Ledger Discrepancies
The situation moved quickly. Even though the Church had been struggling before my arrival, there were still people capable of handling financial calculations. Leveraging the commercial infrastructure of the Iron Alliance, they swiftly established what was essentially a “Charity Division” and began coordinating various matters at a rapid pace. Naturally, I ended up getting involved as well—somehow becoming the Church’s top economic expert. Holding a significant share, including the portion delegated by Zieg, probably earned me quite a bit of recognition. In truth, though, I didn’t know the finer details of how the economy or commerce actually operated. Concepts like currency hegemony were still just that—concepts. Even so, I hadn’t missed everything.
“Something about this feels off.”
“Which part are you referring to, Saintess?”
“Look at the last digits in the ledger. They’re too consistent—3, 3, 5, 7, 5, 7, 3, 3.”
Of course, the numbers weren’t laid out so neatly in reality. But once I lined them up like that, anyone with prior knowledge would have spotted the pattern immediately.
“There are other numbers mixed in between, aren’t there?”
“There are. But whenever it shifts from 3 to 5 or 7—or back from 5 or 7 to 3—one of 2, 4, or 6 always appears in between.”
“That is… certainly strange. How did we miss this?”
It wasn’t that these people were fools. They simply hadn’t expected anyone to attempt such a scheme against the Church, and with so much to review in so little time, they’d been forced to seek even the Saintess’s help. They’d also placed too much trust in the financial agents they’d initially commissioned. Just like with the minting and circulation of gold coins, this was something only visible from a perspective detached from the existing Church structure—armed with outside knowledge.
“We’ll need to thoroughly investigate the company in question, along with the related financiers. If the amounts are minor, we can settle for repentance and donations. If it’s more serious, we’ll bar them from the industry entirely. Ah, and the top three offenders will be excommunicated.”
“Understood. To present a double ledger to the Church itself—excommunication is only fitting.”
In this world, excommunication was social death. It had been much the same in medieval Europe back in my old world, but here the consequences were far graver. Though divided, this world ultimately belonged to a single Church with common roots. Elves and dwarves might be different, but humans were not. Once excommunicated, the only work available was simple manual labor—and even that was rarely offered. Anything associated with them carried a taint.
“Their commercial assets will be seized by the Church.”
“Of course. If not the Church, who else would accept and purify such tainted things?”
It was fortunate that people with at least some financial sense had been assigned to this. No matter how limited the Church’s role might be, we had to claim whatever we could. Thanks to them, I was able to step back once my part was done. That didn’t mean I spent the rest of my time lounging about, though.
“You’re really getting personally involved.”
“As are you, Your Eminence.”
“If the Saintess herself is taking action, how could I, a cardinal, simply stand by? I’d be accused of lacking faith.”
Romano was still a major city with over two hundred thousand residents, and there were plenty of people in need of divine miracles. In truth, this was largely due to the negligence of the clergy centered around Romano Cathedral—they considered themselves too valuable to perform miracles for just anyone. Even so, it was remarkable that gold coins retained such high value even outside Brien. Their worth had risen so much that they were treated more as commodities than currency. Once again, I was reminded that human greed knew no bounds—not even Newton could have predicted this level of madness.
“Then why haven’t you done it until now?”
“A cardinal cannot show his face so freely.”
“Even if it’s to perform miracles? That hardly counts as ‘freely,’ does it?”
The cardinal had been about to retort, but he closed his mouth again. He wasn’t completely blinded by authority. These people might have had narrow perspectives for various reasons, but they weren’t idiots. If they had been, they never would have risen to such positions. Even if their only skill was political maneuvering, reaching the rank of cardinal through politics alone was an achievement in itself. Fools couldn’t manage that.
“…Which is why we intend to begin now.”
Having that much sense, Cardinal Stefano simply replied without his earlier forcefulness. It was rather embarrassing, after all. If I’d had any inclination to torment others, I might have teased him further—but there was no sport in mocking someone who was already reflecting on their actions.
“That’s what makes you a clergyman. Personally, I respect that you’ve held onto your faith even as the Church’s influence waned. It couldn’t have been easy.”
“Do you truly mean that?”
“I do.”
Whatever else might be said, they were still clergy. To be chosen as a cardinal required considerable divine power, which in turn signified deep faith. They might have been lacking compared to others, but they were still clergy. Moreover, a cardinal was someone I needed on my side—especially one from Tellaia, where the Pope resided in Romano Cathedral, bordering Brien.
