Inside the tent, not a single sound of an ant could be heard. An old man was quietly meditating with his eyes closed.
The emblem of the Goddess Church depicted on his pure white priest’s robe revealed that he was the Pope.
Without even a priest beside him for his usual practice, he repeated his breaths to calm his mind.
As the sound of the wind slipping through the curtain gaps ceased, the sound of footsteps approaching from thin air was heard.
With the heavy thud, the Pope quickly recognized the identity of the approaching figure. There was only one person who could enter this place without any restrictions from the priests.
“Well, I never expected my duke would be so rude,” he mused.
“I didn’t think you’d realize that only now,” the man mocked with a snicker.
At the sound of a snort, the Pope opened his eyes.
Gray hair and silver eyes. The sharp gaze and eerie aura were enough to make even the Pope hesitate for a moment.
In other words, his impression was quite filthy.
“It’s been a while since we had this private meeting, Pope.”
Abel.
One of the four dukes of the Empire of Arye, and someone with a history akin to a bad omen with the Pope himself. Once, he had fought alongside the Pope on the battlefield.
Snap.
When he snapped his fingers, two cushions fell from the air.
It was still powerful magic, just like during the Monster Extermination War. Within the Mage Empire, no one handled space magic better than Abel.
He thought back to when he struggled to learn even simple shield magic as a child. How much time had passed, he wondered.
“Please, sit.”
Without hesitation, Abel plopped down onto a cushion, pointing a hand at the Pope. Amused, the Pope slowly rose from the floor.
Though they spoke formally, Abel’s rudeness was not so different from their past meetings.
Back then, he used to call him an old man, so perhaps he was slightly improved.
Yet, it was still clear that Abel didn’t think much of him.
“Yeah. It’s been a long time since the two of us met. Why hasn’t anyone come to visit all those ten years?”
“Ah, that was your line first, wasn’t it? Don’t take it personally.”
The Pope grumbled as Abel narrowed his eyes and glared at him. Abel was unbothered and shot back shamelessly.
“Are you really holding onto such petty things, man?”
“That was you being petty first, you know.”
Abel let out a dry laugh as he reached into the air.
Without a single chant, a spatial rift opened, and he rummaged inside, pulling out two wine glasses before tossing one to the Pope.
Using his divine power, the Pope barely managed to catch it. Seeing this, Abel let out a slight chuckle and spoke.
“You’ve gotten quite old. You can’t even catch a glass properly.”
“I’m over a hundred now, so it’s only natural.”
Counting roughly, he’d lived for well over a century. Naturally, it was normal to be weakening by now.
He never intended to live this long in the first place, yet the promise he made in his youth still bound him.
“It’s age, not just years, right?”
Pointing this out to the reminiscence-filled Pope, Abel retrieved a bottle of unique liquor from his space rift. At the sight of the strange bottle shape, the Pope’s eyes widened in surprise.
He quickly recognized that it was a rare ginseng brew, known for its difficulty to procure.
Before becoming a priest, he was known as a heavy drinker, so he could identify it instantly. As the Pope’s gaze fixated on the ginseng brew, Abel smirked.
“Looks like you still love your drink.”
“I don’t drink because I can’t find any.”
“If the priests knew how much the Pope loved his liquor, they’d be falling over in shock.”
“Ha, now I can’t drink for my health, so it’s no wonder they don’t know.”
The Pope lamented, momentarily fiddling with his wine glass before setting it down. Watching him, Abel tossed the liquor bottle into the air.
A white magic circle appeared above, catching the bottle and then began pouring it into the Pope’s glass.
As the transparent liquor gurgled out from the bottle, the Pope swallowed hard without meaning to.
“Health? What health? Since when did you start worrying about that?”
“I’ve been taking care of it since the war ended.”
“Then it’s only been a mere ten years.”
At the Pope’s words, Abel retorted mockingly.
“…Has it been that long already?”
Ten years.
The Pope muttered, reminiscing about the first time he met Abel.
The war sparked when the Kingdom of Prillecha turned the Kingdom of Numen and the Empire of Arye into enemies. He was thrust into the conflict in his middle age.
“I remember meeting you there.”
After spending over twenty years as a priest on the battlefield, he encountered a young Imperial soldier.
A boy who turned to slaughter blindly as he fought merely to survive.
