Ch.576Episode 21 – Peace in Our Time

In this neighborhood, normal people are almost non-existent.

Especially around me, you couldn’t find a normal person even if you scrubbed your eyes in the Thames River for hours.

At least, that’s what Camilla thought.

Francesca, who seemed mysterious and unworldly from their first meeting, unexpectedly possessed talent in zero-sum games.

What people commonly call “money making money.” Not just stocks and bonds.

She had mastered everything from private loans (which Jews are said to excel at) to corporate bonds (which guarantee a dive into the Thames River the moment a company goes bankrupt).

Rumor had it that she was even venturing into mergers and acquisitions lately.

This reminded Camilla of her mother, who used to wrangle with the legal teams of the “City of London” who treated financial law with contempt despite her being a barrister.

Unless she found a skilled law firm in advance, her mysterious purple-haired magical-Jewish colleague would likely be prosecuted for illegal foreign currency outflow and, with high probability, end up in prison.

Next was Saint Veronica, who approached with an air of complete innocence as if she didn’t have an ounce of self-interest. She was impeccable both professionally and personally.

Since their first encounter involved saving someone’s life, there was a time when Camilla considered the saint to be something of a Good Samaritan.

But her ambiguous identity—neither a devout religious figure nor a perfect politician—crossing boundaries, bothered Camilla.

Above all, whenever their eyes met with the saint who resembled a fox—whether an Arctic or desert fox, she wasn’t sure—

A strangely sinister energy seemed to drip from her delicately curved eyes, giving Camilla an odd feeling.

One might say she seemed to have many secrets?

Thinking about it, Camilla felt she had sensed a similar energy from Francesca a few times as well.

Sure enough.

Her peculiar deduction, half intuition and half speculation, solidified when she discovered Saint Veronica sticking close to Frederick. She heard the saint was an informant he managed.

Yes. Speaking of abnormal people, this one couldn’t be left out.

Frederick.

If someone asked her to “name just one person most detached from common sense,” Camilla would point to Frederick without hesitation.

She would omit the detailed reasons.

Then there was Akande, a warrior race that couldn’t control their boiling blood whenever combat broke out. Well…

Though his flaw was turning into a single-celled amoeba as soon as a fight started, he behaved normally otherwise.

He diligently participated in religious activities and made efforts to befriend his awkward colleagues.

Being the only one from the Mauritanian continent, and a nomad at that, he had many stories to tell.

Sitting around a campfire, looking up at the desert stars while listening to Akande’s tales, the fire would turn to embers and the sun would begin to illuminate beyond the horizon. That’s how entertaining his stories were.

Although at first glance he looked like a steroid-pumped South American drug cartel enforcer…

That was just a misunderstanding due to his Dwayne Johnson-like physique covered in full-body tattoos, wasn’t it?

People shouldn’t be judged by appearances alone.

Camilla believed that if Akande could fix his tendency to go crazy for fighting like a cat finding catnip at the sight of blood, there would be no one more diligent and sincere than him.

In other words, his love for fighting was so intense that it overshadowed all his good qualities.

A prospective economic criminal.

A lobbyist and national security leaker.

A spy.

A fighter.

It was an undeniably dismal lineup.

In this bleak reality where normal people were hard to find.

Camilla, who considered herself the only normal person in this chaotic multiverse, often felt like vomiting blood like Jesus climbing Golgotha Hill. (Of course, the view that Camilla = normal person lacks objectivity, and others might disagree)

For such a Camilla, the only person she could trust and rely on.

In common parlance, her “rock” was Lucia alone.

So, Camilla had expectations.

Though it might be burdensome for Lucia, she hoped she would step up and maintain stability. If only the kind-hearted Lucia could act as a brake, she couldn’t ask for more.

Wasn’t that reasonable?

How many people could be as kind and upright as her?

At least in Camilla’s judgment, Lucia was the only person among her colleagues who could be called a person of integrity.

And as everyone except Camilla knew,

The world was not so accommodating.

