The Saint Walks Barefoot
The problem was that the things I had learned with peak concentration throughout my life, driven by brutally intense motivation, were mostly common sense, history, politics, and economics. That was only possible because the people I needed to deal with politically could be gathered under the name of the Great Temple. Even a mutt knows how to eat and sleep in its own front yard, and I’m not a mutt—I’m a saintess.
Still, when I announced that I was the saintess and immediately followed it with the declaration of a miracle-backed currency, I had predicted something like this might happen. That’s why, at Cardinal Rondel’s level, we had decided to stall for time while giving me intensive etiquette training.
“But the royal family made the first move.”
“It means they’re taking the situation that seriously. This is embarrassing to admit, but based on the image the Church has shown so far, His Majesty William IV’s reaction is definitely overblown.”
At first glance, it sounded like a member of the Church disparaging the Church itself, but unfortunately, those words were simply the truth. Starting with the repeated failures of the holy wars declared against the Demon Kings, the Church had tried and failed to seize parts of several city-states as direct papal territories, failed to stop the number of imperial cardinals from growing from one to two, and ultimately split apart because of the existence of the hero. Even looking only at the big picture, it was that bad. And the number of self-inflicted blunders made in desperate attempts to recover from those failures was so numerous it would be hard to list them all. At least there had been fewer blunders when dealing with the general public, which was a relief. In other words, whenever nobles were involved, the Church had an uncanny talent for stepping on every rake in the yard.
“I was hoping they’d underestimate us a little…”
I had hoped this new miracle-backed currency would be seen as just another one of those blunders. But whether the king had unusually sharp instincts or his chancellor and economic officials had sensed something unusual, the response came almost instantly. Still, a king? I had expected it as a possibility, but I hadn’t rated the odds very high. At most, I thought it would stop at the chancellor.
“How would you like to proceed? Shall we dress more modestly?”
In any case, it was clear that the man named William IV knew something about the Church’s financial situation. So I briefly considered dressing modestly, acknowledging that reality, and deliberately appearing a little weak to induce complacency.
“No. We still need to dress the part. Right now, prestige is what matters.”
“Understood. I will prepare accordingly.”
But more important than that was planting the perception that the Church cherished and supported me, their saintess. Let’s be honest. My speech had been spectacular, and my immediate actions—bestowing miracles in the slums—had successfully imprinted the idea that the saintess was the real deal. Even the rulers had no choice but to acknowledge that such divine power was impressive. But no matter how you looked at it, my body was still that of a sixteen-year-old girl. It had been packaged as a low-ranking deity possessing me, but that was a secret known only to a tiny handful of people, including Cardinal Rondel. What only I knew was that what was inside me wasn’t even a low-ranking deity. That part could be dealt with later. To the royal family and everyone else outside, I was simply a little girl who had been pampered and raised within the Church, chosen as saintess, and knew nothing of the ways of the world. That level of induced complacency was more than enough. If they were going to let their guard down, that would suffice. And if they weren’t, then at this point nothing I did would make them drop it anyway. That was my assessment.
“These clothes… they’re a bit heavy, aren’t they?”
“There’s no helping it if we want to do this properly.”
So I had decided to compensate for the authority I might lack by dressing the part, but changing out of my usual priestess robes into something else made them feel surprisingly heavy. And no, it wasn’t because of all the metal accessories hanging everywhere. It was simply that the saintess robes I had been wearing before were absurdly light.
“We’re finished dressing you. Would you stand up, please?”
I had stayed as still as a dress-up doll while the priestess worked until she spoke. When I stood, the weight became even more apparent. I turned once in place, and the accessories clinked and chimed against one another with a light metallic sound. This could be used for a nice mystical effect.
“Then I shall escort you.”
When I emerged from the Great Temple in that state, Cardinal Rondel was waiting with several holy knights and a pure white four-horse carriage they were guarding. Seeing this, it seemed the Church at least understood the importance of external image. Every one of the holy knights rode pure white horses, their uniforms white and elegantly sacred. The carriage itself had subtle but clearly visible gold decorations that looked as if embroidered with golden thread, and it was obvious quite a bit of money had been spent on it. They probably hadn’t prepared all this only to ask if the saintess alone should travel modestly. Since I had said I would dress extravagantly, they must have prepared accordingly.
“It’s the saintess’s carriage.”
“May God bless us…”
Fortunately, the security procedures weren’t too strict. It had only been three days since the appearance of the new saintess was announced, so there wasn’t yet any significant hostility. I was able to look outside through the carriage window without any interference. It wouldn’t last very long, but for now it let me observe the areas outside the slums and manage public sentiment even in the middle of all this.
“The Royal Knight Order is approaching to provide escort.”
At some point the people ahead of us, in the direction we were heading, began to murmur. Soon one of the holy knights approached and spoke quietly. It hadn’t even been a few minutes since we left the Great Temple, yet the Royal Knight Order was already attaching themselves. I couldn’t help but think that, but I was still curious to see their ceremonial display. If I was currently the external authority and symbol of the Church, then the Royal Knight Order must be the external authority and symbol of the royal family.
And what I saw was—
“They’re surprisingly practical, aren’t they?”
