Saint by Rumor

But no one heard the bishop's anxious muttering.

"What did he say?"

"Well, I..."

Someone with gleaming eyes shouted out.

"He says he'll pray for our sinful souls!"

"Your Excellency! Your Excellency the Bishop!"

The crowd burst into tears and swarmed around the bishop. He was covered in blood, looking half-dead already, and they steeled themselves to see him off.

"Move aside."

"S-Sir Knight, the bishop is about to depart..."

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

"He can't have taken wounds that fatal."

Johan found their reaction strange. The bishop had certainly been through an ordeal, but he was nowhere near death.

"Let us pray for His Excellency!"

"Sir Knight, pray for the bishop! Let his soul pass on in peace!"

"U-uh... er..."

The bishop, scraping together every last scrap of strength, waved his hands frantically. The figures crowding around him felt like a flock of crows. The only one he could trust anymore was Johan.

"He's still breathing. Move aside. He needs to be carried somewhere and treated."

"No, he seems to be dead..."

"He died as a saint."

Privately, the people hoped the bishop was dead. Not out of any grudge against him — they were simply drunk on the image of a bishop who had vanquished a demon and collapsed from exhaustion.

They wanted the bishop to die a holy and noble death. They wanted this square to become the birthplace of that miracle, and themselves to have been present at the sacred moment.

Some had already torn strips from the bishop's robes and clutched them in their hands, reasoning that they would become new holy relics.

"Carry His Excellency away. You there, escort him to a decent physician."

"...Ah, yes! Right away!"

The guards who had arrived late, cowed by the sheer presence of Johan and his mercenaries, simply nodded.

Ordinarily they would have halted everything on the spot and asserted their authority — arrogance was their usual habit. But not one of them dared open his mouth now.

The spirit had been crushed out of them.

They did exactly as Johan commanded, docile as lambs — anyone watching might have mistaken them for his own men.

The citizens in the square stepped aside, crossing themselves, offering heartfelt thanks to the knight who had severed the demon's neck with a silver blade and saved them all.

When word reached the consul, he dispatched his personal physician — and then came in person to offer thanks to both the bishop and Johan.

It wasn't thanks so much as adulation.

By the consul's account, the bishop had performed a miracle to bind the demon, and Johan was the knight who had swung his blade to the voice of God and beheaded it. So the rumors were spreading like this, Johan mused.

So that's how all those old tales of knights slaying demons got started...

The praise was excessive enough that Johan wondered if the consul had some guilty conscience about it. But Gareld denied it.

"Not at all, milord. You were born in the Empire, so the Republic must still feel foreign to you."

The lords of the Empire wielded power within their own domains that even the Emperor could not easily touch — and yet even they had to listen to the grievances and moods of their serfs.

In a city, the citizens' voice carried that much more weight.

You could call the consul the city's lord, but the consul was elected by a vote within the Grand Council, and the councilors were in turn elected by vote, and so on...

The bishop had been abed for over a week now. A week was more than enough time for a man everyone had despised to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠be reborn as a saint.

With the city in this state, if the consul failed to show the bishop due reverence, a riot could very well break out.

"Out there, the rumor that His Excellency is a living saint is already everywhere."

At Gareld's words, Johan snorted. Gareld, finding the situation just as absurd, burst out laughing as well.

They both knew exactly how greedy the bishop was. And that man was being venerated as a saint. There was simply no accounting for the ways of the world.

"And it's much the same for you, milord. No — one could say yours is worse. You cut off the demon's head with your own hands. Think of how the ones who watched will speak of it."

"It was a gargoyle, not a demon."

"To the people, it's all the same. How often does anyone see a monster, after all?"

Gareld paused, glancing at Johan's face, then went on.

"I always thought you were a man destined for great things. A-and I have firmly been on your side since before all this. Remember my contributions."

"Of course. Without you, Gareld, who in this city would I trust?"

"R-really? Haha. That puts my mind at ease. Not that I've said anything, but I've been going around spreading tales of your deeds."

"...That's genuinely appreciated."

The rumors were exaggerated quite a bit, but exaggeration was a necessity of the age. The tale of Johan catching the troll had been, exceptionally, understated; rumors usually ran far more inflated.

No one ever reviled a man for embellishing his own legend. That, too, was a form of honor.

"Lord Hormaric will arrive soon, and he has high expectations for your exploits."

"Th-that is truly so? Then I shall serve you with utmost loyalty! Just give me the chance!"

Gareld went home glowing like a man in a daydream. Seeing that, Johan had no doubt he would defend Johan vigorously before the council. Any lingering caution about being politically outmaneuvered had long since evaporated.

Johan opened the letter Svetlag had sent. It had come from him after he'd been waiting outside the city and heard the news.

"...!"

There was only one reason an inspector or inquisitor of the Church would come: the bishop.

Ordinarily the man would have deserved to be stripped of his seat on the spot — but circumstances had changed.

From the Church's standpoint, they genuinely needed to verify whether the bishop had performed a miracle.

They could hardly cast out a faithful man who had worked a miracle on the strength of a false accusation.

"Your Excellency. Get up."

"Mmm."

The bishop cracked his eyes open and looked around. Satisfied that only Johan was present, he sat up.

"I have plenty of eyes on me as it is. Why are you here?"

"I've come to deliver a message."

The bishop had long since made a full recovery. Staying in bed was purely a device for further swaying the city's opinion.

"Kheh... khekheklek."

The bishop chuckled low in his throat. He had truly thought he was dying back then, but looking back now, there was nothing to do but laugh.

