Chapter 245
Chapter 245
"I will go to Raphtan myself."
Logan's declaration sent shockwaves through the court.
The Temple immediately convened a council of bishops, deciding to dispatch a relief force of 120 priests—including the initial 18—along with 20 senior priests and Bishop Ilia of Amunda, the Goddess of Sea and Change.
The response was starkly different from before Logan's intervention.
Of course, the promised sacred donation of ten million gold played no small part in this swift action.
But the public would likely believe it was the King's willingness to personally visit the plague-stricken territory that made the greatest impact.
The royal court, meanwhile, was in an uproar.
"Your Majesty! What are you saying? You cannot possibly go to a territory ravaged by plague!"
Dwain's eyes bulged in disbelief.
Logan had expected his steward to protest the financial burden first, but the genuine concern in his retainer's voice warmed him. He chuckled and patted Dwain's shoulder.
"Are you worried for me, a Transcendent? Unnecessary concern, Dwain."
"What plague spares Transcendents!? We know nothing concrete about this disease!"
"And no Transcendent has ever died of plague."
"So you wish to be the first!?"
"If I go myself, the nobles and the Temple will have no choice but to show at least minimal cooperation. And matters will undoubtedly proceed faster. For the swift suppression of this plague, this is the best course."
Though he had initially spoken out of frustration to pressure the Temple, Logan realized immediately after voicing it that this truly was the optimal solution.
Naturally, those around him disagreed.
"Your Majesty, is it truly necessary for you to go personally? Allow me to go in your stead. The effect would be much the same..."
Even his master, whom he hadn't seen in some time, had veins bulging in his neck.
[We will muster MacLaine Territory's resources to assist. Must the King go himself?]
His father, far away in MacLaine Territory, also sent worried inquiries.
"Why must you...? If you insist, then I will accompany you."
Ellen, who insisted on joining him, was only dissuaded by the excuse of royal military training duties.
While Logan placated his inner circle, preparations for the plague relief force were completed with astonishing speed—and on a far grander scale than anticipated.
"Is it truly His Majesty going...?"
"Look, it really is him."
"How could someone so noble venture into such danger...?"
Murmurs spread.
Word that the King would personally visit the plague-stricken territory drew crowds of capital residents to witness the procession.
At first, they had gathered skeptically—"Surely not"—but when the crowned monarch appeared, flanked by knights bearing the flaming banner high, a hushed awe fell over the onlookers.
Under their gaze, Logan turned to survey the relief force trailing behind him and bit his lip at its sheer size.
'This should suffice.'
120 priests, 300 healers, 200 knights, and a thousand soldiers.
With the Royal Guard's training still incomplete, elite forces from MacLaine and Esperanza had attached themselves to the King's escort.
The endless column stretched from the Inner City gates through the Outer City, accompanied by wagon trains laden with vast quantities of food, supplies, and medicinal herbs gathered by the healers.
As Logan assessed the logistical scale, something occurred to him, and he turned to Dwain, who had come to see him off.
"Do we have the reserves to spare this much food in our current situation?"
"We pulled from military provisions. But don't worry—we can replenish soon. With the surplus from 'that project,' I've already instructed Philip to procure more."
Seeing the dark circles under Dwain's eyes, which had deepened over just days, Logan could only offer an apologetic smile and a pat on the shoulder.
Then—
"Move out!"
The unexpectedly massive relief force set off on a tight schedule toward the southeastern Raphtan Territory.
Under an unnaturally cloudy night sky, starless and dark, the procession stretched across the plains.
Crackle.
Campfires began flickering to life along the column.
At its heart, Logan approached an elegant blue carriage adorned with wave motifs.
"Y-Your Majesty?"
"Is Bishop Ilia present?"
"I'll announce you!"
A Temple soldier scurried off, and soon after, the carriage door opened to reveal a silver-haired woman in blue vestments.
Her ageless face—youthful enough to mistake for a maiden's—was framed by the mitre symbolizing her authority over a diocese.
"You've found me, Your Majesty."
"A pleasure, Bishop Ilia. The day's haste prevented proper greetings earlier."
"Knowing the urgency, how could I stand on ceremony? Your visit honors me. But I suspect you didn't come solely for pleasantries?"
"I came seeking answers from you."
"If His Majesty himself seeks me, how could I refuse? Speak freely. I'll answer what I can."
Anticipation glimmered in Logan's eyes as the bishop bowed gracefully.
'If anyone would know...'
She was famed as the youngest bishop in Grandia—now MacLaine Diocese—renowned for her theological erudition, potent divine power, and wisdom.
And—
'The only bishop who occasionally serves in the slums.'
Of the nine bishops in MacLaine, she alone was known by name among the poor, some even calling her a saint.
