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There are hardly any sane people in this neighborhood.

Especially in my surroundings, you wouldn’t find a sane person even if they washed their two eyes vigorously in the Thames for a while.

At least that’s how Camila saw it.

From the very first meeting, Francesca exuded an air of mystery, looking as if she knew nothing about the world. Yet surprisingly, she had a knack for zero-sum games.

It’s the classic case of an easy win: stocks and bonds, of course.

She dabbled in everything from private loans that Jews are said to excel at to corporate bonds which, when a company collapses, guarantee a dive into the Thames.

Rumor has it that she’s even ventured into the realm of mergers and acquisitions lately.

This made Camila reminisce about her mother, who used to tussle with the legal team of “City of London,” who seemed to think knowledge of financial law was a joke.

Unless one secured a decent law firm in advance, the magical Jewish colleague with her mysteriously luscious purple hair was at high risk of being charged with foreign exchange violations and probably ending up in prison very soon.

Next came Saint Veronica, who approached as if she had no ulterior motives whatsoever. A person above reproach in both public and private life.

The first encounter was during a life-saving moment, which once led me to consider her akin to a Good Samaritan.

However, the fact that she wasn’t a devout believer nor a flawless politician left an uncomfortable impression in my mind.

Whenever our gazes met, it was hard to determine if she was more like a Arctic fox or a desert fox, but still, I felt a strangely ominous aura emanating from her beautifully curved eyes, inducing a sense of mystique.

It almost felt like she had many secrets.

Upon reflection, I realized I had sensed a similar vibe from Francesca a few times too.

Sure enough.

That vague intuition, half instinct and half speculation, solidified into certainty when I spotted Saint Veronica sticking close to Frederick. I heard he managed a network of informants.

Yeah. If we’re talking about abnormalities, it would be impossible to exclude this guy.

Frederick.

If someone were to ask me to point out just one person who’s the farthest from common sense, I wouldn’t hesitate to point at Frederick.

The details are omitted.

The battle-hungry Akande has a hard time controlling his bloodlust whenever conflict arises. This is…

Though he does transform into a single-celled amoeba the moment a fight breaks out, he generally behaves normally.

He engages in religious activities earnestly and makes efforts to bond with his somewhat awkward colleagues.

Among our team, he was the only one hailing from the Mauritania Continent, and given his nomadic background, he had plenty of stories to tell.

Sitting around the campfire, gazing up at the desert stars while listening to Akande’s tales, you’d soon realize the campfire would turn to embers and the sun would be softly illuminating the horizon. His storytelling was just that engaging.

Despite looking like a heavily muscled member of a South American drug cartel at first glance…

Well, that’s just a misunderstanding caused by his full-body tattoos like Dwayne Johnson!

One should never judge a book by its cover.

If Camila could fix her tendency to go wild at the sight of blood like a cat finding catnip, there might be no one more diligent or sincere than Akande.

In other words, that unquenchable love for fighting overshadowed all his positive traits.

Potential economic offender.

Lobbyist and state secrets leak suspect.

Spy.

Brawler.

What a tragic lineup it was, indeed.

It was an undeniably bleak reality where you could hardly find a sane person.

In this chaotic, wild multiverse, Camila, claiming to be the only normal one, often felt like Jesus climbing Golgotha wanting to spit blood. (Though it must be said that the assertion of Camila being “normal” is subjective and others may think differently.)

For Camila, the only person she could trust and rely on was Lucia.

In layman’s terms, if there was someone to “lean on,” it was only Lucia.

Thus, Camila pinned her hopes on Lucia.

It might be a heavy burden for her, but she wanted Lucia to step up and hold her ground. She wished that if only the good-hearted Lucia would play the role of a brake, she could ask for nothing more.

Doesn’t that make sense, after all?

How many people possess a character as kind and upright as hers?

At least in Camila’s judgment, Lucia was the only individual among her colleagues who could be truly regarded as a person of virtue.

And as everyone, except Camila, knew well, the world was certainly not that lenient.

