Collaboration (2)
Even so, an academy is still an academy. “Ah, and so, it is an honor—no, a true glory—to welcome such outstanding and talented students, whose very existence is noble.”
Right after Zieg agreed to the scheme he’d set in motion, the dean resigned at our urging, and the academic affairs director who suddenly became acting dean delivered an entrance speech that was nothing more than an impromptu lullaby. It was already mid-September, and though we were fairly far north on the continent, the midday sun still blazed hot enough to scorch the back of anyone’s neck.
“Haa……”
“Saint Lucia, is there no useful miracle for a situation like this?”
“To block sunlight? No. Miracles are primarily for healing, after all.”
Of course, miracles weren’t limited solely to healing, but in practice, that was all I had ever used. I could also create protective barriers to repel anything I perceived as harmful or purify objects and substances, but I had never faced an attack worth deploying a barrier against, nor had I encountered poison or demonic contamination that required purification. So what could I do?
“Good heavens……”
“The exalted one does not remove every trial from our path. Rather, She encourages us to overcome trials of a level we can endure.”
“That is… quite the comforting thought.”
It was just idle chatter, yet the surrounding students seemed more interested in Zieg’s and my conversation than the acting dean’s speech. Not that there was much worth listening to in the speech anyway—they were probably trying to gauge the dispositions of the Saint and the Hero through our exchange.
“……Thus, I hereby declare the start of this year’s autumn semester.”
Clap clap clap clap clap clap.
Even so, the acting dean’s speech received generous applause—mostly celebrating the fact that it had ended rather than its content.
“It is an honor to meet the renowned Saint. I am Peter Randulec Kelton, Crown Prince of Brien. I would be grateful if you would call me Peter.”
Immediately afterward, Peter approached me of his own accord—the largest favor William IV had requested. Being a woman—more precisely, a pretty woman—definitely had its advantages in situations like this. I didn’t have to go out of my way to approach him; he came to me.
“Oh my, how lovely to meet you. I am Lucia, the Saint recognized, however inadequately, by His Holiness the Pope and the Church. Since Your Highness offered your name first, would you mind calling me Lucia as well when you address me?”
“Gladly, Lucia.”
Oh, for crying out loud. A chill ran down my spine even as I spoke, but fortunately my clothing was modest enough that no one could see my reaction. If I had shown my raw feelings at his “gladly,” a sigh would have escaped me. How long had I been in this body? My sense of identity as a woman still hadn’t fully settled. I still had to consciously remember to keep my knees together when sitting. There was a reason I’d put off learning proper etiquette.
Still, the crown prince was undeniably, frustratingly handsome. His slightly wavy golden hair fell to his shoulders, and his deep blue eyes paired with a face that looked deliberately crafted to make people fall for him. William IV’s worries hadn’t been unfounded. With a face like that, even the imperial princess—who supposedly didn’t get along with him—might slip up in a moment of weakness.
Just as that thought crossed my mind—
“Hmph. Saint? She’s nothing more than a fake recognized by a fake church and a fake pope.”
When I turned toward the sudden interruption, only one thought came to mind.
Oh. Drill hair. It wasn’t common to see a noble young lady with her hair styled in full drill curls like that. And with hair redder than Zieg’s—almost crimson—it drew more attention than her rude remark. Her eyes were even more striking. How could irises be such a brilliant gold?
“Wow, your eyes are really beautiful.”
“No matter how much you protest, the Church’s legitimacy lies with our Empire—eh? What?”
“I said your eyes are truly beautiful. How can they flow so elegantly, like liquid gold? I thought yellow eyes would look garish and unsettling, but yours are such a refined, graceful gold.”
Pressed like that, the sixteen-year-old girl who was clearly the imperial princess couldn’t collect herself. Of course she couldn’t—she had come looking for a fight, only to be showered with praise instead.
“Ah, um, I-I am the imperial princess, so……”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Your Highness. I’m Lucia, the Saint of the Church. May I ask your name? Goodness, it really is stunning.”
“Th-thank you. My name is Yulia Paula Regenbochem, the honorable youngest daughter of the proud Regenbochem imperial family.”
“Your name is lovely too. Yulia? May I call you that? And look at your skin—it’s flawless.”
Since none of it was a lie, I used the fact that we were the same gender to lean in close and bombard her with compliments, determined to keep her off-balance. She didn’t seem particularly strong against this sort of thing. Then again, she was the youngest princess; under normal circumstances she would have been married off for political gain. It made sense that she had a somewhat vulnerable side.
“N-no, wait! Just a moment!”
“Yes? What is it, Yulia?”
“I-I never gave you permission to use my name!”
