Troubles (1)

Though it had been nearly a year since Phoebe last set foot in the Holy Land, she had no time to feel nostalgic about her return.

The Holy Land had simply carried on with its duties while she was away, and in the process, matters that should ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠have been resolved by Phoebe herself had piled up, one by one. On top of that, the Pope's temporary absence had thrown her into even greater disarray—if the most symbolically important figure in the Holy Land vacated his seat, then Phoebe was the one who had to shoulder his responsibilities in his stead.

And so, spending a week buried under backlogged work and the Pope's duties alike, Phoebe found herself readjusting to life in the Holy Land before she even realized it.

Even after falling asleep at her desk long past nightfall, she woke before dawn. Gazing blankly out the window at the darkened sky, she broke into a small smile.

Since it was my first time away for so long, I thought there might be some awkwardness in settling back in... but I suppose things carved into the body over ten years don't fade so easily.

She dispelled her fatigue by drawing up her divinity, rose from bed, cleansed herself, and offered a prayer to the great Chief God. She had learned back in the orphanage, through her conversations with Him, that He was not the omniscient, omnipotent being described in scripture—but her faith had not vanished for that.

Her belief had merely shed its blind devotion, and still remained within her. The Chief God was not flawless, but He was a good being—a being who strove to be good—and Phoebe believed that alone was enough to make her faith worth keeping.

Near the end of her prayer, which lasted close to thirty minutes, came the sound of knuckles rapping at her door.

"Holy Lady. It is time to prepare for morning service."

"Yes. I'll be right out."

When Phoebe emerged, dressed and composed, the woman who had attended her side since childhood bowed her head. Phoebe returned the greeting as she always did, while inwardly her heart grew heavy.

Having recently received divinity directly from the Chief God, she had become able to distinguish those who truly held faith from those who merely wore its mask.

And it was not simply a matter of having more or less divinity. No matter how much divinity one carried, some could hold only coldness within it—while others, like Phoebe herself, or Lucy, the Chief God's Apostle, could hold warmth.

The former were those who seized divinity without faith; the latter were those who refined their divinity through faith.

And the woman standing before Phoebe, despite all her years in the Holy Land, possessed nothing but coldness.

It was hardly a strange thing. So long as Phoebe herself was a false saint made by human hands, those who lingered at her side could only be false as well.

Had she been an ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠ordinary person, this might have driven her to rage at the betrayal of it. But Phoebe only steadied the faint ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠ache in her chest, saying nothing further to the woman. Instead, she pondered how she might guide this person back onto the right path.

How would the Young Lady have handled something like this?

She pictured that face—someone whose faith surpassed anyone else's, perhaps even surpassing the Chief God's own—and immediately realized it was a dangerous line of thought.

"What's the matter, pathetic Saintess? Can't even solve this, so you're crawling to me for help? Puheheh. Guess that's why they'll call you pathetic your whole life. Or what, maybe you secretly enjoy being berated as a pathetic Saintess? Not a pathetic Saintess, but a pa—"

"No, I'm not!"

Having shrieked in the middle of the corridor, Phoebe caught the bewildered stare of her attendant and felt her face burn scarlet.

"Ah. Um... could we please pretend that didn't happen?"

"Pretend what, my lady? I heard nothing at all."

"Thank youuu..."

Despite the small commotion, the morning service Phoebe presided over proceeded smoothly. She had performed it nearly every day since she was very young, back when she first received the title of Saintess. A few months' rest was hardly enough to make her voice waver in front of the congregation.

And even if more than half of those attending the morning service carried only coldness in their hearts, Phoebe knew how to speak with the same gentle voice as always.

When she had first returned to the church, she finally understood why Lucy had once warned her about its corruption. More than six out of every ten priests residing in the Holy Land had lost their warmth entirely.

At an ordinary church, perhaps that could be forgiven. Warmth was not easily earned, after all. But this was no ordinary church. This was the Holy Land—the gathering place of the most devout among all the priests of the Chief God's Church spread across the continent.

The fact that those standing on the front lines, meant to convey the Chief God's warmth, could not even hold a scrap of it within themselves was nothing to laugh off lightly.

How could those who could not keep even a flicker of warmth in their own hearts ever deliver the Chief God's warmth to others?

In the days since her return, Phoebe had grown certain of the Chief God Church's decay, and she had racked her mind for a way to rein it in—but no answer came easily.

"A wonderful sermon today, Holy Lady."

"Even with His Holiness the Pope away, one hardly notices the void he left behind."

"We pray you return to the church for good soon, Holy Lady."

Phoebe forced smiles at those who flung out hollow words while steeped in coldness, and found herself thinking how wonderful it would be if, instead of coming to the Holy Land, she could have gone to the Alrn Knight Order.

There would be hardship of its own kind there too, of course. But there were friends there.

Joy, who looked the part of a noble lady but was kindhearted and clumsy. Arthur, who carried a wound in his heart yet never stopped moving forward. Frey, so pure of heart that her actions veered wildly off course.

And Lucy. The girl who had saved Phoebe time and time again. The person more precious to her than anyone.

Just as Phoebe was deepening her smile at the thought of her friends' faces, a heavy voice sounded from behind the gathered priests.

"All of you. Are you trying to trouble the Holy Lady? Disperse."

The priests, who each held positions of some standing, turned with furrowed brows—then, upon recognizing the old man standing there, hurriedly bowed their heads and scattered.