It’s precisely because you have expectations that you get betrayed.

“…Did you really smack the Pope on the head with a mace?”

“…Yes.”

Lucia, whom Camila believed to be the only sane person among her comrades.

Attempted assassination confirmed.

Episode 21 – Peace of Our Time

The first and last assassination attempt on a Pope by a saint in the history of the Holy See.

It was shocking enough that an unprecedented civil war incident had taken place, but what was truly ludicrous was that the key player was none other than a saint.

Saint Lucia.

“What the….”

I found myself speechless, staring into the void for a while. Realistically, there was no other way it could happen.

Who exactly is Lucia?

The second saint to appear in the history of the cult. One of the two saints existing concurrently in this era.

Unlike the senior saint Veronica, Lucia was met with nothing but acclaim.

Whether bishop or cardinal, even those politically opposed to the saint eagerly praised her character, humanity, and conduct.

While it’s crucial to note the stark contrast between Veronica, who was widely talked about due to her various antics and eccentricities, and Lucia, who quietly focused on her duties.

Nonetheless, Lucia remained a clearly defined person of integrity and a paragon of virtue.

But then, what’s this about?

A saint swinging a mace at the Pope’s head?

“…Lucia.”

As I repeatedly splashed my face with cold water, I quietly approached the iron bars and initiated a conversation.

“If I may ask… You’re not intending to say you experienced a hit with the excuse of ‘I’ve done it once, so now it’s the Pope’s turn,’ right? That you were planning to take down Raphael first and claim the Holy Land?”

Lucia met my gaze, the chains rattling as she shifted.

Her expression appeared as if she’d heard the most boring German humor known to mankind, subtly decaying in discomfort.

“Do I seem like the type to do that?”

“Under normal circumstances, I would have said no…”

I couldn’t help but envision Lucia, swinging her mace at the bishop and cardinal like a whirlwind.

As the image of the saint thrashing the old men flashed by, it felt like a nail had been driven into my tongue rendering it immobile.

Logically, who could have imagined Saint Lucia going on a beatdown spree on the bishops and cardinals? Anyone familiar with her usual demeanor would surely question their own hearing.

Yet, she did it.

Holding a mace herself, she came down hard on the behinds of the elderly men (the bishops and cardinals, as per common sense).

And on top of that, she even went so far as to bonk the Pope’s head!

Though it was a failure, it was still an act that would be etched in history.

Thus, Lucia boldly secured her place in history as “Assailant of Pope Raphael!”

Her deeds could easily rival historical figures like Adolf who tried to kill Hitler, Lee Harvey Oswald who assassinated JFK in North America for the first time, or even the legendary warrior Lü Bu piercing his third father’s belly with a fire-starting wick.

…What a world.

“Absolutely not.”

“…….”

“Really. Please believe me.”

In a humble demeanor, Lucia downplayed her achievements, causing me to shed tears. Who knows when I might face an inquisition, I might as well prepare for it now.

Who can tell?

If a saint can smash the Pope’s head, maybe the Inquisition might entangle me, an overseas intelligence agent, in a conspiracy to assassinate Lucia and burn us at the stake.

In that case, shouldn’t the ones who can survive do so first?

I wiped my eyes and implored my ‘only comrade’ to escape.

“Camila, let’s get out of here quickly. At this rate, we’ll be caught up in the assassination conspiracy too.”

“Isn’t it already too late? They might be waiting on the outskirts for us.”

“When you think it’s too late, that’s when you must move. Now, quickly lead the way!”

“You make it sound like some profound wisdom. But why are you sending me up front…?”

“In case I need to throw you under the bus.”

“…….”

As Camila’s soul-less gaze lingered.

“Guys? Can’t you hear what I’m saying?”

Just two minutes ago, my comrade, now labeled the ‘assassination attempt convict’ or ‘traitor,’ continued to mutter about misunderstandings.

“It’s a clear fact that I laid a hand on His Holiness the Pope, but it’s not as serious as you might fear.”

“…Ah, yes.”

