The Church's Perfect Proxy
"You're more humble than I expected?"
"Humble? What the devil are you—"
"In any case, understood. I'll say what you want said, Your Excellency."
At Johan's words, the bishop let out a long sigh of relief. The most difficult part had been settled.
"But if an inspector is coming, isn't a mansion this opulent rather dangerous?"
"Brother, you're still thinking like a child. Do you imagine an inspector despises gold? Would a judge refuse it? A modest degree of luxury like this is something they can close their eyes to easily enough."
Of course, he did not hand over gold coins openly. Instead he presented gifts with the air of a man who had, quite by chance, come across a book or a rare trinket the inspector or judge happened to fancy.
It was a trick he'd performed countless times before, and one at which the bishop was the realm's undisputed master.
"Shouldn't I be the one calling you naive, Your Excellency? If you're going to do something, do it properly. Normally I wouldn't care, but isn't the Church under attack at this very moment? And even so, you mean to smooth things over with bribes as usual... What if the one who arrives was sent by one of your rivals or enemies? Or what if you meet someone your charms simply don't move? This is a time when not even the smallest thread of scandal can be allowed to catch."
The bishop's face went red at Johan's rebuke. The man had struck precisely where it hurt.
Dwell long enough at the top of the world, and one's sense of reality grows dull, one's instincts for danger with it. The bishop had yet to claw his way out of that muddle.
"W-well, yes. I see your point."
"Rather than closing their eyes, they could seize this as a flaw and blow it up into something far worse."
"Very well. I'll have the servants clear the valuables out of the mansion."
"Your Excellency. People have gathered outside in prayer as we speak. How exactly do you propose to move things out?"
"There will be no one at night. We'll do it then—"
"They pray through the night as well."
"What?! What in God's name are the night watchmen doing?! Why haven't they been driven off?!"
Johan stared at the bishop with a look of pure disbelief. What exactly did he imagine would happen if they forced a crowd of praying faithful to disperse by the sword?
Perhaps he realized it himself, for the bishop gave an embarrassed little cough.
"Then what would you have me do, brother?"
"We give it away. To the people outside."
"Wh... wh... wh..."
The bishop clutched at his heart. He looked more shocked than he had when the gargoyle appeared.
"Ab- absolutely not! Do such a thing? Never!"
The more I look at him, the more I wonder how this man ever became a bishop.
Watching a man cling to gold harder than any merchant, Johan said, "Your Excellency. Now is the time to set aside your greed for a moment. Is there not something more important than gold?"
"There is not! What could there possibly be!"
"More gold. Set a little down for the moment—for the sake of acquiring more later."
Johan took the bishop by the shoulders and spoke while looking him straight in the eye. Crushed by the sheer weight of that iron will, the bishop averted his gaze.
"...Very well."
"You own plenty of other mansions besides, Your Excellency. Don't grieve so over a few trinkets moved from one of them."
"I have ten fingers, but cutting one off still hurts!"
He suffered, wailed, gnashed his teeth—but in the end the bishop consented. Johan's reasoning had gotten through to him.
"Fetch the mercenaries."
Having received the bishop's permission—and with it, authority—Johan summoned the men. He was not drawing up schemes purely out of charity for a greedy bishop. Naturally, he had something in mind.
"From this moment, we're carrying everything out of the mansion and distributing it to the citizens outside."
"?"
"Has His Excellency passed away?"
One of the mercenaries reacted exactly as any man would. Anything else simply didn't add up.
"No. He has always meant to share with the people, but feared that if he died like this, he would never get the chance."
"Sir Knight, might the bishop have been possessed by an evil spirit? Couldn't you drive it out like you did before?"
"Keep quiet. From now on we're gathering up every gold and silver treasure in this mansion and scattering it among the crowd. Each man takes one thing he likes."
"...!"
The mercenaries' faces lit up like festival lanterns.
"Thank you! Thank you!"
"His Excellency is in perfect health! Forgive the foolish words I spoke!"
Johan singled out Galambos from among them.
