Chapter 75 - 7-1
On a balmy spring afternoon, Gilma Rigardie was snoring, his ankles crossed atop his office desk.
He felt as though he had seen some mystical dream. Waking refreshed and stretching, Gilma noticed that Sedias Thora, Marquis of Delroy, was sitting in the chair in front of the desk.
"Well, well, the Supreme Commander of the Royal Army. I am deeply honored that you would grace me with your presence. I am embarrassed that I have nothing to offer, but would you like some water?"
There was no answer.
Gilma, the dandy Eberian Chancellor, tilted his large aquiline nose up with a yawn and lowered his legs. "You seem quite exhausted."
Sedias Thora's complexion was not very good.
"There is something I want you to see."
The Supreme Commander of the Royal Army's gaze was fixed on a bundle of worn papers atop Gilma's desk. They were papers stained dirty with sand. Along the edges of the paper, water stains had turned into yellow blotches.
Gilma picked them up carelessly.
As he flipped through them, page by page, his drowsiness vanished.
It was intelligence on the Kosa army.
"Did the scouts you sent actually do their jobs?"
Gilma was surprised. This was because the lineup of scouts Sedias Thora had sent were all, without exception, complete blockheads.
"These are records Riccart brought back, risking his life."
"I find that hard to believe."
Riccart was a vassal of the Thora house. Gilma had spoken with him once. He was a foolish man who, in a short span of time, had managed to make three or four jokes insulting Eberians.
"Since the vassals of the Thora house are all so excellent, you must have a difficult time,"
Gilma had replied with irony, but Riccart had mistaken it for a compliment.
—However, these were records rich in observation.
Had he hired investigators on the spot?
No, that wasn't it.
There was no mistake that the recorder was a Siddim person. Judging by the language used, it was someone with the education of a noble. However, their experience as a noble was likely shallow. They had experience fighting the Kosa army. They must have either interviewed participants or observed the battles from a distance.
Throughout all the observations, a consistent standard of "how to fight" and "how to win" was maintained. It had the feel of a personal memorandum, not something intended to be shown to others.
Sedias, the Conqueror of Siddim, surely did not believe this was Riccart's work either. He likely brought it to Gilma wanting him to divine whether these records could be trusted.
"This is a most excellent report. It is good enough to use as the basis for establishing our operational axis."
"You think so?" The Conqueror seemed relieved. "You gave it a quick look, right? What did you think?"
"To be blunt," Gilma said curtly, "I thought that we might be able to win."
Sedias Thora slapped his own thigh with his palm. A spirited sound echoed.
"As expected! You have read my mind, Chancellor!"
When thinking about the Kosa people while staying in Siddim, they could seem like invincible invaders exercising demonic abilities, or like uncivilized barbarians who had not received the teachings of the Roma faith; it was difficult to grasp their actual, life-sized image. Especially since Siddim people only had memories of being defeated by the Kosa, there was a sense of inferiority.
However, reading these records allowed one to understand that the opponent was also human.
The Kosa people were human too. They worried and they made mistakes. It wasn't as if they were effortlessly piling up victories simply by riding superior horses.
"There are two other points in these records to note. The massacre at Attaik and the part about the Emperor of Koroi."
The red-haired Eberian spoke while looking down at the records written by an unknown hand.
If they resisted thoroughly, a great massacre might occur that could leave a city uninhabited; if they surrendered, the survival of the Siddim royal family might be permitted, just as it was for the Emperor of Koroi.
"There will be no such thing, Gilma."
When Gilma looked up, the rugged-faced Sedias was glaring at him.
"There is no surrender."
"I see. In that case, the possibility arises that the Siddim royal family will be destroyed."
"I will not let that happen."
"I believe we should also explore the path of surrender."
"We will not surrender."
Whether to surrender or not was for His Majesty to decide in the end. In the first place, surrender was not part of a soldier's job, so it was unreasonable to expect that from Sedias. However, Gilma was slightly bothered by the Supreme Commander's stubbornness.
"Sedias, have you met with the Bishop of Siddim recently?"
"His Eminence, the Bishop of Siddim, has not yet returned from Kindary."
"Have you spoken with him?"
"Unlike you, he is devout. They have things to discuss. Why?"
"No—"
—You should be careful with that monk.
That was what Gilma had wanted to say.
