A Request at the Great Temple
The Callion Empire and the God Luce were bound together, inseparable as flesh from bone.
Hero Kahn had founded the empire in Luce's name, and so the official head of the Church that worshipped Luce was the Emperor himself. In practice, however, the imperial family devoted itself to governance and the running of the state, while the administration of temples and faithful spread across the empire fell to the High Priest enthroned at the Great Temple and the priests dispatched throughout imperial territory.
The Great Temple, which stood within the Imperial Palace grounds, was the beating heart of every Luce believer in the empire. It sent out priests and trained them; through them it reached hands of service to the suffering and planned the countless ceremonies of the faith. One could say without exaggeration that everything about the Luce Religion rested on its shoulders.
That had been the sum of Arthur's explanation.
"So what kind of person is Priestess Lumiel, exactly?"
"Well..."
Arthur rolled his eyes as if carefully selecting his words.
"She's remarkable. They say she could have taken the High Priest's seat itself, but she turned it down on her own. Something about not wanting to be tied to a position—she wanted to serve the world instead."
"The Emperor appoints the High Priest, right?"
"That's right, since the High Priest of the capital becomes the head of the entire Luce faith. The priests put forward their recommendations, His Majesty selects the candidates from among them, and appoints one."
"Hm."
In terms of his old world, it would be something like a papacy existing inside a single nation.
Arendt was nodding along, sorting through the information, when Arthur spoke up again, with some difficulty.
"...Why are you asking me this while you're doing a handstand?"
"Figured if I distracted myself, it might hurt a little less."
"Then just give up. What's the point of forcing yourself through it?"
"Two minutes left."
"You stubborn bastard."
Arthur spat out the curse while his arms, already trembling violently, barely held him up. He and Arendt were currently side by side in a corner of the training grounds, upside down. Sweat dripped down in quick patters, obedient to gravity.
"...Priestess Lumiel is close to His Majesty in age, and she's one of the most respected priests in the empire. Even the High Priest doesn't treat her carelessly, from what I hear."
"Aha. Even more impressive than I thought."
"So why do you ask about Priestess Lumiel?"
"Oh, nothing. She asked to see me briefly today, is all."
"What? ...Uwaack!"
Thud!
Arthur lost his balance in an instant, wobbled, and rolled across the ground in the most undignified fashion imaginable. Arendt, who had held a perfectly straight posture until the very last second, lowered his legs and settled lightly to his feet.
"Why are you so startled?"
"How could I not be startled, you brat! Why would a priestess want to see you?"
The shriek burst out of him immediately. It was a mercy that the training grounds stood empty.
"Keep it down. Something came up and we need to talk, that's all. I didn't expect it either."
After their brief discussion that day, Cantares had wasted no time sending a personal message to Priestess Lumiel. A rare and unusual object had come into his hands, he'd said, whose nature he could not identify, and he wished to consult her expertise.
The reply that came back, however, was unexpected. She would gladly receive the request—but since His Highness the Crown Prince and Commander Laios were surely too busy, she asked that Sir Arendt be sent in their stead.
"Have you ever been to the temple since you joined the palace?"
"No. I don't really make a habit of praying to gods."
"How did a guy like that end up with a private audience with Priestess Lumiel..."
Arthur muttered, looking utterly deflated.
"You don't exactly pray devoutly either, Senior. And I don't see the others visiting all that often either."
"Still, I go once in a while. Licht seems to drop by whenever he has a spare moment."
"Didn't know that."
Arendt rubbed the back of his neck for no particular reason.
In this empire, the existence of the God Luce was like the air—present everywhere, taken utterly for granted. Even now, if he only turned his head, he could see the angelic figures adorning the pillars of the training grounds, and ornaments and holy icons modeled after Luce could be found without effort anywhere one looked. That alone made it easy to guess just how dearly the people of the empire loved their god.
Priestess Lumiel, hm.
He had seen her in the flesh only once, briefly, during the council. And yet he could not quite call the face unfamiliar—because he remembered her as she was described in The Blue Knight of the Sacred Sword.
The scene came to him unbidden: her struggling valiantly to save the wounded and the sick.
Priests who bore the power of the gods within them could wield a force called divine power. Holy water blessed by the god, together with a priest's divine power, carried potent healing ability—and depending on the priest's strength, they could even raise protective barriers. During the civil war, when the mages had all been thrown onto the front lines, it was an ability that had proven immensely useful from the rear.
"Anyway, I'll be heading off. Don't go telling other people about this for no reason."
"You run around wheeling and dealing every single day without fail. Doesn't it wear you out?"
It had only just happened, after all—that stretch of days spent meeting noble after noble, working his schemes on each of them. When Arthur groaned in exasperation, Arendt simply shrugged.
"I'm young. Unlike you, Senior."
"What's that supposed to mean? Are you calling me old?"
"Well, technically you're still in your prime, if you think about it—"
At the trailing note in his voice, and at the head-to-toe sweep of Arendt's gaze, Arthur's face twisted into a scowl.
"What is wrong with you, brat."
"Well, seeing as you can't even hold a proper handstand anymore, I was wondering if your body might already be failing you. Do take care of yourself."
"Hey, that's because you suddenly—hey! Oi!"
Before his irritation-soaked retort could even finish, Arendt left him where he stood and sauntered away. He heard Arthur carrying on with some last desperate protest behind him, and ignored it with practiced ease.
So this guy's faith life was apparently distant at best.
Arendt himself had never believed in any god, but that didn't mean he'd never prayed. As he recalled the aching, impassioned prayers he had once recited upon the stage, he gradually lowered his head.
The 'Arendt' he was playing now was not a man who asked anything of the gods. Right up until the moment of his death, the character had never once prayed—lips pressed tight, glaring at nothing but Laios.
