C275
Clang.
The wooden wheels of the prison wagon, with iron bars instead of doors, rattled loudly over the cobblestone path. The carriage jerked, yet the woman inside remained composed, drawing the curious stares of onlookers at the eastern gate of the sacred city.
“She doesn't look like a typical prisoner, does she?”
“Don't pay it any mind. Those are Holy Knights.”
“Still, it's quite unusual. And that glow behind her, it's strangely comforting. What could it be?”
“It's just the morning sunlight, you fool.”
“Just looking at her brings a sense of peace.”
“Oh, please. Stop being nosy.”
The murmurs from the crowd caught the attention of the transport captain, Grant, who was quick to intervene.
“Keep moving!”
Approaching the iron bars, he growled in a low tone, “Being curious won't do you any good. If you have brains, use them. Understand?”
A sneer.
“If you had any sense, you'd see it from my side. You called me a heretic, didn't you?”
Grant's expression turned stern at those words. The so-called religious inquisition was just a formality. Once branded a heretic, the fate of being burned at the stake was certain. In his two decades as a Holy Knight, he had never witnessed an exception. If someone marked for death tried to involve him…
The mere thought sent chills down his spine.
“What do you want? Let me make it clear, I won't engage in heretical acts even if it costs me my life.”
“Allow me to meet with Cardinal Austin first. Just inform him of my arrival.”
“What?”
Grant's tense demeanor softened at her words. Cardinal Austin Pruitt was renowned in the holy city for being incorruptible and diligent. He had climbed the ranks without a hint of scandal, earning the respect of all.
“Is that all?”
“Yes, that's sufficient for now.”
“...Alright.”
Whatever plans this heretic had in mind, if it involved Cardinal Austin, Grant believed nothing could go wrong. He nodded decisively. Observing him, Ilia sighed quietly. As per Logan's message through Viktor, they were supposed to meet at the inquisition regardless.
‘Your Majesty Logan, I must see him first and judge for myself.’
The cardinals of the central temple, often only spoken of in distant whispers. Unfortunately, most of those whispers carried negative undertones.
Accustomed to the cold seeping through the thin straw in the dim underground dungeon, the guard cautiously informed her.
“Bishop Ilia, you have a visitor. Someone of high standing…”
The guard's excessively respectful tone was understandable, given that even in the dark cell, Ilia exuded a faint halo that set her apart.
“Oh, it's fine. Thank you.”
She responded with a smile as the guard left to fetch the visitor. Soon, someone descended quietly into the basement.
“Sister Ilia. As expected… Just by seeing you, I can tell. You bear the holy stigmata. I am Austin Pruitt, at your service, Saintess.”
A gentle smile graced his pale, thin face. His neatly groomed white hair was hidden under an old priest's hat, and the red circle on his worn clerical robe, the symbol of Anima, the god of fire and food, was so faded it was barely discernible. This humble appearance endeared the elderly priest to Ilia.
“I received your message, but I wanted to see and confirm for myself. Now, I worry if it was too urgent, Your Eminence.”
“No, it's fine. The Holy Father will be informed soon enough. Don't trouble yourself.”
“Though I understand your intentions, you still address him as ‘Holy Father’?”
“Until everything is verified, we must follow the rules. If I break the law to punish someone who did the same, it would be contradictory.”
From his initial impression to his unwavering principles, Ilia harbored no further doubts about this old priest.
“I understand the issue you raised. I will abide by King Logan's wishes and Your Eminence's guidance.”
“Thank you, Saintess. My old heart feels at ease.”
Their warm gazes met, momentarily interrupted by a voice from above.
“Y-Your Holiness! How did you come to this humble place without prior notice?”
The guard's voice from the top of the underground stairs caused their expressions to stiffen.
Step, step.
“It's unusual to have a guest in such a dire location.”
Pope Julio Umberto I, much like Austin, had neatly combed white hair and a refined appearance. His wrinkled face bore a resemblance, but the similarities ended there. His immaculate silk robe was adorned with the gods' symbols in gleaming gold thread, and his high priest's hat exuded a soft radiance, asserting his authority. His silver eyes, known for piercing through people's souls, were accompanied by a gentle halo, marking him as a chosen saint.
However, Ilia's brow furrowed at the sight of him. As their eyes almost met, Austin quickly bowed towards the Pope.
