Genius Prince’s National Revitalization from State Deficit ~ Right, Let Us Sell the Country - Volume 3 - Chapter 3

Chapter 3 - The Gathering of the Holy Elites / Individual Bargains

Zeno’s group joined up with Wein’s delegation, and all were on their way, making good progress without running into trouble. They still looked over their shoulders for bandits, but the party started to relax once they passed through the disputed territory and entered the Kingdom of Cavarin proper. They weren’t losing focus—or becoming inattentive. It simply wasn’t possible to constantly remain on high alert, especially on a long journey. Anyone who tried would collapse midway from exhaustion. Moderation was key.

Not that this changed anything.

The source of these problems came from the members of the Remnant Army—and Zeno in particular.

The road to the capital of Cavarin was long and time-consuming. Meaning they had time to kill. There were miscellaneous matters, of course, like adjusting the speed of their march forward and providing accommodations, but since Ninym and Raklum could handle these issues, it left Wein with too much time on his hands.

If he had been in a carriage, he could have passed the time sleeping. But the carriage had been destroyed in the bandits’ attack, and the Remnant Army didn’t have any to spare, so he was riding along on a horse, which really wasn’t a prime spot for a nap.

Wein had no idea what to do with himself. But Zeno seemed to take advantage of this and approached him.

“Prince Regent, I have a question.”

“What could it be today?” Wein answered as they rode side by side. This had become their daily ritual. It usually concerned the politics, ideologies, and culture of Natra.

Guess she’s not sick of it yet, he thought with surprise and admiration.

When Zeno had first approached him, Wein was wary, thinking she was using these questions as a pretext to prod about something else. But after a number of conversations, he realized that wasn’t the case. It seemed that this girl in disguise was just interested in other nations.

“I’m embarrassed to admit that I’m only familiar with Marden—where I was born and raised. But my narrow understanding of the world does not prepare me to take center stage in national politics, even if we manage to take back the capital. That is why I have never felt more fortunate than I do now with this opportunity to partake of your wisdom, Prince Regent,” explained the person in question.

He had no objections to forming a friendship with Zeno, seeing as it was an ideal way to kill time, so he didn’t mind answering her endless stream of questions.

“I see…” Zeno said. “As the transit point between East and West, Natra has been influenced by both sides of the continent—not just in food and architecture but language and etiquette, too.”

“Our founder was from the West. In the early days, Western influences were more obvious. But in the past hundred years, we’ve drifted away from the West and gotten closer to our neighbors in the East. That’s why you can see Eastern practices in Natra now.”

“…Prince Regent, don’t those changes concern you?”

Wein shook his head. “I personally don’t have an opinion. Some hate change and want things to always stay the same; others love it and embrace it with open arms. Both positions are valid.”

“But aren’t there times in politics when you must choose to wave one flag or the other?”

“For me—for a politician—to make these decisive calls, you need a proportionate amount of power. Whether I protect the status quo or upheave the entire system, it means I’ve got access to more power than before. And I don’t see a problem with that.”

“Are you saying you’d even welcome combat if it comes down to it?”

“I would. Power lies in passion. And passion is a chance for progress. My greatest fear would be for the torch—for our culture—to quietly die out without any promise to preserve or change it.”

“I see…” She seemed to be hung up on something, pondering it with concern.

Raklum rode up to Wein. “Your Highness, forgive me for interrupting. I have a few matters I wish to confirm.”

“Understood. Zeno, we’ll have to stop here for today.”

“Yes. I’m grateful for your kindness, Prince Regent.” Zeno bowed and slowed her horse’s pace, moving to the back of the delegation.

As Wein spoke with his subordinate, Zeno’s eyes bore into his back.

A voice called out beside her. “Oh, did your talk with the prince finish early today?”

It was a black-haired girl on horseback—Ninym.

“Ah, Lady Ninym. Are you free, too?”

“Yes. My only task was to check on our luggage.”

Ninym and Zeno. A Flahm in disguise and a girl going incognito. While both had their circumstances, they were friendly with each other—since they were around the same age and some of the only women in the delegation. Upon noticing Wein bored out of his mind, Ninym had been the one to encourage Zeno to be his conversation partner.

“I had heard the rumors, but I’m still in awe of the prince’s sharp opinions. From our discussions alone, I can feel my entire worldview shifting.” Zeno was unable to hide her admiration.

“It is what makes the crown prince the pride of his subjects.” Ninym nodded in satisfaction. “More than that, Master Zeno, I believe I told you that formal titles are not necessary with me.”

“I believe I’ve said the same.”

“Though you may be in disguise, you are the representative of the Liberation Front. Given my rank, I could never.”

“But shouldn’t I be treated the same as everyone else? I am in a disguise after all. And for all your talk of rank, you mustn’t forget that you’re the prince regent’s aide, Lady Ninym.”

“Hmm…” Ninym thought for a moment. “…Even if my position doesn’t officially exist?”

Zeno cocked her head. “I understand what you are trying to say, but…unless you change your way of speaking, Lady Ninym, I have no intention of switching anything.”

“…You give me no choice.” Ninym sighed and gave a small cough. “I guess we can both change, Zeno.”

“No complaints here, Ninym.”

They were aware they were from different countries with very different goals. But that didn’t stop the two girls from sharing a small smile.

“By the way, Ninym, what did you mean your position doesn’t exist?”

“It’s simple. In Natra, the official position of aide hasn’t been publicly established.”

Huh? Zeno scrunched up her face.

Ninym faced her as she continued. “As you know, Natra is a nation of immigrants. To prevent the loyalty to the already small royal family from decentralizing, official positions that can act on behalf of the king—including aide and prime minister—have not been put in place.”

In short, Ninym was treated as an aide and referred to as one, but on all official accounts, she was no more than a private secretary personally under Wein.

That wasn’t the only reason an official position hadn’t been established.

“…For generations, Flahm have served as the royal family’s aides, right?”

“Yes, that’s right,” Ninym confirmed.

Zeno nodded in understanding. “I see now. If an official position was created, it might turn into a tug-of-war between them and a non-Flahm over this post. That’s why it’s kept as a matter of personal employment.”

“Bull’s-eye.”

Being an aide was a job that could bring one into immediate contact with the royal family. It wasn’t uncommon for outsiders to try to worm themselves in. In fact, Ninym had, on occasion, found gifts sent to her home. And Ninym was a Flahm. If someone from a privileged race was officially given this position, they would have amassed a fortune from the title alone.

Ninym went on. “Plus, Flahm are a low class who need the royal family’s protection. But if we get too friendly with the royals, people will perceive us as dangerous—because we’re Flahm—and try to drive us out. That’s why we’re given no rank or title.”

“…I’m constantly surprised by cultures in foreign nations. I find them unique. I’ve been so secluded in Marden that I haven’t had the chance to learn much about them.” Zeno sighed in wonder.

Ninym shrugged. “If we’re talking about unique, I’d say you’re no less.”

“If you mean my appearance, that doesn’t count.”

Zeno fumbled with her clothes, touching her lapel. She had acted determined in front of Wein, but it seemed she had her own personal opinions on her appearance.

Ninym gave her a wry smile. “That’s not it. I mean the way you’re acting with a Flahm like me.”

“Ah, I heard about you from Jiva…my uncle. I was surprised because your hair’s black, but it makes sense if you dyed it.”

“But you’re a follower of Levetia, aren’t you?”

“There are people whose homes have been destroyed by their Holy Elites,” Zeno answered ominously.

This time it was Ninym who flashed her a look of understanding. “‘The enemy of my enemy is my friend’?”

“Things would be simpler if we could categorize feelings into easy terms… But at any rate, I have no intention of looking down on you for being Flahm.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” This came from the bottom of Ninym’s heart.

Right on the heels of their conversation, a commotion erupted at the front of the delegation. The girls readied themselves for an enemy attack, but it was something else. The foremost group had just crested a small hill and come to a halt.

Wein waved to them from the center. “Ninym! Come look at this!”

She urged her horse onward in response, and Zeno followed behind as if lured in.

As they reached the top of the hill, their eyes widened.

“That’s…”

Inside a thick castle wall was a magnificent city neatly lined with colorful buildings.

The royal capital of Cavarin, Torystoria, stood before them.

“I’ve never seen it before. It’s beautiful,” remarked Wein.

Through his short comment, he spoke for everyone present.

“This is the domain of the Holy Elites… The Festival of the Spirit is going to be huge this year,” Ninym added.

“It would be nice if we had some downtime to enjoy the festival.” With a wry smile, Wein turned to the delegation. “Well, we’re almost there. Let’s go.”

They all nodded and raced toward the capital.

“I have been awaiting you, Prince Regent,” said Holonyeh, the diplomat who visited Natra. He greeted them at the city’s entrance. “We have prepared a guesthouse. Please, right this way.”

Guided by Holonyeh, Wein and the others stepped into the royal capital.

“This is…”

“Oh my…”

The capital was surely a spectacle to behold from the outside, and the interior did not disappoint either, making them all sigh in wonder. The buildings stood tall in neat, little rows, and the streets were immaculate. Most notable was how the city was full of life and movement. The Festival of the Spirit would last a few days, and their party had arrived the day just before it all began. Scores of people had gathered together to take part, and every face seemed to be brimming with excitement.

“It’s my first time seeing it, but this really is something.” Wein took in the city sights as he swayed on horseback. They were no doubt in Holy Elite territory.

Ninym rode up beside him and secretly whispered her admonition. “If you ogle too much, they’ll think you’re a country bumpkin.”

“But I am a hick. All the way from the remote land of Natra.”

“You still have to try to keep up appearances. You’re already on a horse because our carriage broke.”

“Oh right. Nobles in the West usually ride in those.”

A carriage to the side passed them by. From what they could tell at a glance, the passenger was clearly a military man.

“Zeno had brought it up, too, but I guess it’s no joke.”

“Maybe we should have asked General Hagal to have a new one sent over…”

“There was no time, so we didn’t have a choice. That aside, where is Zeno?”

“At the very back so as to not stick out.”

To the Remnant Army, this was enemy territory. Their contingent must have fallen back to avoid the worst-case scenario—their identities coming to light. Wein could understand where they were coming from.

“Prince Regent, your guesthouse lies over that way.” Holonyeh pointed out what seemed like a brand-new building. In fact, it was new-new.

In fact, on closer inspection, it was clear that the structure couldn’t have been finished for more than a few days. They had used the Gathering of the Chosen as an excuse to do some urban development.

Must be nice to have all that money.

The royal capital of Natra, Codebell, was considered a historical site—which was a nice way of saying its buildings were old and decrepit. Wein had wanted to fix them up, but his empty pockets prevented him from executing any renovation plans.

As Wein sat there jealously admiring the greener grass on the other side, Raklum stepped forward. “My apologies, Lord Holonyeh, but that building appears too small to accompany everyone in our party.”