"Well, never mind. I've bothered you."
Sedias Thora seemed to have regained some of his energy. Tucking the Kosa records under his arm, he straightened his back and left Gilma's office.
Ever since losing the favor of His Majesty King Swad Alish VII—or rather, since being pushed out of the circle of people surrounding His Majesty—Gilma had been attempting to approach the Roma Church. He thought that he might be able to exert some influence on His Majesty through the Church.
He had obtained opportunities to speak with Bishop Kabel Kofie of Siddim, but something seemed off. Since Gilma was the Chancellor of the Kingdom of Siddim, he naturally considered the survival of the royal house as the first priority. Bishop Kofie showed understanding for that, yet he demanded that Siddim resist thoroughly.
"You must not surrender."
If Siddim were to surrender, that would be,
—a betrayal of the entire North, and a betrayal of the Roma Church.
That was what Bishop Kofie had said. Gilma had even felt a hint that if a situation like surrender occurred, they would have no choice but to excommunicate the King of Siddim.
—A scent of blood.
Gilma Rigardie grew angry and gave up on the Roma Church connection. He had wanted to say that it was none other than you who nurtured the Kosa into a threat.
It wasn't only because the Bishop's name had come up in the deathbed confession of Marquis Gilmond.
There were vast writings left by Urgil Necrat, who had been beheaded in the street. They were diaries, household accounts, and memoranda. Reading them, one could tell that until the moment his head was severed, Necrat had been moving to suppress the Kosa threat that they themselves had nurtured.
Necrat had simply wanted to stage a Kosa crisis. It was an utterly foolish and dangerous thing to do, but he had pulled it off. Having achieved his goal, the Fourth Army was established, and the number of forts in the east was increased. He likely saw that the Kosa threat was no longer necessary. There were traces that he had contacted nomads scattered across the plains to suppress the Kosa.
The one who actually moved to exert influence over the Kosa and create an opportunity for the unification of the grasslands was the Roma Church. Necrat had collaborated with the Church at first.
And yet, when suppressing the Kosa, Necrat did not rely on the power of the Church. He moved almost entirely alone.
—At some stage, he stopped trusting the Roma Church.
Gilma had found several traces in Necrat's records that suggested this.
Urgil Necrat was a great villain. A wicked challenger to the order of Siddim. An arrogant country bumpkin who ruined himself trying to manipulate two forces too massive—the Roma Church and the Kosa.
—However, he should have been kept alive.
If it were Necrat, he might have been able to keep Kabel Kofie in check.
It would have been ideal if the villains had crushed each other and mutually destroyed themselves.
Perhaps the real villain was not Necrat or Anavis.
Perhaps the Bishop of Siddim was the greatest evil of all.
Gilma had been thinking this lately.
Regardless, the Kosa would come from the grassland nations, riding black horses like a bolt of lightning. He had no choice but to leave the war to Sedias Thora. All Gilma could do was weave intrigues. Specifically, he would follow Urgil Necrat's line.
—In other words, the Tawaru tribe led by a man called Kushitante Zamora.
He would incite them to strike the rear of the Kosa army.
—But, that.
No matter how he thought about it, it wasn't easy. Incompetently, Gilma Rigardie waited for a divine revelation while napping. Unless a significant flash of inspiration descended, Siddim would likely not be saved.
Gilma Rigardie had overlooked one thing. Bishop Kabel Kofie of Siddim was nothing more than an obedient servant of Archbishop Kyle VIII.
To suspect Bishop Kofie of being a great evil was the same as suspecting His Eminence the Archbishop, who was like a bolt of lightning connecting today's world with the Tenshu.
Bishop Kofie believed in the absolute goodness of His Eminence Kyle VIII.
The reason the trees grew lush and the flowers bloomed beautifully was because the Archbishop existed. It was faith that gave orderly meaning to this chaotic world.
It was not respect for Kyle as an individual. The Archbishop was something that possessed successive Archbishops one after another. That "something" bonded with an individual's personality, and a majestic Archbishop was born. This was as wonderful as the birth of the world.
That His Eminence the Archbishop was laughing, his eyes crinkling with wrinkles and his thick cheeks shaking.
"A mage—a disciple, is it? Interesting."
His Eminence the Archbishop found Alf Cedar, who was fired up about slaying the Three Elders, to be amusing.
