Hyde Draws the Perfect Lot #3
Priest Manaan had been born the third son of a frontier baronial house, and he had lived his life with diligence.
He had taken no interest in the fraternal squabbles over succession rights, for his ambitions had always been set higher than that.
Now that the king has fallen, the age of the nobility is finished. This world belongs to the Church.
Recommended by his hometown parish priest, he had tempered himself through rigorous training at a monastery in Durgien until he rose to the rank of Iron Badge priest.
It was there that he met Bishop Archibold—the man who would one day be called Archbishop—and fell deeply under his influence.
Priest Manaan followed Archibold's teachings with absolute fidelity and made himself the man's devoted retainer. Through those efforts he was promoted to Bronze Badge priest, and with Archibold's recommendation he was appointed head priest of the church established in the Agarpe territory.
In this Agarpe chapel I shall become a Silver Badge bishop and aid Archbishop Archibold! And someday I, too, shall sit upon an archbishop's throne…!
Priest Manaan was an arrogant man with a towering pride.
And now some green brat of unknown origin had come swaggering in to spout nonsense at him.
"If I cure the Agarpe young lady's illness within a week, you lot pack your bags and clear out of this church. This church is mine."
It was utterly ridiculous.
You pathetic fool. You think someone of your station can cure Psyche's illness?
But Manaan had spent nearly fifteen years disciplining body and mind. He was not so foolish as to lose his temper at idiots in a place like this. Donning the mask of dignity he had so carefully cultivated, he spoke with leisurely composure.
"Monk Hyde, as a foreigner you may not understand this, but a church is not something to be bought and sold. If you wish to obtain authority over this chapel, the only path is to receive a formal appointment from the Order and take up the post properly."
"Manaan, do I look like a man who wouldn't know that? Once I cure the Agarpe young lady's illness, I will be formally appointed as the priest in charge by the Order. And you will all be excommunicated."
Excommunication.
At that word the Iron Badge priests' faces twisted. Excommunication was not a word to be thrown about lightly.
"Th-that ignorant bastard and his loose mouth! Excommunication, he says!"
"We've heard enough of this drivel—throw him out at once!"
The Iron Badge priests rolled up their sleeves. Manaan raised an arm and checked them.
"We are to be excommunicated? And what leads you to that conclusion?"
Bronze Badge Priest Manaan was a man whose specialties were sermons and debate. Since a fight had been picked, he would not dodge it—he would answer it. He would crush this upstart thoroughly.
With that resolve he fixed his gaze on the black-haired youth's lips, and the young man spoke with perfect calm.
"Romans 6:23."
"……"
At Manaan's gesture the Iron Badge priests placed a thick parchment Bible into his hands. He opened the heavy volume, found the Book of Romans, and turned to chapter 6, verse 23. There it was written:
"For the wages of sin is death; but the gift of God is eternal life through the Savior."
"You have committed sin. The price can only be paid in death. Still—wouldn't excommunication be preferable to actually dying?"
"……"
Manaan was certain this Wood Badge monk possessed some measure of biblical knowledge. But the interpretation was so painfully literal it reeked of a beginner. He was just beginning to suspect the man was a fraud who had merely memorized a handful of verses to parrot when Iron Badge Monk Gurban bellowed,
"What sin have we supposedly committed, you idiot?!"
"Idiot? Whosoever shall say to his brother, 'Thou fool,' shall be in danger of hell fire—. Matthew 5:22. If a bolt of lightning strikes you dead right now, you're confirmed for hell. Those are Elohim's rules."
"Hah—really now—. What is this, hah—."
Iron Badge Priest Gurban was left speechless. This Wood Badge monk's tongue was radical and extreme, yet it struck like a viper's fangs that never missed an opening.
…You go to hell just for calling someone a fool? Was there really a verse like that?
The Iron Badge priests shut their mouths and looked to Manaan for cues. Manaan, shepherd of these priests, sank into thought.
He pictured Archbishop Archibold's healers, who would soon arrive.
When they come to this chapel and find chaos like this, how will they evaluate me? They might decide I can't even handle a single Wood Badge monk.
Archbishop Archibold's estimation of Manaan might drop as well. Concluding that he needed to settle this quickly, Manaan nodded.
"Very well. Monk Hyde. If you can cure Young Lady Psyche of that cursed affliction, then by Elohim I swear we shall withdraw from our priestly posts at this church without protest. But a wager must be equal."
With a soft sweep of his hand, Manaan pointed a finger at the mouth of the Wood Badge priest who had been running it so freely.
"If you fail to cure the illness within one week, I will tear out your tongue. Do not take the name of God in vain—. That is the Third Commandment. You have prattled recklessly of God's laws. You will pay the price, yes?"
Manaan was a fifteen-year veteran priest. There was no chance he would lose a debate over biblical verses to some wet-behind-the-ears brat.
Satisfied that he had landed a solid blow, Manaan looked at the youth with smug confidence—only for the young man to nod without the slightest hesitation.
"Agreed. I swear it before God as well."
Bang—!
With that final answer, the bizarre Wood Badge monk youth stormed out of the chapel.
Iron Badge Monk Gurban rubbed his half-bald forehead and asked,
"Ugh, that con-artist bastard. Barely out of diapers and strutting around with a few half-memorized Bible verses! But Priest Manaan—was it wise to make a wager so carelessly?"