He was as fragile as glass, but among the young soldiers of the Empire, he was the only one to survive until the end.
That same boy had now become one of the four dukes of the Empire and had even reached the pinnacle of a great mage.
The passage of time felt exquisitely cruel.
“I was full of youthful vigor back then.”
The Pope murmured while enjoying the aroma of his drink. At this sight, Abel sighed, finding it absurd.
“You were full of vigor? Back then you were just some old man.”
“Hah. Is it too much to say that to an old man like me?”
“Consider it the price for receiving expensive liquor.”
Even after all those years, Abel’s arrogant nature hadn’t changed a bit.
What used to irk him back then now felt oddly welcoming.
They say old men find joy in everything, and it seemed that he must have aged indeed. The Pope internally contemplated as he quietly sipped his glass.
With a face lost in memories, Abel refrained from speaking. He merely poured himself another glass.
The transparent liquor flowed gently through the narrow neck of the bottle and filled his glass.
He downed it all in one go, feeling something warm seep into his chest.
Watching that, the Pope scolded him disdainfully.
“A fellow who doesn’t know how to enjoy his drink. Who chugs good stuff down like that?”
“What does it matter? I’ll drink it the way I want, it’s my liquor.”
“Ugh. This is why I don’t want a personal meeting with you.”
“I’m not pouring any more.”
“Thinking about it, maybe drinking like that isn’t so bad.”
Abel chuckled at the Pope’s quick change of heart. Just like back then, he was still that foolish old man.
In front of the Pope who tilted his glass again, he snapped his fingers. A massive mana sensation washed over him, causing the Pope to pause momentarily.
Whooooom…
With a vibrating sound ringing in his ears, a colossal barrier began to surround the tent. Even someone without knowledge of magic like the Pope could feel how powerful that spell was.
Given that he had been bored seeing Abel’s magic countless times on the battlefield, he quickly recognized the nature of the barrier.
‘A silence barrier.’
A barrier designed explicitly to prevent sounds from escaping within.
Abel was known as the Grim Reaper of Silence because of this magic back on the battlefield.
Using that barrier at this very moment meant that what they were about to discuss shouldn’t be heard by anyone.
So he hadn’t come just for a drink after all. The Pope set down his empty glass and looked at Abel.
“Pope, have you lost your divine mark?”
The divine mark.
It was a scar proving that he directly received blessings from the Goddess, validating him as a devoted figure deserving of the Goddess’s favor.
For both the Pope and the Saint candidates, the divine mark served as the most critical means of proving their unwavering faith in the Goddess.
Losing that divine mark meant that the Goddess had withdrawn her blessings. In simpler terms, not just his position but even his life could now be at risk.
“Hah. I guess I can’t win against a duke after all.”
The Pope did not deny Abel’s words. He simply rolled up his sleeves to reveal only remnants where the mark once was.
Seeing this, Abel let out a sigh he couldn’t suppress.
“So, you didn’t listen to my advice, after all.”
“Did you think I would?”
“Hard to say.”
Even though he’d surely warned him in the past, he had lost his divine mark just as fate dictated. Had he not heeded his advice?
No, given his personality, he would never accept such counsel. Would someone as stubborn as him listen to a plea to let innocent girls die?
At this point, any plans involving the Pope’s assistance had to be scrapped.
“Was it necessary for you to lose your divine mark for a pawn of the Emperor?”
“…Yeah, I remember what you said a long time ago.”
Not to carve away at himself for a betrayer.
The Pope bitterly recalled the betrayer Abel spoke of. Yurph, the girl he had chosen as the Saint candidate, and a child with a most innocent heart.
He had long since been aware that she was the Emperor’s Eye. Just like Abel, he also understood her kindness better than anyone.
In his old age, all he could do was designate her as the Saint candidate.
Due to the faction struggles within the Holy Kingdom, he regrettably couldn’t assist further.
It was no wonder that his divine mark was lost, igniting the anger of the Goddess.
Designating the Emperor’s pawn as the Saint candidate was a perilous act.
“However, I’ve never once regretted that decision.”
“…You’re still foolish.”
“Yeah. But, perhaps it’s precisely why I’ve managed to survive this long.”
The Pope chuckled with a wry smile, tilting his glass again. Abel quietly observed this and refilled the Pope’s glass once more.
In the silence, the night deepened without another word exchanged.
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