“I’m terribly sorry. We have many other guests of honor, so we could not prepare more suitable accommodations. We have reserved lodgings at other inns, so I must ask that the other members of your party please stay there…”

In other words, the fancy guesthouses were taken up by the Holy Elites.

Raklum’s face couldn’t help but twist in displeasure at having his master slighted, but Wein held him back with a hand.

“I don’t mind. That aside, Lord Holonyeh, could we can get an audience with King Ordalasse?”

“Yes, tomorrow as scheduled.”

“Well then, let’s all rest up for today. Raklum will give the delegation members their assignments and stations. Ninym, take care of unloading our luggage. Once that’s done, we’ll get ready for tomorrow.”

““Understood.””

After giving orders to his two loyal retainers, Wein entered the guesthouse.

“—All right.”

That evening, the four of them—Wein, Ninym, Raklum, and Zeno—met in a room of the guesthouse.

“I’m obviously going to meet with King Ordalasse tomorrow. I’ll bring a number of guards with you at the head, Raklum. I’ll let you choose who else is coming.”

“Understood!” Raklum bowed in Wein’s periphery.

Wein turned to Ninym. “I’d like you to gather information, specifically anything about the king’s skill and ideologies, his reputation among his subjects, and his relationship with his officials. Also, get an idea of where the Holy Elites are staying and the city’s geography. Take as many delegation members as you need.”

“Understood.”

As for his meeting with King Ordalasse, Wein saw a high probability of either negotiation or war. He would have liked to bring both Raklum and Ninym—except she was a Flahm. It would create unnecessary trouble if her identity was found out, so he’d given her this assignment instead.

“And Zeno… What about you? If you promise to leave your sword, I don’t mind taking you along with me.”

Zeno didn’t respond. She seemed to be pondering something as she stared blankly into space, but she gasped as their three gazes called her back.

“P-pardon me… By Your Highness’s leave, I wonder if I might perhaps join the others in gathering information.”

“I see. Feel free to join Ninym. All right, then. Meeting adjourned, everyone.”

The three of them bowed, and Zeno and Raklum excused themselves from the room. Only Ninym was left when Wein spoke.

“Ninym, keep an eye on Zeno.”

“Yes, that’s a good idea. Be careful tomorrow, Wein.”

“Hey, if push comes to shove, I’ll take Ordalasse as hostage and make my escape.”

He had meant it as a joke, but knowing he could do it made Ninym’s lips form a tight smile.

The first day of the Festival of the Spirit. The city had come to life.

Jostling crowds. Madness everywhere. Lines for crowded booths and traveling performers displaying their skills in the streets. Colorful petals aflutter. It felt as if spring had arrived.

“Makes you excited just looking at it all,” Wein involuntarily murmured as he watched from inside the carriage that came to pick him up.

“I agree. It seems there will also be a band and parade in the early afternoon,” Raklum replied, sitting in the carriage as his guard.

“A parade, huh? I definitely wanna check that out.”

“In that case, we must see to it that your meeting concludes without incident… Your Highness, depending on how things transpire, be prepared to escape at any moment.”

“I know. I’ll be on guard.”

As they chatted, they arrived at an impressive castle that outshone even the best in the city. As the residential castle of a Holy Elite, its architectural design was heavy with religious iconography, unlike those more often used as bases during war. The inside was unsurprisingly meticulous, and as they took a step inside the main hall, they came across large murals, stretching from wall to ceiling. It was impressive—and overwhelming.

“This…is a marvel.”

Raklum had been a commoner when he was appointed by Wein, so he didn’t have much of an artist’s eye. But even then, the sight of it made him give an involuntary gasp of wonder.

“Levetia preaching to followers… Siblings aiding the poor… The angels discovering Saint Loran… They’re all scenes from Levetia’s teachings,” Wein noted.

“That is impressive, Your Highness. I can appreciate the art, but I’m afraid I am unsure of the details,” replied Raklum.

“I’m used to studying this sort of thing. You should take a look at Levetia’s holy book when you have the time. If we’re going to strengthen ties with the West, you’ll get the chance to put that knowledge to work.”

“Understood.”

Guided by an official who came to receive them, Wein and the others continued through the castle.

Man, this is wild. Starting with those murals, the halls they passed through were lined from corner to corner with luxury. It was a far cry from the dilapidated palace of Natra, and it made Wein hate Ordalasse before he’d even met him—

Just then, several officials appeared from the other end of the hallway.

He assumed they were just passing by, but one elderly man at the front stopped and locked eyes with Wein.

“…Are you Natra’s special envoy?”

From his attitude, he must have been a military officer or someone with significant experience on the battlefield. It seemed he didn’t have a liking for Wein, snorting as he stared at the young prince.

“How kind of you to come all this way from Natra. I’m sure these sights are unfamiliar to country bumpkins. Enjoy them to your hearts’ content.”

The face of the official guiding them paled, and the man said nothing more as he left with his attendants.

“I-I’m terribly sorry, Your Highness! F-for you to be treated with such disrespect…!”

He must have thought his own head was about to go flying, bowing down to Wein in a panic. Wein watched him from his periphery as he stared at the back of the man who had just left.

“…And who did I just have the pleasure of meeting?”

“Levert, a general who has served our army for many years…”

“A general, huh…?” murmured Wein before whispering to Raklum beside him. “Calm down. This was nothing.”

“Right…”

Raklum had reached for his sword. The veins on his hand pulsed as he clutched the hilt with enough force for his bones to creak.

“Look at the man to the right of that Levert guy,” Wein said under his breath.

Raklum followed orders, zeroing in on one of the general’s attendants. He realized that though the man was dressed innocently enough, he walked with a slight limp.

“The leader of the guys who attacked us on the way here suffered an injury to his leg… On the same side as that attendant.”

“…You can’t mean…”

“It’s still up in the air. Just don’t forget this detail.”

“Understood.”

After wrapping up their private conversation, Wein urged their guide on, setting off down the hallway once again.

Before long, they arrived at a large door.

“This is the audience hall. Just a moment, please…”

The official slipped through the door while Wein and the others waited outside. A picture on a nearby wall caught their attention.

“…This one feels…different from the rest,” assessed Raklum.

Wein nodded. “The merchant and the scales. Illustrates how a money-obsessed merchant had their worldly virtues put on a scale in the afterlife and then fell to hell. However… Hmm.”

“Is something bothering you?”

“It’s grimmer than the work in the main hall. But the subject matter is common enough. I think the most important detail is that it’s been hung in a very public spot.”

“Meaning…?”

Just as Wein was about to answer, the official appeared from the doorway. “We are ready for you. This way, please.”

The moment of truth. Wein exchanged a look with Raklum and passed through the door, vigilant of his surroundings.

In the audience hall awaited guards; vassals; and a man on the throne, who was dressed in a carefully embroidered robe and wore a brilliant crown. But his clothing didn’t outshine his royal bearing, and his features bore the weight of upholding the nation for many years. He was the king of Cavarin and one of the Holy Elite, Ordalasse.

That must be…

Wein slowly inched toward the throne. He could feel the intense suspicion suffusing the room the entire way.

Guess I’m not welcome here.

But he had anticipated this response. In fact, he was used to this sort of thing by now. His main concern was Ordalasse—because Wein couldn’t feel any animosity from him at all.

With this dissonance in mind, Wein stopped ten steps from the throne and bowed.

“It is my pleasure to make your acquaintance, King Ordalasse. I am the crown prince of Natra, Wein Salema Arbalest. You have my deepest gratitude for inviting us to your nation—”

Wein had been busy performing his flawless introduction when Ordalasse suddenly stood. He briskly approached Wein—and took his hand without hesitation.

“I’m Ordalasse, the king of Cavarin. Thank you for making the long journey here. I welcome your visit, Prince Wein.”

“What? Um. Sure…”

Even Wein was dumbfounded. It was just not normal for a king to walk up to a visiting dignitary in front of everyone and take their hand. He started to wonder if this was Ordalasse’s usual habit, but based on the looks of the vassals, that didn’t seem to be the case.

“I’d been thinking for a while that I wanted to chat with you. I’m thankful for this opportunity. That said,” Ordalasse went on, “we can’t have a meaningful conversation here. Why don’t we go elsewhere? I want to introduce you to a select few. Let’s get going.”

Ordalasse hadn’t even waited to finish his own sentence before he started to walk off. The attending vassals locked eyes with one another and hurriedly followed him. Wein and Raklum eyed each other, too.

“…What shall we do?”

“…Well, I guess we’ve got no choice but to go.”

Finding Ordalasse hard to read, Wein hurried after the king.

Just as Wein had reached the throne room, Zeno was alone in the shadows of a back alley, holding her breath. Before her was a large mansion with guards patrolling the perimeter. She peered at the aristocratic home.

This was a block running through a residential area housing many of the city’s nobles. It was isolated from the general public, and the clamor of the festival didn’t reach this part of town.

Zeno was staring at a carriage stopped in front of the residence. From within, a withered tree of a human emerged—Holonyeh.

Zeno’s eyes shot open the moment she saw him, and she went for the sword at her side. As she took on the form of a wild animal seeing its chance, she bent her knees and steadied her breath. Holonyeh’s back turned toward Zeno, and—

“Don’t move.”

Without a single footstep to warn her, Zeno found a knife at her throat. Before she had time to realize it, Ninym stood behind Zeno, whose eyes were wide with shock.

“I’d like to prevent any dead bodies if I can help it.”

“…Ninym.”

“If you plan on obeying my orders, then put down your sword.”

Zeno ground her teeth. In the span of their short conversation, Holonyeh was already entering the large manor. She obviously wouldn’t have time to run up behind him. The grip on her sword loosened.

“I thought you might be up to something, but I never imagined it would be attempting to assassinate a high-profile man in broad daylight.”

Ninym withdrew the knife at her neck, and Zeno glared at her.

“Don’t get in my…”

“In your way? You can bet I will.”

Zeno had joined Wein’s delegation, and he was of a higher rank than her. It didn’t matter if her attack had been a failure or a success: His position would be in jeopardy if her actions raised any suspicion. And Ninym obviously couldn’t turn a blind eye to this danger.

Though there’s a chance she was aiming for exactly that…

Zeno flashed her a resentful look. Ninym could guess at the reason to some extent, but it didn’t seem to simply be part of a plan to prevent the forming of an alliance between Natra and Cavarin.

“In any case, we’d better move. It’ll be a problem if someone spots us.”

Though Zeno had been ready to go through with her revolt, she silently acquiesced to Ninym’s orders and slunk away.

Ninym was heading away from the block of mansions to a place where average citizens could roam. They could start to hear the festival again. Ninym opened the door to a small building and walked in.

“…Where are we?”

“One of the safe houses for spies that we’ve set up in this city.”

