The Wisdom of Balance
Lumiel's remark about this being a personal favor had been pointed—deliberately so, and it rang with quiet significance.
She had evidently noticed that Crown Prince Cantares's summons had come to her alone rather than to the temple as a whole. And, it seemed, she understood exactly what that meant.
"It hardly compares to the duties of His Highness the Crown Prince, I know, but my own responsibilities are weighty in their way as well. It is an honor beyond my deserving, truly—but at times, I find the position rather... inconvenient for honest conversation."
As if she'd guessed what was on Arendt's mind, the priestess continued smoothly.
"So I imagine you're wondering why I called you here?"
"I simply decided you'd be the most comfortable person to talk with, Sir Arendt. Watching you address His Highness without a shred of hesitation settled the matter for me."
Which was fair enough. No self-respecting noble, so concerned with decorum and appearances, would ever dream of such a thing. It was a feat possible only for Arendt, who couldn't have cared less about etiquette in the first place.
Offering neither confirmation nor denial, Arendt simply regarded the priestess with a steady gaze.
"And, if I'm honest, there's my own curiosity as well. You left quite the impression on me. I found myself wanting to speak with you privately at least once."
"You have a taste for delinquents, do you?"
"Hohoho. What catches the eye tends to endear itself, doesn't it?"
His crooked question was answered with a seasoned quip. The smile curving her lips was gentle as ever, but Arendt could no longer see her as merely a good-natured old woman.
She's not ordinary at all.
Whatever else she was, she was clearly no one to be taken lightly.
"Have you finished consulting with the High Priest on this?"
"This is purely my own judgment, I assure you. The High Priest would not look kindly on it."
"Why not?"
"Hm, that's a rather complicated story..."
A wry smile crossed Lumiel's face.
"I think it's only right that I share a little of the inside story with you, Sir Arendt."
"I'd be grateful if you did."
It was a remarkably insolent answer, but the priestess paid it no mind. She paused for a long moment, as if weighing her words, before finally beginning.
"You are well aware, I trust, that the temple and the imperial household operate as separate spheres?"
Her tone was soft and unhurried, like an old woman telling a bedtime story.
"In peaceful times, the hero who wields the Sacred Sword need not be of royal blood. Once the sword is laid down, the imperial house need only serve as guardian of the empire—this has been the teaching handed down since the First Emperor stepped aside."
The measured cadence continued, patient as if explaining to a child.
"Our temple's refusal to interfere in the imperial court flows from the same tradition—the belief that those who serve the gods must keep their distance from worldly power."
"How to put this. That's..."
Arendt, who had been listening in silence, finally spoke.
"Quite the gamble, honestly."
Each sphere respected the other's domain, kept to its own business, and beyond that, each served as the other's watchdog to prevent corruption. It wasn't a bad arrangement—through mutual restraint, a corrupt high priest or a tyrannical emperor could be stopped before either could ruin the empire.
But at the same time, it was a dangerously bold idea. In the early days of a nation, the usual instinct was to consolidate power, not to deliberately split it in two.
Even calling it the era when Hero Kahn abdicated the throne, it would have been only twenty years or so after the empire's founding. And right on the heels of a great war that had swept the whole world—those years of his reign must have been consumed entirely by cleanup and rebuilding.
And yet he had conceived of separating the temple from the throne and setting them to check each other.
"Yes, exactly! I've always thought it a remarkably wise design. Because that rule has held unbroken, the empire has grown as strong as it is today."
Arendt, who had drifted off into his own thoughts for a moment, snapped back to attention at the kindly voice.
"Non-interference has been scrupulously observed on both sides, all the way to the present. But the situation now has changed... well. The moment the words evil god were spoken, we could no longer sit idly by with our hands in our laps."
"Then isn't the obvious answer to simply join hands with the imperial house formally?"
"Ideally, yes—but regrettably, that is what the High Priest does not want."
"Ah."
One sentence explained everything that had happened until now.
"Come to think of it, the High Priest wasn't present at the last meeting, was he?"
"No, I attended in his place. When I reported the results of the talks to him..."
"He was quite displeased, I take it?"
As the priestess's voice trailed off, Arendt finished the sentence for her. She gave a small nod.
"Yes. He flew into a rage, asking why everyone was running about so recklessly when this was no crisis demanding such an uproar. There have always been factions that resist the imperial house, he said—and even if impostors were now claiming to be the evil god's apostles, the entire palace ought not to be thrown into pandemonium over it."
"Impostors, then. So that's how he's reading it."
"It's a little awkward to say this aloud, even now..."
Lumiel exhaled a short sigh and lowered her voice further still.
"He went so far as to say that this entire situation may well be something His Highness the Crown Prince has orchestrated himself. And—I truly apologize for this—but there are other priests who see it the same way."
"Hm. So the temple is divided against itself, is what you're saying."
"On the verge of it, I would say. Why, the High Priest's opinion and my own are already at odds, as you can see."
Honestly, this was a scenario Arendt hadn't anticipated. He'd never imagined the temple would dig in its heels like this.
"Do you happen to know the reason in detail?"
"I have a rough idea. First, I suppose, simple disbelief. Out of nowhere, in an era of peace, people worshipping an evil god appear—it's a great deal to swallow."
Lumiel paused briefly, then added:
"More than anything, I suspect the decisive factor is that the Sacred Sword has yet to react. When great peril befalls the empire, the Sacred Sword seeks out its master—you know that saying well enough, Sir Arendt."
"If the evil god had truly appeared, the Sword should have been the first to rise. Is that the argument?"
"Yes, precisely so."
The venerable priestess nodded slowly.
"And does the Sacred Sword... react to nothing but the evil god?"
"I don't think it's such a simple matter. Though this is merely my own opinion."