“And what’s this about assassination? Why treat a perfectly alive person like they’re deceased?”

“If I strike him on the head with a mace… wouldn’t I be tried for murder, whether he’s alive or dead…?”

Legally, there are several distinctions between various crimes like manslaughter, injury leading to death, negligent homicide, and murder, but a mace just feels wrong, doesn’t it?

It’s hard to even consider that a mere accident. Even a seven-year-old kid would see it as a deliberate crime.

I should have realized something was off when I had to go pray at 4 AM in the blizzard-hit Northern Regions of Kien. A normal person wouldn’t be out there every single day for morning prayers on a battlefield; it just doesn’t add up.

Let alone someone as devout as a ‘religious person’, attacking the ‘Pope’ with a mace that qualifies as a ‘holy relic’?

And then this was the excuse given when it came time to explain.

“Anyway, let’s move on. So why did you hit Raphael? There must be a reason.”

“During a rather unproductive bishop meeting, I was advised that there’s nothing like a duel to resolve complicated issues.”

I was so taken aback that I just stared blankly. Apparently, this meant stripping away titles and going for it in a fight.

At this point, I felt my mind starting to cloud over. Maybe it was just a hallucination, but Camila came up beside me to give support.

“Is this… what, are we in the dark ages? Duel trials and whatnot?”

“It wasn’t really a trial. It’s just that the gap between His Holiness and I was sharply pronounced, making it nearly impossible to find common ground…”

That sounds like a duel trial to me.

Two hands slipped out from under the tightly wrapped chains, tapping against each other in a repetitive motion.

Lucia seemed embarrassed after what she blurted out, her fingers constantly fiddling with her palms, nervously.

Then all of a sudden, she spoke in a calm voice.

“At any rate, His Holiness is safe. He just lost consciousness for a moment, but he has no other injuries. And though it may be questionable to call it a duel… it was still a fair duel because I asked for it, and Cardinal Raphael happily agreed to it.”

“But you’re still chained up.”

“…….”

The Saint turned her head down deeply, the tips of her ears turning bright red.

Whether it was embarrassment or something else, it hardly mattered. What was crucial was not Lucia’s embarrassment at this moment.

Like the Führer of the Berlin bunker vomiting blood in front of the map,

I gasped for breath and desperately continued my speech.

“What the heck… what kind of fool did you consult that led you to the conclusion that stripping off titles and getting into a brawl was a good idea? Name them.”

The most likely candidate? Veronica.

If that madwoman were involved, it wouldn’t shock me one bit. Honestly, outside of Veronica, I couldn’t think of anyone who would prod Lucia into picking a fight with the Pope.

But who could it have been?

They say you’re more easily deceived by those you trust.

It’s no wonder the saying “Knowing someone is scary” exists.

“Uh, actually, His Grace the Duke—”

– Blink.

– Blink-blink.

After my eyelids began to flutter rapidly, I truly understood the feeling of ‘my lungs turned upside down.’

Camila, dangling off my arm, was in a similarly bad state.

“Damn it!!!”

“Is that why you didn’t follow, Professor?!”

Of course, no amount of shouting would elicit a response from the old man, so Lucia merely buried her face in her skirt, seemingly embarrassed.

With a puff.

“……”

“What’s wrong, Your Grace?”

“No, just… for a moment…”

Alexandra Petrovna set down her teacup and glanced back with a strange expression, wondering if someone was gossiping about her.

The surroundings were just silent.

In the meticulously arranged yet clearly aged dacha, only the Duke himself and the homeowner were present. Surely, it must have just been her imagination. She waved her hand dismissively, as if to clear the atmosphere.

“Nothing much. I must have mistaken the sound of the wind outside.”

“I see even you can be startled. It’s surprising to see someone who isn’t fazed by the demon of the frozen lands, shaken by the wind.”

Gently…

A cobalt blue tea set gleamed across the table. As I tilted the small teapot, the shimmering light from the tea tickled my nose with its coldness.

A faint aroma, a warm embrace. Sitting by the fireplace watching the snowstorm outside, it almost felt like time was dragging along.

