Chapter 46 – The Footsteps of an Ancient Saint (３) February 22, 2025

“This is…”

How to process this? Grandeus… here?

“This is it! I found it!”

Philbar, parasol in hand, waved a cloth triumphantly.

“See or hear something?”

“Yes.”

Cariel glanced at Alesia and the Baronenes family.

“You know Grandeus, right?”

“Of course. Why?”

“…He was Saint Cariel’s master.”

Philbar stared, then his eyes widened.

“What?! Wait… you know Grandeus’s identity? That’s… not common knowledge.”

His expression shifted rapidly. He glanced around, then whispered,

“This simplifies things. But… keep it quiet.”

“……”

“Exactly. This could… destabilize the Church, the very concept of knighthood. They’d cover it up.”

“Hide the truth?”

“Truth is irrelevant. Perception matters. We’re not hiding it… just… not sharing it. We’re not doing anything wrong.”

“Let it rest for 500… 1,000 years. Then, perhaps…”

“……”

“Humanity… civilization… is fragile. Wise individuals might accept it, but many won’t. And some will… exploit it.”

Cariel nodded slowly.

“I… understand.”

“A bittersweet victory. Inspiring, though. Now, back to work. This… didn’t happen. Agreed? We’ll… coordinate our stories.”

Philbar’s parasol drew attention. A commotion started.

“The Baron!”

“Lord Baronenes!”

Roia calmed the crowd.

“So… this is the place?”

“Yes. Saint Cariel… died here.”

Philbar glanced at Cariel.

“Hmm.”

Alesia looked somber, watching the crowd.

“I’ll recreate the scene… with magic. But… the street’s too crowded. Clear the area. And a barrier. After sunset. We’re here for… confirmation.”

Philbar, inspired, retreated to his carriage.

“You heard him.”

Roia addressed the crowd.

“Dismissed! Reconvene this evening!”

“You two… enjoy the festival preparations.”

To Alesia and Cariel. They nodded.

“Let’s visit the church. You were going anyway, right?”

Cariel followed her.

“You can’t wear that all day.”

She grumbled as they walked, enjoying the festive atmosphere. Two days until the festival. He’d planned to visit the church anyway.

“……”

Plans never worked out.

The church, atop a small mountain, nearly 200 uneven stone steps leading up. Spiraling sections made it challenging. The view was supposedly rewarding, but even that was partially obscured by the mountain itself. A nearby couple complained about it.

“Can I… climb the church?”

“Up there? Why?”

“The view.”

“Try if you can.”

Alesia didn’t seem hopeful. But Cariel scaled the wall, effortlessly, like a vertical sprint.

“Whoa!”

“An elf?”

“So fast!”

He reached the roof. The view… different, but… not… inspiring. His emotions… still muted. Indifference had its benefits, but the world felt… dull. Lifeless. Empty. He was getting used to it.

“……”

He stepped off the roof, falling. Gasps below.

Thud!

He landed, a controlled descent, a seamless roll.

“Where’d you learn that?”

“…It’s… natural.”

It had become… instinctive. Not his own power, though. Perhaps… compensation for his lack of mana.

“How?”

“Gaps in the wind… hard to explain.”

“Hmm.”

“You could do it too, Alesia.”

“…I could. But the hassle… not worth it.”

She seemed… thoughtful.

“Let’s go inside.”

Cariel sighed, glancing at the church entrance. Churches… uncomfortable. Not the solemnity, the sacred air, but… the memories of Ermina.

Inside, surprisingly simple. High ceiling, stained glass, rainbow light. Beautiful, sacred, but… he felt nothing. A cross-shaped interior. And at the center…

…Statues.

A kneeling man, gripping his sword, his forehead resting on the hilt, eyes closed. An artist’s tribute to Saint Cariel, five years in the making. Around him, figures in rags, men, women, children, their faces etched with sorrow, touching him, leaning against him, weeping. Or rather, their faces expressed weeping. Statues couldn’t cry.

Worshippers and knights prayed, heads bowed. Others stood in silent contemplation.

“I’ll change. Look around.”

Alesia left. Silence returned. A respectful hush.

Cariel found a corner.

“Why did Grandeus teach Cariel?”

–How should I know?–

She seemed surprised.

–Knowing much doesn’t mean knowing all. I’m Wisdom, not Omniscience.–

“……”

–You came here. Not my doing. Why? Did you expect this?–

“Of course not.”

It was baffling. Grandeus’s swordsmanship. Grandeus’s armor. And now… Saint Cariel… connected to Grandeus. He wouldn’t have known, if he hadn’t come here.

–A strange coincidence? Perhaps… fate.–

“……”

That made it… stranger. If he accepted that… his life, his suffering… preordained? It made him angry. A pawn in someone’s game.

“I don’t care about… knights.”

He didn’t want it. No reason to. Only… shattered pride remained. No admiration, no longing. He didn’t wish for it, hope for it, dream of it.

If this was his destiny… he’d reject it. Even if it killed him. Even if… someone else desired it. He wouldn’t be that pawn.

====

He questioned the Demon King.

“Your people… curse you… how does it feel?”

–I told them to. Practice. Every human encounter. They mean it, too.–

Surprising. Did she lack ego? No desire for recognition?

–Different values. Different goals. I have desires.–

–I fear only… losing His favor. Everything else… is irrelevant.–

Another form of arrogance, perhaps.

“The Golden Rule… why?”

–To teach… respect.–

So…

–They could… communicate… negotiate… as equals. Preemptive education.–

Demons lacked that. Only contracts.

–Even barbarians… are civilized… compared to demons.–

“So… they changed… because of you?”

–Partly. But it’s unavoidable. Wolves and sheep… maybe. But birds and fish… in the same pen? Impossible.–

–Give up. Attachment, obsession… enemies of wisdom.–

She was… resolute. He wondered… when would he finally break her?

“Waiting long?”

Alesia returned, dressed in loose-fitting men’s clothes, the brown top accommodating her chest. A crimson sash added a touch of style.

“No. I was… entertained.”

“Entertained? Here?”

“People… buildings… structures… each with its own… story.”

Like…

“This church… the labor, the sweat, the time… The statue…”

“…Observant, aren’t you?”

“Huh?”

“Most people… see only the surface.”

“Uh…”

He’d just been… talking. But she’d misinterpreted it.

“Thank you.”

“No need. Just stating the obvious.”

…Truly… a good person.

“……”

Saint Ermina… revered, holy, compassionate. A distant figure. But Alesia… so different. He hid his discomfort behind silence and smiles.

A festival begins in its preparations.

Back in the city, laughter filled the crowded streets. Children, bright-eyed, excited. One offered him fruit, remembering Luke’s introduction. The rhythmic clang of hammers. Children playing, flower-laden carts, street sweepers, a singer being playfully heckled.

So… vibrant. Peaceful.

He watched, enjoying the atmosphere, until sunset.