Chapter 42
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Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 42
Chapter Title: Royal Wedding
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#
The old capital of Osnover was Solna. It had been the capital since before he had inherited Dithmarschen. The people of this country said that the capital had never changed, even as the dynasty fell and rose five times. But today, with the sixth dynasty in place, Eisleben was the capital of Osnover.
Eisleben was a city in the southern part of the kingdom. There were few cities in Osnover further south than this one. It was practically a border city, having become part of the country only a century ago.
“I’d heard about it, but this is a bit underwhelming for a capital.”
Roberta commented as she surveyed the city, riding toward the north gate with her three companions. It inevitably drew a comparison to Witten. A place like this was the capital of a country?
What was Witten, the central city of Count Meyer’s domain, like? Even from a distance, it was a thriving place. Men and women enjoyed the summer scenery from boats on the river flowing around the city, many buildings rose higher than the city walls, and the nightscape was bright.
Compared to that, Eisleben was a small town. It felt more like a provincial city than a capital. And in fact, it was.
“It can’t be helped. There were no other options.”
“Ah… you said he didn’t inherit any lands, correct?”
“It was something that couldn’t be given, even if one wanted to.”
Ulrich rode his horse alongside her.
“As you know, His Highness Richard is the Duke’s adopted son.”
Roberta gave him a strange look because of his tone. The dwarf Toruhel was right behind them. Ulrich, using the alias Armin, always spoke of himself in the third person with high regard, and it felt odd to her every time.
“The Duke’s domain is Dithmarschen, the gateway to the ice peninsula. Inheriting such a place would be of no help at all. It’s better to establish a foothold somewhere far from monsters and winter, no matter how small.”
Just like the Meyer family.
Hohenlohe, the adopted son of Hilde and Ulrich, had a descendant who married a noble, acquired land outside Dithmarschen, and cultivated it for hundreds of years to create the Witten of today.
Richard, unlike the Meyers, inherited the throne from the start. He received the throne before any land. He had nothing but the clothes on his back.
“When you put it that way… this place seems quite decent.”
“Mm, it’s decent. Though I can’t say it’s the best.”
“How did he acquire a place like this? Did he receive a dowry?”
“You know how the civil war ended.”
Something suddenly occurred to her, and she nodded.
“Spoils of war.”
Near the end of the Osnover civil war, one faction had conquered the kingdom and attacked Dithmarschen, but Ulrich crushed them, ending the war.
“Since they weren't a group with a base in Osnover, we didn’t gain much. Just Eisleben and a few other regions. However, Solna was among them.”
Ulrich added that while settling in Solna, the old capital of Osnover, would have been the best choice, Richard chose not to.
“He chose this place over Solna because of the Pantheon, didn't he?”
she asked in a whisper, yet with conviction.
“That’s right.”
Ulrich had once said that the faction that attacked Dithmarschen had been instigated by the Pantheon. It was the Pantheon’s plan for him to end the civil war and ascend the throne.
Richard must have seen and heard it all from the sidelines. He would have witnessed the civil war escalate due to the Pantheon's intervention, seen Count Willem Meyer fall to temptation, and watched as the imperial crown was offered to Ulrich.
He couldn't possibly have good feelings toward the Pantheon. Moreover, Solna was the city with the country's only grand temple, and it had an archbishop appointed by the Pantheon.
That was why Eisleben, this ordinary city, had become the capital. It was the base Richard had chosen to escape the Pantheon’s influence, even if only slightly.
#
“Thanks to you, we arrived without being late. Thank you!”
After passing through the north gate, the dwarf Toruhel expressed his gratitude. Ulrich dismounted and shook the dwarf's hand.
“Have you found a place to stay? I was thinking of heading straight to the palace. If you haven't, you can come with me.”
“We have another place to stop by.”
“Is that so… Then I suppose we must part ways here.”
Toruhel said with a hint of disappointment, tapping his foot on the ground.
“We’ll see each other again soon. There’s the wedding, after all.”
“Right, you said you’d be attending too, didn’t you? I’ll see you then.”
The dwarf turned and walked away.
Fritz watched him go for a moment before speaking.
“Lord Ulrich, is this alright?”
The rest of the question was left unsaid, but it was understood. He was asking if it was okay not to reveal the truth to Toruhel Alladelio. After all, he was a descendant of the slave Ulrich had saved long ago under the name Selim.
The dwarf from a pass in the Esta-Mauneto Mountains still remembered Selim after all this time. Yet he walked away, oblivious to the fact that Selim was alive and standing right before him. He said they would meet again soon, but they might miss each other by a twist of fate.
“Knowing each other isn't always for the best. If we're connected by fate, he'll learn of it even if I don't go out of my way to reveal myself.”
Ulrich watched Toruhel. Roberta noticed a faint smile playing on his lips.
“I hope so.”
Fritz scratched the back of his head, a look of lingering regret on his face. It seemed he felt a sense of kinship, as both the Meyer family and the dwarves of Esta-Mauneto shared a history of receiving mercy from the same person.
