped it somewhere along a road, apparently — I haven't been able to find it."
"I see."
As they exchanged the prearranged cipher, all traces of the easygoing air vanished from Johann's face, replaced by stern severity.
"You've come to hear about the Church's movements, haven't you?"
"That's right. I have a general picture of things, but cross-checking with you, Bishop, will make it accurate."
"Understood. The first matter I must report is that the Church of the Chief God is still searching for the one who saved the Burrow Territory."
The inquisitor who had visited the Burrow Territory at the time had seen, burned into his memory, the Chief God's divinity that had enveloped the entire domain.
Because of that, even when told that an Apostle of the Art Order had saved the place, he refused to trust the account.
Officially, the Church sang praises of the Apostle of the Art Order's magnificent feat — while behind the scenes, its agents ran themselves ragged trying to uncover who had truly saved the Burrow Territory.
"Though it seems they have yet to lay hands on a credible lead."
By the time the Church's people visited the Burrow Territory through official channels, every trace of Lucy and her party had already been erased.
No matter how towering the Church's authority, creating something from nothing was an impossible feat.
Even with those belonging to the Church scouring the land desperately for their savior, they could turn up nothing of substance.
"So they've turned to suspicion and guesswork, poking about here and there — but that avenue hasn't yielded much either."
"Are you and the Saintess not under suspicion, Bishop?"
"You are recorded as having returned after a stay in the Artea Territory regarding matters concerning the Lady Aln's mace. And above all, the Church does not yet know what manner of being the Lady Aln is — so you needn't worry yourself."
"No different from what I've pieced together, then. What a relief."
"Relief, is it? A situation where the one beloved of the Chief God must labor to hide him from his own Church."
As Johann sipped his tea, he found it tasting bitter, and drew a canister of sugar cubes from the cabinet.
"Do you have a sweet tooth?"
"Somewhat."
"Then I'll add just two cubes."
"Yes, that sounds lovely."
Phoebe's burning face only managed to recover its original pallor once she had drawn near to Soul Academy.
Haaa. I should have just kept my mouth firmly shut, but thinking of how stern Bishop Johann used to be, the words slipped right out of me.
...He'll keep it secret, won't he? He won't breathe a word of it to my lady... right? Right?!
If he ever told her about this desire of mine — this longing for my lady to think of me as special — I would honestly die of embarrassment on the spot!
"Saintess!"
"...Y-yes?!"
Lost in the middle of her anguished musings, Phoebe answered someone's question on reflex and let out a thoroughly foolish sound.
"My apologies! You seemed lost in some worry, and I interrupted—"
"No, it's quite all right. Now then, what brings you here?"
"Have you seen the notice posted in the plaza?"
"No, I've been out on errands all day."
At Phoebe's shake of the head, the girl student's face brightened noticeably.
"They say this year's dungeon studies exam will have every year running the same dungeon!"
"...I'm sorry, is that really true?"
"Yes! If you go to the plaza, you can read all the details yourself!"
After thanking the girl, Phoebe set her steps toward the plaza.
Though the early winter night had not yet arrived, a great crowd had already gathered there, poring over the notice.
Pushing through that crowd would only be a nuisance for everyone involved — shall I just strengthen my eyesight and read it from here?
The notice hanging at the center of the plaza read as follows.
◈ This semester's Dungeon Studies examination will run for the entire duration of the finals period.
◈ The number of challenge attempts is unlimited.
◈ Parties may be organized freely and at one's own discretion.
◈ While the dungeon's foundation is shared, certain sections will differ by academic year.
◈ The dungeon's clear reward is an accessory personally crafted by the Apostle of the Art Order.
Several other matters were written there besides, but the detail that leapt out above all of them concerned the reward for clearing the dungeon.
"...An accessory crafted personally by the Apostle of the Art Order?"
Phoebe had a rough idea of the prices at which accessories made and blessed by the Art Order changed hands.
Even pieces made by a mere Bishop commanded prices that left buyers crying out that they'd fetched whatever sum was asked — so what of an item crafted directly by the Apostle of the Art Order herself?
This has turned into something serious.
The Apostle of the Art Order only ever parted with her creations for those she personally acknowledged — so for her accessories to be offered as a dungeon's reward, the result could only have come about because my lady requested it.
Otherwise, the Apostle would never have permitted her own handiwork to be staked on something like this.
In other words, my lady had judged that the dungeon she built demanded a reward this extraordinary — accessories forged by an Apostle's own hands — to hang upon its completion.
And if my lady, who held herself to standards rather different from those of ordinary people, had made that judgment...
Then the finished dungeon was a deadly labyrinth of a caliber that no one alive could hope to clear.
...
I must go meet with the ones I promised to clear the dungeon with.
We need to discuss this as soon as possible.
They'll surely be drilling together at the training grounds, won't they?
Phoebe's guess proved correct.
Arthur, Joy, and Phoebe — the three of them had taken their usual places at the training grounds, just as on any other day.
With one difference from the usual: an uninvited guest was standing there among them.
"Little brother."
Cecil Soladin.
The Second Prince of the Soladin Kingdom was looking down at Arthur.