Ninym sat down in a nearby chair. At her prompting, Zeno took a seat, too.

“…Are you sure you want to show me this?”

“It’s not ideal. But I thought you might need a place to calm down.”

“……” Zeno sat in the chair for some time and looked down at her hands. Ninym noticed they were shaking but kept silent.

“…When Cavarin had…” Zeno finally spoke up. “When the news came that Cavarin had broken past our borders to attack, the palace was in an uproar. We had run out of soldiers after the battle with Natra. Of course we were panicking.”

“……”

“But the remaining soldiers had gathered together, trying to hold out until the main force at the gold mine could return. And they should have succeeded.” Zeno’s fist audibly creaked as she squeezed it tight.

“If only that man Holonyeh hadn’t betrayed us and opened the castle gate…!”

Oh, I get it now, Ninym thought.

While it was true that Cavarin had launched a surprise attack, the capital of Marden had fallen too quickly. It was because a vassal had secretly betrayed them. She could understand Zeno’s hatred toward Holonyeh—and why he had been appointed to his current position by Cavarin.

“If it hadn’t been for that sellout, Father wouldn’t have…!” Zeno trailed off bitterly.

“What happened to your family during the attack on the capital?” Ninym asked before thinking.

Zeno gasped. “Ah… Th-that’s right. They got caught up in the fighting, and…”

Hmm? Ninym thought this was an odd response, but she couldn’t pry if she wanted to get closer to Zeno. This was an opportunity to build trust. Ninym changed strategies.

“I understand your situation. But I cannot overlook your attempt to assassinate Holonyeh. In my humble opinion, you ought to get in contact with the Holy Elites in each country to aid your homeland—instead of attempting an assassination.”

“That’s impossible. I’m only a delegation member. How can I possibly do that?”

“I don’t think Prince Wein was summoned to the festival at the same time as the Holy Elites on accident.”

“…Do you think I have a chance?”

“At the very least, more of a chance than when you’re out there stirring up trouble.”

Deep in thought, Zeno closed her eyes for a moment before sighing in lamentation. “…I understand. There are other things to investigate, so I’ll take the back seat for now.”

“That would really help me out.”

For the time being, it seemed Zeno wouldn’t be running wild. But Ninym could never be too careful.

“Still… A sellout, huh?” Ninym murmured.

Zeno tilted her head to the side. “What about it?”

“Nothing, I was just wondering what Wein would think if he heard,” Ninym said with a wry smile. Zeno’s confusion only deepened.

Things have gotten reeeeeeeally weird.

Wein was walking down the castle corridor with his attendants. Ordalasse strode beside him, explaining the paintings and sculpture they passed. Wein expressed his interest at the right intervals to observe proper etiquette as he sunk into private thought.

This welcoming attitude is consistent with his official letter. He must actually want to bolster friendly relations with Natra.

Still, it felt like he was being a bit too hospitable. In any case, Wein would keep that in the back of his mind for the moment. He ought to be thinking about his next steps.

But things aren’t really adding up if Ordalasse sincerely wants to strike up a friendship. I’ll have to ask him what that mid-journey attack was all about.

The idea that the attack was perpetrated by Cavarin soldiers was nothing more than Wein’s theory. There was a possibility that they had been normal bandits—with no relation to Cavarin. But would that really be the case?

Hmm… He only had bits and pieces of the entire story. He was grasping at straws, coming up empty every time. He just didn’t have enough information.

“Prince Wein,” a voice called out, tearing Wein away from his thoughts. The prince looked at Ordalasse.

The king spoke with a solemn expression. “I’m sure you’ve already noticed with your discerning nature that there’s a reason I invited you here now.”

“A reason? Whatever could it be?”

“It’s nothing to worry about. I’m sure you’ll find it to be good news.”

Ordalasse paused. Before them was a single door.

“King Ordalasse, will you be introducing me to someone here?”

“Indeed.”

Wein could take a stab at the identity of said person. In fact, it was safe to say he was absolutely certain.

It’s gotta be one of the seven Holy Elites.

Ordalasse had intentionally summoned Wein right as the Holy Elites were coming together. If the king was trying to introduce Wein to someone, it was hard to imagine anyone else. A Holy Elite close to Ordalasse was no doubt waiting in that room.

And from the way Ordalasse is talking, it’s safe to assume he’s hoping we’ll have a pleasant conversation. Will this go according to my expectations? Is their aim to team up with Natra and strengthen their faction?

It was possible they were after the gold mine. Rather than prioritizing their own nations’ factions, it was easier to work on a united front as the Holy Elites. They could then efficiently assess the situation and decide whether to strengthen relations—or something along those lines.

Okay, I’ll bite. However…

He had no idea if there would be one Holy Elite or two, but there was no mistaking they were about to put him to the test.

If they think they can get me that easy, they’re in for a huge wake-up call. I’ll outsmart them all.

The door opened before Wein, who was eager to get started. Wein and Ordalasse entered the room, where they were waiting for the pair with guards.

They numbered one—two—three—four—five—six.

…Hmm?

Huh. That was kind of a lot.

Including the Holy King, there were seven Holy Elites.

And there were currently seven people in the room including Ordalasse.

Funny how those numbers matched.

Hey… Hey, wait a sec…

“Allow me to introduce you, Prince Wein.”

Wein’s cheek was now twitching.

Ordalasse faced him and spoke plainly. “These are the leaders who support the Teachings of Levetia—the Holy Elites who have gathered in Cavarin for the Gathering of the Chosen.”

HOLD UUUUUP! Wein’s eyes almost popped out of his head. You have to be joking! Are you an idiot?! What are you thinking?! I can’t believe you’d drag me here without any warning!

With all the Holy Elites here, this could only be the Gathering of the Chosen: the most important international conference on the Western continent. Every single person present held tremendous influence. As a prince from a tiny northern nation who got dragged in without any warning, Wein couldn’t help his reaction. He thought someone would be there but never imagined all of them.

“…What’s the meaning of this, Ordalasse?”

“Just when we thought you’d never get here… You bring us Prince Wein of all people?!”

You mean they’re just as surprised?!

When the group of six grumbled with skepticism, Wein finally understood this was all Ordalasse’s doing.

Wein trembled with irritation. Would Ordalasse really outwit them all and set this casual introduction up?

Nope. Not a chance.

Wein frantically ran through ways to take hold of the situation, but it was too late. The chance to retreat was already long gone.

“I have a single proposal for the Holy Elites gathered here.”

In the middle of the uproar sparked by him, Ordalasse made a grand proposal.

“I vouch for Wein Salema Arbalest as a new Holy Elite…!”

 WHAAAAAAAAT?!

From Ordalasse’s proclamation, the situation was thrown into pure chaos.

Even the madness of the festival began to quell as the sun set.

Ninym could feel this change happening around her. Alone in a room of the guesthouse, she scribbled on a piece of paper.

The contents were a summary of her investigations and the information that she obtained on Cavarin. Aside from her own observations, she had included the information about each block of the city she’d gathered from the delegation members, which was a significant amount in itself. Consolidating all this before Wein’s return was a part of Ninym’s job—but it would appear that something was bothering her.

The reason was obvious. It had to be because he hadn’t returned yet.

There hasn’t been news of any disturbance at the castle, though.

Maybe she was overthinking things. But she worried nonetheless. Her dread had started to show in her writing: It hindered her progress to a degree. In fact, she had found herself unconsciously scribbling Wein’s name.

Without Wein or Captain Raklum here, I can’t leave my post… Agh, what a pain!

Just as she looked up at the heavens in irritation, she heard a commotion outside. Ninym flew out of the room, racing through the corridors until she arrived at the hall entrance and found Wein had returned with his entourage.

“Oh, Ninym. Thanks for coming to meet me.”

He was alive. He didn’t seem hurt, either. As his servant, Ninym bowed to him, reassured.

“—Welcome back, Prince Wein. I am relieved to see you have returned safely.”

“Yeah, somehow. But things didn’t go quite as planned.”

“What do you mean?”

“Something kind of… No… Something way beyond my imagination just happened. Anyway, we can talk more about it in private later. Raklum, good work today. I’ll leave the rest to you.”

“Understood.” Raklum started to issue orders to the guards.

As Ninym watched him go from the corner of her eye, she joined Wein down the halls she’d sprinted through, and they entered the room together.

“AAAAAAAAAAH! NOOOOOOOOO!” Wein screamed with all he had the moment they were behind closed doors. “To hell with all this! Seriously! Please give me a frigging break!” he whined.

This was a fairly normal reaction for him, but he exhibited less restraint than usual.

“What in the world happened?” Ninym asked.

Wein answered with no attempt to hide his disgust. “…King Ordalasse recommended me as a candidate to join the Holy Elites.”

“Huh?”

Wein had broken it down simply, but it still took a few seconds for Ninym to digest it.

When she did, she was shocked. “…You’re kidding, right?”

“Nope, I’m serious. A hundred percent. No joke…” Wein answered, throwing himself on the sofa. His haggard appearance seemed to prove the gravity of the situation.

“…I have a bunch of questions for you, but let’s start with the fact that there are a number of requirements to become a Holy Elite.”

First, you must have experience as a priest.

Second, you must be approved by a majority of the current Holy Elites.

Third, you must offer a satisfactory contribution to be appointed as a Holy Elite.

Finally, you must carry the blood of either the founder of Levetia or one of the lead disciples.

If you didn’t meet these requirements, you couldn’t become a Holy Elite. No exceptions.

“You could fulfill those in time, Wein, but—”

“Well, to be honest, I already have.”

To start, his lineage wasn’t an issue. There was hardly a Holy Elite who could match the pedigree of the royal family of Natra. As for priestly experience, while it was only in name, Wein actually did serve Levetia.

When it came down to spreading religion, it made a big difference to have an influential supporter backing it up. This wasn’t just limited to the Teachings of Levetia. In Natra—a nation of immigrants, a melting pot of belief systems—it was particularly important to have a strong backer to push Levetia and make sure it wouldn’t lose to the competition.

Most members of the royal family of Natra had been serving as Levetian priests since the very beginning. This, of course, could be attributed to their connections in the West dating back to when the country was first founded. However, the tendency in recent years to lean more toward the East was influencing their political balance.

Ninym understood that much, except for one thing…

“There’s no way you’ve contributed enough. You haven’t donated a huge sum, built a temple, or anything along those lines.”

After all, this was Natra—a nation that was dirt-poor. There was no way they could make any kind of offering that stood out. Plus, if they expressed their outward support toward one religion, it was very likely to cause issues with others in the kingdom.

“That’s what I thought, but Ordalasse hammered out an elaborate back door.”

“What is it?”

“The war between Natra and Marden was a joint holy crusade with Cavarin to save the believers of Levetia from tyrannical rule in Marden. Which means it counts as a contribution to the Teachings of Levetia… According to him.”