They were in the office of the Kindary Palace. In the evening, golden-brown light streamed in, and the square warmth falling on the floor seemed to make the dust dance with heat. His Eminence had cleared his schedule to make time for Bishop Kofie.
The Archbishop pondered for a while.
"Let us grant a seal of authority to that disciple."
"A seal? To Alf? He is a boy with no achievements."
"True. In other words, as for me, I wish for that mage to travel safely while relying on the Church. For that purpose, I wish to issue something from my side that guarantees his identity."
"Would a certificate stating that intent not suffice?"
His Eminence nodded three times and sat at the desk with a smile. He took parchment from a drawer, placed a paperweight on it, and dipped a quill into the inkpot.
'I command that the One-Eyed Zarko, who has grey hair and eyes, provide the greatest convenience to his disciple, Alf Cedar. This person is a mage. He is foolish. Nevertheless, I love him. If he asks for food, it shall be given. Money shall be given as necessary. He shall be treated with respect.
He shall not be permitted to use a roof and bed for more than one night.
If this person wishes to send a letter, it must be accepted. Letters addressed to this person must also be delivered. Assistance must be given to resolve this person's illnesses and difficulties. The above shall be regarded as a divine mandate.
Archbishop Kyle VIII, 145th Generation'
"What do you think, Bishop of Siddim?"
Facing the Archbishop's excited expression, he felt hesitant to say what he thought.
"Anyone who holds this will never go hungry for the rest of their life. Is it not a bit overprotective? Alf will simply parasitize the Church."
"That is fine."
Bishop Kofie returned the certificate to the Archbishop. In exchange, he received the seal of the Roma Holy See from His Eminence. It was a seal with a long handle. He heated it over the charcoal fire of a small stove used for boiling tea until it turned red, then returned it to the Archbishop.
His Eminence the Archbishop pressed the brand onto the parchment, above the signature.
"If Alf-kun leaves a private letter at the Church, ensure that letter is delivered to this room. I will deliver it after I have looked through it."
"Understood. I shall notify them."
"I look forward to it. I wonder what will happen once he succeeds in eliminating the three old men."
"Indeed. Your Eminence, I beg you to pity my ignorance and teach me."
The Archbishop was fanning the parchment with a small palm to dry the ink.
"Along with their disappearance, everything cluttered inside the head of the Great King of Kosa will vanish. The Great King's head will become empty. I wish to crown that empty, void head. At that time, we of the Roma Church shall finally be able to say we have encountered a head worthy of crowning."
"Who exactly are these three old men, Manam, Persa, and Nezumo?"
"I met them when I was young." His Eminence the Archbishop stopped fanning and looked down. His small black eyes grew shadowed. "Above the head of the Great King of Kosa, there is a single seat. Those old men sit there now. Let us place our expectations on Alf-kun. He will surely leave that seat vacant."
The carefree Alf Cedar enjoyed the food of the holy city Kindary along with Arsius, Bishop Kofie's attendant. For some unknown reason, Arsius had treated him to food from the stalls.
The Roma holy city Kindary was, first and foremost, magnificent and large in its architecture. While it was somewhat similar to the city of Karnain in Siddim, the scale was on a different level. Finding it novel, he had gone out into the city to sightsee with the attendant.
"Sorry about that. It was super tasty," Alf said, rubbing his bloated stomach with affection. "Why are you being so nice to me?"
"It's because you're stuffing your face with stall food despite having no money. You're a real nuisance."
The road was paved with cobblestones. Pilgrims came one after another from the other side of the road.
Crowds of people arrived without end.
Alf watched the faces of the countless pilgrims passing by. Not a single face was the same.
"Arsius, did you know the world is a round ball?"
"So I've heard."
"I wonder how many people are clinging to that ball."
"Who knows. Why?"
"There are this many people, and everyone is a different person, and everyone is different, right? How is it that, despite that, various things work out?"
"That's probably thanks to faith," Arsius said with a serious expression.
"Thanks to the Tenshu?"
"Not exactly—well, you could say that too. But if there is faith, doesn't that mean there is agreement? I think it means that because everyone agrees on what is important and what is wrong, they become able to talk."
Alf suddenly understood what the Roma Church wanted to do.
