Who Is the Sinner?
After gallantly busting an illegal auction with my very own hands, the aftermath began.
Day 1 following the incident's conclusion.
Court Count Arwell arrived at the countryside orphanage, his eyes brimming with unshed tears as he grasped both of my hands tightly in his own.
"I truly cannot thank you enough... You are my savior. I do not say this merely out of obligation to our prior agreement. From the deepest recesses of my heart, I feel I have incurred a debt of gratitude I could never repay in full."
"Oh, come now, it was nothing. If anything, isn't Your Grace the true benefactor who gave someone like me, who possessed nothing to his name, an honest way to make a living?"
"To think you could remain so exceedingly humble...!"
"Good grief, that is quite enough praise. Since you have traveled all this way, why not go see Yurian before you take your leave?"
"I shall. Once again, you have my heartfelt thanks."
The Count displayed an almost suffocating degree of goodwill. Meanwhile, half of my soul had already evacuated my body, leaving me to babble hollow platitudes on autopilot.
I understood all too well why he was being so profoundly grateful.
My Divine Power had been exposed. And in front of a massive, teeming crowd, no less.
When someone takes on such an astronomical risk solely to come to your aid, failing to weep with boundless gratitude would be an outright character defect. Feeling like cattle being dragged to the slaughterhouse, I passed the remainder of the day in a numb daze.
Day 2 following the incident's conclusion.
Gradually, the children with sharper intuition began noticing my hollowed-out state.
"Director, are you well? You seem to lack your usual insolence."
"Are you sick anywhere, Mister...?"
"No, there is no way the Director could be ill. The Director is invincible."
As expected, Tina is the only one in my corner. She's the sole person here who acknowledges that I am a frail mortal capable of catching a cold.
Putting Yurian aside, what on earth did Glenn take me for to say something like that? Frankly, the sheer blind worship shining in the boy's eyes was starting to terrify me. Still, feeling guilty for making them worry, I forced the corners of my mouth upward into an easy smile.
"Yeah, I'm totally fine. I suppose I'm just a bit drowsy. Do you guys want to play a round of tag in the meantime?"
"Tag!"
Tina perked up in an instant. Given her draconic lineage, physical games were her absolute forte, so she was naturally thrilled. In stark contrast, Yurian cast his gaze downward with an utterly exhausted expression.
"Let's play! Let's play tag!"
"My ankle happens to ache today. Therefore, it would be far wiser for the two of you to play alone."
"Boo, it's no fun with only two people... Well, can't be helped. Will you play, Glenn?"
"Naturally, I must obey."
Glenn nodded with solemn vigor. It might have seemed like a trivial detail, but his choice of words felt remarkably out of place.
Obey? Did he just interpret my suggestion to play a children's game as an absolute military command?
By the time I thought to correct his misunderstanding just in case, it was already far too late.
Glenn, who had dutifully marched out to the courtyard behind Tina, staggered back indoors thirty minutes later drenched in a torrent of sweat, collapsing as if his strings had been severed. He looked for all the world like a soldier who had just survived an intensely compressed hell-week boot camp.
Word had it that he became "it" within three seconds of starting, and spent the remaining twenty-nine minutes and fifty-seven seconds sprinting for his very life trying to catch a half-dragon girl. True to someone who once bore the destined weight of a future villain, the boy possessed frightening tenacity.
"Ehehe... That was so much fun!"
"Haaah... wheeze..."
Paying no heed to the gasping victim sprawled on the floor, Tina beamed with radiant innocence. Glenn shot a deeply resentful glare toward Yurian, who merely sipped his tea and coolly looked away. They certainly were an eventful bunch.
Day 3 following the incident's conclusion.
I holed myself up inside the orphanage, refusing to take a single step outside.
By now, the rumors should be spreading like wildfire. It wouldn't be surprising in the slightest if either the Imperial Palace or the Holy Temple made an official move. While Court Count Arwell might possess enough political leverage to smooth things over with the imperial nobility, an entirely sovereign and independent entity like the Temple was completely beyond his influence. The gnawing dread made it impossible to sit still.
Under the doubtful gazes of the children, another sleepless night crept by.
One week following the incident's conclusion.
Astonishingly, absolutely nothing happened. Not a single trace of news reached my ears. Why? How? What in the world was taking place out there?
At this point, the lack of consequences was far more bewildering than an arrest warrant would have been. But I couldn't keep wandering about in a panic and showing such an unsightly side to the kids forever. Plastering on a cheerful mask, I escorted them out into the city streets.
