Prologue | The Assassin Stays in the Holy City
We were staying at an inn in the holy city, the headquarters of the world’s largest religion, Alamism. It wasn’t exactly by choice—the church held us here to prevent us from leaving the city.
I was sitting on my bed and reading some documents. Three days had passed since I’d killed the demon that took the place of the hierarch to control the Alamite Church. I wanted to return to the academy immediately but wasn’t allowed. The reason was simple—if word got out that the hierarch had been a demon in disguise, the scandal would shake Alamism to its core.
Is this really enough to cover up this incident? I wondered. Yesterday, the church finally shared with me their plan to keep the scandal under wraps. They wanted to make me into a savior and distract the people with tales of my valor. Getting too famous is less than ideal as a noble assassin… But the church is determined. Who’s gonna believe this story, anyway?
The documents I read outlined their fabricated story. According to their version of events, the high priests were aware that the demon had taken the hierarch’s place. However, the demon’s strength prevented the church from taking action—if they said anything, the demon would have revealed his true identity and slaughtered everyone in the holy city. Thus, the priests feigned ignorance and summoned Lugh Tuatha Dé, a Holy Knight, to the holy city as a supposed traitor. Then, with the support of the high priests, Lugh Tuatha Dé joined forces with the Alam Karla, the oracle of the goddess, and defeated the demon.
I credit their imagination, I thought. It allowed the church’s management to claim that all their wrongdoing, including publicly branding me a traitor of the goddess, had been in the interest of eliminating the demon. To fool your enemy, you must first fool your friends… That was their excuse. This version of events would lead the public to think of the church’s management as heroes rather than incompetent fools strung along by the demon.
The church needed my cooperation to make this story into reality. It wouldn’t be believable otherwise. They nearly executed me as an enemy of the goddess. I want nothing more than to tell them to piss off. However, I had no choice but to cooperate. A great many people relied on their faith in Alamism, and the world would fall into chaos if the religion crumbled. That was true in my home country of Alvan as well.
The church needed to maintain its dignity. Cooperating with its story was in Alvan’s best interest. As an Alvanian noble, I had to prioritize the kingdom over my personal feelings. Worst-case scenario, the church could have tried to save face by fabricating a crime and executing me. This is preferable.
The leaders of the Alamite Church were obsessed with appearances, but I had to admire their pragmatism. Their incredible sense for management was what allowed them to grow Alamism into the world’s largest religion. Such a large-scale organization could not operate on faith alone. Plus, this story wasn’t so bad for me. Regardless of its authenticity, it would erase any notion that I was an enemy of the church.
“Hey, Lugh!”
Hearing my name jerked me out of my thoughts, and I sat up on the bed.
“Is it really okay for us to stay here? I’m starting to feel kind of intimidated.”
The person speaking to me was a petite girl who was at once intelligent and cute. She was fiddling with her distinct silver hair. Her name was Dia. She was my little sister, according to the family register, but in reality, she was my magic teacher and a romantic partner.
“Is this inn really such a big deal? It doesn’t seem luxurious to me.”
The room’s other occupant was an adorable young girl with blond hair and a sizable chest that attracted male gazes. She was Tarte, my personal retainer and assassination assistant.
“Are you serious, Tarte? Of course it’s a big deal. A never-ending stream of nobles and merchants spend an exorbitant amount of money just to stay here,” Dia said.
“Huh?! Is that true?! I can’t see why. The rooms aren’t that nice, and the food is lacking,” Tarte responded.
As Tarte claimed, our room wasn’t particularly lavish. The food was only better than average, and the service was ordinary. The price, however, was out of this world.
“I suppose I’ve yet to teach you much about religion, Tarte… Sorry, I should’ve gotten to that already. It’s essential knowledge for a personal retainer. I’ll take this opportunity to educate you,” I said.
It was Tarte’s job as my personal retainer to accompany and serve me in front of guests. Besides possessing the skills of a servant, personal retainers needed the finest etiquette to avoid embarrassing their master and sufficient social aptitude and education to keep up with the discussions of the aristocracy. Retainer positions were typically assumed by decently educated individuals from good families after they’d served for three years doing the lowest servant work out of sight from guests, followed by another three years aiding a top attendant. That was the ideal path to becoming a personal retainer.
Tarte didn’t receive a decent education as a child, and although she worked hard, two years was not enough time to acquire all the skills and knowledge necessary of an assassin’s assistant and personal retainer. I’d narrowed her focus to the culture she would come across most often in the aristocratic world, knowing she could make up for whatever knowledge she lacked with her tremendous effort, so I’d only lightly touched on religion.
