Chapter 63
The Pope.
The earthly representative of Kiria.
He had held that title long before the Empire even existed—and even after the Empire was founded, he remained a figure worthy of being called “His Holiness.”
“Your Holiness.”
“Yes, Johan. What is it?”
“We’re approaching the Empire’s border.”
“Oh, already?”
At that moment, the Pope was en route to the Empire.
He was escorted by the Holy Knights, clad in gleaming white armor, and flanked by five Cardinals.
The Saintess traveled with them as well.
For the Pope to leave the Holy Nation was rare—so rare that even with centuries of history, the number of such journeys could be counted on one hand.
And yet, when the Pope declared he would visit the Empire, no one dared oppose him.
Because it was Kiria who chose the Pope, and thus, the Pope’s will was considered Kiria’s will.
Likewise, only one chosen by Kiria herself—the Saintess—could oppose the Pope.
But she had no intention of stopping him.
And so, the decision for the Pope to visit the Empire had been made swiftly and without resistance.
“Tch. This damn carriage is way too excessive,” the Pope muttered as he looked out at the passing landscape.
Despite his humble nature, the Pope’s carriage was a spectacle—perhaps even grander than that of the Emperor himself.
Its wheels were crafted from timber found deep in the heart of the Great Forest, adorned with rare white leaves from the same woods. Areas not decorated with leaves were inlaid with pure gold.
And as if that weren’t enough, the carriage retained the defensive enchantments once bestowed by a green dragon—able to withstand even a dragon’s magic several times over.
An immeasurable treasure by any standard. But to the Pope, it was all just... too much.
“When was this thing made again?”
“It was a gift from the Great Forest when the First Pope was crowned,” Johan replied.
“Ah, right. That’s what I thought.”
The Pope almost said more but stopped himself, not wanting to take his frustration out on an innocent carriage.
Before long, two tall banners appeared on the horizon.
One bore the symbol of the Empire.
The other displayed the crest of House Grepa.
The Empire’s western Marquis had come to greet him personally.
“I greet His Holiness the Pope.”
The man who practically ruled the western region like a king—and who would soon be officially granted a royal title Marquis Grepa, cousin to the Emperor himself, had come in person.
Even for visiting monarchs, such treatment would’ve been unthinkable. But for the Pope, it was only fitting.
“I greet Marquis Grepa. You truly resemble your predecessor.”
“And Your Holiness is as ever.”
“Oh? Have we met before?”
“I once caught a glimpse of Your Holiness from afar, when I attended a banquet with the late Lord of my house. It was held in the Holy Nation.”
“Ah, yes, I remember now. Your predecessor visited once to offer his blessings for the marriage of the Crown Princess—who was, if I recall, your aunt?”
“Yes, Her Majesty the Empress Dowager is my aunt.”
Now that he thought about it, this man had already been present back when the Emperor’s grandfather reigned.
Still, such memories weren’t of particular importance to Fried. He quickly moved the conversation forward.
“You’ve come a long way. You must be tired. There’s a banquet prepared at Count Chern’s estate nearby. Please rest for the night, and we can depart for the capital tomorrow.”
“You’ll be accompanying me?”
“His Majesty has summoned me, so of course I will go.”
A carefully delivered message: all vassals move at the Emperor’s command.
A short play, scripted by Fried and approved by the Emperor—but the Pope understood the meaning perfectly.
“Ah, and… has the Saintess accompanied you?”
When Fried referred to the Saintess without honorifics, the Cardinals and Holy Knights visibly bristled.
The moment their brows furrowed, Fried’s knights let their presence flare in response.
Not because they sought to provoke the Holy Nation—
It was simply a reflex: an instinctive reaction toward those who dared show disrespect in their lord’s presence.
Fried calmly gestured for his knights to stand down, and the air settled, but the Holy Knights’ faces remained stiff.
“…Yes. I’m here as well, Marquis,” the Saintess said as she stepped forward to face him.
“Ah, it’s you. I have a message from Marquis Audas,” Fried said casually.
The Saintess immediately focused, knowing that “Audas” referred, of course, to the hero Xian.
“He told me that he’s currently beyond the Empire on imperial business. You won’t be able to see him.”
“…Ah…”
And just like that, the Saintess’s reason for following them into the Empire was gone.