“Greetings, Your Holiness.”
“Greetings, Your Holiness.”
Following Austin's lead, Ilia promptly lowered her head. The Pope's composed voice addressed them.
“Is there a reason for visiting the inquisition target without prior notice, Austin?”
“I wanted to confirm if she was indeed the Saintess, Your Holiness. If I've overstepped, please correct me.”
“Oh, I wouldn't reprimand a cardinal for such a reason. It's understandable. But exercise more caution in the future.”
“Yes, Your Holiness.”
Despite their gentle tones, their sharp gazes hinted at a deeper conversation. The Pope's abrupt inquiry struck at the heart of the matter.
“So, what's your verdict?”
“Sister Ilia is undoubtedly the Saintess.”
“Indeed. As a priest, you can't mistake that aura.”
The Pope's silver eyes gleamed oddly as they locked onto Ilia.
“But for a Saintess to violate the taboo, this poses a challenge. The inquisition will be complex.”
“The Saintess couldn't have transgressed the taboo. If she had, she wouldn't bear the stigmata…”
“Enough. Cardinal Austin, the final judgment rests with me, as it will during the inquisition.”
“Yes, Your Holiness.”
“But don't be overly anxious. It's been three decades since I last encountered another individual with the stigmata besides myself.”
“The Saintess will serve as a beacon for the temple. Please…”
“Hmm, let's see…”
Ilia silently observed the elderly man click his tongue. Or rather, she observed the halo behind him.
‘No ordinary person, not even a high-ranking priest, would detect this. It's incredibly subtle.’
She recognized this because she bore the stigmata herself. The Pope's halo was a counterfeit, originating from ‘something’ on his wrist.
Suddenly, she remembered a query.
There are whispers that the halo of Pope Julio is a forgery. If you can verify this, kindly inform us. His Majesty requested this.
‘How did King Logan come by this knowledge?’
She had never encountered such a rumor. The revelation that the esteemed Pope's saintly status and halo might be fake was astonishing.
Who, or what, could mimic sacred power?
‘No enchantment could accomplish this.’
Her bewilderment was palpable, but the Pope smiled and spoke.
“Aren't you delighted to meet? I sense a resonance in our stigmata.”
His wrinkled countenance bore a kindly smile, yet to Ilia, it seemed all the more insincere.
The reaction in her stigmata didn't stem from the stigmata itself but from something on the Pope's wrist.
‘Is it feasible to fabricate holy power through magic? This is…’
Her growing confusion was evident, yet she swiftly inclined her head.
“Yes, Your Holiness. The noble resonance of your stigmata reverberates in my soul.”
Though it was an uncommon falsehood for Ilia, fortunately, her voice remained steady. She had rehearsed this line extensively with Viktor.
Seeing the Pope's wide grin at her words, Ilia felt reassured that she had made the correct choice.
“Indeed. It's a pleasure to meet you. With the stigmata, the inquisition seems unnecessary.”
“Your Holiness, then…?”
Austin interjected eagerly.
“But we must follow protocol, thus a trial will be conducted. Yet, fret not. I will acknowledge and support you, ensuring no significant issues arise.”
Ignoring Austin, the Pope gently rested a hand on Ilia's shoulder, his smile soft.
‘There it is.’
Sensing his touch, Ilia confirmed the presence of a white bracelet beneath the Pope's billowy sleeve. Despite her frustration, she concealed her emotions and regarded the Pope with gratitude.
“Yes, truly, thank you, Your Holiness.”
This, too, was part of the choreographed act. Unaware of the charade, Austin's eyes widened in astonishment. Perhaps it was his reaction, or perhaps the Pope simply relished Ilia's performance.
“Well then, until tomorrow. Oh, and you too, Austin.”
With a broader smile, the Pope turned away.
The following day, nearly all the priests of the central temple congregated in the grand hall, the largest within the central temple, to witness the heresy trial.
“What are your thoughts on the matter?”
“I heard she's reputed to be a Saintess.”
“No way.”
The grand hall, teeming with over a thousand priests, buzzed with unparalleled excitement.
Yet soon, the Pope's voice resonated throughout the hall, instantly quieting the crowd.
“We shall now commence the heresy trial of Bishop Ilia Gabon of the Maclain Diocese. Silence.”