“You seem deeply troubled.”

Chancellor Stollipin set down the small teapot. Duke Alexandra Petrovna, staring blankly at the window, let out a light snort.

“I’m tired.”

“If there’s something distressing you, could it be your worrying? Or perhaps some concern?”

As white snowflakes settled, her blue eyelids fluttered down.

The Duke’s silence hinted at much, and the Chancellor easily picked up on it.

Stollipin asked, and Alexandra Petrovna replied.

“How goes the training of your disciples? Is it going smoothly?”

“I’m managing to teach magic, but when it comes to manners, no amount of effort seems to change things. Nonetheless, it’s amusing.”

“You refused to take up my request to nurture future talents, and yet… astonishing. Speaking of which, I heard the positions of the Dean of the Imperial University of Magic and the head of the Magic Tower’s elemental division are still vacant.”

“Don’t even think of it. You wish to use an old man who’s days are numbered, even just before he enters the tomb?”

“If I could’ve, I would have done so forty years ago.”

“The future of the Empire is grim.”

It was a jest, same as ever. Alexandra Petrovna smiled lightly to her mischief.

The Chancellor inquired, and the Northern Duke responded.

“The meeting place has been set for Bahar. As Foreign Minister Nepomnyashchiy feared, it seems the Lushan Federation is attempting to pose as the mediator.”

“Is the Foreign Ministry’s stance unchanged?”

“The prevailing opinion is that we must not hand over the keys to the Lushan Federation. Given the antagonistic relationship between the Republic of Ashtistan and the Lushan Federation, our Empire must step in to maintain balance, as per the request of the Republic’s government.”

“The diligent officials won’t let the old man rest easy, are they? What can be done? I suppose it’s time to pay a visit to a friend. It’d also be nice to see a heavenly messenger on the way.”

The Northern Duke quenched his thirst with the tea.

The Empire’s cabinet documents sprawled beside the teapot. The Chancellor opened his mouth.

“There are rumors that Princess Anastasia has secretly forged ties with law enforcement authorities. Currently, only a few ministers are aware—”

“Who said that?”

“Philip.”

“…Margarita’s grandfather, huh?”

A single nod followed.

“The bond between the two princesses is indeed quite strong. So, what’s Margarita up to?”

“She’s been setting an example for royalty through charitable activities, organizing fundraising and social aid events.”

“Philip came from the west, correct?”

“Indeed.”

“That’s a reckless endeavor.”

Alexandra Petrovna nodded with an impassive expression, but the seasoned Chancellor read the hints in her blue eyes skillfully.

“How should we handle the issues concerning Princess Anastasia and Princess Margarita?”

“Let them be.”

The Chancellor asked, and the Archmage replied.

“Keep it a secret from the Crown Prince. Until further notice, you haven’t seen or heard anything. Understand?”

“Yes.”

“By the way, there’s been no news of Angelica.”

Chancellor Stollipin mentioned that “Princess Angelica had no matters to report.” Instead, he stated he’d be bundling the information with other documents to submit shortly, and Alexandra Petrovna permitted it with a slight nod.

In the quiet Northern dacha.

Before long, the once-gentle snowstorm transformed into a roaring tempest, rattling the earth.

Wrapped in the warmth of the soothing black tea, the Archmage closed her eyelids momentarily and sank into the armchair.

“My only disciple still hasn’t contacted me.”

In that moment, she suddenly muttered with a scowl, sounding a bit resentful.

“Does she not even think of her master?”

Whether it was sarcasm or self-deprecation, it was merely a jest.

“Surely not! She must be tied up with something pressing that’s got her flustered.”

“Pressing? More like she’s probably lost in some snacking frenzy.”

Regrettably, the Archmage’s speculation was off the mark.

Right now, Camila was genuinely too flustered to even think about contacting her.

The echoes of her disciple’s voice, laced with resentment, had reached the Archmage’s magic crystal sphere late into the night.

It was amidst an uninvited guest’s arrival.

 

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