Chapter 70

'If Yaan tells them, the kids will just say it's boring and go to sleep, right? Kyahahaha!'

As he recalled the innocent voice lingering in an old memory within his hazy consciousness, Yaan woke from sleep.

"You're awake?"

The one who spoke to him was the snow-white girl.

He had no idea how long she had been watching him, yet Ren's expression as she looked at him was perfectly serene.

"...What happened?"

"Nill moved to the front of the barrier on autonomous drive. With the rescue team."

"What about the Belkuth bastards' corpses?"

"The company handled them. No proof left."

Hearing that, Yaan rose from his spot as though relieved.

Yaan pulled out the connector still lodged in the back of his neck, swept his disheveled hair back, opened the cockpit hatch, and stepped outside.

The Church's cold wind, the first he'd felt in a long while, roused his foggy mind and pulled Yaan from the dream's haze back into reality.

"My condition. Better than before. Still..."

"I know. Until Hiram is dead, I won't push myself."

Even as he spoke, Yaan couldn't bring himself to look at Ren's face.

'Don't be eaten by emotion.'

The sensation when she had embraced him while saying that. Each time he saw her face, that sensation resurfaced, bringing an indescribable feeling.

"Ren."

Still, Yaan forced his lips open and called her.

Since Yaan rarely called her, Ren looked at him in puzzlement. After briefly glancing at her, Yaan kept his lips tight, then forced them open to speak.

"...Thanks. For everything."

"..."

After saying that, Yaan immediately moved outside the Frame.

"...Huh?"

Ren, who had been still for a moment, reacted belatedly to Yaan's words.

[Latency in biological terminal detected. Recommend system scan.]

Realizing in that instant that Yaan was already gone, Ren sat there in a daze, until Nill's quiet voice reached her.

"...Noisy."

Answering Nill's seemingly teasing words, Ren immediately flew up and walked toward where Yaan was.

Reflected in Glaepnir's eyes after the pilot had left were the Greyhounds welcoming their awakened company commander, and within them Yaan's faint smile.

***

"Welcome back. You've had a hard time."

The harvest the Empire's survey team had recovered from the Crystal City was beyond imagination.

Simply confirming the Crystal City's existence would have been a great feat, yet they had also obtained samples of the substance covering it, maps, even a defense program from the site, and the remains of a Pit Bull Terrier.

"These are the remains you requested."

As Yaan trailed off, the Greyhounds brought a box to his side.

The bones inside, crammed in like mere cargo.

The worn-out canonical robes spilling out here and there revealed that several had once been high-ranking cardinals.

"It was a combat situation, so we couldn't be careful with them."

"It's fine. Our monks will take care of that."

Saying so, the young Pope, Celt II, lifted one of the remains before his eyes.

"The path to the sanctuary brought suffering to some and salvation to others. May you find happiness there."

After a short prayer, the Pope instructed someone to carry the remains respectfully to a separate room.

Soon they would be measured for bone density and structure, restored to their original form, and laid to rest.

Watching for a moment, Yaan opened his mouth toward the Pope.

"You said what we're looking for would also be there."

"I did."

"I wasn't informed."

The Pope gazed at Yaan for a moment, then smiled faintly.

"No. We found it. His Highness said he'd handle it himself."

Tilting his head at the Pope's words, Yaan nonetheless let the subject drop as the Pope changed the topic.

"Then, not as Pope but as a private individual, I should repay a friend who granted a favor."

"...Friend? Are you referring to me?"

Seeing the Pope smiling at him, Yaan twisted the corner of his mouth.

An Imperial knight and the Pope as friends? If that got out among Empire nobles, how much gossip would he have to endure?

Recalling Empire nobles who had stuffed Diana viscounty's mailbox to the brim with letters, Yaan shook his head.

"As promised, I'll show you the Church's truth. This way."

Rising, the Pope gestured for Yaan to follow and began walking to a corner of the church.

"...This place?"

Where the Pope led Yaan was a small door tucked in a corner of the church.

When the door opened, a deep staircase extended, its end impossible to see.

"It'll take about an hour."

Hearing that, Yaan's expression turned blank.

An hour? Just to go down stairs?

Before he could protest, he followed the Pope into the dark stairwell.

How much further they descended, he couldn't tell.

At last, when it seemed there was nowhere deeper to go, a massive iron gate loomed before Yaan and Celt II.

"What's this gate made of...?"

"Sharp eye. Same material as the northern barrier. The Creator's legacy."

Saying so, Celt II drew something from his robes.

"That's..."

At the familiar shape, Yaan frowned.

What he produced was a small knife of obsidian.

The same one Rana had once used.

Ssgeok!

The Pope drew the blade across his arm and let the blood fall before the gate.

Seeing the scar on the Pope's arm, Yaan clenched his fist unconsciously.

"Is something wrong?"

Noticing the change, the Pope asked, but Yaan relaxed his expression and shook his head.

"...No."

While he spoke, the gate, now tasting the Pope's blood, slowly began to open with a metallic sound.

Unlike when Rana had cut her wrist, there was no mechanical voice, no announcement.