The Roma faith likely existed to gather the agreement of various people and create rules. If everyone agreed on the rules, perhaps various things would become smooth. That said, there were this many people in this city alone. It was a far-reaching topic, and also a bit scary.
"Arsius, you were a great guy."
"Stop it. It feels like I'm being made fun of."
When they returned to the lodgings of the Delano Cathedral where they were staying, Bishop Kofie was waiting, his bald head shining.
"Priest—no, Bishop of Siddim-sama."
"Alf. I have something to give you."
Alf was handed a scroll by the Bishop. "What is it?"
"If you find yourself in trouble during your journey, go to the Roma Church and show them this. It says, 'Give him your strength.'"
"As expected of the Bishop of Siddim-sama, it's different. I've been taken care of quite a bit, so I'll give you some kind of thanks."
"I don't need it. Travel is about companionship."
"Thank you, Bishop-sama." Alf was happy that someone as high as the Bishop of Siddim was unexpectedly friendly. "The tide is good, so I'll be going soon. Arsius!"
He looked back at the attendant.
"I'm gonna go give a Koroi woman a piece of my mind. Let's meet in Karnain. Look forward to my souvenir stories. And Bishop-sama."
An anxious color rose in the Bishop of Siddim's eyes.
"Bishop-sama will surely achieve a great feat and leave your name in the history of Siddim."
It wasn't a prediction or a prophecy. Bishop Kofie had a face that looked like he would do such a thing, so Alf simply said it to cheer him up. The Bishop's expression became even more anxious, so it seemed the cheering didn't go very well.
"...What do you mean by that?"
"I'm just saying Bishop-sama is magnificent. Well then."
As he packed his things and went outside, Alf's head became full of the brown-skinned female body.
The matter of the old men was a hassle, but it wasn't good for a grown man to remain a virgin.
—First, this problem is the urgent priority.
Although he was grateful that the clergy were all kind to him, Alf also felt a sense of stiffness. If he were to have a travel companion, he preferred soft breasts and a large backside over a monk.
As if chasing the phantom of a Southern beauty tempting him with half-open eyes, Alf hurried forward.
"This is bad," Manam felt a slight chill.
His spiritual intuition was receiving an abnormal movement of power. It was a power as robust, youthful, and fresh as wild chives. A young power, like something popping and bursting, smelling of a boy's sex appeal, was coming this way. It was approaching.
He felt he was being targeted by that power. He felt a gaze, and he felt he was being smelled. He felt it was chasing him with pure innocence.
"I think it would be better to deal with it early."
"Hmph."
Nezumo and Persa didn't seem to care much.
"That's nothing!" Nezumo had been in a worse mood than usual lately. "More importantly, you should explain the results of the chain!"
The three old men had used magic to add a small amount of cruelty to Great King Geraha's gentle personality. By doing this, a magical chain would occur, and the plan was that Geraha would increase his decisiveness, and world conquest would proceed like a surging tide.
Indeed, Koroi had apparently fallen. However, the conclusion of the chain was the downfall of the three elders. The old men had been distanced from Geraha.
"As I have explained many times, a magical chain does not bring the results one intends. It is precisely because it exceeds the caster's intentions that it can be called magic."
On the other hand, Manam suspected that the magic might have led to Geraha's growth. Geraha had prioritized his awareness as the Great King over the defect in his crotch. Recently, he had apparently begun to show a kingly attitude, letting his staff speak their minds fully, and in the end, deciding for himself and taking responsibility himself.
—In other words, he devoured our magic.
He ate it, swallowed it, and grew by turning it into nutrition.
—Is the Great King, after all, something different?
Manam spoke of this.
"I am of the same opinion," Persa said. "However, that is precisely why I think we should target the Great King's only weakness, the desires of his lower body. This time, listen to my plan—"
Just as Persa was about to begin speaking, a shadow fell over the elders' tent.
The one who pushed aside the entrance curtain and peeked his face in was the painter Matinee.
"What, it's you," Nezumo made a blatantly disgusted face.
"Did you come with the Great King?"
When Manam asked in the Siddim language, the painter nodded. "Yes, that's right."
According to Matinee, the Great King had finally entrusted Koroi to the Tawaru King Kushitante and had returned to the Kandasyata Plateau a while ago. Matinee had gone out of his way to greet the three who had returned to the plateau ahead of him.