It’s precisely because you have expectations that you get betrayed.

“…You hit the Pope’s head with a mace?”

“…Yes.”

Lucia, whom Camilla had believed without doubt to be the only normal person among her colleagues.

Attempted assassin, confirmed.

Episode 21 – Peace in Our Time

The first and last attempted papal assassination by a saint in Vatican history.

The fact that an unprecedented internal rebellion had occurred was shocking enough, but what was truly mind-blowing was that the protagonist of this incident was none other than the saint.

Saint Lucia herself.

“What the…”

I was so dumbfounded that I could only stare blankly into space for a while. Realistically, I had no choice.

Who was Lucia?

The second saint to appear in church history. One of two saints existing in the same era.

Unlike Saint Veronica, her senior in the field, Saint Lucia’s reputation was nothing but praise.

Whether bishops or cardinals, even those politically opposed to the saint were quick to praise her personal qualities, character, and conduct.

It shouldn’t be overlooked that Lucia, quietly focusing on her duties, stood in stark contrast to Veronica, who was constantly gossiped about for her eccentricities and crazy antics.

Even taking that into account, Lucia was clearly a person of integrity and virtue.

But now, what? This saint did what?

Hit the Pope’s head with a mace?

“…Lucia.”

After repeatedly rubbing my face, I quietly approached the iron bars and addressed her.

“I’m asking just in case… You didn’t attempt assassination with the intention of ‘I’ve been a saint, now I want to be Pope too, let me take out Raphael first and seize the holy land,’ did you?”

Lucia met my gaze with a clank of her chains.

The saint’s expression was subtly sour, as if she had just heard German humor, famously the least funny in the world.

“Do I look like that kind of person to you?”

“Under normal circumstances, I would have said no…”

As my voice trailed off, the image of Lucia swinging the mace flashed through my mind.

The saint beating bishops and cardinals with a club.

As that scene replayed like a panorama in my head, my tongue became immovable, as if nailed in place.

Logically, who would have imagined Saint Lucia beating bishops and cardinals? Anyone familiar with Lucia’s usual conduct would have doubted their ears.

But she did it.

As if punishing the old men (bishops and cardinals judging by common sense) who underestimated her abilities and determination, the saint personally took up a mace and struck their backsides.

And if that wasn’t enough, now she had even smashed the Pope’s noggin with a bang!

Though she failed, this too would go down in history.

With this, Lucia had proudly entered history as “the attempted assassin of Pope Raphael”!

It was comparable to the great deeds of Adolf who killed Hitler, Lee Harvey Oswald who performed the first long-distance craniotomy on John F. Kennedy in North America, or Lü Bu who completed the Human Torch by sticking a wick in his third father’s navel.

…This is maddening.

“Absolutely not.”

“……”

“Really. Please believe me.”

Seeing Lucia humbly downplaying her achievement, I couldn’t help but wipe away a tear. I should practice now in case I face a religious trial later.

Who knows?

If even a saint could smash the Pope’s head, the Inquisition might implicate me, a foreign intelligence agent, on charges of instigating assassination and send me to the stake along with Lucia.

If that’s the case, shouldn’t those who can survive try to survive?

Wiping my eyes, I began urging my “only colleague” to escape.

“Camilla, let’s get out of here quickly. We might get arrested for conspiracy to assassinate at this rate.”

“Isn’t it already too late? They might be surrounding the entrance waiting for us.”

“It’s when you think it’s too late that you need to move. Come on, lead the way, quickly!”

“That sounds like some kind of proverb. But why are you sending me ahead…?”

“To throw you as bait if necessary.”

“……”

As Camilla gave me a soulless stare.

“Everyone? Can’t you hear me?”

The “attempted assassin” or “traitor” who was our colleague until about two minutes ago kept muttering that there was a misunderstanding.

“It’s clear that I laid hands on His Holiness the Pope, but it’s not as serious as you’re concerned about.”

“…Ah, yes.”