At the Iron Badge priest's concern, Manaan smiled with easy composure.
"You don't seriously think a swindler like that could cure Psyche's illness, do you? Archbishop Archibold himself declared that Young Lady Psyche's illness will never be cured."
To Manaan, Archbishop Archibold's word was absolute. Even if Archibold claimed fire could produce ice, Manaan would have believed him.
The Iron Badge priests who heard this were thrown into confusion.
"What? Young Lady Psyche's illness can never be cured…!?"
"…Th-then why is His Excellency Archibold sending healers to the Agarpe territory? If it can't be cured anyway…."
Manaan kept his silence rather than answer. Speaking too freely of the Archbishop's plans was unwise.
Instead, Priest Manaan offered a silent prayer of repentance.
Lord, in Thy name forgive me my sins.
Making a wager carelessly was, by nature, a sin. And the wages of that sin meant death and the eternal punishment of hellfire. With one light prayer of repentance to escape that penalty, Manaan considered himself a new man.
—Even if the person in question had committed murder.
"What a bunch of idiots!"
I left the church and walked the streets, laughing with pure satisfaction. Of course I was happy—the church was about to roll right into my hands.
"It's old and falling apart, sure… but still!"
A church of my very own. Anyone who dreamed of becoming a pastor would be thrilled. A dilapidated building could be repaired gradually. If anything, being able to renovate it from scratch to my own tastes was a plus.
"Things are going so well I feel like five years of indigestion just cleared right out."
Swear not at all—. That was the teaching of Matthew 5:22. I'd been worried Manaan might cite that verse and refuse the wager, but the Bronze Badge priest had taken my bait with ease.
Of course, even if he hadn't accepted the bet, I had about four other methods for driving out these rotten fake-priest bastards. Still, having things resolve so smoothly put me in a good mood.
"…Well, he probably thinks it's a wager he can't possibly lose."
Curing Young Lady Psyche's illness. From what Galatea and Manaan had said, no one had ever managed to heal Psyche's condition. Miraculous "holy power" wasn't omnipotent, after all.
And with this barbaric world's medical knowledge—where people didn't even wash their hands before examining or operating on patients—diagnosing and curing Young Lady Psyche's illness was honestly close to impossible. The concept of proper medical hygiene hadn't even existed until Pasteur in the nineteenth century, and this world was, at a generous estimate, somewhere between the tenth and seventeenth.
"But I'm different. I'm a twenty-first-century human."
And through five years of experience, I already had a rough idea of what illness Young Lady Psyche was suffering from.
After walking the streets with a light step for about an hour, a rather large mansion appeared before me. Built four stories high from stacked ivory-colored brick, the estate looked less like a house and more like a fortress or castle.
How many rooms did it have? Did a count's authority amount to something like a provincial governor combined with a legion commander?
I was turning over these thoughts when a guard soldier in leather armor reinforced with iron plates stepped into my path.
Clank—.
"This is the private property of House Agarpe, the Count's family."
For a soldier who wasn't even a knight, his armament was excellent. The emblem embroidered on the blue surcoat worn over his armor was an eagle with spread wings.
I spoke with full confidence.
"I am Monk Hyde, come to treat the young lady of Agarpe's illness. I was told I could receive a wooden token with my place in the waiting queue."
I produced the identification papers and travel pass I'd kept ready for easy access. The guard with the short-cropped brown beard looked me up and down, frowned, and asked,
"The one who issued this pass is Galatea, Knight of the Crusade of Divine Punishment? I've heard that name before. Is this pass genuinely from her?"
Apparently Bronze Badge Knight Galatea was something of a local celebrity. Well, she was kind-hearted, skilled, and reasonably attractive—of course she'd be popular. I was just wondering why I'd never known about someone like her until I was already infamous as "Rust" when someone approached us with a metallic clank.
"What's this? What's going on?"
He was a man roughly as tall as I was, with healthy sun-browned skin. His face was so perfectly proportioned it looked measured with a ruler, and his short-cropped blond hair left a strong impression.
Even more striking was the fact that he wore not chain mail but full silver plate armor. A genuine knight, then. An eagle emblem was engraved into the breastplate of his armor, and it looked damn impressive. The guard soldier offered him a quick salute and held out the travel pass.
"Sir Loras. I was verifying this man's identification and travel documents."
"Oh, Galatea's pass. Doesn't look forged—I know her signature. Fine. You may grant him entry. Monk… Hyde?"
The knight regarded me through narrowed eyes. Loras, was it? He looked quite capable. His expression was arrogant to the point of supreme self-assurance. He was at least on Galatea's level as a Bronze Badge holy knight—or higher.
A knight of Agarpe? As expected of a count's household.
"Follow me."
I fell in behind Loras as he strode ahead. With a red cloak draped over his shoulders, Loras carried himself like a triumphant general, and the maidservants who caught sight of him blushed.
"Look, it's Sir Loras. When did he return to the territory?"
"I heard he took second place in the tournament this time? He's so dreamy!"
"Who's that behind him? Looks like a foreigner, but he's as tall as Sir Loras."
We passed through a garden where summer flowers bloomed in full, beautiful glory, and as we reached the mansion entrance my heart pounded so hard and my hands and feet tingled so sharply that the world before my eyes nearly swam.
Psyche.
I've come!