Chapter 161
Chapter 161
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 161
Chapter Title: Vatican: The Eternal Sanctuary
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Vatican.
The sacred land known as Sanctuary, where not a single blade had ever been drawn since the founding of the Holy Empire.
Throughout the continent's ancient history, many capitals had repelled foreign invaders, but Vatican stood alone as the only one never stained by blood from civil wars or rebellions.
It was hailed as the most peaceful place on the entire continent.
That reputation was a source of immense pride for the empire's citizens.
And so, they began expressing their irrepressible self-admiration through a single color.
"...This place is messing with my head."
That was Saladin's curt assessment as he entered Vatican and walked toward Byzantium.
True to his words, their pride manifesting as a uniform color struck outsiders with outright revulsion.
It was all white.
Everything—buildings, people's clothes, even the mats at market stalls.
Carriages and soldiers' armor gleamed white as well.
This was the disastrous result of their distorted pride, claiming no profane intent had ever tainted the land, likening it to a heaven on the mortal plane.
I'd known this all too well from my past life scraping by here, so it didn't faze me much. But Saladin, Misha, and Miron clearly found the eerie sight unsettling.
Karma and Rampang, from the start, moved with extreme caution, aware they were deep in enemy territory.
"Hmm..."
Observing them, I halted our steps toward the temple—just as we had throughout the journey—with Luna leading the way.
"Archbishop Luna, you've been so kind to look after us. Why don't you rest comfortably at the temple today, just you?"
This wasn't out of consideration for Luna. Vatican was the Holy Empire's capital, meaning the temple she headed to was none other than the Golden Lion Order's headquarters.
In other words, he was surely there. The Pope who pierced all truths: Homabesi Francesco III.
If that monster senses anything, he might see through Karma or Rampang's identities.
No, even without them, he could brand me, Saladin, or the Misha siblings as heretics on the spot.
"Thank you for your thoughtfulness, Young Master Jerome. You've been so attentive—I'm grateful."
Luna read my intent and accepted immediately.
"Oh? They say Archbishop Luna is close with the Carviot count's family. Looks like it's true."
"Yeah, rumors had it she received lavish treatment from the Shield Family. Seems legit."
Unaware of our private exchange, the imperial citizens saw this friendly chat as confirmation of the gossip, an unintended bonus.
"Very well, then. Until tomorrow, Archbishop."
"May the Lord's grace watch over you and your delegation."
With polite farewells and blessings, we parted from Luna and headed to an inn on the outskirts.
"Damn it, an inn called 'The Lord's Repose'? Typical Holy Empire nonsense."
Saladin grumbled about the name en route, but there was no helping it.
Every inn here had some holy spin on it.
Once gathered in the room, I addressed the group.
"Saladin, Karma, and Rampang—stay here at the inn. Tomorrow, Miron and Misha come with me."
"Huh? Fine by me skipping the palace, but why?"
"No need to explain Karma or White Wing Rampang. You're a marked Black Lion in imperial records too. Common folk might not recognize you, but palace insiders will. Especially you—with those."
My finger pointed at Mimi and Nene, Saladin's puppets mimicking human movements almost perfectly.
"You don't seriously think the Imperial Knights won't notice, right?"
No matter how finely Saladin controlled them, the empire's elite, trained swordsmen might spot the flaws.
"...Fair point. Got nothing to say."
"Look after Karma and Rampang well. Things being what they are, I'm counting on you. Miron, Misha."
"Yes."
They answered in unison.
"Your faces aren't known in the empire yet. You'll come with me to the palace. Stay sharp—anything could happen."
Miron and Misha weren't kids anymore. They were old enough to pull their weight; time to gain experience.
"But then why'd you bring me? Meeting Karma and Rampang was coincidence, right? There must be some plan."
Saladin's question made sense. Banten to Vatican was nearly three months by land.
Aside from clashing with Rampang in Fatima, the long trip had been uneventful, leaving Saladin and the others bored stiff.
If Ibarella's ambush in Ibarella had gone as planned, they'd have had action.
With Rampang here, even Kaiser Duke would've been no issue—but it hadn't happened, so no use dwelling.
"Of course there's a plan. But not here. Rest up."
After Vatican, no time for breaks.
Adamantium's worth—no, more—you'll earn it.
Parting from Jerome's group, Luna—unlike him—walked the central boulevard toward the heart of Vatican.
The Golden Lion Order's headquarters lay slightly right of Byzantium, the empire's core.