Ninym stood in mute shock.

Hearing Wein’s sophism was simply a part of her job description. But that was nothing compared to this argument.

“Will… Will that work?” Ninym asked cautiously.

“If we’re talking about plausibility, I’d say yes. But it all depends on whether the other Holy Elites will accept me.”

The Holy Elites were the most powerful members of Levetia. If they expressed their approval, something could turn white—even if it was black. The remaining problem was the final condition of getting the majority vote. If this condition was met, his contribution to Levetia would be accepted as well.

“…And did they accept you?”

“Not yet. Our meeting was put on hold.”

The proposal had been a bolt from the blue for both Wein and the Holy Elites. Of course, everything had become chaos, and they’d been unable to come to a conclusion.

“But to be honest, I was surprised they postponed it. I thought turning me down would be a no-brainer.”

“I agree. I would have thought the same thing.”

The Gathering of the Chosen and the Festival of the Spirit would be held for the next two days. If they postponed the decision, it meant they were going to lay the groundwork and come up with a game plan.

“…What will you do? Do you really plan on becoming a Holy Elite?”

“There is some benefit,” Wein admitted, nodding. “King Ordalasse said that if I can become one, he’ll help me get rid of the infamous Circulus Law.”

The founder of the religion sought a way to drive away the demons, who caused people strife. Levetia traveled across the continent of Varno, receiving the blessings of the divine for good deeds. This journeyed path had become a pilgrimage for believers.

With advancements in civilization, there were more people than ever making this trip, returning with Eastern culture and ideologies. Fearing Levetia would lose its dominance, the Holy King at the time conspired with legal scholars and proclaimed the Circulus Law. The law, under the pretext of protecting believers from the Eastern barbarians, established a new interpretation of the sacred texts: The believers must only make the pilgrimage on the western half of the continent.

“That certainly would be…momentous,” commented Ninym.

When Salema founded the Kingdom of Natra on the northernmost tip of the continent, he had hoped to create a road that allowed pilgrims to pass the border between East and West.

But the pilgrimage was a long journey fraught with danger. If it had been a simple and safe road, there would have been other adherents making this trip. With the Circulus Law, the number of believers coming to Natra had drastically dropped, and the corresponding businesses largely went away. After that, Natra entered an era of bitter winters that lasted a hundred years.

“Right? If I can get rid of the Circulus Law, Natra will see more profit than ever before.”

“…I see. As your aide, I completely agree,” Ninym said. “However, as a Flahm, the idea of you becoming a Holy Elite makes me uneasy.”

The Flahm were discriminated against in Levetia. Though the royal family of Natra had customarily served as priests, they never used religion to oppress the Flahm, which was why the group had accepted this arrangement. But if Wein became a Holy Elite, Ninym was certain there would be more than slight opposition by her people.

“Or maybe”—Ninym hesitated for a moment, then spoke as his aide—“it is all right to cast aside the Flahm if it means you can become a Holy Elite.”

“The Flahm have been supporting us for nearly a hundred years. Do you really think I’d do that?”

“You should if it’s necessary,” Ninym declared.

It was undeniable that Wein held affection for her. But she didn’t want him to use her as a reason to ignore the greater picture and prioritize the Flahm against the interests of the kingdom.

“…Well, we can think more about that if it looks like I’ll actually be a Holy Elite. Ninym, call Zeno and Raklum. We’ll compare notes and decide on our next move.”

“Understood.”

Ninym followed Wein’s orders and left the room. She brought the two back with her a short while later.

“I apologize for the wait, Your Highness.”

Ninym was acting courteous now that the two others were present. But her eyes were fixated not on Wein but on Zeno next to her.

It was because the girl’s face had grown ghastly pale.

“Is it true that King Ordalasse recommended you as a Holy Elite…?” Zeno asked in a trembling voice.

She must have been thinking about the problems it would pose for the Remnant Army if he accepted this position. If the crown prince of Natra became a Holy Elite, an alliance with Cavarin would be inevitable, and the Remnant Army’s chances of winning would essentially drop to zero.

“It’s true,” he replied calmly as he faced her. “But it’s not like it’s been totally decided yet.”

“…Does that mean you plan to go for the position, Your Highness?”

“I do. There are huge advantages to becoming a Holy Elite, after all.”

Carefully watching over Wein from the side, Ninym and Raklum quietly readied themselves should anything happen.

“In that case, we…”

“Hold on. It’s too early to come to any conclusions,” Wein interjected. “There’s usually a catch to these things. We still must find out why King Ordalasse recommended me and the circumstances surrounding it. Depending on the uncovered truth, there’s still a chance I’ll give up this position.”

“……”

“Plus, I intend to set up meetings that will gain me the support of each of the Elites, starting tomorrow—regardless of King Ordalasse’s intentions. This is a rare opportunity, after all. When the time comes, I promise to bring you along if you wish.”

Though whether you’re successful all depends on you.

As Wein concluded, Zeno agonized for a moment.

“…I understand. I’m grateful for your kindness, Prince Regent.”

“All right, then. Well, Ninym, go ahead and explain the results of today’s investigation.”

“Yes!” Ninym took out the report that she had been writing earlier. “First, King Ordalasse’s reputation with the townspeople is decent overall. As a Holy Elite, he’s one of the most powerful members of Levetia’s order and highly respected. However,” she continued, “upon investigation, it seems he is estranged from the government officials and feudal lords.”

Zeno gave a small nod. “…My information is largely the same. The senior general named Levert, in particular, objects to King Ordalasse’s national policies.”

Levert. The man from the castle popped in the back of Wein’s mind.

“Were you able to find out why?”

Ninym nodded. “It primarily concerns King Ordalasse’s policy of jus sanguinis, the right of blood, which states that citizenship depends on one’s parents.”

“Jus sanguinis? I don’t think it’s all that unusual.”

Whether due to residual animal instinct or not, it was common for people to regard their own child as the best. That was why bloodlines were important—in the past and present, East and West, young and old, men and women.

However, those with power placed a particular importance on blood.

There are multiple reasons for this. For example, many second and third generations of an influential bloodline used their blood as a reason to lay claim to a predecessor’s fortune. The opposite was also true: Scorning a bloodline meant kicking aside an identity and legitimacy as the heir.

To someone who was first in line, blood was just as important. Most would oppose a stranger from inheriting and claiming the fortune of a gifted person who had saved up for decades. If there was a conflict over succession, there were times that fortune was squandered.

By adopting a universal value system of bloodlines, the candidates were narrowed down, curbing the risk of a fight over succession.

For example, the Emperor’s four children in the East were currently competing for the right to assume the throne. It had been whittled down to only the four of them because of their bloodlines. If everyone thought they could become Emperor, the entire eastern half of the continent would fall into chaos.

“You are right, Your Highness. That said, King Ordalasse seems a bit—er, quite extreme. He fixates on birth to the point that he’s appointed chief vassals who are completely incompetent.” Zeno went on.

“And he exercises preferential treatment toward his citizens. While he is moderate in his policies for free citizens, he is very harsh on discriminated classes, the poor, and slaves. The other day, they renovated the town for the festival—while forcing out the impoverished, who have become sacrifices. From what I heard, it’s called the Hunt, used to drive out and kill slaves.”

“I see…” Wein nodded. “Back to Levert. Does he control the military?”

“Yes. However, he is the opposite of Ordalasse—too devoted to meritocracy, completely scorning bloodlines and authority. He believes in pulling yourself up by your bootstraps to work your way up the ranks. It’s hard to imagine why he’s popular otherwise.” Ninym shrugged and provided supplementary information.

“He allegedly opposed the cease-fire with Natra after the fall of Marden and repeatedly proposed taking back the mine—though this never materialized once they were chased out by the Liberation Front.”

It would be great if they could find someone who was ideologically in the middle between Ordalasse and Levert. But reality wasn’t very kind.

“That is all the information we have so far. We have the locations of where the Holy Elites are staying and a map of the city. Please review it later.”

“Good work,” Wein praised. “Well, let’s talk about the plan for tomorrow. Three of the Elites agreed to meet with me. You coming along, Zeno?”

“Yes. I am in your care.”

“Raklum, gather more information with Ninym tomorrow. Since I’m meeting with the Elites, I don’t want to bring anyone who seems like a threat.”

“Understood. But I hope guards will accompany you should something happen.”

“I know. Choose a few who are less threatening.”

Raklum nodded.

“Ninym, look for anything important related to Levert. There’s a possibility that either he or someone in his faction attacked us on the road.”

“Understood.”

“That should be just about it. It looks like tomorrow will be another busy day. Fall back and get some rest.”

““Understood.”” The three bowed and left the room.

“Well, I wonder how all this will work out…”

With his meeting with the Holy Elites on his mind, Wein continued to think, alone.

The second day of the Festival of the Spirit had arrived.

The festive revelry started and ended on the first day, but the second day offered spectacles by the performers in the plaza of each block. There would even be mock battles on horseback. The spectators were sure to be excited.

Unfortunately, Wein had no time to enjoy any of it.

“I apologize for the wait. Please, right this way.”

Guided by a servant, Wein entered the mansion, followed by Zeno and a group of guards. It was more spacious than the one Wein had been allotted and carried a historic air.

Which was just the way it should be. After all, the person staying here was a Holy Elite.

“—I thank you for your invitation, King Gruyere.”

Upon arriving in the reception hall, Wein faced the person seated in the center and bowed.

“Welcome, young prince of Natra.” The Holy Elite looked at Wein and gave a haughty smile.

Meanwhile, Ninym was following Wein’s orders to gather intelligence. Continuing her work from the previous day, she was again skulking around the block of noble mansions. After some investigation, she found that her target—Levert—had a residence there.

“…That’s fine and all, but the patrols sure are tight.”

She was hiding in the shadows of an alleyway and observing the mansion from a good distance away. Ninym thought about keeping a low profile and digging around for more information, but when she considered even the slight chance of being found out, it just didn’t seem realistic.

As she wondered what she should do, she felt a presence close behind her and turned around.

“There you are, Lady Aide.”

It was Raklum. Now that he’d been temporarily relieved from his duties as Wein’s guard, he appeared to be a completely ordinary fellow.

“How were things over your way?” she asked.

According to their respective assignments, Ninym was to investigate Levert while Raklum checked the surrounding area. However, Raklum shook his head with concern.

“Nothing worth reporting. General Levert appears to have a firm grip on the military. What about you?”

“Their defenses are tight, unfortunately, so it’s been difficult. If only there was some sort of opportunity…”

It was at that moment that a carriage passed by the street in front of them. They watched as it stopped in front of Levert’s mansion, where a certain figure got out—

“Holonyeh…?”

There was no mistaking him. It was Holonyeh, the vassal who had jumped ship from Marden to Cavarin and the one who Zeno despised for being a sellout.

