The Expo Was Just Decoration - 3

Having been granted the authority to conclude a secret pact by the Emperor, I returned to the club room. His instruction had been a vague one—cooperate so long as the Empire’s national interests were not compromised—but that very vagueness was welcome just then.

Aside from wartime, I was the sort of civil servant who had never left the country, and diplomacy had never been anywhere near my portfolio. Had the Emperor handed a man like me a detailed set of diplomatic directives, my head would have short-circuited on the spot. I might well have thrown the communication orb aside mid-briefing and fled.

So all I needed to mind was the line I must not cross. Fortunately, Armein seemed more worried that the Empire might overturn a table already so carefully laid than intent on sucking the marrow from our bones.

“This should be sufficient.”

“Yes. Let’s settle the finer points later. If we try to handle everything here, the Foreign ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Ministry will have some sharp words for us.”

“Agreed. To be honest, I’ve been uneasy myself about the Ministry of Foreign Affairs watching.”

And so Count Nerkaf and I put our heads together and fixed the broad strokes. For two men alone, without attendants or staff officers, to conclude a treaty was absurd on its face—but I held the Emperor’s authority, and Count Nerkaf was the proxy of the King of Armein. Overwhelming authority has a way of smashing common sense to pieces.

“I am simply delighted that we have reached an amicable understanding for the friendship of both nations and the stability of the continent. Once again, I offer my gratitude for His Imperial Majesty’s mercy and wisdom.”

“I too have been deeply moved by His Majesty the King of Armein, a true lover of peace.”

We each took a copy of the document that had been drawn up without hesitation, shook hands, and exchanged the customary polite sentiments.

In truth, this secret pact was a pact that would lead to the friendship of both nations and the stability of the continent. Even Armein, which had already acknowledged the Empire’s superiority, would be horrified if Leon—sharing a border with them—fell into Imperial hands. Conversely, the Empire would hardly be pleased if Armein, the second power of the continent, seized Leon as a card of its own.

To prevent that dispute, we had agreed to divide the spoils in moderation. A truly beautiful promise, all things considered.

Even if the party most concerned wasn’t present for the agreement.

It left me with a complicated feeling. A matter on which the fate of the Leon Kingdom hung had been decided not in Leon, but in the Empire—and without Leon’s knowledge.

But what else was to be done? When a nation that has lost a war, tangled its diplomacy, and whose royal house teeters on the brink finds itself wedged between great powers, that is simply the destiny it must endure.

And it was not as though we meant to annex Leon by force. Our goal was merely that if the rightful heir to the throne departed for Enen’s side, we would elevate a suitable successor as king to settle the chaos.

A suitable successor, is it.

Before tucking the document into my coat, I checked the contents once more. It was a brief text of only a few sentences, yet it held every essential point.

Looking it over again, the text was so short and clean I nearly laughed.

Yes—this was a peaceful promise for the purpose of installing a suitable successor. We had simply prepared ourselves for armed conflict should anyone interfere with those “suitable” procedures.

A joint military response from the first and second powers of the continent.

Any nations that had been quietly angling for a seat at the table would take one look at this secret pact and back off in horror.

Having concluded a pact that would decide the fate of an entire country, I returned to the booth with Count Nerkaf as if nothing at all had happened.

Of course, Count Nerkaf had come to the Academy precisely for this secret pact, and so he had no further reason to remain—but if he left the moment he met me, it would only draw suspicious eyes. The proper course was to spend a reasonable amount of time and then slip away.

Besides, he said that since he was already here he wished to spend time with Ryutis, and I could hardly refuse. How was I supposed to stop a man who wanted to attend closely upon the prince of his own country?

“Hm? Uncle, Advisor. You’re back already? You should have rested a little longer.”

When we arrived at the booth, Ryutis greeted us with a mouthful of bread.

“This humble servant takes pride in his sturdy constitution. How could I rest at ease while Your Highness is so occupied?”

At that, a flicker of awkwardness passed over the face of Ryutis, who had been calmly eating his bread. Count Nerkaf had likely spoken out of courtesy, but hearing such words when one had in fact been taking it easy was bound to be embarrassing; anything else would have been stranger.

What was stranger and more remarkable still, though, was that Ryutis showed such a reaction at all. This was a fellow whose sense of embarrassment seemed to have been devoured whole by sheer boldness—and yet here was someone who could land a hit on him.

He really is his uncle, then.

Without thinking, I turned my gaze toward Count Nerkaf.

