Ceres, Ceres Olkamain (2)
If the Grand Duchy of Carpatia serves as the de facto capital of the Carpatia Empire of All Humanity, then the Infula Holy See serves as its spiritual pillar.
It was in the Infula Holy See that the central headquarters of the Heavenly God Church stood.
Just as Marlene, the holy land of the Heavenly God Church, lay in the Southern Continent, the Infula Holy See lay in the North.
In truth, the Infula Holy See was closer to a city in its own right. With the Carpatia forest at its back, the headquarters of the Heavenly God Church had been built atop a hill, and before it rose a statue of the Heavenly God taller even than the Imperial Palace — the only one of its kind in all the Northern Continent.
The statue was encircled by fountains carved from pristine white marble, and spreading out from them, paving stones of the same marble had been laid into a vast plaza, all in an effort to elevate the sanctity of the place.
The novice priests whose daily duty it was to scrub those paving stones until they gleamed might well have resented the labor — and yet it was also work they performed without feeling the weight of it, buoyed by the faith that they were keeping clean the plaza over which the Heavenly God herself kept watch.
Deep within the Church headquarters — deep enough to be called its innermost sanctum — stood a sanctuary of unadorned exterior. Eight pillars, each as thick as five or six grown men standing arm in arm, held up its roof. That place was at once the office and the living quarters of the current Pope, Axell IV.
He had been a general born of the Glakien Margraviate, heir to the family name of Glakien. A mixed-blood elf with both elf and human blood — rumors even whispered that human blood had flowed into his line a second time — he had been of such iron constitution and so gifted in the martial arts that some had gone so far as to brand him a traitor to the nation of the Ezero Grand Archpriest State. It had already been sixty years since that man abruptly awakened to holy power and devoted himself to the Heavenly God Church.
And after some forty years of priestly life, it had already been twenty since he ascended to the papacy.
Even a body of iron could not hold out against an age approaching ninety. The shoulders that had once been as rigid as forged steel had shrunk and curled inward, and the back that had seemed as though it could bear the whole world on its straight spine now bent earthward, drawing the ground closer.
But his eyes had lost none of their old fire. Gleaming sharp and bright, Axell IV fixed his gaze upon the priest seated on the office sofa.
"…You said the name was Berbaria?"
"Yes, Your Holiness. It was unquestionably that name."
"Berbaria… Berbaria. The Demon of Insult, Berbaria."
"Yes."
The priest bowed his head deeply.
"And so, you tell me that Regent Olkamain is leading a party here as we speak?"
"That is correct, Your Holiness."
"Hmm."
Axell IV slowly stroked his white-streaked beard.
"I understand. You may go."
The priest made no reply. Instead, he rose from his seat, stepped backward in retreat, bowed low once more to the aged Pope, and slowly withdrew from the office.
The office was empty now, occupied by Axell IV alone.
Behind the Pope's desk stretched an enormous window. One entire wall had been given over to glass, and in its yellow and blue stained glass the figure of the Heavenly God had been rendered in exquisite detail. The sunlight streaming through it cast a long, Heavenly God-shaped shadow across the floor of the office.
A Dullahan appearing in Evian, and Berbaria in Carpatia…
Reports had been pouring in one after another, both from the cathedral in Evian and from the cathedral in Carpatia. Nor was that all — strange disturbances were breaking out across every corner of the Carpatia Empire of All Humanity.
Whether by coincidence or by necessity, I cannot say.
It had been half a year since the Catus Empire — with whom they shared a border and, as neighbors do, precious little goodwill — along with the Federation of Eight Brothers and the Kingdom of Capituloce, had all at once granted the Heavenly God Church permission to proselytize. It had already seemed somewhat strange that those nations, which had clung to their native faiths and strictly forbade all missionary work, should so abruptly reverse their stance. And in the time since, monster attacks had come in an unbroken succession across the empire's territories.
The so-called "wild" monsters — those that belonged to no species-nation — had been difficult, but manageable. What could not be said of them, however, was the Dullahan that had appeared in Evian — a Dullahan, herald of the Demon King, they called it — or the avatar of Berbaria said to have manifested in the very heart of the Grand Duchy of Carpatia.
The creeping certainty that none of these events could possibly be coincidence was what filled the old Pope with dread.
O Heavenly God, why do You remain silent?
Since the appointment of the Saintess, the Heavenly God had maintained her silence — no descent, no oracle, nothing at all. She answered no prayer and manifested at no offering.
There were even those who whispered that the Era Without Echoes had returned.
I can only pray that the Hero and the Saintess… that they may be souls of sound and righteous mind…
The old Pope clutched the rosary hanging at his neck and recited the prayer again and again. But the sound of that prayer merely echoed through the office, hollow and unanswering.
"I'm not going to eat you. Come here and sit down."
When Ceres seized Yona by the wrist, her grip proved anything but ordinary. Like a kite with a snapped string, Yona let herself be hauled along wherever the woman led, ending up seated across a table from her in her chambers.
"Now then, let me see it."
"S-see what?"