“The Empire certainly lives up to its name.”
That comment came from Johan, who stood closest to the Pope.
“Every knight is elite. And excluding the Marquis himself, there were two Masters among his retinue. They surpass even the Royal Guard of Xere.”
“How do they compare to you?”
“…I could defeat the knights. The Marquis himself doesn’t seem all that overwhelming, but considering the famed swords under his command, he’d be a formidable opponent.”
“Tch. And what about their Knight Commander?”
“That man would definitely lose to the Marquis.”
“I see.”
The Empire’s true strength didn’t lie in its knights or Masters—but that didn’t matter much to the Pope. To Johan, though, it clearly did.
“Anyway, what of the Saintess?”
“…She seems drained. No energy.”
It was no secret within the Holy Nation that the Saintess harbored feelings for the Hero.
And it was just as obvious why her spirits were low now.
“Send word to the Knight Commander. Have him escort the Saintess to find Brother Xian.”
“…Are you sure that’s wise?”
“The Emperor isn’t fond of the Saintess. There’s no benefit to having them meet.”
“S-still… sending the Knight Commander himself…”
“Johan.”
“Yes, Your Holiness?”
“If the Emperor wanted to kill me in the capital, do you think the presence of the Knight Commander would make a difference?”
“…Understood.”
After Johan left, the Pope exhaled a long, weary sigh.
“…Was there truly no other way?”
He didn’t entirely blame the beastkin for their actions.
If Kiria had been sealed—and there was a way to undo it—what would he have done?
Of course, if the method involved massacre and war, Kiria would never approve.
And yet… many would still be tempted.
But it had gone too far.
Too many Imperial citizens had died. Too many beastkin had perished. The rift between them had grown irreparable.
Now, the Emperor had a reason—a justification—for his deep distrust of other races.
And worst of all…
The Emperor had become too powerful.
Yes, he had always been strong. The Empire had always been a formidable force.
But to wage war against the entire continent? That had once been questionable.
Victory might have been possible—but only barely, and with terrible losses.
And from the Emperor’s point of view, there had always been the unpredictable factor of the Tower Master—an overwhelming threat that couldn’t be ignored.
But now?
“…Of all things, a new god had to be born within the Empire.”
If only that god had emerged as some eccentric recluse… or a wandering free soul with no interest in politics.
But thinking about it again—perhaps it was better this way.
If someone like the current Emperor had been born in another kingdom…?
Then the Emperor would’ve become a god-slayer, or the Empire would’ve been reduced to ash.
“At least they say the Emperor’s personality has changed… maybe there’s room for dialogue now.”
According to the reports, the Emperor’s demeanor had softened in recent times.
He joked with the dukes and high lords, spared people he would’ve once executed without hesitation…
Only days ago, he had shown remarkable leniency to two nobles who had insulted the Princess and tried to manipulate the cadets under his protection.
That story had solidified the reports.
He’s beginning to resemble the ones I once knew…
“…Kiria?”
The voice echoed in the Pope’s mind.
A rare event—something that happened only a few times a year. But lately, it had been happening more and more often. He no longer found it strange.
“He is firm with those who threaten him, or those who stand as his equal… but toward others, he is remarkably kind.
Not all gods are like that—but many once were.”
“There was a time,” Kiria continued, “when a god named Faura, god of flame, was mocked by a transcendent who destroyed his temple and spat on his name. Faura didn’t even flinch.”
“…He didn’t respond to that?”
“He did not. But one day, when the Fire Spirit King claimed that his flames were the hottest in the world… Faura burned all his underlings and cast the Spirit King into another realm.”
The Pope couldn’t quite wrap his mind around it.
But what could he do? If a god says it, who was he to argue?
“Ah, child. That’s not even what I came to tell you.”
The Pope closed his eyes and focused, listening closely.
Kiria’s voice rang out again, resolute and urgent.
“Child, go to the Emperor. Speak my words. Someone has remembered the forgotten. And traces of those who vanished… have begun to reappear.”
That was the real reason for the Pope’s journey to the Empire.
Officially, he came to mediate between the Empire and the Kingdom.
But that was only a pretense.
“Guide the Emperor to extend his reach across the continent. And let him do so with the least possible bloodshed.”
The Pope had come… to help the Emperor unify the continent.
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