"In all Church history, you are the first who is not a cardinal to enter here. Yaan Verkut."

Should he call it an honor?

Thinking so, Yaan followed the Pope through the open gate and soon realized this place was a vast cavern.

"A large space."

"It is. Yet someday it may become so crowded there's no room to stand."

Raising a hand toward the sky, the Pope triggered a clank! and light flooded the cavern.

Revealed by the brightness were thousands upon thousands of coffins.

"This is...?"

Each bore an old-fashioned cross. Yaan grimaced, and the Pope gave a faint smile.

"The holy crypt at the Church's deepest heart. Where every Pope, and those who... failed to become one, are laid to rest."

'Those who failed?'

Seeing Yaan's question, the Pope lifted a hand and pointed to the center of the cavern.

"Behold. The truth the Church has hidden. The throne that makes a Pope."

There, where Celt II pointed, stood a small chair.

One that looked exactly like Glaepnir's cockpit seat.

"Ancient tech?"

As he muttered, Yaan's left eye scanned the chair, moving restlessly.

Not through Yaan's sight, but through Glaepnir's-linked to Ren's-data on the chair began to scroll before his eyes.

'Data preservation hard disk input device. Prototype 03.'

The information display slowly scrolled down, detailing the chair's purpose and method of use to Yaan.

Having read it all, Yaan was seized by an impulse to vomit right then and there.

"Extract and store human knowledge, accumulate it... and then inject it into a young body?"

"Ha ha, so cutting. Just like an angel."

As the child Pope approached while speaking, Yaan ground his teeth in frustration.

Running a nation isn't possible merely because one is a genius or simply competent.

What is most needed is the ability to lead an organization.

To mediate between conflicting parties, to keep them in check when necessary, to lead tens, hundreds, thousands... countless people-that is what makes a king.

And that virtue cannot be obtained without the experience accumulated through a long life.

"Right. Now I understand."

How the child Pope, who didn't look even ten, managed to run the nation, secretly foster colossus forces, and gain the nerve to propose political deals to the Emperor of the Empire.

What stood before him was not merely a child who had inherited the papal title.

A being that had absorbed and stored in its mind all the accumulated knowledge and experience of the Popes alongside the Holy See's history.

A monster created by ancient human technology.

"Connecting the ancient machine to the brain places an enormous burden on the body."

Merely linking Glaepnir to himself had made Yaan lose consciousness several times.

If a battle-hardened soldier like him reacted this way, forcing information directly into the brains of children whose personalities weren't even fully formed must have been unbearable.

"Those buried here were my predecessors."

Saying so, the child Pope, Celt II, gently stroked one of the many coffins.

"This child couldn't endure the information that entered his head and went mad, biting the other children."

"...!"

Celt II recounted the events as if he had witnessed them, and Yaan clenched his teeth at the vivid description.

"This child beat his head against the ground until he died."

"This child's brain burned during the procedure."

"This child from the after-effects of the procedure..."

"This child..."

One by one.

Celt II, with hollow eyes, calmly listed the causes of death for each and every person sacrificed to create him.

'While injecting memories, the test subject's own memories are preserved. Which means...'

He keeps the deaths of all those sacrificed for him as memories within his head.

It would be stranger if he weren't insane.

"Now. This is the truth I promised."

Saying this, the Pope turned to Yaan and spread both arms.

"The truth of the Pope, created by the Holy See to worship the Creator. A human ranch used to collect hundreds of children to produce a single Pope."

A faint smile graced the Pope's lips as he spoke, but beneath it lay fury.

"The reason you oppose the cardinals is..."

"Knowledge was passed on, but personality was not. While every Pope before me was obedient, I rebelled against them."

He halted martyr registrations, banned pilgrimages to Crystal City, developed colossi, and revived the paladin order.

Actions befitting a normal nation rather than a theocracy.

And the large-scale survey team raised against him in response.

"Using human life as expendable material for faith can no longer be tolerated."

In that single sentence, the source of the child Pope's anger was conveyed. To drag a nation steeped in faith down from sanctity and make it a nation for people.

That was the greatest revenge he could inflict upon those who had violated him and his comrades in the name of faith.

"Recovering the martyrs' remains-was that not for them, but to dishonor their honor?"

"Exactly. Lieutenant Yaan. That's the correct answer."

If he could not defeat them as a priest, he would do so as a politician.

With his ability to run the nation across generations, it was more than possible.

Facing Yaan, who exhaled, the Pope hardened his expression and asked a question.

"I've laid everything bare to you. The Holy See's secret, my plans. Even my past."

"...."

"And now, as Pope of the Kelt Holy See and successor of the Creator, I ask you."

Yaan let out a languid sigh and met the child Pope's eyes. Despite his young age, the Pope before him held a deep, decades-old grudge within them.

"Is the revenge I am carrying out upon this Holy See justified?"

Born within the Holy See, one cannot escape reverence for the Creator.

Feeling that reverence, Yaan took a cigarette from his pocket and placed it in his mouth.

And just before lighting it. After uttering a short phrase to the Pope before him, he turned his back and began ascending the stairs.

"...Do whatever you want."