“Don’t apologize, Lord Lugh. It’s my own fault for slacking on my studies,” Tarte responded hurriedly. She was always debasing herself. I’d let it slide until now, understanding that humility was a part of her personality, but it was a bad habit she needed to fix.
“You’re too quick to apologize, Tarte. It’s a bad habit. Always assuming you’ve done wrong causes you to lose sight of the truth and isn’t helpful. People improve by learning from their mistakes… I’ll never grow if you always put the blame on yourself, and as my student, you won’t grow, either.”
“I-I’m sorry,” Tarte said.
She was apologizing again. Fixing this bad habit wouldn’t be easy. I racked my brains for how to handle this, and Dia spoke up.
“You need to work on that, Tarte. It’s part of a servant’s duty to correct their master. That’s especially true for a personal retainer. It’ll be in Lugh’s best interest.”
“Yes, you’re right. Sor—er, I’ll do my best.”
“That’s more like it.”
Dia nodded. Her petite stature made her look childish, but she was a smart and caring person. She’d acted like an older sister toward me from the day we met, and it didn’t seem like that was ever going to change. Lately, her stock phrase had changed from “your big sister knows best” to “your first wife knows best,” and her sisterly attentions had expanded to include Tarte and Maha.
Perhaps it was best to leave this matter to her.
“I’m counting on you, Tarte. You’re the best personal retainer there is,” I said.
“My lord is counting on me… I—I will devote myself to improving!” Tarte declared, clenching her fists. It looked like I had nothing to worry about.
I needed to adjust my mindset, too. Tarte was more than an impromptu servant—she was perfectly capable of becoming a truly elite retainer. I needed to gradually teach her the things I’d omitted from her education.
“Okay, I’ll start by explaining what makes this building special. It’s called the House of the Divine, and it’s one of the most revered sites of the holy city. Only guests of the gods are allowed inside. The simple act of staying here gives one the prestige of being recognized as a special person by the Alamite Church. Many guests claim they were blessed by the goddess.”
“Oh, I see. But Lady Dia said that a room costs a lot. No one finds it weird that you can buy a blessing with money?”
That was a sharp observation. I didn’t expect Tarte to think of that. Her purity was likely what allowed her to see the true nature of this place.
“If major nobles spend a great amount of money to stay here and boast about it afterward, that’s enough to convince the rest of aristocratic society that it’s something worth doing. Others will follow suit to gain the honor for themselves.” Tarte nodded to show she understood me. “Also, it’s not necessarily wrong to be proud of the money one spends here.”
“What do you mean?”
“The Alamite Church performs philanthropic work worldwide. Things like feeding the hungry and managing orphanages. Donations enable those endeavors. In a roundabout way, the high room price saves lives. The more people stay here, the better the world.”
Some people questioned whether spending money was really enough to win divine favor, but the funds went to a good cause. The vast sums donated on the whims of the rich saved hundreds of times as many lives as the poor did with volunteer work.
“Oh, that makes sense! So that’s how spending money earns the goddess’s approval! Huh? Do you not agree, Lady Dia?” Tarte asked.
“Sounds like a real stretch to me,” Dia replied.
“The church really is saving many lives using that money. On that point, they deserve nothing but praise,” I argued.
I truly applauded the church for constructing this system. The rich satisfied their vanity, and the poor benefited. I couldn’t imagine a better win-win situation… Except for the rumor that 70 percent of the donations disappeared into the pockets of the church’s leaders. Even then, the remaining 30 percent made the world a better place.
Religious leaders often attracted enmity. I assassinated many of them in my past life, and from what I learned researching those targets, 30 percent of donations going to philanthropic work was actually quite good.
By comparison, one religion in my previous world spent 80 percent of its donations on wide-reaching commercials. The remainder was spent primarily on publicity to propagate the faith’s teachings. The religion collected donations equivalent to the revenue of a major company and didn’t use it to save anyone.
“I know what it is like to be poor. When you’re hungry and near death, it doesn’t matter how your food is prepared… You’ll take anything to fill your stomach,” Tarte said.
Those words meant a lot coming from Tarte, who was kicked out of her village to reduce the number of mouths to feed.
“Sorry, Tarte. You’re right. I didn’t consider the feelings of those helped,” Dia apologized.
