The Holy Grail was one of the most revered relics in the Holy Kingdom. Like Hasilan in Death Veil, it was one of three Great Relics.

But the comparison ended there. The Grail’s importance, its sheer rarity, dwarfed that of any treasure I knew.

If I remember correctly, its power is the Sealing of Evil…

The Sealing of Evil and the amplification of divine power. In essence, it was the perfect weapon against Demonkin. Some even theorized it was a gift from the Goddess herself.

And my master was asking them to let me use it.

The absurdity of the request was staggering. I shook my head, dismissing the very idea.

The Holy Grail had a finite number of uses, and once a charge was depleted, it took a millennium to recover. As far as I knew, the Grail had been completely drained during the Great War against the demons.

It sealed two Legion Commanders, empowered a Pope and a Saint, and used its final charge to mend the ravaged world.

That was all five uses accounted for. A relic spent.

My master sure knew of this fact.

Which meant… Could there be one use left?

The thought sent a jolt through me.

Just then, the Pope spoke, his expression troubled. “The Holy Grail’s power was expended in the Great War. We possess nothing but an empty vessel.”

But my master simply held his gaze. “Do not worry. Nothing spoken here will leave this room.”

“That is not the issue—”

“There is one use left, is there not? The former Holy Father told me himself.”

The Pope’s eyes narrowed, all warmth vanishing from his expression. “…How much do you know?”

“You can assume I know as much as any cardinal in your Holy Kingdom.”

“…So, everything.” A long, weary sigh escaped the Pope.

He lowered his head. “It seems the former Holy Father placed a great deal of trust in you, Divine Archer.”

“We were comrades on the same battlefield. He was a man who despised keeping secrets from his allies. There are others who know. They simply honor the promise they made to him and hold their tongues.”

“…Then you should have honored it as well. To ask for something you know is so precious to us… frankly, it is insulting,” the Pope said, a faint scowl marking his features.

He had a point. Ignorance could be forgiven. But to demand such a treasure while knowing its true value was an act of pure greed.

Yet my master met the Pope’s glare with unyielding resolve. “The former Pope also made a promise. He vowed that if a new Saint were to appear, he would permit that child to use the Holy Grail.”

“Are you suggesting Baron Louis is a Saint? He has performed a miracle, true, but that alone is not proof.”

“Then let him undergo the Trial of a Saint. If my disciple passes, you will grant him the Holy Grail.”

…Excuse me?

My mind went blank. I shot a look at my master, trying to keep my shock from showing on my face.

By all accounts, that trial was one of the most grueling ordeals in existence.

“Are you serious?”

Just as I’d expected, the Pope let out a dry, humorless laugh. His eyes flicked to me, as if sizing up the madman who would even consider such a thing.

I bit back a curse.

The benefits of becoming a Saint were undeniable. I had to admit it was a golden opportunity, the key to gaining a steadfast and powerful ally. I desperately needed the Holy Kingdom’s support.

The title itself commanded immense authority.

The only problem was the process: agonizingly painful, with a probability of success so low it was almost nonexistent.

It was a gamble, and the odds were abysmal. I would be throwing away precious time for nothing.

Refusal was the only logical choice. I could find another way to secure the kingdom’s support.

Besides, my body was healed. I no longer needed the Grail.

I settled my thoughts and opened my mouth. “I must respectfully—”

A heavy hand clapped down on my shoulder, cutting me off before I could finish.

“Do not worry,” my master said, his voice low and firm. “You are more than capable.”

“…No, that’s not it.”

“Look at your fiancée,” he murmured, nodding toward Lea. “She is there for you. You can do this.”

I glanced at Lea, whose anxious eyes were fixed on us, then back at my master. I was trapped.

All I could manage was a sigh and a nod.

“…Yes.”

I can always quit halfway, I told myself, knowing it was a lie.

And just like that, it was decided. I was to undergo the Trial of a Saint.

* * *

First, we entrusted the Grand Duke to the Pope’s care for his treatment. Then, after scheduling the trial, my companions and I left the cathedral.

They had arranged an abbreviated version—unprecedented for a Trial of a Saint—at my master’s insistence. He had apparently promised to personally slaughter every last Demonkin in exchange.

The assessment would be done before the Grand Duke even awoke.

Of course, a shorter timeline only meant one thing.