"I'm practically under house arrest. Even now, there are guards outside."
"Well, that's because you're a Siddim person," Manam said, and then realized. "Which means, is it finally Siddim's turn next? Is that the Great King's intention?"
"Probably. That's likely the case."
The three elders, including Manam, had met this painter named Matinee in the city of Karnain in the Kingdom of Siddim. They had bestowed upon this man a tiny fragment of the vast knowledge stored by the Three Sages—knowledge regarding painting techniques.
Thinking about it, because of those techniques, this painter might have ended up wandering as far as this place.
—Which means.
Manam thought. When he met this youth in the city of Karnain in Siddim, it could be thought that a single destiny was ignited. Why reunite with that painter at a time like this, in a place like this? This should naturally be considered fateful.
If so, this painter must have come here carrying something fateful.
Manam suddenly understood what Persa had been about to say.
When he looked at Persa, the friend with whom he had spent most of his life nodded with a grin.
"Matinee, there's something I want to ask you," Persa said. "Namely, the painting of the Siddim princess that you showed the Great King."
"Regarding that painting, well—. It seems I got drunk and spoke too much. When I showed the Great King the sketch of Her Highness, he hasn't given it back yet."
"Is the princess really that beautiful?"
"She was twice as beautiful as my immature painting."
Ludo Matinee stared into the air with an entranced face and suddenly shuddered. "Wise elders, I am a Siddim person. I have finally realized that I am a Siddim person through and through. I cannot just stand here and watch my homeland be invaded. Could you lend me your strength? I want to return to my home."
"Stop it," Nezumo said heavily. "What will you do if you return? Scream about the arrival of disaster? Do you want to become a hero or something?"
"It's not like that. I—"
"Stop it. An individual's ability is limited. Nevertheless! In what case does that ability sometimes shake the world and transcend the era! Only those who face themselves and their own abilities can become heroes! Your ability is to paint what people want to see, isn't it! Right now, Kosa is at the forefront of a historical reversal. You are precisely in a position to paint a scene of history!"
Matinee had a face as if he had been struck by lightning.
He nodded deeply several times and began to say, "That may be so."
"Teachers, thank you very much." The painter showed a refreshing smile. "I might end up painting a war. I need to practice painting horses more."
Matinee thanked them and left the tent.
Waiting until the presence faded, Manam suppressed his excitement and spoke to Persa. "Come to think of it, the Great King was looking at the princess's painting very intently."
"Yes. We'll exploit that," Persa said.
"But Geraha loves Hishaku," Nezumo said, unusually speaking sense. "And he loves Hishaku's daughter, Quimel."
"Hmm."
That was certainly true, Manam thought. Thinking about it, it would be difficult to manipulate Geraha using a single young girl as bait.
Persa shook his head.
"Hishaku feels indebted to us. We can do whatever we want with her. Besides, sooner or later, Great King Geraha will need a wife. If he is to share a bed with a wife, our treatment is indispensable. Last time, Geraha swallowed the cruelty we planted. We failed. If so, next time, we will plant something that will act as a poison and make him swallow it."
"Poison? What are you talking about?"
"Dreams and hope."
Persa said this and smiled fearlessly.
Geraha Wolf was shown various cultural artifacts of Koroi, but the only one he liked was the maps. He was presented with several, and had his soldiers collect several more, which he brought back to Kandasyata.
He gave clothes and jewelry to Hishaku as souvenirs.
"Kireru's eldest son is marrying Soan. Will she be angry if I give her this?"
Geraha was lounging and lying down near the hearth.
"I wanted Big Sister to be happy."
"She's happy. But I thought I had distributed victory celebrations to the Wolf clan and the Tokapu clan without gaps, yet I had been distant from Big Sister Kireru's place, so I carelessly forgot."
"I wish she would just do as she likes, but wait. Big Sister Kireru didn't give a celebration for Quimel, did she?"
"At that time, Sister was not in Kandasyata. You mustn't, Geraha. Since you are the Great King, you must be generous. —What is that?"
"Hehe. This is..."
Geraha sat up and spread a map on the cloth. It was a world map.
"This is Kirikiri's country," he said, pointing to the territory of the Byo nation.
"Oh my."
"This belongs to the Ishma tribe. This is Koroi. It's large, isn't it? This place, and these plain nations, are ruled by Kushitante."
