The Bishops' Strange Blind Spot

'Still, these bishops... something about them is off.'

With the broad strokes agreed upon, the time had come to hammer out the details. But as the bishops began walking Johan through their plan, a strange feeling crept over him.

Their insight and their abilities were wildly lopsided.

On political legitimacy and court maneuvering, the bishops were consummate masters. How to strip the County of Culia of its title, how to keep the neighboring nobles in check — on these matters they spoke with effortless authority.

Yet when it came to military affairs or governance, they were all but imbeciles. One bishop asked whether they might need a fleet to carry purchased siege engines to the front, and another had not so much as considered the possibility of advancing in separate columns — he genuinely suggested it would be better to lump everything together and march in one great mass.

It was Bishop Lironero who stopped them, visibly embarrassed.

"Brethren, is it not the knight's duty to lead soldiers and ride at their head? Sir Johan will manage these matters ably on his own. Let us trust him and entrust them to him."

"Yes. Understood."

"Still, aren't soldiers stronger when they're gathered and sent as one—?"

"Hush. Enough of that."

It made a certain sense. Men who had actually served usually spent their lives on battlefields, fighting alongside their brethren in the monastic orders, and typically yielded the bishop's seat to others. The bishops who rose through the Miracle Faction were, almost without exception, theorists — men who had spent their lives honing scholarship and devotion, ascending the mountain with the cry of 'I shall give this one body to transform the Order.'

Bishop Lironero alone had, in his youth, marched to war a handful of times with his monastic brethren, and so he at least understood how shameful the words spilling out of his colleagues' mouths truly were.

"You should have summoned the Captain of the Guard and asked his counsel."

"The fewer who know of this affair, the better. Besides, the Captain of the Guard has the Captain of the Guard's own duties, does he not?"

"Of course."

The Order's Guard and its Captain were kept under strict discipline. They were closer to monks than soldiers — their contact with the outside world was monitored, and they were expected to live lives of loyalty to the Order and nothing else.

The Order did not permit such men to mingle freely with outsiders. The moment they were touched by the secular world, desire took root, and betrayal followed.

'So they've been burned before, have they.'

From the bishops' conversation, Johan could read the Order's temperament and the direction it was drifting.

The current mainstream of the Church was the Miracle Faction bishops and the Pope they attended. The Pope's awe-inspiring authority to work miracles reached into ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠every diocese on the continent — but the secular monarchs did not look upon it kindly. They worked ceaselessly to whittle away at the Church's rights. Cardirian himself had led an army all the way to the foot of Mt. Sirandel, and no other king or noble harbored intentions much different.

The Church — which ought to be the purest of them all — hired mercenaries without end and waged political war to check the nobles above and below it, not out of ambition, but because without such struggles it could not survive at all.

"In any case, brother... has the situation become clear to you?"

"Yes."

The first prize to aim for was the County of Culia itself.

And that county currently sat in a truly delicate position.

The title had originally belonged to House Asada — a family of heathens from the East that had converted generations ago and sworn itself as vassals to the Emperor.

Then the elderly beastfolk head of House Asada had married an elf from the Kingdom of Erance and fathered a child — whereupon the beastfolk promptly died.

The dead man's brothers were furious. They clamored to succeed to the county in his place, petitioning again and again, but the elf lady refused them flatly. The count's rights belonged to his child, she declared, and until the boy came of age she would rule as regent.

Naturally, the brothers did not sit idle. They denounced the elf to the Church, accusing her of 'colluding with heathens to poison her husband.' If the lady alone were stripped of her position, the young nephew would be a trivial matter to handle, and the county theirs for the taking.

The Church intended to make full use of this situation.

After that, the Asada brothers themselves would be denounced and excommunicated on charges relating to their heathen blood.

It was an exquisitely constructed pretext — one could feel the long, patient labor the Order had poured into it. Their opponents would not even realize anything was amiss until the affair was well past undoing.