Surely such a woman could alleviate his frustrations.
Nodding, Logan voiced his thoughts.
"I suspect only you can answer my question."
Ilia's blue eyes brightened as she inclined her head.
"To aid Your Majesty would be an honor. What troubles you?"
"This plague—no, the root cause of such plagues. I wish to understand it."
An event absent in his past life.
Yet occurring now, of all times.
Above all, Logan needed to know why.
If anyone might have answers, it would be a bishop of the Temple, which claimed to cure all ailments.
But Ilia's reaction was... odd.
"Ah..."
"An uncomfortable question?"
"N-no, Your Majesty."
Despite her words, her expression grew troubled. With a glance, she signaled the knights behind her.
Temple knights rarely seen outside their halls—elites accompanying her mission—obediently withdrew beyond the carriage at her unspoken command.
"Why dismiss the knights...?"
"The topic may be sensitive. Fewer ears are better. Unless it discomforts you..."
"No, proceed."
Logan nodded at her explanation—that even among priests serving the same gods, doctrinal interpretations varied, necessitating discretion.
But her answer proved deeply unsatisfactory.
"The Temple's prevailing view is that plagues are trials sent by the gods, Your Majesty."
"...Trials?"
"Yes. As you know, all diseases can be cured by divine power. Thus, they are tests for unbelievers—miraculous healings to strengthen faith."
"But most plague victims are devotees of the Nine Deities?"
"The Temple's official stance is that they lacked sufficient faith."
Logan had heard this before.
It still twisted his face in disgust.
"...Preposterous."
"Yes. It is."
Hm?
The very woman who delivered this nonsensical answer now nodded in clear agreement.
"You disagree?"
"...Before I share my thoughts, I must clarify this is purely personal opinion. Should word spread that I said this, I will deny it. Is that acceptable, Your Majesty?"
Her cautious preamble only piqued his curiosity further.
"...Of course."
Ilia took a deep breath, her expression turning bitter.
"A god's trial that kills devotees cannot—and should not—exist. That is my belief."
Her face hardened with conviction, and Logan understood why she'd dismissed the knights.
"Then what do you believe causes plagues?"
"The reasons vary. Not all 'plagues' are the same disease. But studying Temple records, I've noticed patterns aligning closely with the healers' guild's views."
Her gaze shifted toward where healers clustered, exchanging theories.
'Unexpected.'
The Temple's mainstream dogma was familiar to Logan:
All ailments yield to divine power; thus, disease exists solely to test unbelievers.
Most dismissed it as the self-serving rhetoric of wealthy priests.
The healers guild openly contradicted this:
All diseases have causes, and causes can be treated. Illness isn't divine punishment but part of nature.
This earned them the Temple's official disdain—slow, limited practitioners of unproven folk remedies compared to holy power.
Which made Ilia's stance remarkable.
"A bishop endorsing healers' guild theories?"
"...While priests feast in temples, it's these healers who treat the poor with meager coin. Any true servant of the gods must acknowledge this. As you know, they aid the people more than the Temple does."
A shocking admission from a bishop.
"Contrary to the Temple's official position."
"Hence my discretion with Your Majesty alone."
Her wry smile was profoundly unexpected.
'How did such a priest rise to bishop? Her abilities must exceed rumors.'
But Logan cared less about her unorthodox views than the plague's true nature.
"So what do you and the healers believe causes plagues?"
"...Many diseases have earned the 'plague' title for their devastation. But most share origins."
Clearly uneasy contradicting Temple doctrine, Ilia sighed before continuing. Logan waited silently.
"Nearly all begin in remote mountain villages or urban slums—places where survival is precarious."
"Meaning?"
"Both share one trait: rampant hunger and poor sanitation."
"..."
"The Pestian Plague that once ravaged the western continent began when starving peasants ate rats. Most plagues start among the desperately impoverished."
Her words settled heavily in Logan's chest.
Especially that word: hunger.
"...This outbreak resembles the historic Lestaboom Plague. Is there a definitive cure?"
"No disease has resisted holy power thus far. Weak divine power may fail, but stronger suffices. Hence the Temple doesn't research diseases."
"And the healers' guild...?"
"If non-divine cures existed, we wouldn't call it 'plague.'"
Meaning no certain solution.
"I apologize for failing to provide clarity, Your Majesty."
Her rueful expression soon mirrored Logan's.
'Hunger... plague from eating rats in starvation.'
While not perfectly analogous to his kingdom's situation, Ilia's explanation weighed ever heavier on him.
His harsh taxation to strengthen defenses.
The starving people of those territories.
Could this be why a plague absent in his past life now emerged?
The suspicion taking root in his mind stabbed at his conscience with growing intensity.