“Besides, assassination? Why are you treating someone who is perfectly alive as if they were deceased?”

“If you hit someone’s head with a mace… wouldn’t you be tried for murder whether they lived or died…?”

Legally, there may be distinctions between assault resulting in death, injury resulting in death, negligent homicide, murder, and so on, but still, a mace is a bit much.

This can hardly be seen as an accident. Even a 7-year-old child would recognize this as a premeditated crime.

I should have known from the time she went out to pray at 4 AM every morning in the snowstorm-ridden northern Kien. A normal person wouldn’t go to dawn prayers seven days a week without fail on a battlefield.

Moreover, for such a devout “religious person” to attack the “Pope” with a “sacred relic” of a mace?

And then her excuse was this:

“Anyway, let’s say that’s the case. So why did you hit Raphael? There must be a reason, right?”

“While on my way to see His Holiness due to the stagnant bishops’ meeting, I happened to receive advice that there’s nothing better than a duel for resolving complicated issues.”

She says she just went for it because communication seemed impossible. In other words, she took off her rank insignia and had a showdown.

Around this point, I felt my mind becoming hazy. Camilla came over to support me, in case I was mistaken.

“No… Is this the Dark Ages? Trial by combat or what?”

“It wasn’t quite a trial. Due to the extreme differences in position between His Holiness and myself, finding a compromise was simply too difficult…”

That’s exactly what trial by combat is.

Peek- Two hands emerged from beneath the tightly wound chains, repeatedly touching and separating.

Perhaps embarrassed by her own words, Lucia kept fidgeting with her fingers and palms. It was distracting.

Then suddenly, in a calm voice, she opened her mouth:

“Nevertheless, His Holiness is safe. He only lost consciousness briefly, with no other injuries. From the beginning, the duel… I’m not sure if it can be called a duel, but I requested it, and Raphael His Holiness gladly accepted, so it was a fair and square duel.”

“Yet you’re bound in chains.”

“……”

The saint, once again tight-lipped, hung her head low. The tips of her ears were bright red.

Whether from shame or something else, it didn’t matter. What was important now wasn’t the embarrassment Lucia might be feeling.

Like the Führer in the Berlin bunker spitting blood before a map,

I gasped for breath as if about to break and barely managed to continue speaking.

“Just who, who… What gutless character did you consult that led to the conclusion of taking off rank insignia and having a showdown? Tell me their name.”

The most likely candidate was Veronica.

Nothing this crazy woman did would surprise me. To be honest, I couldn’t think of any other candidate. More precisely, any power figure who would incite Lucia to fight the Pope.

But as they say,

It’s easier to be scammed because you trust.

The saying “it’s the people you know who are scary” exists for a reason.

“…Ugh, actually, His Highness the Grand Duke-“

– Blink.

– Blink blink.

After my eyelids rapidly opened and closed, I could acutely understand what it feels like to have “one’s lungs turned inside out.”

Camilla, dangling from my arm, was in a similar state.

“Holy shiiiit!!!”

“Is this why you didn’t come with us, Professooor!?”

Of course, no matter how much we screamed, there would be no answer from the old man, so Lucia only buried her head in her skirt as if embarrassed.

Plop.

*

“……”

“What’s wrong, Your Highness?”

“Nothing. Just…”

Alexandra Petrovna put down her teacup and looked around with a curious expression. As if someone might be gossiping about her.

The surroundings were only quiet.

In the neat dacha (дача) that showed signs of age, there were only the Grand Duke herself and the owner of the house. So it must have been her imagination. She dismissed it with a casual gesture.

“It’s nothing. I must have mistaken the sound of the wind outside.”

“Even you can be startled, it seems. A person who didn’t flinch even against the demons of that frozen land, now startled by the wind.”

Pour…

A table full of cobalt blue tea sets. Tilting the small teapot, tea with a reddish glow stimulates the nose.

A subtle fragrance, a warmth that heats the body. Sitting by the fireplace watching the snowstorm, it feels as if time is flowing slowly.