Lazaro, Cardinal of the Chief God Church and one of the few priests who still held warmth in his heart, clicked his tongue lightly at their retreating backs.

But when he turned to face Phoebe, he was different. Boundless sternness gave way to a gentle kindness on his face.

"I have said this before, Holy Lady, but you need not accept praise from every one of them."

Many in the church carried only coldness—but not all. The bishop of the Academy Street church had been true. Bishop Johan, who had helped her grow, was true. And the cardinal standing before her now was likewise among those who held fast to what was right, even amid the confusion.

"Those in high positions must sometimes know when to cut things off decisively, you know."

"If I were truly troubled, Cardinal Lazaro, I would have said so."

"Is that so? Then I suppose I must trouble you, if only to verify it for myself."

"Please don't be too wicked about it."

"Haha. That depends entirely on how you respond, Holy Lady."

Cardinal Lazaro was notorious for his stubborn refusal to compromise under any circumstance—but before Phoebe, he was simply a mischievous old grandfather.

"Once the busy work is more or less settled, come by for a cup of tea. There is a great deal I suspect we will need to discuss in private."

"I will be sure to make the time."

"Holy Lady!"

At that moment, one of the church's priests hurried to Phoebe's side. Cardinal Lazaro shot the man a stern look at the breach of decorum, but the priest, oblivious, pressed on urgently.

"Forgive the intrusion—is now a bad time? It is urgent."

"Priest Marple. However urgent the matter, mind your dignity. What is the meaning of this behavior?"

"Ah—Cardinal Lazaro, sir! This is news you must hear as well!"

"...Hm?"

"One of our church's people has been murdered in Badronel Territory!"

The morning after coming face to face with my own idiocy.

As I woke and quietly listened to Erin humming while she ran her fingers through my hair, the other day's events drifted back to me. Living alone at the Academy for so long had made me used to fixing my own hair and getting ready by myself, so I had told Erin she didn't need to come find me early in the morning anymore—that she could use the time to sleep in a little longer instead.

It was clearly meant as kindness on my part, but when Erin heard it, far from being pleased, tears began streaming down her face.

"So... you no longer have any need of me."

On the verge of being branded an absolute piece of garbage, I frantically scrambled to reassure her, protesting that it had only been a joke.

"Sniff. Really? You won't throw me away?"

"You think anyone else would put up with a hopeless mess like you? If you got dumped and ended up wandering the streets until you dropped dead, that would leave a bad taste in my mouth. So no, I'm not throwing you away. Got it?"

"Yes, my lady! Thank you! Thank you so much!"

Even thinking back on it now, I couldn't understand that reaction. If someone tells you they'll let you sleep in, isn't the normal response to be happy about it?

At the very least, if my boss told me I could come in to work later, I was confident I could burst into tears and shout "Thank you so much!"

"Is anything uncomfortable, my lady?"

"It's fine."

"If it were uncomfortable, would I have kept quiet? Hopeless Erin. How about working on your intuition a little?"

"Then I shall continue."

Watching Erin's reflection in the mirror—she was clearly proud of her craft—I suddenly found myself thinking of the Pervert Apostle, who used to style my hair back in the day.

Unlike Erin, his touch gave me the creeps, but his skill was the genuine article. If I had spare time this vacation, maybe I should summon him and have him teach Erin some techniques.

Artists are usually stingy about passing down their skills, but knowing the Pervert Apostle, if I kicked him around a few times as a "thank you," he'd probably do it gladly.

"All finished, my lady."

My hair was far neater than anything I managed on my own. Rather than say anything, I gave Erin a single smile and rose from my seat.

First, breakfast, then straight to the Newman family's base. There was plenty I needed to look into there.

But as I headed down to the first floor with that thought in mind, I caught sight of the familiar faces occupying the center of the dining hall, and began to suspect I was still half asleep.

Benedict in the dining hall? Perfectly normal. He'd come down earlier than me and waited every single morning of this entire trip.

Karia beside him wasn't exactly shocking either. If she had urgent news to deliver, she could well have come herself.

But the sight of Cuz Newman, head of House Newman, wedged between the two of them and drenched in sweat—now that was beyond anything my imagination could produce.

Why is that man squirming around over there? As I stared blankly at his face, Karia's eyes met mine.

"Boss. You're up. Come over here. Got something to tell you."

"Um..."

"Old maid auntie. Why is that pushover of a House head sitting there like that? I can actually watch his hair thinning in real time. Kinda feel bad for him."

"I didn't do anything to him. Right, Benedict?"

"That's right, Lucy. Count Newman has feared Karia since long ago."

"Hey, Cuz. Explain yourself already. If you stay quiet, I end up looking like the villain here."

"Th-that's right, Lady Alrn. Lady Karia has done nothing to me whatsoever."

He looks exactly like a man being extorted, no matter how I look at it.

Ah, wait—Karia used to be the Shadow of the Kingdom. In that case, she'd know all about the underhanded dealings House Newman ran from the shadows, and naturally she'd be well acquainted with every piece of blackmail-worthy information too.

Having grasped the rough situation, I came down the stairs and took the empty seat.

"So..."

"So, what's this about, auntie?"

"Something important. So I brought one of the parties involved—Cuz, here."

Important? Is there anything actually important at this point? The vacation events shouldn't amount to much of anything...

As I tilted my head, Karia shrugged and continued.

"The Second Queen of Soladin wants to meet you, boss. House Newman has been acting as the go-between."

"...Huh?"

"...What?"

- Ding!