And so Yona's peculiar personality reared its head once more. She liked to act tough, to play the strong one — but only with those who let her get away with it. Faced with someone like Ceres, who never lost her own rhythm and drove straight at the heart of things, Yona simply crumbled. That weakness of hers was now on full display, and though she knew exactly what Ceres was talking about, she could do nothing but answer in that dim-witted voice.
"Oh, come now. You know perfectly well. The thing on your shoulder."
"W-why do you want to see it?"
"Because I'm curious. Refuse, and I'll peel it off you myself. And I've prepared something rather nice for you — but I won't be giving it to you if you do."
Ceres drew a box out from beneath the table with a meaningful smile on her face. The brown wooden case gleamed with such a slick luster that one could only wonder how much oil had been rubbed into it. In this room where a mere handful of candles flickered feebly, the case shone as though it stood beneath a chandelier.
"This is not something one can obtain easily, you know. Here, look."
Ceres broke into a face-splitting grin and squared her shoulders. Then, with a soft click, she opened the brown case resting on the table — and Yona's eyes flew open wider than they could possibly go.
"Th-that's…"
"Yes. You'd recognize it, wouldn't you? You are the one who uses one, after all. Aren't you?"
"Th-that is, this is…"
Beside herself, Yona even began to stammer. Small wonder — for the moment the brown case swung open, what lay revealed within was a Holy Shroud.
The one she had received from Aize had been no low-grade article either, but set against the Holy Shroud now before her eyes, the question of grading hardly even applied.
"That is a Holy Shroud blessed directly by His Holiness Axzel III, predecessor to our current Pope, Axell IV. Do you have any idea how much this is worth? Show it to me, and it's yours — that's all I ask."
Yona had long since stopped hearing Ceres's words. To the naked eye it looked like nothing more than the same old scrap of bandage, but those who used one — people like Yona — knew better. The weave of its fibers, their density, the quality of the material, even the circuit through which its holy power flowed — all of it was legible at a single glance. And by Yona's reading, this Holy Shroud was, quite literally, the pinnacle of the craft. If she had tried to buy it with her own earnings, she could have scraped together ten full years of wages and still only hoped to afford it — assuming such a piece even came up for sale in the first place.
She's a good person.
This person is a good person.
The moment Yona was about to render that verdict, she froze.
"Th-then why give this to me…?"
Ceres pressed a fingertip to her own cheek, tilting her head with a light touch — a gesture that might, in another, have looked endearingly cute, though on a woman of Ceres's age it came across as somewhat beneath her years.
"Why, you're the hero who distinguished yourself in the defeat of Berbaria, who descended upon Carpatia Port — the very heart of the Grand Duchy of Carpatia. Surely I must offer at least this much for my gratitude to be properly conveyed? And, well, we might say it also serves to indulge a small personal interest of mine."
"…Is… is that so?"
Yona had become thoroughly confused.
"Besides, fine equipment only shines in the hands of one worthy of it. It would just sit in a box gathering dust otherwise — wouldn't it be far better for a heeeler as aaaabsolutely splendid, aaaabsolutely capable, and aaaabsolutely outstanding as Miss Yona to put it to use?"
"Th-that's right…!"
A good person after all.
After only the slightest hesitation, Yona began unwinding the bandage wrapped around her arm.
A jet-black tattoo emerging from her shoulder, inch by inch. And as those characters — the ones that filled her arm with their inky blackness — began to come into view, the light in Ceres's eyes began to gleam as well. From her shoulder, down past her elbow, her wrist, to the very tips of her fingers, Yona's arm was so covered in black script that it was nearly impossible to find a trace of her natural skin beneath.
"This is… hm. When did it come to be like this?"
"This is… well, back in Evian…"
"In Evian? And what happened there, exactly?"
Slowly, Yona began to explain to Ceres everything that had come to pass.
"—and that's how it ended up like this."
"Hmm… so the arm came with the defeat of that demon — goat-headed, was it, or ram-headed? And below the wrist came when you purified the Sacred Tree."
Ceres closed her eyes, murmured a thoughtful "mm-hm," and nodded along.
"Tell me — do you happen to know why I hold the title of Senior Elder?"
Ceres asked suddenly, her eyes snapping open. Yona was caught slightly off guard by the abrupt question, but in truth there was a very simple way to earn the title of Senior Elder.
"You… made large donations…?"
That, however, did not appear to be the right answer.
"As if. It's true that I have plenty of money, but I donate to the Church just like anyone else. What I do have is one very small talent. It is magic — a spell rather similar to Purification, you see. In exchange for cooperating with the Church's research into the operation of holy power, I was granted the title of Senior Elder. Well, I suppose it isn't so different from a donation, really."
"Oh… really? But doesn't Purification require holy power…?"
Having no knowledge of magic herself, Yona couldn't speak with any certainty — and so her words came out laced with doubt.
"That's precisely why I said 'similar.' Now, then — might I be permitted to attempt erasing that tattoo of yours?"
"Erase… this?"
Once more, Yona's eyes flew wide open.