He had said they would have to make it more rigorous, which meant the trial’s intensity and difficulty would be amplified. I was in for a rough time.

“Why are you so quiet?” I asked Lancelot.

“…Ah, me?”

“Yes. Who else here is ever that loud?”

“Hey, that’s a bit harsh,” he grumbled, his lips forming a pout. He had been uncharacteristically silent since we’d left the Pope’s chambers.

He scuffed his boot against the stone. “Well… I was just thinking. If you become a Saint, Captain… you won’t be our captain anymore, will you?”

“What?”

What nonsense was that?

My chances of becoming a Saint were slim to none. And what I sought was the Holy Kingdom’s support, not its titles. I needed the power to crush the Duchy of Artezia and destroy the Demonic Realm, not a new station.

Of course, I couldn’t say that out loud.

“Nonsense,” I said, forcing a casual tone. “As if I’d ever leave you lot behind.”

Lancelot’s shoulders relaxed.

He cleared his throat, a sheepish chuckle escaping him. “Heh, you’re right. Who else could put up with you, Captain? Only us.”

His familiar grin returned, his worries seemingly forgotten.

The man was so simple. That was his charm, I supposed.

Kai, Roxen, and Hans all nodded in agreement, so my answer must have satisfied them.

“Let’s go. I haven’t rested, and I’d like to change that.”

“Right behind you, Captain.”

I started walking, but we were stopped before we’d taken ten steps.

“Well, look who it is. I heard we had esteemed guests from the Empire… Please forgive my late greeting.”

A voice drifted from the cathedral’s archway, smooth yet grating. It was strangely androgynous, impossible to place as male or female.

I turned. I knew that voice. Key Dupron.

Cardinal of the Holy Kingdom, leading candidate for the next Pope, and—most importantly—the man backed by the Second Prince. He was one of the two cardinals the Pope had mentioned.

I had enough information on him to destroy his career.

But that was a bomb I couldn’t detonate. Not yet.

I watched him approach, flanked by his attendants, a pleasant smile fixed on his face. One of his knights, a Templar by his armor, glared at me with an unnerving intensity.

Like master, like subordinate… a pack of fools.

I disliked them instantly.

“What is it?” I asked. My tone was ice.

Cardinal Key’s eyes widened theatrically. “Oh, my. How rude of me. I have not introduced myself. I am Key Dupron, a cardinal of the Holy Kingdom.”

“I see.”

“…Is that all?”

“Was there something else?”

A flicker of irritation crossed Key’s face at my lack of deference, a subtle twitch of his eyebrow.

But as a true politician, he smothered it instantly, his smile returning.

He chuckled. “You are right, of course. There is nothing more required of you, a guest from the Empire.”

“Then if you’ll excuse us, I wish to rest.”

He chuckled again. “I would love to oblige, but I have some business with you.”

“Business?”

“Yes. A confirmation, you might say. Something my knight brought to my attention.” 

His tone was leisurely as he studied me. I had no idea what he was talking about.

“What confirmation?”

“The Holy Grail.” Cardinal Key smiled faintly. “I was wondering if, perhaps, you were hoping for it.”

My silence was answer enough.

“No matter,” he said. “Just listen.”

His gaze swept over me, then the Divine Archer, then the rest of my companions. “The Holy Grail is a priceless treasure, is it not? And yet, I hear a rumor… that a certain senile old man plans to hand it to a foreign noble. Bestowing the title of Saint where it is not deserved.”

His animosity was palpable.

My companions tensed, their hands straying toward their weapons.

But the cardinal merely chuckled. “Ah, no need for that. I am here to make you the same offer.”

“…What do you mean?”

“You came to heal the Grand Duke, did you not, Baron? His treatment has begun. You no longer need the Pope’s help.”

A faint smile touched his lips, crinkling the corners of his eyes.

“Abandon the Pope,” he whispered, his voice like a serpent’s hiss. “Swear your allegiance to His Highness, the Second Prince. Do so, and I will see to it that you receive not only the title of Saint but the Holy Grail as well.”

He leaned closer. “You can take your healed Grand Duke and the Grail and return to the Empire. We are not asking you to join a faction. You need only be a friend to His Highness.”

His voice dropped lower still. “What will you do?”

The offer hung in the air, thick with poison.

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