But relative to Vatican itself—not the empire—this was the true center.
A measure by the imperial family to bolster the church's authority.
"This place... hasn't changed a bit."
Despite losing three of the empire's twelve archbishops—with one barely returning—the order stood firm.
Why would it change? At the continent's pinnacle, ruling the Holy Empire and its people's hearts.
Not even the heavens splitting could shake it.
Priests awaited Luna at the entrance.
"Welcome back, Archbishop."
A monk guarding the holy site greeted her. He looked familiar—one under Infantry Palace Dingo.
"His Holiness?"
"He's waiting inside. This way."
Guided by the monk, Luna reached the temple of layered white marble embroidered with golden patterns.
At its heart stood an elderly man, eyes barely visible beneath long white brows, clad in ornate robes and staff.
"Heh heh, you've endured much, Virgin Palace Luna."
Frail as if swatting a fly would fell him, yet Luna knelt reverently before him.
"Archbishop Luna greets His Holiness the Pope."
Indeed, this was the Pope of endless holy power, Homabesi Francesco III.
Instead of responding to her weary return, he stared intently.
"...Heh heh, Luna. Quite the clever scheme you've hatched. Whether it succeeds... that's the Lord's will."
"I merely find it unjust that the Lord's faithful servants returned to Him in vain."
"Heh heh, pretty words, Luna. Fine enough."
The Pope merely chuckled at her reply.
"I'll play along for now. Ibarella as this nation's master would trouble me too."
By the church's primogeniture doctrine, he backed Michael.
"Though whether you'll get your way... who knows."
His brows hid eyes gleaming unnervingly, but Luna met them steadily, hands clasped in prayer from her knees.
"...All shall flow according to the Lord's will."
In a narrow alley of a small town not far from Vatican.
Usually alive with drunken vagrants shouting into the night, it lay eerily silent today.
"Chase Fragrance. Still no scent?"
The Ghost Shadow Group's leader asked calmly. The man sniffing the ground grimaced.
"Nothing since Fatima. Not even that whelp who fought Lord Vladimir."
"Hmm..."
Contemplating, the leader weighed options.
Rampang clashed with the Carviot count's whelp in Fatima. No Heterogenous Power scent since...
Two possibilities.
First: Rampang slew the whelp and vanished discreetly elsewhere.
Fitting her beastly nature, but then the delegation to the empire would've been massacred already.
Second: The Carviot whelp and Rampang headed to Vatican together.
As an official delegation, they'd be untouchable.
With no incident upon arrival, the latter seemed likely.
But it required one precondition.
The Carviot whelp survived Rampang's assault?
And talked her down? Inconceivable.
Rampang rivaled their master, Black Wing Veras, in prowess.
They dared only track, never attack.
Even then, caught by her senses, their numbers dwindled.
The leader spoke after deliberation.
"...We head to Vatican. Our lord wishes their location known."
Not just position—they had to confirm no alliance with the Carviot count's family.
That heavenly shield would make pursuit impossible.
Dawn broke.
Last night, while fine-tuning plans late, Karma suddenly coughed up blood.
His old wound from Veras's mineral poison had flared.
Even at his level, powerless, he was just an old man.
He'd endured silently to Vatican, but now it caught up.
Judging he couldn't push further, we wrapped up. This morning, I tasked Saladin with them and stepped out with Miron and Misha.
They'd have time to recover now.
Creeeak!
The poorly oiled hinges screamed, shattering the morning quiet.
Breathing in Vatican's chill dawn air, my breath formed irregular clouds dissipating into the sky.
The fourth month since New Year. Philador Kingdom in the south sweltered in early summer, while the north clung to winter's bite.
This harsh climate crippled the Holy Empire's crops—one great scourge.
The prayer-awakening air etched this mission's gravity into my mind.
Ibarella... finally facing you. First time in this life.
I'd seen her before, in my past life.
From afar.
One the continent's ruler, the other a flea resisting.
This time differed. She still eyed the throne as a petty overlord, but I met her as a Shield Family heir, ever thwarting imperial tyranny.
Sorry, but suffer a bit longer. You're still terrifying.
Disperse her focused might. All else faded from mind.
At the Vatican crossroads, Luna emerged from the Golden Lion temple.
"......"
Our eyes met; a subtle nod sufficed.
Vatican's first day of clashing thoughts passed. Now, toward the imperial palace, Byzantium.
Wait, Ibarella.
It won't go as you think.