When she tried to back away, blushing, I kept closing the distance. She couldn’t retreat any farther and simply froze, growing visibly flustered. Of course, I had only done this after observing her during the acting dean’s speech. Even with several imperial nobles around to support her, she hadn’t been able to assert herself—there was something oddly timid about her presence.
“That’s right! Her Highness never gave you permission to use her name!”
“How rude. I suppose a fake saint from a fake church wouldn’t know basic manners.”
Even now, it should have been Princess Yulia who held the initiative and quietly commanded the imperial noble ladies around her. But no matter how I looked at it, her head, torso, and limbs all seemed to be moving separately. If anything, her shoulders trembled slightly under the pressure of those same ladies’ aggressive attitudes. She was holding back the instinctive urge to shrink away with a patience that even she seemed surprised by.
“Did you just call me a fake saint from a fake church?”
I had no intention of being that patient. I had never been the type to let things slide so easily, and I had long since confirmed that I possessed both the background and ability to back myself up here.
“Is that not the case? After all, you’re a fake saint ordained by a fake pope from a fake church.”
In a cliché scenario, a powerful imperial princess would lead her followers in bullying the frail saint. But right now, it felt like the princess herself was being devoured by her so-called followers, while the hero standing quietly beside me simmered with anger. Still, Zieg was holding himself back exactly as I had instructed beforehand. I had thought his presence was too overbearing for public use and needed toning down, but even with his naturally high difficulty in suppressing anger, he was managing quite well.
“Miracles depend on the faith of those who believe in God. Since you’ve called the church fake, the pope fake, and my ordination fake, are you saying I’m a fake believer as well?”
“Then you’re admitting you’re fake, not real?”
That line should have come from the princess herself. Instead, one of the noble ladies who was nominally next in rank stepped forward, adding weight to the accusation.
“You should choose your words carefully. Right now, you’re trying to label as fake a priestess who, aside from His Holiness the Pope, possesses the strongest and purest divine power and performs the most remarkable miracles.”
As I spoke, I manifested my divine power—a small yet unmistakably bright golden light of high purity. No matter how much someone claimed the church was fake, they wouldn’t have the nerve to repeat it while staring at this.
“Th-this is……”
“Quite the dilemma, isn’t it? So, will you apologize now? Or shall we continue? Very, very bravely?”
Whether she had intended it from the start or not, the princess was nothing more than a figurehead here. If she had made the same statement herself, it would have become a much bigger problem. Thanks to the clear hierarchy of status, the situation could end at this level.
“I-I misspoke. Calling you fake was a mistake.”
With this, people would start labeling me as someone with quite radical and extreme tendencies in their evaluation of me at the academy. They had been the ones to start the rudeness, but pushing back so decisively would be seen as lacking finesse. Still, that kind of reputation had its uses. At the very least, fewer people would casually pick fights with me.
“Good. Currently, our orthodox church and the imperial church have simply turned our backs on each other due to differing opinions. Unless the exalted one takes sides, branding the other side as fake is merely the beginning of a massive failure. I trust everyone understands?”
I lifted my chin and looked around as if lecturing—more accurately, preaching. Naturally, most of the imperial side avoided my gaze.
“I heard you clearly, Lucia. You’re right. Even if we are temporarily divided, we are still neighbors and family who will one day be united again.”
While Zieg held back his anger, Peter the crown prince stepped in. Since I, the Saint, had suppressed the imperial side, he couldn’t stay silent as Brien’s crown prince. Thanks to him, it now looked as though Zieg was the one holding back complaints toward me. Perfect staging. It made it seem as if the hero and saint had slightly different opinions—making them appear more approachable.
“Ha, the imperial nobles really are slow with news. They don’t even know why the dean disappeared.”
“Looking at it, doesn’t it seem like the princess had one of her noble ladies purged because she didn’t like her? I didn’t think she was capable of something like that. Impressive. As expected of the princess.”
Meanwhile, public opinion about the princess was taking a strange turn. Instead of seeing her as someone who had simply stood by because she lacked control, people were starting to think she had deliberately encouraged and tolerated the noble lady’s excessive remarks in order to purge her. After all, who would believe that the imperial princess—the one who had confidently initiated the confrontation—had actually been timid and fallen silent the moment she was refuted? It was far more plausible to assume one clueless noble lady had pushed things too far while the princess wisely stopped once she sensed danger.
Of course, I could have been wrong. Maybe it had all been an act. She was only sixteen; it wasn’t impossible for her to be deeply calculating and exceptionally talented in that regard. But that possibility didn’t last long.
“Um…… excuse me……”
“Your Highness?”
After the introductions and greetings ended and everyone was busy unpacking in their dorms and assigning roles to their servants, the imperial princess appeared alone—having somehow shaken off her attendants—with her striking crimson drill hair. In a trembling voice, she said:
“P-please…… help me……”