Chapter 81: The Weight of Prophecy

Miracles, revelations, and prophecies were supposed to be the clergy’s specialty in the first place.

Why on earth were they coming to me for that kind of thing?

It was baffling, but I decided to at least hear them out.

There was a chance the order was dealing with a problem too big to handle on its own.

“The Aramid Order is always grateful to you. You even helped confine the half-demon, and you’re known for treating the common people with such warmth in your daily governance.”

That much was true.

Still, I had felt a twinge of resentment back when the plague swept through.

They had stood by and watched as the nobles monopolized the clergy.

They knew it was happening and chose not to intervene.

I couldn’t say I didn’t understand, though.

If they just pretended not to notice, the order stood to gain enormous benefits.

They could drain the nobles’ donations dry.

In any case, that was all in the past.

I wasn’t holding onto it anymore.

“You flatter us. We merely follow the will of Lord Aramid.”

“Then what is this sudden prophecy you mentioned? Did something… unfortunate happen within the order?”

“There are a few minor issues, but nothing that would cause the order to collapse. I can personally guarantee that as a bishop.”

The Aramid Order was the largest religious organization in the Empire.

Even so, it wasn’t powerful enough to establish a papal state.

That had been true even when imperial authority weakened.

Imperial politics were simply too vicious for religion to wedge itself into.

Because of that, the head of the Aramid Order was no more than an archbishop.

The man who had come to see me was one rank below that, the second-in-command—Bishop Braulio.

He was certainly influential, but that didn’t mean I could just grant whatever he asked.

“Now I’d like to hear your real purpose.”

“I heard about how you resolved the territorial dispute in the Mesqueta Mountains.”

“Where?”

“You know the place. The border between Valdei and Count Yustino’s lands.”

At the time, I hadn’t thought much of it, but everything the count had told me back then had been nonsense.

Didn’t that place even have its own local name?

Did he seriously lie about a place name just to get a favorable ruling?

Looking back now, both sides had been remarkably petty.

“Ah, that territorial dispute.”

“Yes. Just by giving it a cursory look, you foretold a great catastrophe.”

“Oh, come on.”

I pressed my palm to my forehead.

I was sure I had explained that I’d used a land classification method I’d learned from Adam.

Of course, such a thing didn’t actually exist, but still—somehow the rumors had gone completely sideways again.

People had already been calling me a saint or a god, and now I was a prophet too?

I was starting to dread what they’d come up with next.

I shook my head sharply and made myself clear.

“I have never made a prophecy. I simply examined the land and noticed the danger early.”

“Even so, if you could visit the church just once and offer a few good words—”

“You still haven’t told me your true purpose.”

I cut Bishop Braulio off mid-sentence.

I didn’t have the luxury to entertain this nonsense any longer.

I already had a mountain of pending cases as it was.

After a brief hesitation, his mouth finally opened.

“I’ve heard that, thanks to Your Grace’s benevolent rule, the number of people living in poverty has decreased.”

“I wouldn’t say they’re living well. There are simply fewer people starving to death.”

“No one has ever solved the problem of poverty. No matter how hard the order tried, it was futile.”

That was only natural.

The living standards of the lower classes wouldn’t improve unless society itself changed.

The wealth gap in medieval England had been so horrific it couldn’t even be compared to modern-day Korea.

The same was true in the Enpher Empire, a grim dark fantasy in its own right.

No, it was even worse here.

This world had monsters.

Even foraging for roots in the mountains was a life-or-death gamble.

Why is this man rambling on like this?

When someone danced around the point, it usually meant they had something they couldn’t easily say out loud.

I stared straight at the man who was padding his words with irrelevancies.

“So what’s your point?”

“The order has been struggling lately. The faithful have fallen into superstition.”

“Pardon? Superstition?”

“Haven’t you heard it often recently? The talk about Your Grace being a saint—or even a god.”

“Ah, that…”

It wasn’t as though I had spread those rumors myself.

What was I supposed to do about what people chose to gossip about?

I had even made a clear denial.

They simply hadn’t listened.

“Ah! Of course, we don’t mean to blame Your Grace. The late former duke and duchess were also followers of Aramid, so we merely hoped you might visit, honoring that connection.”

At Bishop Braulio’s words, I narrowed my eyes.

The order did a fair amount of genuine good.

They charged money for divine power, yes, but they also provided free services just as often.

I had always had a fairly positive image of them.

But something about this feels off…

If I interpreted his words a bit more bluntly, it boiled down to this.

People’s lives have gotten better, so why aren’t donations increasing?

It’s because of that bizarre superstition about you being a saint or a god.

So you should deal with it yourself.

By coming to the church and proving you’re a believer.

I was aware that this was a rather twisted way of looking at it.

But it’s not far off from what they’re really thinking, is it?

They had simply wrapped it up in polite phrasing.

Their true intentions were probably not that different from my interpretation.

I swept my gaze over the clergy with cold eyes and spoke.

“Get out.”

I might have been a bit harsh, but the Aramid Order showed no reaction at all.

It seemed they intended to pretend the whole thing had never happened.

That was probably much easier for saving face.

tsk tsk. “So that’s what passes for thinking among the clergy.”

Of course, that couldn’t have been the will of the entire order.