"My, it's quite wide. It puts a lot of hard work on the King of the Tawaru."
"That's how it is."
"What about the Kutai tribe?"
"I intend to take this," Geraha pointed to the north with a thick finger.
"Thank goodness, it's not too large."
Hishaku seemed to think that the wider the acquired territory, the more the hardship would increase.
The north produced iron. The iron ore of the north was more than enough to meet the demand of the entire world—this was merely Nahal Bass's imagination, but it was apparently that rich. Even if their own country overflowed with iron, if it could be sold by taking it to foreign countries, the Northerners would dig iron.
If they sold iron, gold would flow into the north in exchange.
That gold might then flow out of the north, replaced, for example, by luxury goods from the east.
"People move for profit,"
Nahal Bass had told him.
"There is no stopping this. People do not pursue profit so much as to seek comfort beyond what is necessary. They pursue profit to live, because they do not want to die. That is why it cannot be stopped."
—In other words, commerce.
Nahal, a clever Kosa person from the Ishma tribe, said:
"The desire for profit is stronger than the impulse for war. The world can be connected by profit. I believe that was the world Great King Aframa sought."
Geraha told Hishaku this story. Commerce had the potential to change the world as powerfully as war.
"Then, if the world is connected by gold, will war disappear?"
"Perhaps."
"I feel like I understand the reason why you should become the Great King."
Moist, entranced eyes looked up at Geraha. Unable to resist, Geraha hugged Hishaku.
"Geraha," his sister-in-law whispered. "Rather than Kushitante of the Tawaru or Kirikiri of the Mamukuri, I think you should have your own sons and entrust the land to your sons. Bloodline is more trustworthy than anything."
"B-but. Quimel is..."
"I am happy that you cherish Quimel. But you know... I think it would be better to continue the treatment from the three sorcerers. If you feel that way, I too wish to receive the Great King's mercy. Hey, Geraha. To tell you the truth."
Geraha waited tensely for Hishaku's words.
"I think you should take a legal wife from a proper, good family. Your older brother was thinking of Princess Sura of the Byo nation. He thought that if you took a young lady from a house with a name, the way the world looks at you would change. Looking back now, I think that is certainly true."
"I like Big Sister. Is that no good?"
"Oh." What reached his ear was a voice frolicking happily. "But it's no good, Geraha. If Big Sister is your comfort, then do so. But make your legal wife someone from a proper house. Is there no royal family in the north?"
Geraha instinctively thought of the portrait of the Northern princess.
Big Sister's hand had been soothing Geraha's arousal for a little while.
"Poor thing. I'll untie your loincloth now."
"No, more than that," Geraha grabbed his wife's shoulder. "I just can't put my trust in those old men. Is it not fine as it is now?"
"Of course," Hishaku laughed. "Since it is your own matter, please do as you wish, Geraha. If you say those old teachers are untrustworthy, I will also stop meeting them."
"...No, it's not that far. It's not that I hate the old men."
It didn't seem to be a matter of affection or whatever, Geraha realized.
Rather, with his dull mind, Geraha realized that Big Sister had been talking about political things, or rather, common sense of the world, or something like social standing in a narrow range.
—Producing children is important.
That must be it.
"I understand. I'll think about it."
"Yes. Now then, please lie down and relax. I'll untie the sash."
"Yeah."
When it came to this, the Great King was like a child.
Yugis Necrat had been lying in a bed at the church of Noz village all day long. Doctor Reich, who had come every day, seemed to be busy and had stopped coming recently. In his place, the one who nursed Yugis was a monk in his forties, Father Sivas.
A typical drinker who drank until he lost his place and was eventually put in a monastery—that was the career Father Sivas described for himself. He apparently worked hard when sober.
"They say monks of old wrote poems praising alcohol and presented them to tavern owners just to eat and drink. The world has become a cold place."
"Is that how it is?" Yugis also sighed. "I thought the current era was more advanced and the world had become better than in the past."
"No, no. Everything was better in the old days. Those days were shining."
Noz village was a village on the southern slope of the mountain, and the sunset was beautiful when evening came.
As the two of them spoke of trivial things and looked at such a sky, a twilight feeling would settle in.
