Good Changes, Bad Changes
He still remembered receiving decent treatment on his first visit to the Church.
Even setting aside the name John Nassen, he had been a guest of the Saintess—basic courtesy any member of the Church would show. By that measure, today's reception had been even grander.
"Saintess. You have arrived. And Brother Kyle—welcome back to the Church."
The man bowing in greeting was the vice-commander of the Order of Saint Elfreda. For him to come out personally and receive guests was highly unusual.
"It's been a while, Vice-Commander."
"My apologies. Whenever Your Grace returned, I was always either on duty or sleeping off a shift."
"You've worked so hard. Your devotion to the Church, your faith in God, and your love—I am truly grateful for all of it, Vice-Commander."
"I am merely doing my duty. You've brought a guest with you again today."
"Yes. This is the first time you've seen him in person, isn't it?"
"It is."
The vice-commander approached and traced the sign of the cross over his chest. Kyle, who had been preparing to shake hands, reflexively made the same sign. It happened in an instant, yet there was not the slightest flaw in the motion.
They said if your head was dull your body paid the price—but Kyle's body was so well-trained that hardship of that sort never found him.
"I have heard much of your renown, Brother Kyle."
"Renown, Vice-Commander? Please don't. It makes me uncomfortable just hearing it."
"Did you not defeat Sir Mathieu Philibert—the foremost of the Three Heroes, whom even the Imperial 10 Strongest acknowledge? A warrior is duty-bound to show respect to the strong. Age, experience, none of it has any place in that."
Stiff as a board, was Kyle's first impression of the vice-commander. Still, a quick glance showed a solid, well-built frame, which was a relief. If the vice-commander had been all show and no maintenance, Kyle would have said something on the spot.
"Ah, Saintess. His Eminence is currently offering prayers with the priests. He only just entered, so you will need to wait a little."
At the vice-commander's words the Saintess smiled to show it was no trouble. She was about to suggest to Kyle that they sit somewhere and pass the time when another group of holy knights in pure white armor approached from afar.
"...Saintess. It is the Order of Saint Leo."
"So it is. Why would they suddenly...?"
A faint tension edged the Saintess's and the vice-commander's expressions as they watched the approaching knights. That was enough to make Kyle think, Something up?—though he himself felt no tension at all.
"Saintess."
The holy knight at the front offered a formal salute. His armor was similar to the vice-commander's of the Order of Saint Elfreda, but the engraved emblem was different.
"His Holiness the Pope wishes to see you."
"Me? All of a sudden?"
"Yes. And..."
The knight who had come to deliver the Pope's command turned his gaze to Kyle.
"He instructed that your guest be brought as well."
What is this all of a sudden? Why are we going to meet the Pope out of nowhere?
Thinking as much, Kyle gave the knights walking ahead a once-over.
"They're the Order of Saint Leo. They primarily guard His Holiness the Pope and Their Eminences the cardinals."
Recalling the Saintess's words, Kyle nodded. As befitting those who protected the Church's most vital figures, they were every bit as solidly built as the knights of Saint Elfreda. The commander of Saint Elfreda, Priscilla, was one of the Imperial 10 Strongest, so the Order of Saint Leo drew relatively less attention—but its knights were by no means weak.
"Don't be too nervous, Brother Kyle. It probably isn't anything serious."
He nearly answered, I wasn't nervous at all? Fortunately he had no desire to say anything so rude to the Saintess, so he held it back.
Meanwhile they moved steadily deeper, into places where a sacred aura grew ever more pervasive. When at last they reached the innermost sanctum of the Church, Kyle saw an old man.
"Your Holiness."
The knights and the Saintess offered their greetings as one, and Kyle followed suit. The old man—no, the Pope—waved a hand lightly and spoke.
"Well then. How is the Academy?"
"It is a joyful place, Your Holiness. And a truly bright one."
"I am glad. I had worried you might be disappointed, so this is truly fortunate. And it seems you have made good friends as well—nothing could make me happier."
The Pope's gaze shifted to Kyle.
"Brother Kyle, was it? Welcome. Is this your second time at the Church?"
"It is, Your Holiness."
"And how do you find it? I would like to hear a brother's impressions of this place."
"It is a beautiful place. And a warm one."
At that answer the Pope burst into a hearty laugh—kind, yet bright.
"I am glad you felt so. Some say this place is rigid, stiff-necked, and at times even bleak in its excessive faith in God."
What lunatic said something like that?
While the Church and the Empire were pursuing a mutual win-win strategy, someone had gone and said something that could damage the relationship. Even an official expression of regret from the Church would barely have been enough.
"For reference, those were the words of my own immature past self. Heh heh."
...
What the fuck. What kind of worldbuilding is this supposed to be?
"Brother Kyle. Truthfully, I had something I wished to say to you, and so I committed this impropriety. Forgive this old man."