A noble who was not of royal blood, yet whom a prince called uncle. That title of uncle was not a mere product of royal favor and towering authority; it was a title attached because he was genuinely close to the royal family.

Because he’s the greatest sword of the realm, maybe?

Come to think of it, Ryutis was a young man with such a deep love of the blade that he would even spar in swordsmanship with Later. Raised from childhood watching his father’s most trusted retainer—the greatest sword of his country—how strong must that private sense of intimacy be? He might well be Ryutis’s role model.

Thinking that far, complicated feelings welled up toward Count ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Nerkaf. Goodwill, that there existed a person who could rein Ryutis in—and resentment, that he had nevertheless released Ryutis upon the Empire.

...He must have been busy as Grand Marshal.

I forced the resentment aside and settled on that conclusion.

A Grand Marshal was not the chamberlain of the royal palace; how was he supposed to keep a prince under control every hour of the day? Count Nerkaf must have had no choice either.

If that were not the case, I was going to end up disliking Count Nerkaf a great deal.

I had been so absorbed in putting my head together with Count Nerkaf that I had forgotten everything else.

“It is good to see you again. Have you been well in the meantime?”

Only when I saw Cardinal Alexandriana smiling gently did it come back to me.

There had not been one great personage scheduled to visit the Academy—there had been three.

“Yes. By the Lord’s protection, my days have been full of happiness.”

“I am glad to hear it. As expected, the Blessed One is one who has received the Lord’s blessing.”

I answered with a smile of my own, and Cardinal Alexandriana nodded as if pleased.

It was no empty courtesy. After my beatification as one of the Blessed, I had learned of the first snow child on the way—so truly, by Enen’s grace, only happy days had followed. Even if today I had suffered through concluding a secret pact that had never been written in my stars, the days overall had been good ones.

So I hoped Cardinal Alexandriana would let those good days continue. If the Holy Kingdom also came at me with something like, “Care to make a secret pact with me?” I might actually lose my mind.

“That the two of you should happen to be in one place—this, too, must be the Lord’s will.”

Whether she knew my thoughts or not, Cardinal Alexandriana still wore her smile as she drew something from the pouch she was holding.

What is that?

The contents that emerged were rather large compared to the size of the pouch. Did it have spatial magic or holy arts worked into it? For a cardinal to carry such a thing around, it was entirely plausible.

“These are gifts from His Holiness the Pope to the two Blessed Ones.”

In any case, I accepted what Cardinal Alexandriana held out—white garments, and a cross with a bluish cast.

Oh.

The moment I took them, I felt it. Even I, who was ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a Blessed One in name only and had little actual connection to Enen, could tell at once that these were precious things; a sacred aura radiated from them.

As expected, gifts from the Pope were on another level. If I used these, I almost felt as though I might be able to work holy arts the way the priests did—

“The garments maintain the wearer’s cleanliness and block edged weapons. The cross, if pressed to a wound, can immediately heal light external injuries.”

It really was possible.

My hand, which had been turning the cross over, froze in place. It was just the right size to keep against one’s person—and even if it was limited to light external injuries, the ability to heal oneself was no small matter.

“…These are precious gifts. I am not sure we deserve to receive such things.”

“When a beatification is decided, these are items unconditionally bestowed upon the bereaved families. They are only fitting for the two of you who are yourselves Blessed Ones, so please do not feel burdened—accept them freely.”

At those words I nearly let out a dry laugh. Given how long the history of the Dawn Church was, the number of those beatified after death was by no means small. And they could mass-produce items like these in quantities enough to give to every Blessed One’s surviving family?

Magic could heal external injuries as well, of course—but no one had managed to create a healing-dedicated artifact like this cross. No wonder the Dawn Church had secured a religious victory.

“Then I will accept them with gratitude. Please convey my thanks to His Holiness the Pope.”

“Yes. His Holiness will be pleased as well.”

Watching Cardinal Alexandriana bow her head with dignity, I thought to myself:

Once Mar and I were gone and the congratulatory gifts for our canonization arrived, at the very least our children would not die of external wounds.

“Ah—Brother.”

In the middle of that thought, Cardinal Alexandriana’s voice reached me.

Unease prickled. What if she suddenly said something like, “You’ve received something fine, so shall we share a fine conversation as well?”

“Would it be all right if I spoke with Brother Tanian for a moment…?”

Ah.

My heart settled at once. So her business was with Tanian.

“Yes, of course. As much as you like.”

And so I answered her with a smiling face.

Starting today, it seemed I might cultivate a slightly more devout faith.