Chapter 16. Go Ahead, Then — Say It
Cantares's face had frozen stiff as he listened to the report. Arendt, who had been watching him in silence, clicked his tongue.
"You seem to be as surprised as I am, Your Highness."
"I knew the High Priest and Priestess Lumiel clashed often enough, but... I never imagined it would come to this."
Cantares stroked his chin, looking genuinely troubled.
"Have the two of them always been on bad terms? I heard Priestess Lumiel almost became High Priest once. Arthur-sunbae told me. Could that be what's behind it?"
"That's probably part of it. And their personalities are so fundamentally different that they're bound to butt heads over every little thing. From what I hear, they've been together since their novice days."
Cantares lowered his gaze.
"They say Priestess Lumiel was quite the free spirit even in her youth. She wandered from place to place, traveled to foreign countries fairly often... whereas High Priest Theodor devoted himself, more or less, to scripture study and training at the Great Temple."
"Ahh, so it could just be a matter of how they think the temple should be run."
"Exactly. Though it sounds like something in this whole affair made them fight on a much grander scale. For both of them to take such extreme positions."
It had been barely days since Arendt had sworn his oath of loyalty to the Crown Prince, in front of a crowd, forsaking his own house to do it. News that Arendt and Priestess Lumiel had met privately would have already reached the High Priest's ears—of that there was no doubt.
It was, for all practical purposes, a declaration of war delivered through Arendt. And how the High Priest—never especially cooperative with the imperial family to begin with—would respond to that was as plain as day.
Cantares clicked his tongue.
"You've been completely played by her. She truly is a formidable woman."
"She called it a proposal, but... it never felt like I had any right to refuse it from the start."
Arendt paused, then frowned slightly.
"This isn't exactly a situation I enjoy."
"Hey, wipe that look off your face. I'm getting chills over here."
"What did I even do?"
Arendt answered the horrified voice with listless indifference.
High Priest Theodor had never been a particularly significant figure in the novel, either. Even during the war, it was Priestess Lumiel who had run herself ragged, dashing back and forth behind the lines.
But looked at from the other direction, Lumiel's free rein had only been possible because Theodor tacitly allowed it.
If the High Priest had actively opposed her, or resented his subordinate Lumiel stepping into the spotlight, it was obvious none of her work would have been possible at all.
Which meant... the two of them had probably never been on *this* bad of terms before.
Did my interference just make everything worse?
The outcome of this latest meeting had apparently poured oil on the embers between the two and lit the whole thing ablaze. Lumiel, ordinarily, would never have dreamed of dragging the imperial family into temple affairs unless things had gotten truly dire.
The situation's bad... but maybe it's actually a good thing.
After a moment's thought, Arendt spoke up.
"What if we keep it simple?"
"Simple how?"
"What you're agonizing over right now is whether or not to get caught between the two of them, isn't it?"
Arendt crossed his arms and went on in the same listless tone.
"Basically, yes."
"With things having escalated this far, pulling out isn't really an option. So let's take it as settled that you're getting involved. The real question is this."
Arendt, standing askew, held up two fingers.
"Lumiel, or the High Priest."
"..."
Cantares blinked slowly.
"Honestly... yeah. That's it."
"Take the High Priest's side, and this all blows over quietly. No matter how far she's pushed, Priestess Lumiel isn't going to stage an insurrection against her own superior."
Cantares nodded. *Go on,* the nod said.
"Peace preserved. But the problems inside the temple never get solved. And you know better than anyone, Your Highness, that the current state of affairs is anything but healthy."
Arendt tilted his head slightly, expression blank.
"Accept Priestess Lumiel's proposal instead, and there'll be a war. Handle it carelessly and the crown ends up blamed for meddling. The High Priest's backlash comes first, of course."
"True."
"But in exchange, you get to see exactly what rot has pooled on his side. And you gain Priestess Lumiel as a very solid ally."
Of course, that was only if everything went well.
Handled poorly, the High Priest's suspicions of the crown could deepen, and relations might spiral straight to rock bottom.
It was an enormous gamble.
But.
"Sweeping a problem under the rug doesn't solve it."
Cantares murmured the words after a long silence.
"What's your read?"
"I have no idea why you're even asking me."
Arendt shrugged, deliberately making a show of it.
"I've always been rather partial to whichever side has something to gain."
"That figures."
Only then did the stiffness crack, and a wry laugh burst out of Cantares.
He had made up his mind.
"Then—"
"And one more thing. Since you asked so insistently for my opinion."
But at that moment, Arendt irreverently cut the Crown Prince off mid-sentence. A faint smile crept across the lips of the knight who had not yet entirely shed his youthful air.
"Between picking one side or the other, my preference is to hold both of them in my hand."
"..."
Cantares stared at him, dumbfounded.
"Honestly, I'm not keen on getting tangled up in whatever board Priestess Lumiel has laid out. Making common cause with her is fine and good, obviously—but it would mean souring things with the High Priest."
"You know, you really don't give a damn who hates you, do you?"
"True enough."
Arendt shrugged blandly at the Crown Prince's muttered incredulity.
"But letting go of the other half would be a waste, wouldn't it? And being wedged between two old men in a pissing contest, floundering around—that sounds boring as hell."
It was an absurd thing to say.
The Great Temple in the Imperial Capital was, if anything in this empire could rival the palace in importance, exactly that—and here he was treating the temple's two pillars like prize fish to be hooked and reeled in.
"Honestly, they're both far too big to settle this by simply picking a side. Both of them."
"Well..."