Ilia, clamped in chains, entered the now hushed hall. The heavy clinking of her shackles weighed on her steps, but her countenance remained serene as she navigated through the throng of priests. As the priests beheld the halo behind her, their eyes widened.
“Is she truly a Saintess?”
“Could this be a trick?”
“No, it feels like genuine divine power.”
“Then the rumors must hold merit…”
The subdued whispers escalated again.
“Silence! Silence!”
Bang, bang.
The Pope's gavel sounded, once more quelling the noise.
Before the Pope could proceed, one of the nine cardinals seated beside him rose to his feet.
“Your Holiness, rumors suggest that Sister Ilia vanquished the plague and received the stigmata as a Saintess. Before delving into the doctrinal trial, we should verify these claims.”
Cardinal Sam Freeman, recognized as the Pope's right-hand man, spoke on behalf of the assembled priests. The Pope promptly nodded.
“Indeed. Bishop Ilia, can you demonstrate your stigmata?”
Without hesitation, Ilia nodded.
“Though I am unworthy, I wish to reveal here that I have been blessed by Amunda's grace.”
She tore the right shoulder of her tattered clerical robe, unveiling a distinct blue circle on her pale shoulder. Sensing a heightened divine presence, the priests erupted in cheers.
“It's confirmed!”
“She's undeniably a Saintess!”
The grand hall buzzed with excitement once more, yet this time the Pope did not silence it.
Once the commotion died down, the Pope raised his gavel once more. With a composed demeanor, he addressed the assembly.
“The heresy trial for Bishop Ilia initially revolved around the methods she employed to combat the plague. However, the stigmata validates those methods, rendering the doctrinal debate moot.”
All eyes fixated on him as the Pope paused briefly before continuing.
“Hence, I declare the heresy trial null and appoint Saintess Ilia as an honorary cardinal!”
Cheers reverberated through the grand hall, transforming the heresy trial into a ceremony for inducting a new cardinal.
‘Ilia, you will serve as a symbol, cleansing the temple of its negative whispers and affirming its sanctity,’ pondered the Pope, beaming warmly at the jubilant priests. He extended his hand towards Ilia.
“Approach, Sister Ilia. I shall personally confer upon you the cardinal's hat and robe.”
With an atypical smile, the Pope beckoned Ilia. Amidst the throng of a thousand priests in the hall, she drew near. The immaculate white garments and hat, seemingly prepared beforehand, were placed in her hands, prompting another round of applause.
“Greetings to Your Eminence, the Cardinal!”
“Greetings to the Saintess!”
The resounding voices of the priests filled the hall as Ilia waved, smiling. Despite the faded robes and unkempt hair from months of travel, her radiance shone through, accentuated by the divine halo.
“She is truly the Saintess. How exquisitely beautiful…”
“She embodies the divine essence…”
As the hall resounded with commendation and adoration, Austin Pruitt rose, accompanied by a group of priests.
“On this joyous occasion, with the majority of the temple's priests assembled, I propose a matter of greater significance than the heresy trial.”
His tone and the ambiance captured everyone's attention.
“I, Cardinal Austin Pruitt, hereby table a motion to impeach Pope Julio Umberto I.”
His words threw the hall into disarray.
“What?”
“What is he suggesting?”
“Did I hear correctly?”
The hall's atmosphere shifted drastically as the Pope's icy displeasure became palpable.
“Cardinal Austin, have you lost your senses?”
Yet the composed cardinal continued unperturbed.
“The grounds for impeachment encompass bribery, abuse of authority, and involvement or provocation in 23 offenses within and beyond the temple. I will provide evidence as well.”
The hall's mood shifted instantly.
“What is this?”
“The Pope?”
“Is impeachment even feasible?”
“Silence, Austin Pruitt! You are tarnishing the temple's laws! The Pope's impeachment necessitates the concurrence of at least two cardinals!”
As Cardinal Tenor Rainey, incensed, bellowed, the hall fell silent once more. Known as a staunch supporter of the Pope, his statement was indisputable.
“Oh, is that the case?”
“Yes, indeed.”
“Certainly.”
The ambiance shifted, indicating that the impeachment motion itself was deemed invalid.
However, Ilia, recently appointed as an honorary cardinal, raised her hand and spoke.
“I second the impeachment motion.”
Once more, the hall's atmosphere was upended.