And right on schedule, a familiar girl materialized before us.
"Ah! It's the crazy-pants oppa!"
"Well, at least I'm no longer an old mister to you."
It appeared Floty's affection score had ticked upward.
"Anyone who buys out my entire stock like that is a certified VIP in my book! Obviously, I have to treat you with proper respect."
Never mind. It wasn't an affection meter that rose, but her capitalism gauge.
To think I had achieved the illustrious title of 'crazy-pants VIP.' I mentally noted that bizarre milestone.
"Huh? But who is that over there?"
She was pointing directly at Glenn. Stepping back slightly, I introduced him in an easygoing tone.
"This is Glenn. He recently moved into our orphanage."
"Ohhh. I don't know why, but how come every kid at your orphanage is either drop-dead gorgeous or ridiculously cool? Come to think of it, I've never seen that little girl before either."
"Oh dear, is this your first time meeting Tina as well?"
Tina had been living with us for quite a while, so I had assumed they would recognize each other. But reflecting on it, she had never actually run into Floty during her brief excursions.
"I'm... Tina..."
"Just as the Director said, I am Glenn. It is an honor to make your acquaintance."
Tina shrank back with bashful timidity, whereas Glenn executed a polite, practiced aristocratic greeting. Floty broke into a broad, professional grin, immediately turning on her charm as a street merchant.
"Great to meet you both! Ah, that's right—a present to commemorate our first meeting!"
Floty handed a scarlet blossom to Tina and a pure white blossom to Glenn. Overcome by shyness, Tina grabbed her flower and swiftly scampered behind my coat, but Glenn found himself subjected to prolonged personal attention.
"Woooow, your name was Glenn, right? Taking a close look at you, you're crazy handsome! There wouldn't be a single flower in the world that didn't suit you!"
"...A flower suits me? Truly?"
"Oops. Do boys usually hate hearing stuff like that?"
"Not particularly...?"
Paying no heed to Glenn's awkward attempt to clarify, Floty firmly clasped his hands and launched into an enthusiastic explanation.
"No, seriously, look at this! This white flower is called a Ripolicia, and in flower language, it means 'For you, whose tribulations have ended.' It means that from this day forward, your life will be overflowing with nothing but pure happiness!"
"Happiness..."
For an instant, Glenn murmured the word with a glassy, distant gaze. Soon, however, a fragile, tender smile blossomed upon his pale lips. He carefully pulled the blossom Floty had gifted him toward his chest, cradling it like the most fragile treasure in the world.
Right at that moment, Yurian cut in with a distinctly sullen grumble.
"You never gave me an explanation like that when you handed me a flower..."
"Huh?"
Taken aback by the abrupt complaint, Floty froze stiff.
"Uh... well... as for Yurian..."
"Yes."
The faint glimmer of anticipation gleaming across Yurian's face was ruthlessly obliterated by Floty's very next sentence.
"Sorry, what flower did I even give you again?"
"..."
"Aww, come on, how can anyone remember every little thing they handed out? It's fine, it's fine!"
"It is most certainly not fine with me... No, forget it."
With an air of hollow defeat, Yurian stared intently at the hands of Floty and Glenn, which were still lightly touching. Next, his gaze drifted upward to meet Glenn's, who was staring down at his cherished gift.
Crackle!
In that split second, I detected an unmistakable, volatile tension crackling between Yurian and Glenn. Though both boys immediately wiped their expressions clean to appear indifferent... I realized with absolute, agonizing clarity what kind of romantic tropes these little brats were stumbling into.
"Tina..."
"Yes, Mister?"
"You see, I happen to have read an awful lot of stories revolving around male leads obsessing over an unexpected female extra..."
"What does that mean?"
"No, well, never mind..."
It seems you've ended up as the original female lead of that exact subgenre, Tina. Don't you worry. I will shower you with so much affection that you'll never develop lingering regrets or stumble down the tragic path of a jealous villainess tormenting the extra.
"I truly, deeply adore you, Tina."
"Ehehe, I love you super-duper much too, Director!"
Her radiant, unclouded smile instantly washed away all the weary dread in my chest. Ah... Tina is the future. I won't let anyone take this sweet child away from me.
· · ·
Three weeks following the incident's conclusion.
Utterly defying all logical expectation, not a single ripple had disturbed our peace.