"So? What's the problem?"

Setting the oaths aside entirely, Johan summoned Swetlg and Kaenerna to discuss what the bishops had told him.

"The pretext they've prepared seems solid enough. And they're clearly not planning to use me as an arrow-catcher..."

"Certainly not the arrow-catcher sort of plan."

"Would they have gone to such lengths if they meant to use you as a shield?"

Nodding at their reactions, Johan pressed on. "But doesn't the method after the pretext seem off somehow? They ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠strip the county, I occupy it, and then they grant the title to me. Isn't that far too crude?"

Only a few generations had passed since House Asada took over. There would be any number of lesser noble houses that had spent that time building ties under the count. However impressive it was that Johan had arrived with an army, taken the land, and received the Church's praises and its grant of office — how would those houses react to a total outsider suddenly installed to rule over them?

"I see two reasons."

Kaenerna spoke in her cool, level voice. On matters of political instinct, she was sharper than Swetlg.

"The first is what you already said — the bishops are fools. Everyone makes the mistake of assuming Church bishops are clever enough to know everything about the world, but they're not. They think that once you've occupied the land and stamped the Church's name on it, the matter is settled."

"And the other reason?"

"The second is that even if they half-guess the consequences, it makes no difference to the Order. Controlling those vassal nobles is your job, not theirs. The more trouble they give you, the harder you'll have to lean on the Church's authority."

"...!"

A chill ran down Johan's spine. He had dismissed them carelessly, underrated them — and yet here, too, the Order had done its groundwork thoroughly.

Kaenerna was exactly right. The more the lesser nobles refused their oaths of fealty or rose in revolt, the more desperately Johan would need the Church's backing.

He had always wondered how the Order had managed to succeed despite borrowing the strength of brutal raiders and sellswords. Seen this way, it made perfect sense.

The intangible power the Church had accumulated over the centuries was not something a single knight could hope to challenge.

"By the way — are you planning to break with the Order?"

"No. I love the Church."

Both mages snorted. Words from the heart, surely.

Johan protested. "I know full well the temple helps with governance, and I have no intention of refusing its power. It's precisely because too much dependence becomes a trap you can never escape later."

"Rare, meeting a man who thinks like that before he's even received the reward. Most people take the fief, say their thank-yous, and start groveling with all their might."

"What? I think it's a fine trait. That's how a knight ought to be. A hundred times better than some ignorant ox blindly bellowing and charging about."

Kaenerna rose to Johan's defense. Having watched Cardirian and the knights beneath him, she found every such remark from Johan's mouth startlingly fresh and genuinely moving.

Proof that a knight could think politically and act with care!

"Here's a thought."

Kaenerna clapped her hands. "That ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠method of yours is worth paying off one of your debts, I'd say. I should acknowledge it."

"I'll hear it and consider it. Speaking of which — didn't you once say you'd grant a favor when I needed one? Is that what the debt is about?"

"Oh dear. Forget I said anything just now."

"?"

"The one serving as regent of Culia at the moment is the wife, yes. Her name was..."

"Ezelia, of House Blua."

"Right. So you seize the woman, force her into marriage, drum up some excuse to strip her of the regency, and kill the child. There, solved."

When a lord trained for rule and capable of governing held the land, matters were one thing — but when such a lord died, the surviving husband or wife was left in a desperately precarious position. With a powerful family to support them, they might manage; without one, every scavenger on the map came circling for the fief.

Young, ambitious knights and the late lord's own kin were the worst offenders. Once they wedged their way in, the remaining political obstacles were merely a matter of time.

"Hmm."

"What? Dissatisfied?"

"Killing a small child sits poorly with me."

"...Then send him to a monastery. No — wait. Is that really your only objection?"

Swetlg, too, nodded with an expression of genuine admiration at Kaenerna's proposal.

"Serving the Emperor really has taught you to think along these lines."

"...Are you asking for a fight right now?"