“It’s a good thing Lord Zeno isn’t here. However… Hmm, two vassals of Cavarin, huh? It is not unusual to meet this way, but I do have my concerns.”

“…Captain Raklum, please watch the perimeter. I’m not sure how far we’ll be able to get, but let’s give it a try.”

Ninym took out a small telescope that she had on her. Tucking it into her breast pocket, she soundlessly scurried for a convenient location among a row of trees. The early spring leaves weren’t exceptionally full, but the trees were decorated in celebration of the festival, giving her just enough concealment to hide.

“Well, then…” Ninym peeked through the telescope, directing the lens at Levert’s mansion.

Before long, she spotted him through a window and confirmed the room he was in. As she continued to monitor him, Holonyeh appeared as if on cue. The two began to chat. She couldn’t hear anything, but she could attempt to read their lips.

“As ordered… The building…blueprint…will be realized…”

The gears were turning in Ninym’s head as she grasped bits and pieces of their conversation.

Holonyeh seemed to be conspiring to create some sort of plan. From the way they were acting, Levert was the one spearheading it.

“There is…your traitor…in the king’s lineage…”

As Ninym continued to string their words together, Levert grew more heated, making his lips more difficult to read. But even picking up the smallest of hints left her completely floored.

“Without their prince…we can…take down Natra…?”

Ninym’s heart constricted with an ominous premonition. The information exchanged in this conversation must intimately involve those close to her.

From here on out, she couldn’t let a single word slip past her. However, just then a voice came from below.

“Lady Aide, people are coming; I’m afraid I must stop you short.”

“Ngh…!”

When she looked around, a group of people were approaching from the other side of the street. It would quickly become a huge debacle if they were questioned. Not to mention that she was a Flahm—whether she was in disguise or not.

After not even a second’s hesitation, she slid down the tree. They had to prioritize returning with the current information they had gathered over getting more. The two nodded to each other and quickly made their escape.

Gruyere Soljest. The king of the Soljest Kingdom and one of Levetia’s Holy Elites.

Wein didn’t have much intel on him. He hailed from a far-off nation, and Wein’s Flahm information network couldn’t fully operate there, since they were heavily oppressed in the West. But from the little information he had gleaned, Wein knew Gruyere was a brilliant strategist with an open-minded personality. There were always beautiful girls who waited on him, and more than anything—

He’s über-fat, just like the rumors said.

Obese. Just really, really fat.

Wein had glanced at him briefly back at their first meeting, but the sheer magnitude of his weight was immense now that they were face-to-face.

He was tall, but his width was two or three people wide. He had the body of a small boulder. His clothing (which must have been custom-made) appeared to be of high-quality material, but they were stretched so far to their limits that there was the danger of a button popping off at just the slightest movement. Word had spread as far as Natra of the continent’s biggest glutton—none other than Gruyere.

“I bet you thought I was fat just now, didn’t you?”

“What? No, I would never.” Wein panicked, wondering if Gruyere could read his micro-expressions, but the king gave a generous nod.

“Please, do not worry. All who meet me think the same thing.” Gruyere guffawed before munching on the fruits that the ladies-in-waiting presented to him. The girls needed both hands to even hold the fruit, but for him, these fruits were bite-size.

“However, Crown Prince, I am not ashamed of this body in the least. Royalty and nobles need to be set apart from commoners. In other words, we can do what others cannot. I’ve assigned myself the role of enjoying this world’s luxuries to the fullest.”

“…I see. So that’s why…”

It was no wonder he had a figure like that.

But Gruyere shook his head. “Oh, but do not misunderstand. For me, food is but a means to an end.”

“What?”

“Yes… Crown Prince, when you think of luxury, what comes to mind?”

Wein thought for a few moments—not necessarily about the answer but if it was safe to answer honestly. In the end, he decided to go with the truth.

“Wearing fine clothes, eating good food, and sleeping with beautiful girls to my heart’s content?”

Gruyere nodded. “I can sense a youthfulness in your answer. It warms my heart. Yes, I, too, used to spend all my time enjoying those pleasures. But one day, it hit me. If they had the money, even commoners could participate in these affairs.”

Which goes the other way. If the royal family didn’t have money, they couldn’t do those things, either, Wein added internally.

“At the time, I had the opportunity to meet a renowned swordsman. His chiseled body was a marvel. Though impressed, I had another thought: that I should aim to be the exact opposite.” Gruyere lifted a fat, swollen finger.

“I am fine with this pitiful body. I already cannot stand or use the facilities on my own. However, as a living creature, to destroy my body by my own will and inconvenience others as I maintain my existence… That is a luxury for which only I can aim.”

“……”

Wein understood what Gruyere was trying to say, but he also had no idea what the hell he was going on about. Not that he would ever let it show on his face.

“Ah… The court doctor must be complaining his head off.”

“Court doctor?!” Gruyere slapped his stomach as he laughed, which echoed with the tenor of a drum. “They fly into a panic and ask what’s wrong if I neglect to finish my lunch. It’s common knowledge that my body is too far gone. All I need are a persistent will, endless food, and my faith in god.”

“Faith, huh? Pious, as expected of a Holy Elite… I would love to offer my prayers alongside you one day.”

Wein got to the heart of the matter, and Gruyere’s lips curled into a smile. It wasn’t the same generous one as before but an expression of sharp intelligence and wit.

“Crown Prince, your body might be trim from a general lack of desire, but I can see you’re keeping a beast within your stomach.”

“What could that mean?”

“It’s perfectly fine; I love greedy people. Throw in young talent, and that makes it all the more interesting. I love that you came to me first. I will endorse you as a Holy Elite.”

“Oh… I’m most grateful.”

There were currently seven Holy Elites. With Ordalasse’s endorsement, this now made two votes. With just two more, Wein’s name would be added to their ranks. However—

“There is one thing.”

I knew it, Wein thought, steadying himself. Endorsing Wein didn’t benefit Gruyere in any way. Therefore, he was obviously going to impose an extra condition.

But Wein would have never imagined what Gruyere would say next.

“How about ditching Ordalasse and teaming up with me?”

“…What?” Wein blinked a few times as Gruyere went on.

“I don’t know what deal he’s made with you, but that guy is on the decline. Targeting Marden’s gold mine to win back his popularity and promising the Holy Elites a slice of the profits to avoid criticism is all fine and good. But the fact that he was unable to take the mine—because of you—and is already at a loss for how to handle Marden’s leftovers means his end is not far off.

“…That is something,” Wein added mildly, stowing away this new bit of information in the back of his mind. Gruyere had been the only one talking this entire time, but it was incredibly informative.

“When it comes to the trust the lords have in him as a Holy Elite, he’s a sinking ship. You won’t get anywhere with him. You’d be better off getting out while you still can.”

“And I imagine that would not happen if I joined you, King Gruyere?”

“At the very least, it would sink slower.”

“……”

Wein couldn’t get a read on him. What was Gruyere thinking? It couldn’t have been that he suddenly had taken a liking to Wein. Even if he had, there had to be something in it for the king.

Damn, things are crazy enough as it is…

It was the second day of the Festival of the Spirit. Not much time was left. On the other hand, it was too big of an opportunity to just ignore.

“I’m thankful for your proposal and consideration toward Natra. Be that as it may, it is a sudden matter that I cannot answer immediately. I ask for a bit more time to consider your offer.”

“Watching young people fret gives me great pleasure. Take all the time you need—though you only have until tomorrow, when the Gathering of the Chosen takes place,” Gruyere replied with a huge grin.

This bastard, Wein thought as he internally clicked his tongue.

“Well then, we’ve talked at length. I’ll be retiring now. I assume you have other places to be.”

“Yes, I’ll be meeting with Duke Lozzo and Director Caldmellia of the Gospel Bureau.”

“The Artist Duke and God’s Mistress, huh?” Gruyere gave a wry smile. “Well, if we’re talking about eccentric types—reckless enough to actually try to set up a meeting with you—I guess they’re the only ones, other than me… Don’t drop your guard for even a second. One of them is sane, but the other is a broken soul.”

“I will keep that in mind.”

Gruyere nodded, and he turned toward the food the servants offered him. He was making it clear the conversation was over, but Wein pushed on.

“Might I ask one more question, King Gruyere?”

“Yeah? What?”

“What do you think of Marden, the nation destroyed by Cavarin?”

At this question, Zeno’s shoulders twitched as she stood behind Wein as an attendant.

Gruyere must have been surprised at this question because he stared at Wein, searching for a motive. Finally, he shrugged—though he couldn’t do it very well with all the abundant fat layered around his neck.

“In a nutshell, I have no interest in it. It was a country that was headed for destruction all along. Now that they lost the gold mine to Natra, they’re a worthless wreck.”

“…But Marden’s Liberation Front is active there.”

“That’s just a troop of fools who put off fixing their country until it was destroyed—even though they had the time and opportunity to change their ways before all this. They’ll disappear in time.”

“……”

Gruyere gave his scathing evaluation with nonchalance. With no emotional ties to the matter, it was clearly as objective as an opinion could be.

“I don’t know what you’re hung up on, but I’m sure you have more important things to think about. Look at what’s in front of you.”

“…You’re right. Thank you very much, King Gruyere.”

Wein bowed deeply and excused himself from Gruyere’s mansion.

“Um… Zeno?”

As they boarded the carriage waiting for them outside the mansion and headed toward the next Holy Elite, Wein called out to the girl who mournfully hung her head.

“I won’t say you shouldn’t worry about it… But you have to remember that’s just what King Gruyere thinks. It’s not like all the Holy Elites will feel the same way.”

“Yes…” Zeno just barely responded, and there was no strength in it.

“Opportunity… Time… Yes, I had those things. Or I should have, and yet…” Zeno whimpered, quietly condemning herself.

Wein looked at Zeno and gave up on trying to intervene. He had a mountain of other matters to think about.

The least he could do was pray that the next Holy Elite would have some good news for her.

Steel Lozzo. The duke of one of the West’s larger nations, the Kingdom of Vanhelio.

He had to be somewhere in his mid-twenties, which meant he was fairly young, and his clean-cut looks charmed all the ladies. He was skilled in politics—and excelled with a pen and the sword. He was most famous for being a supporter of the arts, and it was said that aspiring artists from across the continent gathered in his domain. He seemed to be everything anyone could possibly expect of a young nobleman—but within that shining profile were inappropriate rumors that dogged him.

“—It is an honor to meet you, Prince Wein. I understand that we met the other day, but this is the first time that we’ve been formally introduced.”

Steel greeted his guest with a warm smile and a handshake.

“The pleasure is all mine, Duke Lozzo. Rumors of the renowned Artist Duke have spread to the far corners of Natra.”