What is going on? Seriously, what on earth is happening?
The total absence of retribution was beginning to feel far more ominous than an army at the gates.
The political gears of the Imperial Palace were turning at a frantic pace.
Lately, fierce disputes had broken out over a singular, unprecedented incident, transforming the council chambers into a daily warzone.
"Divine Power! That is a miraculous authority strictly forbidden from leaking beyond the sacred walls even during times of total war! For someone to recklessly brandish such an awe-inspiring power within the secular world... how can anyone deem this acceptable?!"
"It is unquestionably a grave breach of virtue! It is not as if our empire stands on the brink of ruin, so on what grounds could an individual invoke such holy force for personal matters?!"
"Watch your insolent tongue, Marquis Tarel! While Divine Power was indeed unleashed, it was an act of righteous justice meted out against monstrous criminals who provoked the wrath of heaven itself! If you seek to condemn that as a sin, then there is no man beneath the skies innocent of guilt!"
The root of this chaos was none other than the bust of the illicit auction house on the lands of Court Count Arwell. Heated arguments erupted at all hours over whether the unauthorized manifestation of Divine Power—an act strictly regulated by imperial statute—warranted swift imperial condemnation or a diplomatic blind eye.
"Has His Imperial Majesty granted any decree on this matter yet?"
"It remains as it ever was. Once we settle on a consensus among ourselves, His Majesty will simply hand down his own conclusion regarding ours."
"What a colossal waste of state resources... It would hardly be the first or second time His Majesty overturned a unanimous council resolution entirely on a whim."
At that moment, an official offered a pragmatic opinion.
"To speak plainly, I fail to see why this requires such endless debate in our halls. Under ecclesiastical law, this is inherently an internal violation subject to Temple adjudication. Would it not be far wiser to observe what action the Holy Temple takes before coordinating our stance?"
"Indeed, that is sound counsel. Unlike ordinary imperial subjects or hereditary nobility, agents of the clergy fall first and foremost under ecclesiastical jurisdiction."
Murmurs of agreement gradually spread across the chamber, and the boiling tempers that had threatened to incinerate the room settled into an uneasy truce.
Just then, a sharp rapping echoed from the hallway.
Knock, knock.
Before permission could even be granted, the heavy chamber doors parted. Entering the hall with an unyielding gaze was Court Count Arwell.
"I have personally had an audience with the Pope at the Holy Temple and have returned with a document bearing his sacred seal. Naturally, it addresses the recent commotion that unfolded upon my domain."
"An audience with... the Pope?!"
The assembly erupted in shock at the mention of the supreme pontiff. Revering him as the living vicar of God on earth, securing a private audience with the Pope was a near-impossible feat for secular aristocrats, regardless of prestige. Crushed beneath the absolute weight of papal authority, the raucous chamber plummeted into silence.
"I shall read the verdict directly to you all."
Compared to the grand sheet of holy parchment, the inscribed words were startlingly brief.
“The Holy Temple shall fulfill the duties of the Holy Temple.
Therefore, let the Imperial Palace fulfill the duties of the Imperial Palace.”
The decree was unmistakable: the Holy Temple alone would dictate the fate of Harte Messiah, and the Imperial Palace was instructed to dispense with pointless noise and focus on governing imperial citizens.
Confronted by that sacred proclamation, the ministers glanced nervously at one another.
"..."
"..."
Just like that, every single voice that had been noisily calling for blood regarding the illegal auction fell entirely mute.
Court Count Arwell had successfully weathered the storm, yet relief remained elusive.
Not a single syllable was written regarding what penalty or fate awaits Harte as an individual... I have no idea how to interpret this omission.
Even while standing face-to-face with the Pope, the Count had found it impossible to divine his true thoughts—a blank serenity that was terrifying to behold. Ironically, it seemed the only option left was to pray directly to God.
The grand corridors of the Imperial Palace lay quiet.
Having resolved the immediate crisis with the papal decree, Court Count Arwell was suddenly forced to halt in his tracks.
"Greetings, Duke Luminel."
"Haha... It has been far too long, Count."
"I must apologize for failing to pay my respects more frequently."
He had run into the worst possible conversational partner. Duke Luminel was the supreme leader of the Aristocratic Faction, a man who constantly probed and sought to ensnare the staunchly neutral Court Count into his fold. He was exhausting in every conceivable aspect, from his political cunning to his ruthless intellect.
