Saint Marygold (4) 8 - Pilgrims' March and Tournament Scheme
“It’s the pilgrimage group.”
“They’ve gathered again.”
The air felt heavier than usual today. Everyone passing through the capital’s square could sense it. Hundreds of pilgrims had been swarming in since early morning—they were the culprits.
Lancel watched from the terrace of a restaurant at a safe distance.
“Silence! Lady Merrill Dunn, who will lead this pilgrimage, has arrived.”
A man clad head to toe in expensive armor climbed onto the pre-prepared platform. Lancel furrowed his brow. The armor gleamed so blindingly with every step—reflecting the sun like flashes of silver—that it felt like it was assaulting his eyes.
“It grieves me! Truly it grieves us, O pilgrims. Citizens of the empire. Children of the great god.”
The Duke of Dunn unfolded his prepared script and began his speech.
“Why does the evil rooted in this land refuse to vanish? Why do those who obstruct the empire’s dream of paradise never cease?!”
Slurp slurp.
Lancel took a casual sip of his fruit drink, his eyes bored. Right from the start, it was a rambling tirade.
“Thus, I swear it!”
By the time Lancel ordered his third drink, the duke’s speech reached its climax.
“I, Merrill Dunn, in the name of the imperial family and the Missionary Church! Shall eradicate every sprout of corruption and wickedness spreading to every corner of this great empire!”
Uproot them.
The pilgrims were all big talkers, but that much was true. Just a week into their journey, wails from uprooted commoners echoed across the empire.
“Oh no, if you take this, we won’t have enough food to last until harvest!”
“You dare defy the pilgrimage ordained by the god? Look, this one’s a demon! String him up on the gallows now!”
“Eek! P-please spare me! I-I’ll give it all!”
From booze and food to lodging and women, horses and money—they seized whatever they needed. And even if they didn’t, they looted anyway.
“Hand it over. All of it.”
* * *
“They’re probably around Oldbottle territory by now.”
Lancel carefully traced the pilgrimage’s route on the map. He didn’t even need to ask around. The pilgrims themselves announced their “deeds” every day.
Every four days, a detailed report of their journey was posted in Rodnis Square like clockwork.
……Furthermore, the pilgrimage group has exterminated the vile and wicked band of thieves who illegally occupied a village, and disposed of the lake monster!
‘In other words, they razed a village that resisted their looting.’
Most of it was a string of flowery praises for their glorious feats, but it was enough to track their movements.
“If you’re so interested in the pilgrims, why not just join them?”
Baron Ivil Shen eyed Lancel curiously as he marked the pilgrimage’s range each time.
‘No other way around it.’
Lancel had no intention of wasting this loop. The pilgrimage event itself was rare to begin with.
Yes. This was an opportunity.
Their existence, their arrogance, their atrocities, even their route close to the capital—everything was a chance for Lancel.
“Baron Ivil, how about we make a killing together?”
As soon as he finished mapping their full route, Lancel sought out Baron Ivil Shen. The land’s most successful horse trader. Smuggler. Time to make an offer he couldn’t refuse.
“If we pull this off, no one in the capital will look down on you again.”
The baron, sipping tea leisurely, shot him an uneasy glance.
“What’s with the scary face? Just spit it out. It’s not like I haven’t lent you money before.”
“This time, it’s a big sum.”
“……How big?”
“About this much.”
Baron Ivil Shen’s eyes nearly popped out.
“Wh-what the hell are you planning with this kind of money……?”
“I said it’s business. Business.”
“……Let’s hear it. What’s the scheme?”
Lancel lowered his voice and laid out his plan. After listening for a while, the baron sighed deeply.
“You need the High Archbishop’s permission for that. Not just anyone can pull it off.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“Why not?”
“You’ll get it, right?”
“Who? Me?”
The baron looked utterly baffled.
. . .
“You’re doing that? At a time like this?”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
Baron Ivil Shen was sweating bullets. The imperial High Archbishop gazed down at his crown with half-lidded eyes.
This meeting was thanks to Lancel’s half-coercive request. Not to mention the bribes for five prized steeds.
—If it goes wrong, I’ll take full responsibility. On the honor of House Dante.
That damn House Dante. If not for past ties, he’d never dream of this.
Grumbling inwardly, the baron cautiously gauged the archbishop’s mood.
“Wh-what do you think?”
The archbishop’s eyes slowly opened after a long silence.
“I heard you were some upstart provincial merchant, but now I see……”
A short yet endless silence followed. Sharp eyes scanned him up and down. Dread of the verdict choked the baron.
His breath caught; his chest felt ready to burst.
“You’re a clever one.”
“Hah!”
Relief flooded him; he exhaled the breath he’d held.
“I hadn’t even considered it. Why didn’t I think of that? Especially at such a perfect time.”
“……Pardon?”
“If prepared well, it could elevate the pilgrimage’s honor. I like it.”
“Thank you! Your Grace, thank you!”
“But.”
The archbishop cut him off.
“No matter how rich you are, can you handle a festival that big alone?”
“Of course! Absolutely! I’ll sell everything I own if I have to!”
“I don’t believe you. Since we’re at it, the Missionary Church should chip in. Can’t let you have all the good deeds.”
“Ah, y-yes, quite right.”
The baron couldn’t hide his fluster. The archbishop wasn’t just approving Lancel’s insane plan—he was diving deeper.
—They’ll never refuse. Just trust me.
Just do it.
Was he really right? Goosebumps crawled up the baron’s arms.
“We’ll have to scale it up. His Majesty seems free today, too.”
“H-His Majesty……!”
The baron’s face drained of color.
“You’ll pitch it to him yourself. Understood?”
“Y-Yes…… Yes!”
It felt like half his lifespan vanished.
9.
In the heart of the capital stood a vast park where nobles spent their leisure. Lancel and Marygold visited every weekend for months now.
Waterfowl flitted around the lake; affluent capital folk gathered with families in the lively gardens.
“Eek!”
“It’s fine. I’ve got you.”
As always, Lancel rowed a small boat onto the lake with Marygold. To the blind girl, it symbolized terror.
Her lips trembled, fearing she’d topple from the rocking instability any second.
Reaching the center, she took a deep breath.
“I’m…… ready.”
“Then let’s begin.”
Lancel snapped his fingers. Marygold’s expression shifted instantly.
Eyes closed, face serene. Birds flapped around the unsteady boat, but her calm held firm.
Her almost holy aura drew involuntary awe.
After a while, her lips parted slowly.
“Knight.”
Lancel smiled. Her quiet voice carried an intimidating weight. She was a completely different person now.
“Tell me who you are.”
Lancel shifted on the boat, kneeling and bowing his head.
“I am Lancel Dante.”
. . .
“Your loyal servant, Lancel Dante.”
Lancel knelt before Marygold. Beside him lay a knight he’d just fought, now collapsed unconscious.
Behind was a small fence—and dozens of spectators and gamblers roaring.
“The winner of the Imperial Knights Tournament preliminary round!”
Baron Ivil Shen rushed up with a grin, raising Lancel’s arm.
The finals of the ‘Knights Tournament’ hosted by Baron Ivil Shen and the Missionary Church are three months away.
Who will be crowned the empire’s greatest knight?
※ Per Missionary Church directive, holy knights from all empire denominations will participate this time.
“Lancel Dante of the Saint Church!”
“Woooaaah!”
“Pay up, you son of a……!”