After another pause to choose her words, she began again.
"When a crisis arises grave enough that the gods themselves must intervene in this world—perhaps that is when the revelation of God Luce comes down through the Sacred Sword."
"Intervene, you say?"
"Sir Arendt, do you know what matters most in keeping the world intact?"
The question came out of nowhere. When the young knight shook his head, the priestess explained patiently.
"The world is made of balance and harmony. Where there is light, there is shadow; where good things happen, bad things happen as well. The gods protect and sustain us by keeping the scales of the world in equilibrium."
A gentle curve settled at the corners of Lumiel's mouth.
"Only when the world begins to lose that balance will God Luce reach out His hand directly—or so I believe. To put it simply: the time has not yet come for Him to act in person."
"Ahh."
Arendt gave a vague nod. Truthfully, it was something that had been nagging at him lately—why the Sacred Sword remained so quiet.
"Then this situation isn't the worst-case scenario yet."
"It is not. As for the other reason... this, too, you've experienced firsthand well enough."
For the first time, the faint crease of a frown appeared between Lumiel's brows.
"His Highness the Crown Prince has reaped a great many gains of late. Because of that, the High Priest says, one cannot help but question his sincerity."
"Oh..."
That repertoire never gets old, does it.
While Arendt let out a long, heavy sigh, the priestess continued.
"That meeting in particular brought the fractured nobility back to bow their heads beneath the imperial house—or beneath His Highness the Crown Prince, to be precise. That is what the High Priest found so displeasing."
"Why?"
"This is only my own half-baked speculation, but it seems he believes the temple would be counted among those subjugated in turn."
That couldn't be further from the truth. Simply corralling the nobles had the Crown Prince already worked half to death. But then, the High Priest could hardly be expected to know those particular circumstances.
A possibility surfaced in Arendt's mind, and he voiced it.
"Could it be that the High Priest sees the imperial house as a rival?"
"Well... he might, at that."
The priestess's head dipped in a heavy nod.
"It's a possibility I never gave much thought to until now, but speaking with the High Priest myself, I've felt much the same."
"And you feel it too, Priestess Lumiel?"
"If I did, I wouldn't be sitting across from you right now, Sir Arendt."
Lumiel let out a wry laugh.
"I think differently from the High Priest. And there are quite a few priests who share my views. Priest Benno, whom you met earlier, is one of them."
"Why is that, for them?"
"Because someone shed blood for it—and because of that blood, evildoers were brought to justice."
She meant what had happened at the auction house. Lumiel added quietly:
"Countless people nearly lost their lives to malice. And the ones who stepped forward and stopped it were all of you."
"..."
"The temple was well aware that something was stirring in the empire. The suspicious messenger hawk that flew to His Highness, and your sudden arrest, Sir Arendt—all of it."
There had been more than enough openings for the temple to intervene.
"When that hawk arrived, His Highness and His Majesty most certainly requested the temple's counsel as well. And what did we do? All this time, we simply stood by and watched, calling it the imperial family's affair."
"..."
"For those who did nothing but observe while all of you bled and sacrificed your way to this very moment—do they truly hold any right to be suspicious of you?"
It was an answer without a single tremor in it.
Arendt scratched his head roughly.
"I understand the situation perfectly. So—what's the actual proposal?"
"Personally, I judge it quite likely that the High Priest will refuse to cooperate with the imperial investigation. Of course, I will do my best to persuade him, and he may yet change his mind, but I fear that will be difficult for some time. And should that happen, matters could grow awkward for us all."
Lumiel went on in her calm, even voice.
"To prevent that, I will cooperate with the imperial house. You said you required an advisor, did you not? My knowledge may not be profound, but I can at least live up to my years. You shall have the wisdom of me and of those who follow me. In exchange—"
After a brief pause, her voice flowed on as smoothly as before.
"I would ask that you acknowledge, at the very least, that we stand together with the imperial house. I, too, will spare no counsel. And from time to time, I would ask that the progress of the investigation be shared with me as well."
"Ugh. That's not something I can answer on the spot. I'll pass it along to His Highness the Crown Prince. Though—well, I doubt he'll refuse."
"Yes. That is more than sufficient, Sir Arendt."
With a warm, benign smile, Lumiel nodded slowly.
"Your willingness to hear me out is gratitude enough."
"Then the rest of it hinges on the Crown Prince's answer, I suppose."
"Hoho. So it would seem. My apologies for that."
Only if the Crown Prince gave a favorable reply would Lumiel reveal what she knew. It had all seemed endlessly kindhearted, but once again, she was clearly more than just a sweet old lady.
From the high window near the ceiling, warm sunlight still poured down, and the statue of God Luce looked out over the two of them.
"I believe the temple and the imperial house were separated precisely so that we might cooperate—not so that we might oppose one another. I have no wish to challenge the High Priest's authority... but if it were possible, I would gladly bleed alongside all of you. For the sake of the gods, and for the sake of the empire."
Standing in the full wash of sunlight, the white-robed priestess seemed to hold the light within her own body. And in a voice as warm as those rays, she pronounced her blessing.
"From here on, you will wage your battles closest to the enemy, Sir Arendt. Under the protection of the god—may the road ahead of you hold no great calamity."
Not once in his life had Arendt ever held faith in anything.
That hadn't changed now, either.
And yet, that voice offering words of genuine feeling in the name of a god—well, it didn't sound half bad.
After a brief moment of deliberating over how to respond, Arendt opened his mouth.
"Don't worry about me. If things ever get truly dangerous, I'm planning to be the first one running."
"..."
For an instant, Lumiel's face went blank.
Arendt stared back at her, shameless as ever.
This is how it should be, all right. Being overly earnest had never suited his temperament.