It was likely just the misconduct of a few, Bishop Braulio included.

I had no way of confirming it, but I chose to think of it that way.

Turning a blind eye was easier on the mind.

“I’m busy enough as it is. Why is everyone causing such a fuss?”

Because of the so-called prophecy in the Mesqueta Mountains, territorial dispute cases had doubled.

Everyone was clamoring for me to come to their lands and clearly demarcate their borders.

I’m not even a surveyor.

So I started rejecting anything that wasn’t serious.

I even issued firm warnings to the territories.

Gradually, the number of cases assigned to me began to drop.

“Whew! Finally, I can breathe a little.”

Honestly, it wasn’t all that difficult.

For ordinary judges, these trials might have been challenging, but for me, it was just a matter of bulldozing through.

On top of that, my reputation and credibility were so high that most cases ended in settlements anyway.

There were even instances where two families locked in a territorial dispute ended up arranging a marriage.

All because I had acted as mediator.

Now I can finally get some rest.

It was the weekend, so I planned to sleep in as much as I wanted.

But that wasn’t meant to be.

There was a backlog of business waiting for me.

—When are you going to make my clothes, exactly?

Adam’s voice suddenly cut in.

As if that weren’t enough, Butler Miller Xavier also handed me a notice.

“Your Grace, His Majesty the Emperor sent word asking why he hasn’t heard anything.”

“Heard anything about what?”

“You promised to have an outfit made for him, yet nothing has happened.”

“Oh, right.”

Why did I ever say I’d get into the fashion business…

No, wait. That’s not it.

This was something I absolutely had to push forward.

I couldn’t keep holding court in glittering outfits forever.

Nor could I keep walking around in leggings and trailing ceremonial robes.

“Then let’s get started right away.”

—Don’t forget to take care of mine first.

“Yeah, yeah. I got it.”

Of course, making Adam’s clothes first was out of the question.

Even cold water has an order to it.

Naturally, the Emperor came first.

If word got out that I’d dressed a demigod before His Majesty, it would just cause pointless trouble later.

I headed straight to Midias.

The sheep and geese I’d received from Count Coplin were growing well.

Even the ranching business had properly taken off.

The textile factory is running smoothly, too.

With the worsted yarn being produced there, I could have a decent suit made.

“Production has only just begun, so we haven’t released it to the market yet.”

“Well done. For now, isn’t there a tailor here named Martin?”

“Ah, I think I’ve heard that name.”

“Please have him called.”

Martin had the skill ‘Designer.’

He should be able to whip up the style I wanted without much trouble.

Of course, he wouldn’t be used to it yet, so he’d need some polishing.

I could do it myself, but there aren’t any sewing machines here.

I had no idea how to work with traditional methods.

Before long, a young man came running over, out of breath.

Lately, Martin had been in an exceptionally good mood.

At first, he had taken the job under false pretenses, intending to spy.

But the working conditions at the Midias factories were absurdly good.

They were better than those of most nobles’ exclusive tailors.

The wages were something he could never have earned with his mere apprentice-level career.

On top of that, the lodging was excellent, and the food was good enough to make his eyes spin.

“Where else could a paradise like this exist?”

So Martin decided to settle down at the Midias textile factory.

He completely forgot about his promise to Cosette, the exclusive tailor of Count Asrno.

Even if he was technically that woman’s official disciple, all it meant was tons of work and a pittance in pay.

Working under the great and benevolent Duke of Carius suited him far better.

Besides, here he could develop his abilities freely.

Tools were provided without limit, and he could even practice with leftover fabric.

He’d only been there for half a year, but Martin’s skills had grown at an astonishing rate.

“Wow! This is a masterpiece. A real masterpiece.”

“Take it home and give it to your kids as a gift.”

“Are you sure? It looks incredibly well made.”

“Ah, I just made it for practice.”

When Uncle Jamie from the neighboring line admired it, Martin readily handed over the stuffed doll.

It looked like something a noble child might carry around.

Grinning broadly, Jamie rummaged around and pulled something out.

“I made this backpack. It’s sturdy, so it should be useful. The design’s a bit rough, though.”

“Oh, come on. It’s extremely well made.”

“It’ll come in handy when vacation time rolls around.”

“Thank you.”

The people he worked with were generous, and every day was a pleasure.

The work itself wasn’t even that hard.

The schedule was strictly enforced: fifty minutes of work, then ten minutes of rest.

At a workplace like this, he felt he could keep working even into old age.

On his way back to the dormitory, someone suddenly approached him.

It was Hans, the building supervisor.

“Martin, you have a visitor.”

“What?”

He didn’t have many acquaintances in the imperial capital.

His home was in the distant territory of Count Asrno, after all.

“Who could it possibly be…?”

“They didn’t give their name, but since they made it this far in, they don’t seem suspicious.”

The Duke of Carius’s territory was under fairly tight security.

Imperial guard knights were still stationed there by the Emperor’s grace.

Martin turned back with a light heart.

He planned to meet the visitor in the reception room at the dormitory entrance.

But seated there was someone both familiar and deeply unpleasant.

“It’s been a while. It’s already been half a year. Why haven’t you contacted me?”

It was Cosette, the exclusive tailor of Count Asrno.

The very person had come to find him.