Chapter 43
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Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 43
Chapter Title: The Royal Wedding
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#
The two relocated. Roberta followed Archbishop Vinicio up two flights of stairs, and the archbishop led her to a reception room on one side of the corridor.
The room’s windows were wide open, letting in the summer breeze along with the sunlight. On a table in the center of the room, a teacup sat beside a book. It seemed he had been taking a break there just moments before.
“Please, sit.”
Vinicio gestured to a chair. As Roberta took her seat, he placed an empty teacup before her and poured a pale yellow tea. Its fragrance, carried by the breeze, tickled her nose.
“Before we discuss anything else, I would like an answer to my first question.”
He was asking if she had come with Ulrich.
“No. The Duke of Dithmarschen did not accompany me.”
“He did not?”
“No.”
She answered reflexively.
“Hmm, I see. Then did you come alone, Priest?”
“I came with Lord Armin, the Duke’s adopted son.”
*Armin?* The archbishop mulled over the name, his eyes narrowing.
“His adopted son?”
Roberta replied, “Yes,” and watched his reaction. The archbishop might see through her lie. After all, he seemed to know Ulrich better than she did. There was a considerable chance he knew how many adopted sons Ulrich had and what each of their names was, but she lied anyway.
It was the answer she had been contemplating ever since she was questioned before the altar. Ulrich had said he would continue using an alias, but should she hide it from the archbishop as well?
However, the archbishop was addressing Ulrich with great reverence. She decided she had to be cautious until she heard the truth about him.
“...”
The archbishop sat across from Roberta, frowning. His expression as he gazed into his teacup was that of a man searching his memory for the name Armin.
“Yes, yes. I have heard of him.”
His reply, after a long moment, was unexpected.
“It’s been quite some time since I’ve heard any news. I see he’s still around.”
She struggled to suppress her surprise. *Armin, wasn’t that name just an alias? Was there really an adopted son with the same name? Even Fritz the attendant hadn’t known it.* She tried to calm her startled heart.
“...Yes. Lord Armin has come to attend the wedding on the Duke’s behalf. And I accompanied him because I have an order from His Holiness.”
The archbishop murmured, “I see,” and nodded.
“I understand. It is a pity he could not come himself, but there will be other opportunities.”
He took a sip of his tea.
“Now, tell me. What have you learned about him during your time in Dithmarschen?”
She wondered where to begin her story.
It had only been a year, but her experiences had been so bizarre that they were difficult to organize. She recounted them in chronological order, from the moment she arrived in Dithmarschen as the resident priest to the present day. She told him of the incidents she had witnessed and the names she had heard.
She explained as concisely as possible how Ulrich had performed the Infant Sacrament on her first day, how an old man named Rashid had brought the worms that grew inside his son’s corpse, and how a half-dragon, half-human had visited from the Kingdom of Carbonihar.
The only thing she left out was the secret history Ulrich had told her.
She had no qualms about sharing the rest. She had been diligently sending letters to Alonso, keeping him informed of the events she experienced. Besides, the archbishop was of a higher station than Alonso and seemed to know Ulrich better than she did.
“Who do you think he is?”
the archbishop asked after hearing her entire story.
“I think he is a... peculiar man.”
“Peculiar, and nothing else?”
She was about to answer again, but she closed her mouth.
“You’re just like Alonso. You act like someone who believes in nothing but the truths witnessed by reason, yet when the truth is staring you in the face, you cower and flee.”
“...”
“Your story points to a certain truth. And there’s no way you haven’t noticed it by now. Isn’t that right?”
Roberta did not answer. Silence filled the air.
Their eyes met, but their gazes moved differently. Her focus wavered, but his was steady. His were the eyes of a man with not a shred of doubt. Presently, the archbishop rose from his seat, turned his back, and looked out the window.
“I will not ask any more. Nor will I say anything. Alonso sent you as one who is ignorant, and His Holiness permitted it. Above all, the man himself has not revealed it.”
He let out a small laugh and shook his head.
“Is there anything you wish to ask?”
She stared at his back for a moment before speaking.
“...I heard a summons was issued.”
“His Holiness has given a truly terrible command.”
“I wish to know how the situation is unfolding, Your Excellency. I know the reason for the summons... but I don't know how long this will last, or what will happen next.”
“The chaos will likely not end soon. His Holiness has excommunicated the Emperor as well, and in response, the Emperor is gathering an army to attack the Pantheon.”
Roberta frowned and let out a sharp breath.
“Attack the Pantheon? How could they?”
The celestial gods shaped the world, and their influence remained even after their departure. How did it make sense to attack the divine authority that connected the heavens and humanity?
There had always been groups with heretical, misguided notions. But they had never been the majority. Though a few secular lords might have gathered soldiers, those soldiers would flee at the command of a priest.
She had thought it would be the same this time, but it wasn't.
“The divinity of the Cormillius family is being questioned. Factions have already formed within the Pantheon. Unlike in Osnover, there are many priests in other countries who are refusing the summons.”
“Did Your Excellency also oppose the Pantheon’s will?”
She guessed that was why the archbishop had remained here.