"Galambos. Without you, we'd never have taken that gargoyle. I acknowledge your merit—so you'll be first to take what you wish. Pick anything you like."
"Th-thank you!"
Galambos stood there dumbstruck. The other mercenaries already knew from experience how generously Johan rewarded his men, but Galambos had yet to earn that familiarity.
Am I truly allowed to take whatever I want?
He hesitated, wary.
The mansion was crammed to the rafters with dazzling treasures. Silver candlesticks and goblets, a gilded cabinet carved from slabs of marble, shards of glass so rare most men would never see their like.
Truthfully, he half-feared that if he chose wrong, his wrist would end up on a chopping block.
"If you can't decide, I'll grab a few for you."
Reading the thought straight off Galambos's face, Johan plucked up a handful of bracelets and tossed them into his chest. Dazzled by the gleam of gold, Galambos bowed his head in overflowing gratitude.
"Thank you! Thank you!"
"Then hurry up and choose. The others are waiting on you, aren't they?"
Galambos glanced behind him. The other mercenaries were glaring at him with eyes like burning coals. The unspoken message was clear: pick fast and step aside.
By the time the bishop's popularity was soaring clean past the clouds thanks to the scattering of his household's treasures, Hormaric arrived in the city.
"Sir Knight! My sincerest congratulations! I never doubted your ability for a moment."
Having heard the tales on the road, Hormaric praised Johan's exploits at every breath. From his own perspective, he had no choice but to feel it: he had attached himself to the right rope.
"Then what business brings you here?"
"Ah—I wished to introduce you to a member of the Grand Council, one Sir Gareld. A man who holds lands on the Ulcana Peninsula. He will be of great use to you."
"A noble of that standing, for me...? Thank you, Sir Knight! There is truly no one else who thinks of me as you do."
"Haha. You flatter me. Come along now, this way."
Hormaric and Gareld proceeded to lavish warm flattery upon one another. Hormaric extolled Gareld's valor and loyalty; Gareld sang of Hormaric's noble character and illustrious bloodline.
It was a conversation only possible because each had entirely misunderstood the other. Not one tangible thing remained between them after the exchange, yet both walked away thoroughly satisfied. Gareld was even misty-eyed.
Johan had not spoken a single lie.
"Had it not been for you, Sir, I would still be running errands for those wretches, being played for a fool."
"It was you who recognized my worth, Sir Gareld."
"Not a soul in the Council dares speak ill of the bishop anymore. Everyone watches their tongues now, every man of them."
Johan nodded. Gareld had proven a steady and capable informant.
"And... there is one more matter."
"?"
When Gareld hesitated, Johan looked at him in mild surprise.
"The Consul wishes to meet with you. Quietly."
"The Consul?"
Once elected, the Republic's Consul held his seat until death. Power was diffused widely enough, but it was a post no less lofty than that of a lord or a king.
"He has already met my face once, and now he calls for me? What could this be about?"
"I honestly couldn't say. But Sir Knight—"
Gareld seized Johan's hand and spoke with desperate earnestness.
"Whatever words the Consul may offer, do not forget our friendship!"
Gareld lived in dread that Johan might be swept off his feet by the Consul.
The Consul was drawn from the Grand Council's ranks, scion of one of the city's oldest and most storied noble houses, and bound to every great family by a web of strong connections. He was in a different weight class entirely from Gareld, an imperial-born outsider.
If a man like that dangled privileges and honeyed promises before Johan, Gareld would be left holding nothing but a severed rope.
"Aren't you worrying rather a lot?"
"Not nearly enough! You cannot conceive of the filthy methods these nobles employ. They buy men and reel them in as naturally as breathing, I tell you!"
"I'm imperial-born myself, if you've forgotten. I know a thing or two about honor. Rest easy."
Social graces might be vital, but soothing Hormaric and then soothing Gareld was becoming a genuinely tiresome chore.
At some point, Johan had drifted into speaking down to Gareld entirely. Gareld, for his part, never noticed.
Contrary to Gareld's fears, the Consul's purpose was not to drive the two men apart. Nor did he particularly intend to make Johan his own creature.