Given that they were the Royal Knight Order, I had imagined armor that shone like chrome plating—something flashy rather than practical, with an unusual design. But the knights who approached weren’t wearing armor that gleamed excessively, nor did they have absurd decorations in pursuit of over-the-top splendor. Their helmets were shaped like bird beaks, but beyond that there was nothing particularly strange.
“Pardon me, Saintess. I am Baron Henry Freewind, Commander of the Royal Knight Order.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Baron Freewind. I am Lucia, who has become the saintess of the Church despite my inadequacies. I look forward to working with you.”
“The pleasure is mine, Saintess. Your speech two days ago left a deep impression.”
“Thank you.”
When the baron lifted his beak-shaped face guard to greet me and engage in polite conversation, his face looked less like that of a knight who had climbed the elite course and more like a battle-hardened veteran. More than anything, the long scar running from his left cheekbone down to his jaw was striking. Most knights wore their helmets tightly, so such deep wounds were rare. A scar that severe would normally have been life-threatening or career-ending. I hadn’t met many points of comparison yet, but the holy knights I had seen in passing didn’t have scars nearly that large on their faces. Even though the Commander of the Royal Knight Order was only a baron—the lowest rank among the peerage—he was still close to the center of power. Curious, I called for the cardinal.
“What kind of person is Baron Freewind?”
“He was originally a free knight. About twenty years ago, during a campaign led personally by the previous king, he distinguished himself purely through skill and became a royal knight. Five years ago he received his title and was appointed commander.”
My first impression had been correct. From what I had learned, free knights were knights in name only; in practice, they were well-equipped mercenaries who fought well. That was the average in this world. They had received knighthood somewhere but belonged to no order, so they usually had some flaw that made it difficult to join a proper faction despite their skill. But to have caught the eye of no one less than the previous king—Baron Freewind must have had luck as great as his ability.
“Then has he completely overcome his origins? Has he been fully accepted by the central nobility?”
“On the surface, yes. But there are quiet rumors that even within the Great Temple there is an unspoken level of discrimination and cold treatment. While the position of Royal Knight Commander is certainly prestigious, I hear his relationship with the current crown prince is not good.”
Ah, then it must be difficult. Even if he was personally chosen by the previous king and appointed commander by the current king, earning the dislike of the future king was inevitably a problem. If he at least had a powerful family behind him it might be different, but since he had been a free knight, there was a chance his origins weren’t even noble to begin with. Where could he turn for support?
Hmm. If handled well, this might be something I can work with.
“And his attitude toward the Church?”
“I would say it is favorable, but he is far from a zealous supporter. Since knights often need help from our clergy, you can think of it as a naturally good relationship.”
At least he isn’t hostile. What should I do? In any case, since he is the Royal Knight Commander, I don’t want to pull him entirely to our side. Even if the crown prince dislikes him, the king is still healthy, and thanks to our clergy, most illnesses can be cured. There is no chance the king will be replaced anytime soon.
But… hmm. If I just twist my brain a little more—really just a little—I feel like something might come out. If only I had just a little more material.
“Did he commit some offense?”
“No. It was just impressive that someone in the position of Royal Knight Commander has such a prominent scar on his face. The Church would have healed it if he had asked.”
“Since he does not wish it, there is nothing we can do.”
Is there some story behind it? Assuming there is, how far can I push before he gets wary? And would the material I gain while treading that carefully even be enough to cook up something worthwhile?
“Could you look into it without raising too much suspicion? The story behind that scar. It might be nothing important, but we won’t know until we check, right?”
“Yes. There is no known information. The scar was already there when the previous king took him in. I will investigate discreetly.”
It was probably just a battle wound, but for some reason it tugged at me. It sounds ridiculous even to myself, but maybe it’s a woman’s intuition. No, no. Let’s call it a saintess’s intuition.
Nothing else particularly noteworthy happened after that. The only impression I got was that the royal palace itself emphasized practicality over splendor. The outer walls were a clean, pure white, but they were tall and the structure was rather crude, so it didn’t give off much elegance or overwhelming authority. That tendency must have carried over to the Royal Knight Order as well. It seemed the current king valued practicality more than appearances. I had heard as much, but seeing and confirming it in person was another matter.
So I wanted to shake things up a bit and see what kind of reaction I could draw out.
“Saintess, I apologize, but from here you must descend and walk.”
“Very well. Will you give me your hand?”
“…Yes.”
Perhaps because the royal palace was built with practicality in mind—useful even for siege defense—the area inside the inner walls was notable more for its neatness than its splendor. In other words, the interior paths were far better maintained than those in the slums. Since this was my first time stepping inside the royal palace, it wouldn’t hurt to put on a suitable performance.
So right after I took Baron Freewind’s hand and stepped down, I slipped my heel slightly out of the blue shoe I was wearing, then flicked my foot like a horse kicking backward. I snatched the shoe out of the air before it could fall. I had thought I might drop it, but it worked perfectly.
“Ah, there are no dress code rules for visitors to the royal palace, correct?”
“Y-yes, there are none.”
I already knew the answer, but I asked as if I had only just remembered. The baron’s flustered reaction was quite entertaining.
“Then, as the saintess, I shall bless this land with these bare footsteps.”