And so his course of action was decided.
The moment he had washed himself clean, changed out of his sweat-soaked uniform, Arendt set off toward the temple.
It stood toward the outskirts of the Imperial Capital, but he had no trouble finding his way. The garden at the entrance carried a plainer, more restrained air than the other precincts of the palace—and precisely because of that, the colossal statue of the God Luce stood out all the more strikingly.
Arendt drifted toward it, half in a daze, his steps slow and dreamlike.
The statue was so enormous it nearly matched the building's height. The wear of long years showed openly upon it, yet as if the priests had tended it with loving hands, not a single damaged spot was visible anywhere.
Luce was usually depicted as an androgynous figure with long, curling hair that flowed down to the very feet. The enormous sculpture rendered every last fold of those flowing robes with painstaking delicacy, and the sight of it standing proudly with the Sacred Sword raised high was, quite simply, magnificent.
The temple itself gleamed the same pure white as the statue, but it carried a far stronger sense of age than the rest of the palace's glittering buildings. For a High Temple of the imperial capital, its exterior was almost modest—and that very modesty lent it an atmosphere all the more solemn and reverent.
"Would you be Sir Arendt von Eckhart?"
Arendt, who had been standing there blinking for a good long while, snapped back to his senses at a voice that had come up right beside him. He turned his head and met the eyes of a young man dressed in pristine white, who bowed politely before continuing.
"I am a servant of the God Luce, called Benno. Priestess Lumiel sent me to escort you, Sir Arendt."
"Ah... yes. Priest Benno."
When Arendt gave a rough nod, the priest who had introduced himself as Benno beamed.
"What an honor this is."
"...Pardon?"
"I believe I'm the first servant of Luce to ever speak with you face to face, Sir Arendt. You are the most famous man in the palace, after all. It's only natural I should be honored."
Benno, who had dropped his voice to a hush as if afraid someone else might overhear, flashed another bright smile.
"Welcome to the High Temple of the capital, Sir Arendt. It may look plainer than you'd expect, but it's a building of tremendous history—after all, it was the very first to be built in this empire."
With that, he began reciting facts Arendt had never asked for, one after another.
"This temple was erected in the middle of ruins that had not yet been cleared, once the war ended. Everyone needed somewhere to turn to, back then."
"So the palace was built afterward?"
"Yes! And the palace was expanded even after that—some parts were torn down entirely and rebuilt. So it's no exaggeration to say this is the only place that still bears its original form from those days."
As he followed behind Benno, Arendt stole glances at his surroundings from the corner of his eye. Just as the exterior was modest, the interior had been decorated with a quiet, restrained air throughout. No excessive ornamentation was to be seen; instead, the colorful stained glass filling the windows lent a touch of splendor to the simple space.
It was a symbol of Luce, who was light itself.
It's quiet in here.
It wasn't that people were absent, but hardly any noise reached the ear. Benno, who had been chattering nonstop, had fallen demurely silent, and the priests who occasionally passed by kept their focus on their own footsteps.
And yet they could not quite hide the curious glances they threw his way—which meant Arendt's notorious reputation had apparently spread even to this hallowed place. Thinking of it that way, he felt a small flicker of pride.
"The prayer room is this way."
Benno, hurrying a few steps ahead, knocked gently on an aged wooden door. Then, without waiting for permission, he slid it open for Arendt.
"I'll wait here. Take your time talking."
"Well... thank you."
Even Arendt would admit the reply was lukewarm at best, but Benno seemed pleased even by that, grinning and bowing his head. As Arendt stepped into the prayer room, Benno quietly closed the door behind him.
Arendt frowned slightly at the light that suddenly flooded his vision.
Warm sunlight poured in through the high windows, filling the entire space to the brim. Directly beneath the light-flooded panes, a statue of the God Luce with arms outstretched gazed mercifully down upon the chairs where the faithful sat in prayer.
Priestess Lumiel, seated quietly opposite the god, lifted her head and looked at Arendt. A gentle smile settled over her wrinkled face.
"Thank you for coming all this way, Sir Arendt. I know it must have been a bother."
Bright sunlight streamed down around her, wrapping her white-robed figure in radiance. She looked like someone beloved of the light itself.
"Have a seat, Sir Arendt. This conversation may take a while."
Priestess Lumiel rose from her place and offered him the very spot where she had been sitting.
Arendt blinked blankly for a moment before collecting himself.
"I'd rather stand, thank you."
"I only wished to see your face as we speak, Sir Arendt. You're taller than I am, you see—if you stood before me, I doubt we could converse comfortably."
At her gently murmured explanation, Arendt shrugged and looked around instead. Before the statue stood a raised platform, its floor built higher than the rest—a place, it seemed, for preaching or leading prayer.
Arendt plopped himself down squarely upon it.
"Then I'll sit here."
His eye level now sat a good deal lower than the priestess's. Lumiel burst out laughing despite herself, and returned to her seat.
"Very well. Thank you. I twisted His Highness the Crown Prince's arm a little to arrange this... and I'm simply grateful he granted the favor. Though I suspect he wasn't entirely pleased about it."
"Well... I can more or less guess why."
It was easy to picture Cantares, fretting anxiously that his subordinate might behave rudely toward a priestess.
Priestess Lumiel smiled warmly and came slowly to the point.
"The reason I asked for you specifically, Sir Arendt, is that I too have a favor I wish to ask."
"From you, Priestess? Or on behalf of the Great Temple?"
"No—this is a request from me alone, as an individual. Just as His Highness said he wished to consult this Lumiel."
The answer came back soft, but unmistakably clear.
Arendt blinked, slow and openmouthed.
Well, this is...
An unexpected development, to say the least.
And somewhere deep down, a conviction stirred: things were about to get interesting.