Noz village was also a village visited incessantly by pilgrims. There would be Siddim people too. Yugis had tried asking Father Sivas if he could hear about the state of his homeland from them, but it was completely useless. The Father seemed to have no interest in the world, and especially regarding foreign lands like Siddim or Kosa, he didn't even have basic knowledge.
Yugis gave up and decided to focus on his recuperation.
"See that giant tree over there?" Father Sivas said, pointing out the window. "According to the village elders, that tree was apparently this thin long ago."
The Father showed him by making a circle with both hands.
"No way. Thin enough to be grasped with both hands?"
"Surprising, isn't it?"
"Trees grow too, I see."
That a war was happening must be a lie.
Yugis sometimes felt that way.
He felt ashamed of himself for having made such a fuss about the restoration of the east, war, and the Kosa people. Doing a fixed job every day in a village like this was likely the true way of living. He even looked back on himself, thinking he might have been out of his mind until now.
That feeling was blown away by the reunion with His Eminence the Bishop of Siddim.
When he heard from the church priest that the one who saved Yugis was the Bishop of Siddim, he couldn't believe it. Seeing that he actually came to visit, it seemed to be true. Yugis had almost no memory from the time he fell into the valley until he was carried here.
When he met Bishop Kofie as a child, he was still a bishop. To Yugis, he was an interesting middle-aged man who treated him with a frank way of speaking. His Eminence the Bishop of Siddim came at night and spoke to Yugis in that same tone from back then.
"The one who saved you was not actually me. Remember the name Alf Cedar."
"What kind of person is he?"
"A boy mage."
"A mage, despite being a boy? I would have liked to meet him."
"You know, Yugis. To tell you the truth, I'm thinking that perhaps I should not have saved you."
There was an emptiness in Bishop Kofie's eyes that did not suit him.
"Why?"
"You should not return to Siddim."
For the first time, Yugis was told by Bishop Kofie about the evil deeds committed by his father and his clique. It was a boldness and absurdity that made him laugh involuntarily. The fact that it had gone unexpectedly well was also strange.
"This is no laughing matter. Because of what I and Urgil did, a mountain of Siddim people will die. You are the enemy of all Siddim."
"No, isn't that a bit different?" Yugis stopped laughing. "I can't believe it would come to this just because we gave the Kosa a small amount of money and weapons."
"...Yes. That's right. This is destiny. It is a destiny illuminated by the red star, and it could not be avoided. His Eminence the Archbishop and I wanted to control that destiny somehow. And yet, however, now, I am—terrified."
Seeing His Eminence the Bishop of Siddim cover his face with both hands, Yugis widened his eyes.
"Isn't it much more considerate to think of it as destiny? My father probably didn't believe in the destiny of the stars, though—"
"Someone said that one day, they would achieve a great feat. That is what I fear. That they might achieve a great feat that should not be achieved. But whether I look right or left, my surroundings are full of monsters. It wasn't that I followed my faith to get here. I merely fled this far, chased by monsters—"
"Your Eminence, please be at ease," Yugis said, though he didn't know what the conversation was about. "I'm going to return to Siddim after all."
"Siddim will lose. Destiny cannot be stopped."
The Bishop looked up.
Seeing that his eyes were red, Yugis was surprised again.
"If you return, you will likely be tortured to death."
"No. Soon the wind will change. Sedias Thora will fight a splendid war. If Sedias Thora wins, there is no complaint. But it's also possible he loses. At that time, I will lead Siddim to victory. So it's fine."
Bishop Kofie blinked. "You are the son of the worst villain in Siddim. You are the man most hated and loathed in Siddim. There is no army that will follow you."
"If that's the case, I'll borrow what Your Eminence possesses for a while."
"What? I can't lend you my left arm."
Yugis raised his left arm, which was covered in bandages and missing from the elbow down.
"Doctor Reich cut it off for me. It's a strange thing, but the hand I should have lost hurts. My leg is apparently fully healed, so I can walk and ride a horse."
"That's good, but..."
"My left arm is lucky. Because it has held Princess Lucy."
"Princess Luchentin. That person is now—"
"She is at the convent. I know."
His Eminence the Bishop of Siddim looked as if his jaw were about to drop. "No way—"
"That's right. If I'm that unpopular, I have no choice but to ride on the princess's popularity. If that person raises a flag, people can be gathered. —Then we can fight with that."