“Then I’ll leave the western district to you.”
“It will be my honor.”
And so began the formal distribution of miracles by the cardinal and the Saintess in Romano—or, in my terms, the collection of gold coins. As expected of a city that had been quietly neglected, the number of people requiring miracles reached nearly ten thousand. At first glance, that seemed excessive for a population just over two hundred thousand, but considering the hygiene standards of the era, it was actually quite moderate. Not everyone needed grand miracles like limb regeneration or reattachment, so the strain on our divine power wasn’t too severe. Yulia was here as well.
“Would it be all right if I stayed here with Lucia?”
“You should. While you’re with the Saintess, raise your own standing.”
Of course, this wasn’t merely about collecting gold coins or solidifying my image as the Saintess abroad. Though officially recognized by the Pope and appointed as Patriarch of the Empire’s southern diocese, Yulia’s position remained precarious due to her status as an imperial princess. She was difficult to fully accept in either the Orthodox or Imperial Church. At least within the Orthodox Church the Pope’s guarantee held some weight, but the Imperial Church was another matter. If their rival Pope acknowledged her, things would be simpler—but there was no guarantee of that. What could fill that gap was her connection to me.
“Goodness, are you an angel?”
“I wouldn’t go that far…”
“But your eyes are golden. I sense a different kind of holiness from the Saintess.”
Yulia’s once-neat bun had loosened into somewhat unruly curls, but her striking golden eyes more than made up for it. Those mysterious golden irises, combined with her bright divine power, gave her an almost mystical appearance.
“See, Yulia? I told you everyone would like you.”
“You were right. Back in Brien Kingdom, I thought people’s goodwill came solely from your influence, even when they couldn’t see you… but it seems I was mistaken.”
Her reaction wasn’t surprising. Even in Brien, I had sometimes stayed hidden nearby, but word had already spread that Yulia had awakened her divine power because of me. Of course, here in Romano the Pope had personally endorsed her, so it wasn’t entirely different—but being recognized on her own merits still felt good. More than anything, her own divine power was already sufficient qualification.
“Saintess, I…”
Of course, among those who came to me were quite a few difficult cases—people whose conditions could only be treated by a Saintess or cardinal.
“This is tricky.”
“But if not you, Saintess…”
“What more can I do in a city where His Holiness the Pope resides?”
Whether fortunate or unfortunate, Romano was the Pope’s city. These people were ultimately the responsibility of Cardinal Stefano and Pope Teo III. My agreement with them had been to perform miracles in exchange for gold coins—not to freely aid the poor without compensation. Still, there was one thing I could do.
“If there’s anything I can do…”
“You know this isn’t how it’s supposed to work, right, Yulia?”
“I know. But there are people who need help.”
Though Yulia had received the Pope’s recognition and the largely symbolic title of Patriarch of the Empire’s southern diocese, she remained, at her core, an imperial princess. If she wished to act, there was little grounds to stop her. There were technical reasons to object, but pursuing them would carry political costs. The Empire would likely interpret her actions as a form of rebellion against the Orthodox Church. As the Emperor’s illegitimate daughter, they might even try to position her as their own version of a saint. Furthermore, her imperial background meant she possessed enough personal wealth that those ineligible for charity wouldn’t flock to her expecting free treatment—an added advantage.
“…I thought only you could do something like this, Saintess.”
“Any clergyman can. As long as you have gold coins, anyone can receive a miracle, regardless of status.”
“But Saintess, gold coins are far too expensive for people like us.”
She wasn’t wrong. In pursuing maximum profit through capitalistic policies, it was inevitable that the poor would be left behind.
“The Church will conduct regular charity work. Please endure until then. Living piously in the meantime would help as well.”
“I will remember your words, Saintess.”
We had already reached an agreement with Teo III regarding potential public backlash, and it had been decided that high-ranking clergy of patriarch rank or above would periodically perform charitable acts. No matter how successful the business, consistent charity and promotion were necessary to maintain momentum. New customers appeared constantly, after all.
As I passed the time waiting for our departure, an event I should have expected—but hadn’t considered—suddenly came my way.
“Saintess, here is the report.”
“A report? I don’t recall requesting anything.”
“It’s the Iron Alliance dividend report.”
Ah, right. Of course there would be dividends if I held shares. As I opened the report, my eyes widened once again at the staggering amount printed there.