"I witnessed your impressive performance today. To think you managed to conclude a direct negotiation with the Pope himself. Had I known you possessed such bold and daring talent, I would have fostered closer ties with you long ago."
"A territorial lord merely assumed responsibility for the events occurring within his own borders. There is hardly any great virtue in that."
"Hmm."
A glint of predatory ambition flickered across Duke Luminel's eyes.
The contradiction of bearing the title of Court Count while professing strict neutrality; the unbending spine displayed even when confronting the titan of the Aristocratic Faction; and the uncanny capability to secure an audience with the sovereign of the Temple. Arwell was a man with endless strategic utility. Yet, by that very token, he was a deeply troublesome obstacle so long as he remained outside the Duke's faction.
"I find myself quite envious, Count. To think a Bearer of the Baptismal Name shares such intimate ties with your household. It is truly an auspicious blessing."
"...!"
Court Count Arwell was far too shrewd to miss the sinister undertone buried beneath that compliment.
"Forgive my forwardness, Duke, but do not even entertain the notion of dragging that man into politics!"
"Dragging him in? Ahaha, what a grievous misunderstanding." Duke Luminel smiled smoothly. "I merely wish to cultivate a warm acquaintance with an exceedingly precious talent. Ah, and of course, that sentiment extends to you as well."
The Count's mind raced, analyzing the Duke's ambiguous posturing to measure his intent and potential for action. Breaking the tense standoff, the Duke spoke first.
"However, I would appreciate your word on two minor points."
"...What word do you seek?"
"First: do you respect that man's personal freedom?"
"I have stated as much already. He is my benefactor, nothing more; I possess neither the right nor the desire to compel him in any way."
"Splendid. Then regarding my second inquiry..."
The words that rolled past the Duke's lips sent Count Arwell's dread spiking to a fever pitch.
"Should your benefactor and I happen to forge a deeper, closer friendship, you would harbor no objections, correct? After all, you carry the sworn obligation to respect his personal liberty."
There was no logical way to refute that trap. Reluctantly, Count Arwell shouldered the bitter taste in his mouth and answered.
"...I suppose that is so."
"Much obliged. I shall not be so brazen as to demand an introduction from your hands. Hahaha..."
Even so, Duke Luminel harbored no illusions about possessing the natural charisma required to win Harte Messiah's heart overnight. In fact, he understood that reality better than anyone. When a titan of his standing approached, any sensible person would raise their defenses—even an uneducated commoner.
However, the Duke possessed one solitary card capable of forging an unbreakable bond far deeper than any political patronage the Count could ever offer.
Basking in the golden sunlight outside the imperial gates, Duke Luminel beckoned his closest aide.
"Aide."
"Yes, Your Grace."
"The moment we return to the ducal estate, bring that child to my study."
Having instantly deciphered his lord's intention, the aide voiced quiet hesitation.
"Pardon the intrusion, Your Grace, but is that not somewhat... excessive?"
Duke Luminel's lips twisted into a mocking sneer at his subordinate's timidity.
"Excessive? Heh... Hahaha!"
He laughed aloud, as if lamenting the aide's painfully narrow vision. Pausing before the door of his waiting carriage, the Duke spoke in a low, reverent murmur.
"You speak in such terms only because your eyes have never beheld it. The light of miracles that unravels the very laws governing this mortal realm... No man who has ever witnessed that sacred radiance could ever deem this excessive."
"...Is that so, my lord."
For reasons unknown, the Holy Temple was turning a blind eye to Harte's worldly ventures. It was a miraculous, once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. To waste time obsessing over suspicion when such intoxicating prey lay ripe for the taking would be the height of folly.
Therefore, Duke Luminel intended to play the absolute finest card in his possession.
His only daughter, raised with meticulous refinement to reign undisputed over high society. A formidable lady who had effortlessly crushed and discarded every rutting dog sending love letters to her door day after day.
It was almost as though she had been cultivated for this exact, destined purpose.
Since antiquity, the pinnacle of all political alliances has ever been the alliance of marriage.
No matter how miraculous a man might be, someone raised within the austere walls of the Temple was ultimately an unworldly rustic who would revere even the hem of an aristocratic lady's skirt. If his daughter could thoroughly bewitch him, what significance would a mere Court Count hold?
"I can hardly wait!"
Envisioning the glorious empire taking shape before his mind's eye, Duke Luminel allowed a dark, triumphant smirk to grace his face.