And yet, at the same time, he was spouting such common sense that Cantares couldn't afford to dismiss him out of hand.
Feeling himself being dragged deeper and deeper in, the Crown Prince nevertheless found himself nodding.
"That much is true."
"If things keep going like this, their relationship only sours further—and in the worst case, it ends up looking like Priestess Lumiel is using the crown's backing to strong-arm the High Priest."
It was an extreme example, but not a wrong one.
Cantares's brow creased faintly.
"I follow your logic. So what's the conclusion?"
"The conclusion is that appearances are what matter."
Arendt, arms still crossed, stood at his usual slant.
"We shake hands with Priestess Lumiel *and* win the High Priest over at the same time. As of right now, that's the best play I can see."
"Easy to say... but is that even possible?"
"If it can't be done, we make it possible."
Arendt answered the skeptical question as matter-of-factly as ever.
"Step one is clearing up the High Priest's misunderstanding. I doubt Priestess Lumiel told him everything that passed between the two of them—so first, we need to get our hands on the full story."
"Get the full story, and then what?"
"If there's a problem, we fix it. If there's a weakness, we dig into it. Isn't that the basic playbook for solving everything?"
Cantares was, for a moment, at a complete loss for words at that brazen declaration.
In the end, the Crown Prince spent a long while pressing his fingers to his temples in silence—then made up his mind.
"Let me say this up front: if you do it your usual way, I'm not taking responsibility."
"That's fine. Just keep quietly channeling support my way now and then."
Arendt smiled, slow and sly.
Judging by that look, some kind of plan was already fully assembled inside his head.
There was no stopping Arendt in this state.
Not that Cantares had any real intention of trying.
"Handle it yourself, then. Just—don't go too hard. Your sunbaes' stomachs are going to get holes eaten through them."
"They're all inhumanly durable. They'll be fine."
It was one of those moments when Cantares genuinely pitied the poor souls of the 3rd Knight Order, who had to handle this creature in its entirety.
Benno, sweeping the garden, lifted his head at the sound of approaching footsteps.
A familiar young man was striding briskly into the temple garden. Benno had no trouble recognizing the deep blue uniform of the Imperial Knight Order and the clean blond hair that seemed to drink in the light, and he broke into a bright smile.
"Sir Richt, isn't it? It has been far too long."
"Sir Benno. Have you been keeping well?"
Richt bowed his head, a little stiffly. But Benno, swept up in simple delight at the reunion, noticed nothing amiss and only beamed.
"I heard you'd been swamped with work, and it's been a while since I last saw you—I did wonder. It seems things have finally settled down for you?"
"Ah... well. Yes."
Facing the innocent, guileless face of the young priest, Richt felt his stomach begin to twist into knots.
He let out a long, slow breath, for no particular reason.
How on earth did I end up...
The knight most knightly of any knight alive found himself recalling the previous night.
......
...
After the day's duties ended, he had been summoned, out of nowhere, to the Vice-Commander's office. He'd gone without the faintest idea why, only to find Arthur and Laios already waiting for him...
And Arendt, who had gathered the three of them, immediately unleashed a torrent of staggering revelations.
"And so—"
The souls of Richt and Arthur began, by degrees, to drain out through their eyes. Even Laios, struggling valiantly to keep his composure, was not feeling very different from his two subordinates.
But Arendt, indifferent to all of it, stood there with perfect confidence.
"I need to dig through the temple a bit. I'd appreciate your cooperation."
"..."
"For starters, sunbae, I need you to move around a bit."
"And if I refuse?"
"Wouldn't it be better than me stepping in personally and prying into every corner of this place? Better for you too, sunbae."
"..."
As Richt's fist began to tremble, Arthur and Laios cast him looks of pure sympathy.
That wretch knew people's weaknesses far too well. Better to throw himself into it a thousand, ten thousand times over than watch his beloved temple trampled underfoot by that man's muddy boots.
So in the end, there was only one answer Richt had left to give.
"...Understood."
That was it.
......
...
And so the scene returns to the present.
Half-shoved into the temple as he was, Richt had no choice but to march straight toward the target Arendt had assigned him: Sir Benno.
After a long hesitation, Richt produced his prepared line.
"How has Priestess Lumiel been faring lately?"
"The priestess is as busy as ever, of course. It's rare I get to see her face at all these days."
"I trust nothing... untoward has happened?"
"I beg your pardon?"
His urgency had propelled the words out of him with no thought for how they sounded.
When Benno's eyes went wide, Richt belatedly registered his blunder and coughed shortly.
"Act natural," was it?
He could practically hear Arendt's nagging pouring out from right beside him.
Richt emptied his mind by force and tried his prepared line once more, properly this time.
"I saw her briefly at the council some days ago, and she seemed burdened by grave worries."
This was the technique Arendt had drilled into him before sending him here.
"And the announcement His Highness the Crown Prince made was... hardly an ordinary one, either. She is a busy woman at the best of times, but lately there's been a shadow over her face, and I find myself concerned."
"Ah..."
Open conflict bloomed across the priest's face.
"So you noticed as well, Sir Richt."
It actually works?
It was Richt who ended up flustered, at Benno's own darkening expression as he responded.
The reaction meant Arendt's guess had landed squarely. Something *had* happened between the two priests, beyond what occurred at the council.
After a short silence, Benno let out a heavy sigh.
"We're all quite worried, honestly. Though it isn't really something I ought to be telling you, Sir Richt."
And just like that, the priest's mouth opened—dishearteningly, absurdly easily.