Chapter 11

-----------------------------------------------------------------

Translator: Ace

Chapter: 11

Chapter Title: Audience with the Pope

-----------------------------------------------------------------

In the vast audience chamber, I'd admittedly felt a bit tense at the thought of meeting the Pope.

But actually going through it, it wasn't so bad.

"I've heard you're a genius who graduated at the top of the Imperial Magic Academy. Is that true?"

"I did graduate top of my class, but genius? No way."

"Heh heh. As expected, you're humble. If a talent who topped one of the world's top five prestigious academies isn't a genius, then who is?"

"It was just luck."

"Luck is skill too. And a genius knows how to use that skill. You really are a genius."

"If you insist, sure. I'm a genius."

"Heh heh heh."

Honestly, I'd expected it to be pretty uncomfortable. He was the top figure of the world's most popular religion with the most followers—not to mention the king of a nation.

I'd figured he'd be all dignified and noble and such...

'This guy's just like the friendly uncle next door.'

He was incredibly warm and down-to-earth. The kind of neighbor you could run into anywhere.

The trap, if there was one, was that only the Pope was like this—the other attendants weren't.

I could feel piercing stares. The eyes of the ministers filling the audience chamber were glaring daggers, as if this was the height of rudeness.

Of course, Ian paid them no mind. He wouldn't have come to the theocracy if he cared about that sort of thing.

"Rejoice! Truly, rejoice! It's a joy that a talent like you exists in this world, and even greater joy that he serves one like me."

The Pope's words droned on. It was all praise for him, like a principal's endless homily at school.

'Serve the same faith? I don't follow the Church of Light.'

Most imperials believed in the Church of Light, so they assumed Ian did too.

But Ian was closer to agnostic. If anything, from his past life frequenting temples, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠maybe Buddhist?

'Ah, but your speeches are too long, mister. Can't you just hand over the gift and be done?'

I got that he seemed like a nice guy, but the man just wouldn't stop talking. Ramble too much, and even a nice person starts looking like a nag.

Fortunately, the Pope was quick on the uptake, averting a nag disaster.

"Heh heh heh. Getting bored, are we? Enough chit-chat—let's wrap this up."

The Pope rose and approached, placing a hand on Ian's head. Ian bowed, catching on, and the Pope murmured:

No sooner had the words ended than a glow bloomed, lighting up the surroundings and enveloping Ian. He felt an inexplicable coziness.

Like lying under a soft blanket.

'Oh, Blessing of Light. Nice.'

He wasn't sure exactly what it did, but a blessing from the Pope himself had to be potent.

'Cool effects too.'

It was warm, and the sparkling glow around him looked awesome. In-game, it'd probably be a pay-to-win item.

"Those who perform meritorious deeds deserve fitting rewards. I grant Ian permission to enter the Holy Relic Vault. Escort him there at once."

"Yes, sir!"

Holy Knights approached to guide Ian. He left the audience chamber and followed them.

The Holy Relic Vault, where sacred relics were stored.

Grand name, but not all that impressive up close. The relics inside weren't anything special to begin with.

The Pope's gifts to the meritorious weren't genuine holy relics. They were mass-produced with infused holy power.

In simple terms, factory goods. Called holy relics, but not actual relics.

Ian knew this. Like China gifting pandas for diplomacy, the Holy Theocracy used "mass-produced holy relics" the same way.

So the vault held nothing amazing. Mostly flashy but shoddy junk.

Yeah. He knew.

But this was too much.

'I'll warn you—pick just one. No more, no matter what. Even His Holiness praised you highly, but rules are rules.'

Recalling the Holy Knight's stern warning outside the vault, Ian shook his head.

'Rules my ass. Nothing worth taking.'

Ian had been wandering the vault for an hour already. It was huge inside, but all duds.

He'd found a few decent-ish ones.

Not bad stats, really. But calling these "holy relics" was a stretch.

Hell, you could snag stuff like this on the black market.

The funny part? These were the best of the bunch.

Meaning most were even worse.