“Ha-ha-ha. Then I would be remiss to not mention that my own nation has heard of your bravery. Many of the artists I support are inspired by anecdotes of your deeds of driving off Marden with a small force. They are currently in the midst of painting these scenes. As soon as they are finished, I shall send you a few of their works.”

“Well… That is kind of you to offer, though slightly embarrassing.”

“Ha-ha… It is the fate of heroes to be beloved by the masses in all their various forms.”

Their conversation sparked, as though they were old friends having a familiar chat. It must have been because they were relatively close in age. The start to the meeting could not have gone any smoother.

“Duke Lozzo, I had been hoping to ask you if we ever had the chance to meet, but for what reason do you support the arts?”

In this era, artists were joined at the hip with those of influence. Across the continent, it wasn’t uncommon for people to starve to death. How could artists avoid this fate when they weren’t contributing to manufacturing or producing a product? The answer was to receive a salary under a wealthy benefactor. As for the people in power, they always hungered for more amusement. These pieces of art were largely to relieve their boredom. For this reason, it wasn’t odd at all for the rich to support the livelihood and work of their favorite artists. However, Steel was on a whole different level. With an entire city under his domain, a majority of the people there were involved in some form of artistic creation.

“The reason, huh…? If I must give one, I would say it is because I am searching.”

“Searching for what?”

“The inspiration that will make me an artist.”

The heck? Wein couldn’t quite catch his meaning, and Steel went on theatrically.

“When we encounter something that moves us, we gravitate toward it: a stage for a dancer, a pen for a writer, an instrument for a musician, a paintbrush for an artist. Inspiration is the source of the arts—”

“Those are the words of Rahel, the artist who took the world by storm two hundred years ago.”

“So you know him. You’re absolutely right,” Steel replied happily. “This quote by Rahel waxes poetic about artistic roots, but it is here I discovered a new truth.”

“And what’s that?”

“An artist can be created.”

Wein thought about that for a second before understanding. If inspiration made an artist, what was preventing a man-made source of inspiration from making them, too?

“When I realized this, I delved deeper into the meaning of inspiration. I came to the conclusion that inspiration is composed of two elements.”

“Which are?”

“The first is accomplishment. I issued an assignment to many of my subjects. Once they completed it, they had a sense of achievement that they used to create songs, paintings, and pottery. I then observed the quality of the finished work—by gauging how much it touched me.”

Steel looked almost intoxicated as he recalled those pieces.

“I gave them all the reward they could ever wish for: golden cups; remote locations untouched by human eyes; kind, beautiful wives… Those rewards became the impetus for the next trial, and then I had them strive for even greater achievements…!”

“Ah… I see. But what is the other factor?”

Detecting his wild fervor, Wein forcefully tried to get the conversation back on track.

A moment later, Wein regretted his decision.

“Loss.” Steel’s eyes shifted ominously. His cheery nature turned to its polar opposite, and the light disappeared from his eyes.

“Gain and loss. Those are what truly changes the human heart.”

A decidedly terrible question came to Wein’s mind.

“…Duke Lozzo, have you tested that out, too?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Steel said easily. “I’ve trampled heirlooms more precious than life itself underfoot, burned the nostalgic scenery of one’s birthplace to ashes, killed wives and children waiting for their husbands and fathers to return right before the artists’ eyes.”

“……”

“You know, those artists with murdered families created the best work. What do you think happened when I gave a paintbrush and canvas to those who cursed me, raged at their own powerlessness, and suffered from self-loathing? After they ripped off their own scalp and painted the canvas with their flesh and blood, they ended up stabbing their own throats with the brush. It was… Ah, truly inspirational work.”

Steel Lozzo was massacring innocent people for his amusement.

Wein had heard the rumors that Steel reeked of blood—and he saw now they were not entirely unfounded.

Steel continued. “I have always wanted to be an artist, but nothing in the natural world ever inspired me. I only found satisfaction in admiring man-made products—buildings and paintings.”

“…And that’s why you’ve gathered the artists.”

“Yes. By making them compete and giving them inspiration, I want them to give birth to work that would unconsciously give me the desire to create… That is my goal. What do you think? A very small thing to ask, isn’t it?”

“I am unable to comment on whether it is ‘small’…but it is unique.”

Wein chose his words carefully, and Steel smiled as he took his hand.

“How wonderful… When I talk about this to others, most reject me, but you’re different, Prince. I knew you would be. You have the makings of a true artist.”

Wein almost asked if that was a compliment, but he held himself back.

“I will help you become a Holy Elite. The current members hardly understood the arts, but we can change that. Why, I say we should imbue the entire Western world with culture!” yelled Steel.

With a loud gasp, he suddenly came back to himself.

“Pardon me, I have not met anyone who has understood me in so long that I seem to have gotten a bit excited.”

“…Please, do not mind me. Your recommendation means everything.”

Steel nodded in affirmation. “I’m certain you have other matters to attend to, Prince Wein. I’m reluctant, but let us end here for today. Please come visit me anytime.”

“I’m grateful for your kindness, Duke Lozzo. Thank you very much for today.”

Wein and Steel both exchanged a firm handshake.

—DUDE. He is out of his mind.

Back in the carriage, Wein let out a huge sigh of relief that he’d been able to leave Steel’s mansion in one piece.

I have to team up with that guy? Seriously? What kind of punishment is this…?

Wein looked over at Zeno, whose face was pale again—though, this time it was for a different reason altogether: Steel’s terrible eccentricity.

“Sorry, Zeno, I couldn’t find the right timing to bring up the Liberation Front.”

“…Please do not worry over it… I’m willing to bet… I mean, I’m absolutely certain he has not been paying attention to us at all.”

Wein didn’t say anything but agreed. As long as the Remnant Army wasn’t a group of pioneering artists, it seemed like Steel couldn’t care less. Even if by some chance they were the best artists in the world, Marden would likely try to help those artists escape with them back to their own territory.

Even then, this was a painful position for Zeno to be in. For her, it was the same as cutting off lifelines one by one.

If the last person was what they’d been told, she would be just as much trouble as the last two.

I hope she proves the rumors wrong.

Wein held on to this small hope, even though he knew it would never come to life. Wein’s rumbling carriage continued on.

“…I see… You’ve been outcast at school… I imagine you suffered a great deal.”

At the center of the room were a fine woman and a young girl. The young girl hung her head, eyes brimming with tears, and the woman stroked her hair affectionately.

“Miss Caldmellia… What should I do…?” asked the young girl, seeking guidance from the older woman.

“Do you understand why they are ostracizing you?”

“It must be… It must be because I’m a bad person…”

“No, you have done nothing wrong,” Caldmellia consoled softly. “I imagine they see you only as a shadow in their hearts.”

“A…shadow?” repeated the girl, teary-eyed in confusion.

“Yes, you are not a person but a shadow. That is why no one comes to save you—even as you cry and scream and call out for help… After all, people do not experience heartache from hurting shadows.”

“So how do I stop being one? How can I get them to see me as human?” she screeched, heartbroken.

Caldmellia gave a smile like the Holy Mother.

“—Create a vortex of despair,” she explained, as if it were the only way in the world. “Drag the ringleaders, their followers, and everyone who saw and turned the other way into a miserable vortex of your own imagining. Afterward, throw yourself in as well.”

Caldmellia gently touched the girl’s cheek. “By overcoming that despair alongside them, your existence will pierce through their hearts, tinged with the physicality of flesh and blood. Once that comes to pass, no one will tyrannize you.”

“B-but… Will I be forgiven for my deeds?”

“Yes.” Caldmellia’s voice was like a mother singing a lullaby to her child.

“Because you will be the one doing the forgiving. Isn’t that right? You will forgive those who oppressed you and transcend despair together. Then the other party may forgive you, too.”

“But…if by some chance…I’m not forgiven…”

“Then,” Caldmellia said, peering straight into the eyes of the girl, who was unable to look away. “They are animals, not people. Animals who do wrong by man must not live. It is fine to nip their lives short.”

“……”

“It is all right. There is no need to fear. I will be with you. Be courageous, take your despair, and—”

“—Koff!” echoed a very fake cough, which had to be deliberate, from behind them.

In her surprise, the girl stepped away from Caldmellia. As she turned around, she saw Wein and the others in the entrance.

“Ah… Um, thank you very much for your time! Please excuse me, Lady Caldmellia…!” blubbered the girl, slipping past Wein to flee the room.

Wein watched her run off, then turned to Caldmellia.

“It appears I have caught you in the middle of something. Forgive my ill manners, Lady Caldmellia.”

“Hee-hee, please think nothing of it. Thank you for coming, Crown Prince.”

Prompted by Caldmellia, Wein took a seat, keeping alert while staring fixedly at the woman across from him.

This is the rumored Caldmellia, huh…?

She was the director of Levetia’s Gospel Bureau. Her position, plain and simple, made her the aide to Levetia’s leader, the Holy King. The role was originally supposed to be held by a Holy Elite, but most held an earthly position—kings and nobles—making it difficult to stay by the Holy King’s side permanently. That was why the Gospel Bureau was formed. They had a long history: They occasionally acted publicly on behalf of the Holy King, and these days they had an authority rivaling that of the Holy Elites. The one to attend on behalf of the Holy King at this last Gathering of the Chosen had been the director of the Gospel Bureau, Caldmellia.

The West is already misogynistic. An interpretation of Levetia’s sacred book means women aren’t often accepted in high positions. And yet…

Caldmellia had risen up to director of the Gospel Bureau, the highest position in Levetia that one can achieve without relation to the founder, Levetia, or the lead disciples.

She’d been called a political monster by some. Wein found none more suited for this nickname.

“…Was that young girl from the nobility?”

Wein’s way of life was steering clear of troublemakers, but now that he was already involved, there wasn’t much else to be done. He steeled himself.

“No, she’s a commoner.”

“Oh, I see… Then do you normally preach to them?”

“My role is to save the troubled and guide them to Levetia. As a believer, it is only natural that I hold my hand out to my fellow brethren.”

“How inspiring, Lady Caldmellia. If the founder could see you, I’m certain Levetia would be pleased.” Wein doled out praise, exchanging meaningless pleasantries as he tried to find a lead for his next move.

As if to say she had no interest in this exchange, Caldmellia cut straight to the point.

“By the way, Crown Prince, you’ve come here today because you wish for me to support your candidacy to become a Holy Elite, right?”

“…Yes, though I am aware it is an imprudent request. But it is a necessary one.”

He had planned to go about this with more caution, but Wein changed course immediately. His opponent was strong-willed, so he decided to try pressuring her.

“As you know, our country receives refugees from both the East and the West. Many are in search of salvation, but at the same time, they still believe in barbaric false idols.”

“Do you mean to say the people of Natra are heathens?”

“No, it is simply all they’ve ever known. In this land, Levetia is the one true religion. Be that as it may, the teachings themselves don’t hold any value unless they touch people’s hearts. The one sin in this entire situation lies squarely on our shoulders—for not fully spreading the true word across the land before they were born.”