“You said you had another place to stop by?”
“I just said that to get rid of Toruhel. We need to find a place to stay now.”
“If you don’t mind, shall I escort you to our mansion? My father has a residence he uses when he stays here. It will be much better than staying at an inn.”
Ulrich stroked his chin.
“Someone might recognize me.”
As if a thought just struck him, Fritz let out a small "Ah."
“Are you going to continue using the alias?”
“I plan to, if possible, until the wedding.”
“Then I’ll tell them you are Lord Armin. You won’t have to worry. No one at the main estate recognized you. Besides, all the servants here are locals.”
Ulrich nodded and looked at Roberta, as if asking for her opinion. She nodded in agreement.
“I’m going to stop by the temple first and join you later. There’s something I need to check.”
#
After parting with her companions, Roberta walked for some time before stopping at the main gate of the temple. The gate was firmly shut. She didn’t enter immediately but surveyed her surroundings. There was no one around. Whether a city was large or small, there were always people milling about a temple, yet only silence reigned.
*Did this place also obey the summons?*
She clicked her tongue inwardly. She had come with a sliver of hope, but it seemed this trip, too, would be in vain. She had left her companions to visit the temple in order to meet a priest.
Throughout her journey, she hadn’t met a single priest of the Pantheon. It was because of the summons. The Pantheon had recalled every priest in Osnover.
*I thought at least in the capital, someone would have remained.*
The conflict between the Empire and the Ecumenical Church had reached its peak. The Emperor had convened the Ecumenical Church to change the laws of papal election, to prevent the Cormillius family from monopolizing the right to nominate and elect the Pope.
He was shaking a power that no one had dared to touch since the founding of the Third Empire. And in the midst of it all, King Richard of Osnover had lent his support, and the Pantheon had retaliated with the summons.
“Is anyone there?”
Roberta pushed the main gate open slightly, poked her head in, and raised her voice. There was no answer. Only the echo of her call, “Is anyone there?” lingered in the air.
The inside of the temple was stuffy. All the windows and doors were closed. With no proper ventilation, the summer heat was trapped inside. The moment she stepped into the temple’s cloister, she felt her breath catch in her throat.
“Excuse me! Is no one here?”
She raised her voice once more, then walked down the central aisle of the temple. Long benches for the congregation lined both sides, but they were free of dust. It seemed someone was managing the place.
But for now, there was no one. She heard no voices, nor the sound of approaching footsteps. After looking around the temple for a while, she ascended to the altar at the end of the aisle.
The altar was covered with a purple cloth, upon which sat several unlit candles. As each one symbolized a celestial god, she lit them all and offered a prayer.
A moment later, she heard footsteps.
“Oh, my… you’re a priest.”
The owner of the footsteps was a priest. Roberta flinched the moment she saw the color of his vestments. Red was the symbol of an archbishop, and there was only one archbishop in Osnover.
Vinicio. Roberta silently repeated the archbishop’s name. He was an elderly man, but he approached her with a straight back and wide strides.
“Greetings, Your Grace.”
Hiding her surprise, she knelt on one knee, lowered her head, and placed her right hand over her heart. Archbishop Vinicio then helped her up, and they exchanged a light embrace.
“Welcome, Priest. Where have you come from?”
“I am Roberta, from Dithmarschen.”
The archbishop started, his eyes widening.
“Dithmarschen?”
Was there a reason to be surprised? Roberta kept her expression neutral as she observed him.
“Yes. By order of His Holiness, I was appointed as the resident priest there.”
“Yes, I know. I’ve heard a great deal about you. Priest Roberta, you were appointed as the successor to the missing Clement, on Alonso’s recommendation. I was actually planning to summon you soon, but I never imagined the timing would be so perfect.”
“When you say you were planning to summon me…?”
“Ah, but before that, let me ask you one thing. Did… he happen to come with you?”
She hesitated at his words—*he*.
“Pardon?”
Her intuition immediately told her he meant Ulrich. But logic argued against it. Why would an archbishop refer to the Duke of Dithmarschen as *he* in such a reverent tone? Because Ulrich was King Richard’s father? Or because he knew of Ulrich’s distant past?
She mentally sifted through Ulrich’s names. None among them would warrant such respect from an archbishop. Knowing what the answer would be, she still asked cautiously.
“Who might you be referring to, Your Grace?”
“You do not know, Priest?”
The archbishop looked her straight in the eye.
“I am speaking of Lord Ulrich, the Duke of Dithmarschen.”
An inner voice screamed, *I knew it*. The archbishop knew the name she was aware of but couldn't be certain about.
“I’m not sure how I should answer.”
“…It seems Alonso told you nothing.”
Groaning, the archbishop covered his mouth with his hand, pondering. His hesitation was palpable as he repeatedly scanned her expression, debating whether to speak.
“For now, Priest, please tell me what you know about him. You must at least be aware that he has more than one name, correct? You’ve spent over a year there, after all.”