"It is nothing to me, Your Holiness. But what is it you wished to say?"
"Do you recall? The last time Brother Kyle came to the Church and persuaded the Saintess and the cardinal to undertake a certain endeavor."
"If it was something I persuaded the Saintess and His Eminence the cardinal to do..."
He started to wonder what that could be—then one thing rose clearly to mind.
The health-improvement project for their priests of absolutely abysmal stamina. The one that went by the name: Let's exercise even while we pray. Yes. That.
"...I believe I know what you mean, Your Holiness. But why bring that up so suddenly...?"
"Come with me."
The Pope rose from his seat and beckoned Kyle with a gesture. Kyle did not immediately fall in step; he glanced sideways for cues. The Saintess smiled faintly and nodded—as if to say he should stand at the Pope's side without worry and converse with him.
Taking her meaning, Kyle carefully took his place beside the Pope. He had already met two grand dukes and even a princess, yet the Pope carried a different kind of unfamiliarity—somewhere between an utterly ordinary old man and the servant of God who spoke for the entire Church and all the faithful.
"After Brother Kyle's visit, a truly wondrous thing occurred."
"A wondrous thing, you say?"
"Indeed. After the Empire's turmoil ended, our Church too fell into a deep sleep. Are you aware of that?"
"The night was deep, and the day had been exhausting—so of course one would fall into a deep sleep, would one not?"
Kyle was deftly turning the metaphor: the chaos of the Empire's conquest wars had been severe, and he was reframing the Church's present "sleep" in a positive light. The Pope laughed softly at the turn of phrase and nodded.
"The brother is right. Yes—we were tired, so sleep was natural enough. But sleep too long and the body grows heavy. To sleep moderately, rise and spend the day, then sleep again—that too is a good thing."
Creeeak—
A pure white door opened onto a side passage leading somewhere. The Pope walked first, then Kyle, with the Saintess and the knights following behind.
"Strength belongs to warriors. With that strength they protect, they fight, and they point the way to the sacred. Yet at times even the purest must also embrace strength. Our brothers of the past did so—but alas, the young souls of today cannot. They had slept too deeply."
"A pity."
"No longer. Brother Kyle saw to that, did he not?"
At last they arrived at a corner of the vast prayer hall within the Church—a place from which one could quietly observe the interior without disturbing anyone inside.
"Thus saith the Lord: every place your hearts may reach..."
Within, Cardinal Paulo—whom Kyle had seen before—was in the middle of reciting a prayer. Beneath him, a great many priests were offering prayers together with devout expressions.
The one difference from before was their posture.
...Whoa. What a spectacle.
Every verse of the prayer was accompanied by a plank. In that fashion, until the entire prayer ended, every priest diligently trained the strength of their core—laying the most fundamental of foundations in preparation for all the various training that was still to come.
"Tell me, Brother Kyle."
Gazing with satisfaction at the priests, the Pope turned to Kyle and asked:
"What should they do next?"
"Hah—huff."
A man gasped for breath as he ran like a madman. Plunging through the darkness in a frenzy, he managed to scramble aboard a ship.
"Huff... huff..."
"Is that all of you? Where are the others? The others!"
"I don't know. We were pursued on the way and decided to scatter."
"Did you bring the goods?"
At the question the man showed the captain what was in his bag. After checking the contents, the captain's face said it was a mercy in the midst of misfortune.
"Captain! There—torches! It looks like the pursuit party!"
"...Damn it."
He hesitated for a moment, but there was only one answer he could give.
"Weigh anchor and unfurl the sails. We're getting out."
"But more than half are still—"
"If we get caught it's over for all of us anyway. There's no choice. They were prepared for this too."
At the captain's words the crew could raise no further objection. If they were captured, everyone was finished. There was no other way.
They hauled up the anchor and spread the sails that had been furled. A timely wind pushed the ship out toward the open sea.
"What course will you set?"
"If we follow the usual routes we'll be caught immediately. Even if it means going farther, we have to take a detour."
"Fresh water will be tight."
"Cut the water ration in half. And if that still isn't enough..."
If it still isn't enough, leave it to the will of God. The captain swallowed the last of the sentence.
After that the ship began to sail south across the night sea.
Meanwhile, those who had just reached the harbor began combing the place in force.
"Damn it! It seems they caught wind of us and set sail!"
"According to the reports, a few of the fugitives still haven't been caught. They appear to have boarded a ship."
At the knight's words the man—Mathieu Philibert—let out a low curse. He had thought they had almost all been rounded up, but it seemed another hardline faction had been hiding inside as well.
"Can you tell which way they sailed?"
"It will be difficult on a night sea. But if we're lucky, nearby sailors may have seen something—we'll put out inquiries."
Ordering them to do exactly that, Mathieu bit his lip.
These damned hardliners who had endangered the Coalition—troublemakers to the very end.