"Kaenerna, I'll apologize on his behalf, so I'd ask you not to take offense."

Kaenerna stared at Johan in open astonishment. She had never imagined hearing an apology from Johan's mouth.

"No, that wasn't mockery. It genuinely never occurred to me. Isn't it a fine plan? The vassals' resentment would be far weaker, and even those who grumble would find their pretext flimsy. And by my reckoning, if you spend ten years there... no, even five, the ones inclined to complain will simply be gone."

"Isn't that laying it on a bit thick?"

"Hm. I think it's a reasonable estimate."

Swetlg rated Johan's capacity as a ruler highly. He was no ignorant knight who would try to settle everything with brute force.

"Anyway — shouldn't we worry about how to take the county before we worry about ruling it afterward?"

Kaenerna asked, looking at Johan. Honestly, that sort of daydream could wait. It was a fief he didn't even hold yet.

"The Church's support is the crucial part. Frankly, on your own strength alone, taking it would be difficult. Give it even a little time and reinforcements would arrive from right next door."

Johan nodded. The Church's support had exceeded even his expectations.

A muster permit issued in the Pope's own name, and a banner for the new house blessed by the Pope personally. House Eitz — a family that had never existed at all until yesterday — suddenly found itself bearing the sacred standard of the Church.

Fabricating a legendary figure or a holy ancestor into the upper branches of a family tree was common practice among nobles everywhere — but he'd never imagined the Church itself would do the grafting for him.

Besides that: mercenaries gathered from the northern and central peninsula, and a full thousand-strong dwarven mercenary regiment. Counting the additional recruits still to be raised, a force of nearly five to six thousand was taking shape.

And to this Johan added two conditions of his own. The first was support from the Republic; the second was the appointment of Bishop Biagione to the Diocese of Culia.

The bishops, having granted the first, were flabbergasted by the second.

Johan dug in his heels and forced the condition through regardless.

His reasons for insisting on dragging Biagione along were simple: the bishop was a puppet resting squarely in Johan's palm, and at the same time, a man who could absorb the Church's hatred in Johan's stead.

If Johan's conduct ever went astray, who else would the Order suspect first?

"Are you confident?"

"To a degree."

The soldiers of the Count of Culia numbered no more than a few hundred. Setting aside the possibility that the other imperial loyalist nobles to the southwest might send aid, there were no real variables.

"When do ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠we march?"

"The moment the regent of Culia sends her answer."

A month and a half later, word arrived from the county. The lady would not answer the Church's summons to trial.

The Church denounced her furiously and pronounced its excommunication. In the same breath, Johan raised the banner the Church had given him and declared the campaign of chastisement.

The mercenary captains assembled at the war council belatedly grasped the truth of it all and stared in hollow disbelief. The supreme commander had been decided from the very beginning.

Some of the captains fumed or seethed at the injustice, but there was nothing to be done. This had been the Church's plan all along, and they were not reckless enough to defy its authority.

They fell in silently behind Johan.

"The Asada brothers sent a letter — positively giddy with joy, I hear."

"Utterly pathetic creatures."

Word of the excommunication had thrilled the count's own kin, it seemed. They were laboring under a grand misunderstanding about Johan's army.

They believed he was marching south to restore the county to them.

Johan had even gone to the trouble of writing to them personally, in the sweetest and most honeyed words he could manage. The Church and Sir Johan placed great hopes in them, the letter said — and would they not join hands with the Church against the fallen Emperor in the days to come? The brothers had practically danced with delight.

"Sir Marco. Your own lands lie down there in the south, don't they? Will that be a problem?"

"M-my lands? They are not my lands, Sir Johan — they belong to His Excellency Marquis Crucho."

For an illegitimate son to lay claim to a marquisate's territory was a good way to lose one's head. Marco denied it in a cold sweat of panic. Johan didn't particularly care.

"Same thing. In any case, we may well end up fighting the Marquis's house down there. Is that going to be a problem for you?"