Caldmellia thought for just a moment.

“Well then, are you saying you will change their hearts as a Holy Elite?”

“Precisely. The confusion that troubles the people of Natra is a failure of my own doing. Thus, I wish for the chance to atone as a Holy Elite. Under the banner of Levetia, I’m sure the people of Natra will immediately reconsider their beliefs and be reborn as followers.”

“But their hearts have already been captured by evil. Can you really purify them?”

“Discovered by angels, Saint Loran said, ‘Believing all people have the right to be saved is the first step to salvation.’ I believe in the people of Natra. Won’t you believe in them as well, Lady Caldmellia…?!”

He internally patted his own back for his silver tongue as he awaited her reply.

“…I understand your heart well, Crown Prince,” Caldmellia said with a gentle smile. “Please forgive me for my incendiary questions. To be a Holy Elite is to enter a sacred position. It comes with great influence and power. Those who are thoughtless and cruel could cause chaos if appointed. However, it appears my worries have been unfounded.”

“In that case…”

“Yes, as one with the full authority to act on behalf of His Holiness, I accept you as worthy of becoming a Holy Elite… But I do have one condition.”

“Your wish is my command.” Wein did not falter. He had assumed this might happen. In fact, her manner signified she was leaning toward compliance.

“It is regarding King Ordalasse. This last war between Natra and Marden was in order to save Marden from tyrannical rule, right? They say it is a feat worthy of becoming a Holy Elite.”

That wasn’t true at all, of course. It was just a justification added after the fact. Both Wein and the Holy Elites were aware of this. Why was Caldmellia bringing this up now? The gears in Wein’s head started to turn.

She’s trying to confirm it was a holy war… In other words, she wants to know if it was a conflict over ideology…and not one that was for worldly gain… If she’s attacking me from that standpoint, then… It must be about the mine!

It was entirely plausible that she would demand the gold mine as contribution to Levetia in return for helping him become a Holy Elite. Wein began to quickly consider the pros and cons of this situation, but he couldn’t have guessed her next comment.

“—In that case, you must completely save them, or I cannot offer my support.”

“What…?” Wein spoke, hurriedly swallowing his involuntary rush of confusion. “‘Save them’ all…? Natra fought alongside Cavarin to take the royal capital of Marden, and—”

“But they’re still alive—the Remnants.”

Wein felt a chill run down his spine.

“The Remnants of Marden… I hear those who oppress the followers of Levetia want to continue resisting us. I imagine the pious experience sleepless nights, fearing when the devil’s hand will shoot out to oppress them again. To return peace to our believers, we must destroy them completely, put their bodies on display, and toss them into a raging fire… Don’t you agree?”

Caldmellia did have a point. However, that was all she had—a point to prove but no marked benefit.

Nothing more. Crushing the remaining forces of Marden was already an established policy—even without Caldmellia’s prompting. To exchange that for his candidacy as a Holy Elite didn’t make any sense.

I can think of two things: One, Caldmellia somehow benefits from Natra going to war and suppressing Marden’s rebels, and I simply don’t know why yet. Two—

“Hmm… Is something the matter?” Caldmellia suddenly called out to someone behind Wein.

Standing there was Zeno, who looked on the verge of collapse, judging by her complexion.

“If you are feeling unwell, feel free to sit in this chair.”

Upon witnessing her seemingly innocent behavior, Wein was convinced.

Caldmellia knew. She knew members of Marden’s Remnant Army were in his delegation. She had figured out their goal was to help liberate Marden—and that there was a high probability a member of the Remnant Army would be present at this visit.

That had to be why she had come up with an idea: I think I’ll toy with them a little.

I seeeeeeee. A game, huh?

There was something Wein had thought when he’d heard her preaching to the girl. But this was enough to convince him.

There were people in the world who would steer events into devastation and chaos for no other reason than personal amusement. They had no fear of destruction or desire for profit.

And this woman Caldmellia was one of them. For her, the position of Holy Elite was nothing more than a tool to make things more interesting for her.

“P-please do not worry yourself over me… It is nothing of concern…”

“There is no need to put on a brave face. I am sure you’re in pain just thinking about the persecution of the devout followers in your former Marden?”

“N-no, I…”

Caldmellia reached out to Zeno. “It is all right; you have nothing to fear. After all, the crown prince will save them—”

“Pardon me, Lady Caldmellia.”

Before the hand could reach her, Wein had embraced Zeno.

“You are right. Returning the former Marden to stability should be our first priority. However, this is a joint effort with the Kingdom of Cavarin. I cannot answer at my own discretion. I ask that I might be able to converse with King Ordalasse and give my answer at a later point in time.”

“Goodness…” Caldmellia’s brows knit together in disappointment, but she soon switched to a fleeting smile.

“If that is to be the case, let us wait until the meeting tomorrow.”

“I appreciate it. I apologize, but as I must prepare to meet with King Ordalasse, I’m afraid we must end here for today.”

“I would have enjoyed speaking with you more, Crown Prince, but alas… Your companion may visit anytime for respite.”

“I appreciate your concern. Well then, by your leave.”

Forcibly ending the conversation, Wein left the room with Zeno.

“Hee-hee. Oh, how flustered he became.”

Watching from the window as Wein’s carriage drove off with his entourage, Caldmellia giggled and turned around. A man was standing there.

“Will this serve as revenge for your lost arm, Owl?”

If Wein had still been in the room, he would have been surprised indeed. After all, this one-armed man named Owl had crossed swords with Wein in an Eastern city due to a certain incident.

“You enjoy yourself too much, Lady Caldmellia. I was concerned whether that one believer might grow violent.”

“That would have been interesting.”

Owl closed his eyes at her attitude that spoke of little danger. He was well aware of her disposition but found it frustrating regardless. Not to mention there was still another matter at hand.

“…Will you actually support adding the crown prince to the ranks of the Holy Elites?”

“Yes, and gladly, if he properly kills Marden’s leftovers,” Caldmellia asserted with a nod.

Owl went on. “With all due respect, that prince is dangerous. If he gains a position of power in the West, he will most certainly do you wrong, Lady Caldmellia.”

“And that is a good thing, right?” she said, as if it were only obvious. “I was worried about our new plan, now that our old scheme to incite disturbances in the East and spread chaos here has been foiled. But now the West will be ravaged by fire, too.”

Caldmellia smiled—even now, her expression could be called nothing less than the face of a Holy Mother, which was why it reeked of a peculiar sense of artifice.

Owl no longer had any grounds for complaint.

“And how is Ibis?” she asked.

“Operating as planned. She says the battle formation will be complete before the end of the festival.”

“I am glad to hear it. It is our highly anticipated festival. We must make it as exciting as possible. If there is anything you require, please send word.”

“Understood…”

Owl exited noiselessly. Caldmellia again looked outside the window. Thinking of the departed carriage, she almost sang to herself.

“Hee-hee… May you not make it in time.”

The mood was subdued in the carriage. Zeno hung her head wordlessly, and even Wein couldn’t find the right thing to say.

As they were, Zeno only had one choice: kill Wein and call off the ties between Natra and Cavarin. That would buy her enough time to work through a contingency plan. Now that Wein and Zeno were in this private space together, one could say it was her greatest chance.

But Zeno didn’t intend to go through with it. She was in despair. This was one of those rare situations where a single word perfectly described her emotional state.

“…I can see it was a half-hearted dream.” Zeno spoke in fragments. “I thought if we showed signs of distress and called for aid, we would receive help from somewhere in the world…but I was naive…”

“…Well, that’s true.”

Things would have panned out differently if the Remnant Army had strengthened relations with foreign nations earlier. The world might have responded if they’d been able to take back the capital from Cavarin. If only they had done this… If only they had the foresight to plan that—

There were infinite other ways they could have handled that situation. But there was no changing it now.

“I was surprised myself. To think the Holy Elites would be a bunch of shams.”

“Yes… I was shocked.”

“Especially Caldmellia. Did you know? According to records, she is a woman in her sixties.”

Zeno widened her blank eyes. “…I thought she was in her thirties.”

“Me too… Either the name has been inherited for generations or she’s just as good at disguise as the Flahm. I wonder which one it is.”

“…Either way, she’s a monster… My father was completely…”

As Wein listened to Zeno talk partly to herself, someone suddenly called out. “—Your Highness, over there.”

“Hmm? …Stop the carriage.”

It creaked to a halt. When Wein looked outside the window, he saw Raklum standing there.

“Your Highness, I am glad to see you are safe.”

“You too. Just on your way back?”

“Yes. I have returned to compile the information obtained by me and the Lady Aide.”

“Great. Hop in.”

“Understood. Please excuse me.”

Raklum climbed in, and they soon set off once again.

“Anything of note?”

“I did not get much intel, but the Lady Aide uncovered vital information.”

“I see… Good work. Let’s talk about it more once we get back.”

Raklum nodded obediently before glancing at Zeno next to him. From that mournful face, he was able to guess how the meetings had gone.

“By the way, Raklum… Is that a book you have there?” Wein pointed at the book poking out of his leather bag.

“Yes, I found it at a bookbinding shop on the road. To study Levetia’s sacred texts as you suggested.”

“That’s the right attitude… Do I see another one?”

“Yes, I was introduced to a book that has been recently growing in popularity in the West with everyone from nobles to merchants. It intrigued me, and I bought it on a whim. The title is The Dignity of Imperial Court, and—”

“You can just toss that one.”

“Underst… What?” Raklum stopped himself from giving his reflexive reply when he processed Wein’s words. He blinked a few times. “I will do as you say, Your Highness, but…”

Raklum was absolutely loyal to Wein, meaning he had no choice but to follow his orders. However, he also knew that Wein was not the type of person to treat a book with disdain for no reason.

“Do you mind if I ask why?”

“Because I’m the one who wrote it.”

Raklum was left dumbfounded.

“To be precise, I drafted it and asked a skilled Flahm author to write it. We circulated the final book throughout the West. As for when it was published… I guess that was before my exchange period in the Empire.”

“I see… But as your vassal, shouldn’t I read—?”

“No need.” Wein abruptly cut him off. “I’ll give you a summary: The nobles are required to be loyal, uphold chivalry, serve their monarch with heart and soul. They are to appreciate song and dance, be prolific in poetry and love, and spend extravagantly. Frugality and honorable poverty are not meant for those of true noble birth.” Wein sneered.

“What do you think about this aristocratic ideal?”

“Ah yes… I might say it seems the noblest of noble.”

“You got that right.” Wein’s lips curled. “The book affirms the nobles—encouraging them to be stagnant and expressing that they’re already wonderful. Of course, it’s been warmly received by them. It praises them for doing nothing. But there’s one trap in there. About money.”