Had Johan been an ordinary knight, or an ordinary mercenary captain, the Consul might well have tried to win him over with charm and coin. Swords were always useful; there was no harm in having more.
But Johan was far too exceptional.
A knight who had earned a duke's banneret in his youth and now hunted monsters for a living would never be content with a lifetime spent as captain of a city watch.
Bribery will never work on this one.
What the Consul wanted was a secret pact.
"If you wish to reconcile with His Excellency the Bishop, surely you should be speaking with him rather than with—"
"No, no, Sir Knight. This isn't about Bishop Biagione. Of course, given how things have turned out, you ought to bury the hatchet with him and reconcile—but that hardly required summoning you here."
Send the bishop's family an appropriately fat purse of gold, and both sides could close the matter amicably.
"Do you know that the Church has sent someone?"
"Has it?"
Johan played dumb. The Consul nodded with evident satisfaction.
The word had come through his connections. "And do you know why they're coming?"
"To verify the miracle the Bishop performed, perhaps...?"
"That is certainly one purpose. They will come, and they will look. But their true purpose is you."
"?!"
Johan tensed.
Had some suspicious act of his been discovered?
Commanding an evil spirit? Using an assassin's techniques?
"They mean to borrow your strength to strike at the lands of Kardirian to the south. I would stake nearly anything on it."
"...!"
The remark was so far from anything he had imagined that Johan could only gape.
The north and center of the Catalia Peninsula were a patchwork of city-states and Church territories. But the south belonged to the house of Kardirian and its vassals.
The Empire's relations with the peninsula were poison. Periodically it asserted claims over the peninsula's territories, and more than once it had invaded outright.
In that climate, the estate down at the southern tip functioned like a dagger pressed against the throat. It was little wonder the Church and the city-states regarded it as a thorn in the eye.
But an attack?
Why me?
Johan sank into thought. His entire force numbered less than a thousand men. Gold could hire any number of mercenaries, granted, but Johan was hardly some great magnate with endless coffers.
Plenty of mercenary captains like him could be scraped up by the dozen on this very peninsula.
I see. They need someone who will do as the Church says.
The Church could not raise an army and march itself. A proxy was inevitable—and that proxy had to be trustworthy, useful, and satisfy several conditions at once.
First, he had to be formidable in arms and fluent in the art of war.
Second, since he would be siding with the Church against the Empire, no son of a great imperial house would do. Such a man could turn his coat back to his family at any moment. Only one of humble, weak lineage could be trusted never to betray them.
And third, a man too savage and barbarous was equally unfitting. Back a brute like that, and the Church would be the one left disgraced.
...It's me. It's exactly me.
Johan realized anew just how attractive a proposition he was to the Church. Humble house, lofty reputation, demonstrably pious—from their side of the table, he must look positively mouthwatering.
When Johan fell silent, the Consul grew puzzled. It never occurred to him that Johan had deduced the entire affair in the space of those few seconds.
"What's the matter?"
"Nothing. I was only wondering how one would go about attacking Kardirian's lands. On what pretext, exactly?"
"Haha. Is that all you were turning over? It's simplicity itself. The Church will pick one of the lords down there, cook up a suitable excuse, and have his title stripped from him. Then His Holiness the Pope will personally confer that title upon you."
Of course, nothing of substance would actually change. March down there, and the local lord would not rise from his seat with a cordial 'Welcome, do come in' and go quietly.
He would resist with everything he had, and in the end the land would have to be taken by force.
But the pretext mattered.
Who in the world could deny a title proclaimed and granted by the Pope of the Church itself?
"Won't Kardirian rage at that?"
"That one is too tangled up in Imperial affairs to spare us a glance. He won't march down here—will be lucky if he manages to glare. In any case... they'll promise you a title and all manner of support. When they do, do not forget to put in a good word for our names. We want very much to be in on this."
The Consul made no attempt to hide the naked hunger in his manner.
In his family's prime, they had swung an iron fist over these lands. Now it was time to settle accounts with the enemies made in those days.
A grudge once sworn never faded, and a man who had once shown his weakness could never be allowed to rest easy.