“I am on neither side. I am merely concerned for those who remain. The order to recall the priests is tantamount to holding the innocent populace hostage. Of course, the Emperor and King Richard, who have escalated the situation knowing this, are not sane either.”
He let out a long sigh.
“I simply could not stand by and watch. That is why I am conducting simple ordination ceremonies to fill the vacancies left by the departed priests. They may lack ability beyond their faith, but they will be able to perform the sacraments.”
“But,” the archbishop added, lamenting how meaningful his actions could be in the chaos that had just begun.
It was an unprecedented crisis since the rise of the Third Empire. No matter which side won, the turmoil would continue. A crack, once formed, is not easily mended; it spreads, eventually bringing down the whole.
“This current era, what we humans call the Third Age, was founded by the Cormillius and Yocaster families. Yet now, the two families are pushing each other off a cliff. Perhaps... the end of our age has truly come.”
#
Roberta did not arrive at Count Meyer’s residence until after noon.
Though called a residence, it was not a particularly large house. It was a two-story building with low walls and a cultivated yard. An attendant guided her to the backyard.
“Hah...”
A long exhale greeted her.
In the yard, two people stood facing each other with swords in hand. It was a scene of Fritz receiving sparring instruction from Ulrich. Roberta had rarely seen Ulrich hold a sword, so she watched in silence.
Fritz’s breathing was ragged. His white tunic, drenched in sweat from strenuous movement under the hot sun, clung to his body.
Ulrich, on the other hand, had not shed a single drop of sweat. It wasn't that he didn't feel the heat, but rather that the heat seemed not to exist for him at all.
Come to think of it, he had been the same on the ice peninsula. He was a man who had cleared a path by pushing aside waist-high snow with his bare hands, wearing only thin cloth garments.
“Don’t hesitate.”
Ulrich stepped forward and swung his sword down.
The startled boy hastily raised his sword to defend himself. A sharp clang of metal rang past her ears. The blade stopped just above the boy’s head. The two hands gripping the sword trembled.
Roberta flinched. Sparring was bound to be intense, but this looked like he was trying to kill him. It was a downward slash that would have split Fritz’s skull if his strength had faltered even slightly.
“Deep contemplation and hesitation are worse than a thoughtless charge.”
“W-Wait a moment!”
Her worry was for naught. The attacks continued in succession. The boy repeatedly blocked and dodged by a hair’s breadth. The blade stopped or passed by mere inches from his cheek, hand, and waist—all over his body.
She stared, worried a serious accident might occur, but as the exchange lengthened, the flow began to change. The startled and frightened boy’s eyes hardened, and he gritted his teeth and charged at his master. It was a charge bordering on desperation.
But at some point, the dynamic shifted, and Ulrich became the defender, blocking the boy’s barrage.
“Good, like that. Press your opponent.”
Of course, Ulrich wasn't truly being pushed back. Unlike Fritz, it was as if he had already seen the future; his blade was already there to block whenever the boy swung.
Each time, he pointed it out in a calm voice, tinged with an emotion so faint she might have been the only one to notice it. Faster, more erratically. The boy’s movements grew fiercer and his posture faltered, but to Roberta, he looked more threatening than before.
The sparring session ended when the boy collapsed powerlessly. His legs gave out from under him, and he fell. “Well done,” Ulrich said with a single nod and sheathed his sword. Even then, not a bead of sweat was on him.
“Did you have your long-awaited meeting, Roberta?”
Ulrich sat in a chair an attendant had brought.
“Yes. The archbishop was there.”
“Archbishop? That would be Vinicio.”
“He must not have obeyed the summons,” he murmured. Roberta dismissed the attendant, and once the three of them were alone in the yard, she spoke again.
“Lord Ulrich. Is the name Armin truly an alias?”
He looked up at her from his slouched position in the chair.
“It seems Vinicio said something.”
“Yes. His Excellency mentioned you had an adopted son with the same name.”
“It’s true. Armin was the name of a child I took in.”
Fritz, who had been sitting on the ground wiping his face with a towel, froze. The boy’s eyes widened as he looked between the two of them. It was clear this was the first he was hearing of it, just like her.
“I have many children. And most of them are not of my blood. I usually take in children who have lost their parents in the clan, or were sold into slavery, each with their own circumstances.”
She had heard something of the sort before. It was why people believed him even when he used an alias and claimed to be the Duke’s adopted son. The fact that he had adopted and raised many sons was no secret to anyone with an interest in him.
“Every single one of them is more precious to me than blood. I have never taken raising them lightly. But sometimes, those children leave before they can properly blossom. Before I can do anything about it.”
“The one named Armin...”
“He was one of them. He passed away around Fritz’s age.”
He rested his clasped hands on his stomach and looked up at the sky.
“I sometimes use other people’s names. Not all the names I have used so far have been my own. There are names that I began and ended, but there are also names that others started but could not finish, which I take up to complete.”
Armin was one of those, he said.
“I use his name because I regret his fleeting departure. Just as those whose lives are entwined with mine ask me to remember them, I too, sometimes—very, very rarely—borrow a name in the hope that others will remember it.”