“Money?”

“To cast aside frugality. To frame honorable poverty as sin. It essentially tells nobles to not keep track of their spending habits. It scorns budgeting, financing their money. As the reader, you start to align yourself with these values.”

“But wouldn’t that be too impractical in reality?”

“Not really. Humans tend to be all or nothing when it comes to a belief. It’s not easy to believe in one part of the book and not the other.”

Ninety percent of the book affirmed their lifestyle. Denying the section about their finances would feel the same as rejecting the rest of the book. That’s why avid readers were almost always unable to disagree with the lessons on money.

“To begin with, bookkeeping is a plain and boring task. By claiming that they are somehow exempt from it—that it is, in fact, bad to do it—they start to believe it. The water seeks its own level.”

Raklum gave a grunt of consideration. He wasn’t completely convinced, but Wein did have a point. However, he had a more basic question at hand.

“I understand what you are saying, Your Highness. But why did you circulate such a book in the West?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Wein’s smile was both gentle and cruel. “To totally mess up the West.”

“……” Raklum involuntarily caught his breath. That was a quiet viciousness exuding from the normally kind prince.

“There are three requirements for smooth operations: reward proportionate to the work, reputation, and punishment.” Wein raised three fingers on his hand. “Especially when it comes to bookkeeping, it’s easy to be dishonest. The responsible party needs perseverance and professional ethics. But in this book, I mocked this activity. If the value of a position goes down, the reputation and reward will decrease as well. What do you think happens then?”

“…Nobody will want to do it.”

“Exactly. By nature, managing their finances is essential for nobles. In fact, they have to be the ones taking the initiative. But the book condemns it. Which means they’ll foist this task on someone else. The only people who would take up a thankless and unrewarding job are those without status or ambition.”

“……!” Raklum understood what Wein was getting at. Wein nodded and continued.

“But it’s not like you can expect them to have patience or decent morals. Dishonest deeds come as second nature to them. There will be frequent miscalculations, and the nobles start to show contempt for accountants, increasing punishment more and more, which will further exacerbate a shortage of capable personnel.”

This would ultimately cause the affected nobility to be clueless about what was in their own coffers. If that happened, it wouldn’t be long before they collapsed. As a cruel trick, desperate nobles would impose heavier taxes, which would drive away merchants, and starving citizens would disrupt the public order, leading to ruin. Who and where would they scrape money away from to keep the soldiers in check? There was no guaranteed future for such a fiefdom.

“—I don’t really know how well it actually worked,” Wein admitted without care.

“Is—is that so…?”

“It’s only one book, after all. It seems to have picked up some underground influence, but it could very well not stick and become forgotten in the public consciousness. We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it, I guess.”

“Is it okay to handle it in this way?”

“Yes. This plan is working out the best for now, but I’ve got little traps set up elsewhere. If this one doesn’t work out, we’ll just redirect our energy somewhere else.” Wein laughed easily.

He had written it before studying in the Empire. In other words, a boy who was hardly a teenager had devised and carried out this plan. Raklum couldn’t help but shiver in fear.

“Anyway, now you know why you don’t need to read it, right?”

“Yes… But I cannot toss aside a book written by Your Highness. While I vow not to read through it, please forgive me for keeping it on my person.”

Hmm, Wein thought for a moment. In this era, books were considered precious items. It would be harsh to tell him to chuck it.

“Very well. Do as you like. You can read it if you want. But don’t take it to heart.”

“Yes, thank you very much.” Raklum bowed deeply.

Raklum suddenly took notice of Zeno’s behavior. She was staring at Wein with fearful eyes.

He had no way of knowing this was the same look she had given the Holy Elites.

When Wein got back, Ninym was waiting for him as usual.

Zeno said she wished to be left with her thoughts for a while, leaving Wein, who listened to Ninym’s and Raklum’s reports, in his room.

“Hmm… A secret meeting between Levert and Holonyeh, huh?”

“Yes. We cannot come to any conclusions, as I was unable to grasp the entire conversation that passed between them, but their aim is…”

“Attacking us here. And taking my life,” Wein finished for her.

“Yes…”

Levert had always advocated for bold attacks against Natra. If they assassinated Wein before an alliance between Natra and Cavarin could be formed, war would be unavoidable.

“…And our accommodations were too small to fit all the guards.”

Raklum nodded. “Yes. In addition, Holonyeh was the one to guide us here. There is also a possibility he was the one who made the arrangements.”

Their aim was obviously to disperse Wein’s forces and make it easier to attack. Thinking back, they had argued about the number of attendants before they’d even left Natra. If the attack on their journey here had been under Levert’s orders, there was a good chance it was meant to put an easy end to Wein.

“Holonyeh’s goal must be to get Levert to owe him a favor—instead of focusing on King Ordalasse, who is slipping from power as we speak. I imagine he’s aiming to be placed in charge of the mine when they steal it back.”

Ninym agreed with Wein’s prediction. “Holonyeh must have been the one managing the mine, back when it was Marden territory. With his know-how, this proposal would be in the bag. I can almost guarantee it.”

Wein sighed. “I have to admit it’s pretty clever. I’d hire him if he ever floated over to Natra.”

“Really?”

“It’s more realistic to manage someone who is skilled and immoral than pray to the heavens for someone who is skilled and moral.”

Ninym and Raklum gave each other a look.

“In any case, I get where Levert’s coming from now. Next, Ordalasse. I think I already have him figured out, too.” Wein went on. “Ordalasse has tried to cling to his position using his bloodline, but he’s starting to hit the limits of that method. He’s losing the hearts of the people. He must have seen the gold mine as the edge he needed to reclaim some stability. To prevent criticism, he promised to loan the Holy Elites some money and laid the groundwork, timing his invasion while Natra and Marden were busy fighting. When Marden fell, he would profit while others did the fighting for him.

“However,” he continued. “This plan fell through. Marden was defeated, and Natra took the mine.”

Ninym folded her arms. “From the start, Marden was just as poor as Natra. It didn’t have anything of value outside the mine, so this change in course must have caused King Ordalasse a great deal of trouble.”

“That said, if he threw away this new territory, he would lose even more momentum,” Raklum observed with a grunt.

Wein nodded. “Then, add in the resistance of the Remnant Army. Cavarin’s casualties and expenses kept blowing up—without ever seeing any increased profit. To make matters worse for him, his position as a Holy Elite deteriorated because he was unable to pay them as promised. That was when…”

Wein pointed at himself. “…Ordalasse zeroed in on me. By dangling the recommendation for the Holy Elite in front of me, he wanted to make me owe him a debt of gratitude while also strengthening his faction.”

After this upcoming meeting, Ordalasse would probably ask to buy off gold from the mine for cheap. That was how he would ultimately improve his own standing.

That’s about all the information we have so far. I’ve got a couple of options.

He could continue working with King Ordalasse and aim to be a Holy Elite. Or he could keep pretending to be on King Ordalasse’s side while secretly teaming up with Gruyere. Or he could give up on becoming a Holy Elite now and just go home.

The issue was deciding the option that would offer him the greatest advantage. As Wein sunk deeper in thought, a knock came at the door.

“Pardon me.”

Zeno appeared. Everyone in the room was a little surprised to see her.

She’d been in a trance, a stupor, when they first got back, but now her eyes burned with purpose. She kneeled before Wein.

“If I may, I have a favor to ask of you.”

“And what’s that?”

“Please allow me to accompany you to your audience with King Ordalasse.”

Wein wasn’t surprised. He’d been thinking there was a good chance she would make this request.

“Do you understand the situation you’re in right now?”

“…I do. I can no longer hope for the aid of the Holy Elites, and an alliance between Natra and Cavarin is close at hand. The lives of those in the Liberation Front are in a precarious state.”

“Then you must know why I can’t bring you along… I can’t let you assassinate King Ordalasse.”

Taking advantage of the chaos in the wake of Ordalasse’s death and launching a counterattack was the only choice the Remnant Army had left.

“No, you are mistaken,” Zeno said, as if cutting off his thoughts. “I have no intention of trying to assassinate him.”

“Oh…? Then why do you want to come with me?”

“So that the Liberation Front may form an alliance with Natra.”

Everyone’s eyes widened except for Zeno’s.

“And why should Natra join the Liberation Front?”

“I do not know!” Zeno shouted.

Wein was confused by this unexpected take, but Zeno spoke without hesitation.

“But we may be able to find out! There is still time before the Gathering of the Chosen tomorrow! Until then, I will search for the reason with all my strength!”

It was a will of fire. While it was no more than an ardent—and reckless—proposal, most wouldn’t have been able to help nodding in agreement when faced with such passion.

“No can do.”

But Wein was not one to bend to words with no substance.

“I commend your spirit. But that doesn’t obligate me to bring you along, and I don’t see the value in it. To get straight to the point, I don’t trust you.”

It was a merciless rejection, but Zeno’s heart would not be broken.

“Are you saying you do not trust me?”

“That’s right. Is there some reason why I should?”

“No, I do not have anything so convenient. However…” Zeno took a breath. “…You previously said, Your Highness, that trust only has value because there’s the potential of betrayal. And I’d like you to take a chance on me.” She balled up both fists, looking forward courageously.

“……” Wein remained silent for a moment as he looked at Zeno, then suddenly flashed her a small smile.

“You can promise not to kill him, right? Taking out a sword in the middle of a meeting is only acceptable for an uncultured barbarian.”

“I promise.”

“…All right. I’ll bring you along.”

Zeno’s face lit up as she beamed. “Th-thank you very much!”

“It’s still too early for that. You still have to show me the new path you’re proposing for the future.” Wein had a somewhat amused look. “Raklum, it’s a bit early, but prepare to head to the castle. Ninym, reorganize the defenses according to the likelihood of Levert’s attacks and confirm the readiness of our escape route.”

““Understood!”” The two loyal retainers set off with purpose.

Not long after, Wein, Raklum, and Zeno headed to their audience with King Ordalasse.

…I wonder what will actually happen.

Left behind in the mansion, Ninym called out orders to strengthen the defenses as she recalled Zeno’s fiery words. The fact that she had said them at all made it clear the Remnant Army was in a dire situation. For Natra to reject a potential alliance with Cavarin and align with them instead, there would have to be a significant reason. Ninym doubted Zeno could actually deliver on that promise.

Personally, she absolutely hoped Zeno would propose something that Wein could accept. Both as a person and as a Flahm, she had her own opinions on Wein becoming a Holy Elite of Levetia, a religion that discriminated against her people.

It’d be nice if there was some sudden change, but…

She let herself sink into thought, allowing her mind to run wild, but she found no epiphany waiting for her.

And aside from being unable to think of an alternate plan, she had no right to defy her master’s decision.

I guess I have no choice but to accept the results of the meeting—whatever they might be.

Ninym awaited Wein and the others’ return.