God truly does love me!

Who would have imagined the situation would turn around like this? They did say that when God closes one door, He opens another, but still...

Even lying there, he could hear the citizens outside chanting his name. He didn't need to go out to know. Not a single soul in this city had a bad word to say about him now.

"Brother!"

"Oh. So you'll call me brother again, will you?"

"Say what you like. It's hardly a bad offer for an ambitious brother, is it?"

Johan's tone was barbed, but the bishop paid it no mind. With his leisure restored, his wits had come back with it. In circumstances like these, Johan's cooperation mattered more than ever.

"I shan't deny there was some friction between us, brother. But was that not a trifle? We fought together against the demon that attacked this city."

"To be precise, I fought it alone."

"...Look here, brother. Wouldn't it do you no harm to have one friendly bishop in the Church? Do you truly wish to see this Biagione lose his seat? Surely not? Have we not a friendship built between us?"

Biagione appealed to sentiment, but Johan didn't so much as blink. He answered coldly.

"Get to the point. Your Excellency."

"With the city's opinion in this state, not a single councilor dares lay a hand on this Biagione anymore. No — the very ones who attacked me are biting their tongues and sweating by now. Even that insufferable Giordano has..."

"...? Giordano is dead. The gargoyle killed him."

"What? Is that true? Divine punishment has struck him down! Glorious!"

The bishop, elated, then had the grace to clear his throat in embarrassment. Rejoicing over a monster killing a man was, however well they knew each other, a bit ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠much even for the two of them.

"In any case, the city has settled down, so next comes the Church. And I tell you, the Church will not be able to cast this Biagione aside easily either."

"That's exactly why I've come. Word is the Church is sending someone. An inspector or inquisitor, no doubt."

"...!"

The bishop started. He had expected it to happen — but already?

"Is that true?! Then there's no time to lose. We must prepare this very hour."

"Prepare what, exactly?"

"We must get our stories straight, yours and this Biagione's!"

Biagione's plan was simple.

Johan was the one who had caught the gargoyle. The bishop, after all, had been seized in his own manor and dragged along behind it — he knew better than anyone. From beginning to end, it was as good as Johan alone who had taken it down.

What the bishop himself had done was closer to a desperate flail born of not wanting to die.

But one couldn't very well put it that way and still sound holy.

"When the gargoyle tried to rend this Biagione limb from limb, I barred its path with my cross. And why do you suppose it drew back?"

"Because it was silver?"

"No! You will say that this Biagione performed a miracle. That I worked a miracle, brother, and held the gargoyle fast where it stood!"

"......"

Johan stared at him with a face as changeless as granite. Under that stony expression the bishop grew suddenly anxious, and his spirit wilted.

"...Brother. Do make some reply."

"We'll say His Excellency exerted divine power and bound the demon... shall we."

The gargoyle's corpse had been burned at once. Terrified that the thing might rise again, the people of the city had doused it in oil, burned it to ash, and dumped the remains into the river.

Under those conditions, the man himself could claim whatever he pleased.

"If I concede that much, what do I get out of it?"

"The Church will give you unconditional cooperation in any matter that concerns me."

What a bishop of the Church could do for a man was virtually limitless.

He could send a suitably agreeable priest to a domain. He could quietly slip the right of temple jurisdiction into a lord's hands. Should a fight break out anywhere, he could lend support in the guise of a righteous cause...

Bolder still, he could scrape gold out of the coffers without even pretending subtlety. With the help of a man like Bishop Biagione, a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠lie of this magnitude was worth telling a hundred times over.

The only question was whether a greedy creature like Bishop Biagione could be trusted.

Even if I threatened to kill him, judging by his character, I doubt this arrangement would last long.

Right now the bishop feared him, sure. But would that hold once Johan was far away?

Johan spoke up, offhand and light as anything.

"Would you care to swear it on God's name?"

"Hm. If that's what it takes to satisfy you, I'll swear on this Biagione's honor."

"?"

Johan found that strange. Something was off.

"No — I said swear on God's name, not on Biagione's honor."

"Brother. One mustn't make oaths on God's name lightly..."

Biagione tried to slip past the subject, and of course Johan wasn't about to be fooled.

It was astonishing, really.

That this bishop, more corrupted and covetous than Johan himself, held firm and unshakable faith and fear of God.

That was the power of faith.

Just as even the most savage mercenary, a man who would murder a child in his path, feared God's existence somewhere in the deepest chamber of his heart — the people of this world could never truly escape the existence of God. It was the boundary of their thought, the limit of their belief.

Honestly. I could swear that kind of oath a dozen times over.

Oaths carried power, they said, and breaking one brought a curse — but only because one bothered to care about the oath.

If a man genuinely did not care about it at all, it exerted no influence whatsoever. Johan was capable of that.

"Swear on God's name."

"...Surely you can look the other way on that one, brother. What if circumstances arise where I simply cannot honor it?"

"You swear precisely because you must do your utmost even then. Do it. Unless you'd like me to walk out that door and tell everyone His Excellency cheated the gargoyle with a silver cross."

Johan was immovable. The bishop, after repeated attempts at persuasion, gave out from exhaustion — and at last, he swore before the name of God.

"Good. So I say His Excellency wielded his cross, worked a miracle, and slew the gargoyle—"

"Yes — no! No! What madness is this! You'll say only that I bound its feet!"

The bishop nearly agreed on reflex, then jerked bolt upright in horror. There was no need for a lie that extravagant. It would only invite suspicion.