“Alamism is extraordinary for creating a system that aids people with the indulgences of the wealthy. That’s why, under normal circumstances, only the rich can stay here. All guests receive a sacred gift as proof of their visit,” I said.
“What kind of gift?” asked Tarte.
“A necklace with a gem blessed by an Alamite priest. You see people flaunting them at noble parties all the time.”
The necklaces were finely crafted, but the gems were crude. Major nobles and merchants regularly displayed the cheap accessories as though they were things to be proud of. Religion was truly amusing.
“Why do they give out necklaces?”
“It would be difficult for noble guests to boast about a visit here otherwise. It also prevents people from lying about staying. Anyone can claim to visit the House of the Divine, but no will believe them without a necklace. You have to pay to receive the real thing.”
“It sounds like a business.”
“Religious leaders have a much stronger sense for business than your average merchant. The larger the faith, the more likely that is to be true. After all, they need vast sums of money to expand their church, tough negotiating skills to gain all the rights they want in multiple countries, and the ability to curry favor and capture the hearts of powerful individuals. Those are all skills required of elite merchants.”
Religious activity couldn’t survive on teaching doctrine and moving hearts. There was a direct correlation between a faith’s size and its ability to generate revenue.
“Oh, Lugh. I just thought of something. I’ll bet we could earn a ton of money making and selling a bunch of those necklaces,” Dia suggested.
“That’s a bad idea, Lady Dia. We’d be punished,” Tarte chided.
“Really? I’m sure the goddess has more important things to worry about.”
I thought about the goddess that Alamism revered. She claimed that merely speaking to me consumed resources used to maintain the world, and thus rarely showed herself. There was no way she’d punish everyone who infringed on the profit of her religion. It wouldn’t be worth the resources. However…
“Tarte’s right. Anyone who makes goods related to Alamism without permission is branded an enemy of the divine. This gem is carved with the holy symbol of the faith, and you’re finished if you use that without permission. It means the death penalty in any country where Alamism is the national religion… Some idiots actually tried that in the past,” I explained.
“Gods are surprisingly materialistic,” Dia commented.
“Like I said, the larger the religion, the better its leaders are at business. They can also get away with anything as long as they say it’s ‘for the gods.’ You’re asking for it if you pick a fight with them.”
A businessperson couldn’t permit anyone to infringe on their profit.
“Thank you very much, my lord. I feel like I learned a lot. I will take care of the necklaces we receive… They will be a perfect source of money should we ever need to flee!” Tarte exclaimed.
Dia and Tarte looked at each other and laughed.
“Yeah, they would be perfect for that,” I said.
“Totally. They’re small and would net us a ton of money,” Dia agreed.
Working as assassins was dangerous. The royal family would cut ties with us at the first sign of any collusion. For that reason, we’d hidden wealth throughout Alvan and abroad and prepared safe houses and fake identities for ourselves.
However, it might still be difficult to reach safety when we needed to escape. We could end up with someone right on our tail, giving us no time to collect our money. The holy necklaces were convenient because we could wear them at all times and easily sell them for a high price. The church wouldn’t be able to identify who peddled the necklaces, given that there were so many in circulation. I couldn’t think of better assets for a tight situation.
It was the same reason gangsters wore Rolexes. They weren’t for show—the watches were easy to carry and could be sold quickly for a good sum.
“I’m impressed you came up with that idea, Tarte… You’ve really grown,” I said.
“Um, did I say something weird?” she responded.
“No, I’m praising you.”
One of the problems caused by Tarte’s upbringing was her inability to act unless instructed. She struggled to think for herself. Her assessment of the situation and subsequent suggestion were signs she was conquering that weakness.
Tarte mistook my praise for teasing and sulked. I laughed at her response, and that caused her to sulk more. While I thought of how to clear up the misunderstanding, someone knocked on the door—an Alamite deacon assigned to look after us.
“Sir Tuatha Dé, the cardinals have summoned you.”
Cardinals ranked just below the hierarch in the Alamite Church’s echelons.
“I’ll leave right away. Dia, Tarte, let’s go out to eat when I get back. I’m sure you’re grateful for the food the House of the Divine has provided us, but it’s rather lacking. I’m ready for a good meal,” I said.
“That sounds nice. We get nothing but bland-tasting vegetables here. I want some salted meat,” Dia replied.
“I agree. We don’t get enough food here,” Tarte said.
The meeting with the cardinals was going to be a pain. Having dinner with Dia and Tarte to look forward to would help me get through it.
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