Best one was Common grade? That said it all.

'Figures. Knew it when they dangled a "holy relic" to lure a foreigner.'

Ian clicked his tongue. He'd expected this, but it was excessive. At this point, the real value was just receiving a "gift from the Pope."

'Whatever. Doesn't matter.'

Ian activated Soul Vision. He'd completed the soul search research project before coming here for exactly this moment.

'There has to be a real holy relic hidden among these.'

Definitely. Even if most were fakes, a real one lurked. That's what Ian was after.

'Real holy relics often house spirits.'

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

They'd become relics after spirits dwelled in them for ages.

Less than five minutes after activating Soul Vision and prowling, Ian spotted it.

A particularly white, massive clump amid tiny specks.

"Whoa. What a huge soul clump."

"Holy shit. Unique item."

Ian blurted out loud upon reading the description.

Unique grade!

It only made holy water—a meh ability for a true holy relic—but Ian didn't care about performance.

What mattered was the soul inside.

"I'll take this one."

The Holy Knight body-searched him, confirmed nothing hidden, then escorted him back to the Pope. The Pope examined the silver chalice.

"A silver chalice. I sense strong holy power—excellent choice."

"Yes. Looking at it calmed my mind, so I picked it."

"Legend says holy relics contain the souls of great saints. The holy souls of ancient martyrs who followed the Light's word will protect you, Ian."

Ian felt the Pope's gaze as he spoke. That gentle smile felt like he knew something.

'Did he notice I picked a real holy relic?'

Not certain, but it felt that way.

'Whatever.'

No way he'd pettily snatch it back.

And he didn't. Good thing.

About three weeks—a journey long enough to feel long, short enough to feel short—and Ian returned to the Empire. Bureaucrats swarmed him immediately.

"Investigator! You must've suffered!"

"Suffered? It was just picking up a reward."

"Reward? That's torture! No, did they really summon an imperial servant and make him twiddle thumbs for three weeks?"

"Well, about that..."

Ian scratched his head as his subordinates vented, clinging to him.

'What's with them?'

"As expected, you endured in anger, Senior Investigator. Well done. Truly admirable."

"Huh? Ad, admirable?"

"Yes! Not a single complaint the whole time."

"Yeah, but that's because I didn't have any compla—"

"That's what's amazing! How'd you hold it in? I'd have protested on the spot! Treating a great empire's servant like this?!"

"Right! Those insolent theocracy bastards!"

"You're incredible!"

The more praise poured in, the more sheepish Ian felt.

It hit a nerve.

They saw him as someone who'd endured three weeks of hellish waiting.

'Not even close. It was a total sweet vacation...'

Thinking of the alchemy progress he'd made in those three weeks still felt great. Vacations that good didn't come often.

"Anyway, those theocracy jerks are vicious. Not worth dealing with."

"Exactly!"

'Nah, they were fine. Good people, actually. The Pope was nicer than rumors said. Though their bureaucrats were a bit sharp-tongued. Ours take the cake there.'

Ian couldn't voice that. He'd get an earful.

Ian clocked out sharp and beelined for his lab. Time to use the fruits of three weeks' labor.

'Homunculus for real this time.'

With a soul this good, it had to work.

First, Soul Extraction.

'What happens to the relic after extracting the soul?'

Did its power vanish?

'Sucks if so... but no choice.'

Who cared about some unique item?

Not even a legendary would matter. Alchemy was what counted.

'The soul's what matters.'

He grabbed a prepped soul stone and proceeded.

The usual scene.

Smoke pouring ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠from the chalice.

But denser, more vivid smoke this time.

Like a pressure cooker blasting steam?

Pssshhh!

It even hissed. Suddenly craving hot white rice, the process ended.

Ian's heart pounded. The name alone was ominous.

'Here it comes! Jackpot!'

Noble Holy Spirit! This was it.

"Please be a good soul!"

Ian checked the soul stone and shot to his feet.

"Jackpot!"

Hero grade, Noble quality. Miles beyond that faint goblin soul stone.