“You seem deep in thought.”

Prime Minister Stolypin put down the small teapot. Grand Duke Alexandra Petrovna, who had been staring blankly at the window, made a light snorting sound.

“Fatigue.”

“Could it be that what’s hindering Your Highness’s rest is worry? Or perhaps concern?”

Like white snow settling, eyelids fell over blue eyes.

The Grand Duke’s silence implied much, and the Prime Minister easily noticed it.

Stolypin asked and Alexandra Petrovna answered.

“How is your disciple’s education progressing?”

“Magic studies are teachable, but etiquette shows no improvement despite my efforts. Still, it’s entertaining.”

“When I asked you to focus on nurturing the next generation, you firmly refused… Surprising. I hear the positions of Imperial University Magic Dean and Elemental School Head at the Magic Tower are still vacant.”

“Stop it. Do you intend to work an old woman with her days numbered until she’s ready for the mausoleum?”

“If I could have worked you, I would have done so 40 years ago.”

“The future of the empire looks bleak.”

It was the usual banter. Alexandra Petrovna smiled faintly.

The Prime Minister asked and the Northern Grand Duke answered.

“The meeting place has been set as Bahar. As Foreign Minister Nepomnyashchy worried, the Rushan Federation seems to be positioning itself as a mediator.”

“Has the Foreign Ministry’s position changed?”

“The prevailing view is that we shouldn’t hand over the key to the Rushan Federation. Considering the hostile relationship between the Ashtistan Republic and the Rushan Federation, our empire must step in to maintain balance. As requested by the Republic’s government.”

“Busy officials won’t let an old woman rest peacefully. What can I do? I’ll have to go see my old friend again. It would be nice to see the shaman too, while I’m at it.”

The Northern Grand Duke moistened her throat with tea.

Imperial cabinet documents occupied the space beside the tea set. The Prime Minister spoke:

“Rumors are circulating that Princess Anastasia has formed secret ties with security agency officials. Currently, only a few ministers are aware-“

“Who told you this?”

“Philip.”

“…Margarita’s maternal grandfather, I see.”

What followed was a nod.

“The bond between the two princesses is truly deep. So, what is Margarita doing?”

“She’s setting an example as a royal by engaging in charitable activities such as pension fund raising and social organization donation events.”

“Was Philip’s hometown in the west?”

“Yes, it was.”

“She’s stirring up unnecessary trouble.”

Alexandra Petrovna nodded with a seemingly indifferent expression, but the shrewd Prime Minister skillfully read the fragments contained in her blue eyes.

“What should be done about the issue between Princess Anastasia and Princess Margarita?”

“Leave them be.”

The Prime Minister asked and the Archmage answered.

“Keep it secret from the Crown Prince. Until further notice, you have neither seen nor heard anything. Understood?”

“Yes.”

“By the way, there’s no news of Angelica.”

Prime Minister Stolypin reported that “there are no separate matters to report regarding Princess Angelica.” Instead, he said he would organize and submit other documents in writing soon, which Alexandra Petrovna permitted with a slight nod.

The quiet northern dacha.

The snowstorm, now transformed into a blizzard, begins to roar loudly across the land.

With the gentle warmth of the black tea heating her insides, the Archmage closed her eyelids for a moment and surrendered herself to the armchair.

“Still no word from my one and only disciple.”

At that moment, suddenly frowning, she grumbled in a somewhat resentful tone:

“Does this mean she doesn’t care about her master at all?”

It was a joke, either sarcastic or self-deprecating.

“How could that be? Surely she must be too busy with urgent matters.”

“What urgent matters? She’s probably completely absorbed in snacking again.”

Unfortunately, the Archmage’s conjecture was off the mark.

Right now, Camilla was indeed too busy to even think about contacting her.

It was in the early dawn, after the night had completely passed, that the disciple’s resentful voice flew into her master’s magic crystal ball.

Along with the visit of an unexpected guest.