“A Stigmata… appeared?” one of the cardinals whispered, his voice cracking. The others could only stare at Louis, their faces frozen in horror.

A Stigmata.

In the theology of the Holy Kingdom, it was nothing less than a wound left by the Goddess herself. It was not a mark one could earn through desire, nor a fate one could evade through will.

One was simply chosen.

“No! How can a Stigmata manifest on an unbeliever?”

“It’s a trick! It must be!”

The chamber erupted. Cardinals surged to their feet, stabbing accusatory fingers at Louis.

That the Stigmata would appear on one of their own faithful would have been a miracle beyond belief. But on an infidel from the Empire—a wielder of the heretical power of Aura, no less—it was blasphemy.

In their fury, they turned on the one man they could blame.

“Did Your Holiness tell him?” one demanded, his voice shaking with rage.

“To reveal the secrets of the Stigmata? Its types, its markings? Are you truly trying to sell our kingdom to the Empire?”

The suspicion was a poison in the air.

For generations, the specifics of the Stigmata had been a secret so closely guarded that many in the room had privately dismissed the signs as mere legend. 

For one to appear now, on Louis’s forehead, the cardinals saw no other explanation but betrayal.

“Your Holiness!” they cried, a desperate edge to their voices.

But the Pope was just as stunned as they were.

What in the world is happening? he thought, his mind reeling.

A Stigmata. A miracle so rare it could be counted on one hand in the entire history of the Holy Kingdom.

He did not scorn Louis as an unbeliever, as the other cardinals did, but he certainly didn’t consider him one of the faithful.

Louis was an outsider. A tool. A necessary poison to purge the Empire from their lands.

And this man had been chosen by the Goddess.

This was entirely outside his calculations.

Oh, Goddess… Do You truly intend to deliver this nation into the hands of the Empire?

The Pope closed his eyes, his expression a mask of warring emotions.

Outsiders would have found their reaction theatrical. A great fuss over a simple wound.

But it was no simple wound. Its significance went beyond being a scar from the Goddess or a sacred sign.

The problem was that the one who received the Stigmata…

“…becomes the Goddess’s Agent,” the Pope murmured, a faint, weary sigh escaping his lips.

The Goddess’s Agent. A Saint.

Not merely someone with exceptional divine power who had passed a trial, but a true Saint, an agent in the most literal sense.

One who answered the Goddess’s call and acted according to her will.

“There is no need to see more.”

Pain Atriker shot Louis a sharp look and rose from his seat. He, Key, and the other high-ranking cardinals could feel it. They knew this was the authentic will of the Goddess.

The energies swirling around Louis—demonic, divine, and Aura—formed an impossible, undeniable trinity. To dispute it now would only make them look like fools.

So, the wisest course was to withdraw.

“To continue the Trial would be pointless. I will take my leave.”

“Sir Pain,” Cardinal Key snapped, “are you suggesting we recognize this whelp from the Empire as a Saint?”

“What is the issue?” Pain countered. “A Stigmata has appeared. To deny it would be pathetic.”

“Just a moment ago, I thought we were in agreement,” Cardinal Key said, biting his lip.

Pain was aligned with the First Prince’s faction; he could afford to be detached. 

But Key could not back down. He and Louis were already adversaries. The prospect of Louis becoming the next Saint was so intolerable that Key was willing to burn the whole situation to the ground to prevent it.

“The station of Saint is not granted so lightly!” Key argued, his voice rising. “Consider the authority it confers! Absolute command in the war against the Demonkin. Does that not challenge the authority of His Holiness himself?”

Pain smirked and shook his head. “Rich, coming from the man who has spent his every waking moment undermining His Holiness. But I’ll let that slide. Answer me this: Are you suggesting we ignore a mark etched by the Goddess herself?”

“This is not the time to get hung up on that!”

“Hung up? I merely want an answer. Come now, Cardinal, share your esteemed opinion. I’m waiting.”

Pain’s eyes glinted as he stared down Key.

In truth, this outcome pleased him no more than it did Key, but his position was stronger. Louis Berg was closer to the First Prince’s faction than the Second’s. He might be a future traitor, but for now, he was an ally.

“…Are you looking for a fight?” Cardinal Key asked, grinding his teeth.

A sneer twisted Pain’s lips. “Hah. Finally. I was growing tired of waiting.”

“Honorary Cardinal Pain!”

"Don’t shout. It’s hard enough to find anything worth hearing these days. I’d rather not needlessly suffer your grating voice."

Pain’s eyes crinkled as he looked past Key to the surrounding knights. “And you knights would do well to think before you act. I won’t stop you from trying your luck, but you’d best bring the Commander of the Templars along if you do.”

The knights fell silent.

“Nothing to say? Good. I’ll be on my way, then. Think it over.”

With a final, booming laugh at the sight of Key’s contorted face, Pain turned to leave. He swept from the chamber, but not before casting one last, meaningful glance at Louis.

Key gritted his teeth.

“That bastard…!” he spat, his face a mask of fury. Did the backing of the First Prince make him an equal? The audacity was staggering.

“…Sir Philip, gather the Templars.”

“All of them?”

“Then would you be acting alone?” Key hissed, his composure cracking. “Are you a fool, Sir Philip? Use your head! Pain Atriker… It seems my future will be far more peaceful with that old man gone.”

“Your Eminence, there are many listening ears…”

“And you think I can’t manage it?” Key shot back, his eyes glinting with a dangerous light.

In truth, only his most trusted circle had heard him, thanks to a crystal orb Duke Artezia had provided.

The magical device, which resembled a blood-red ruby, could channel the user’s voice only to those he intended.

Still…

This thing gives me a bad feeling every time I look at it.

Cardinal Key scowled at the orb, but its effectiveness was undeniable.

“Just do as I command. Understand?”

“…Yes, Your Eminence.”

“Then go. You’ll have to move now to gather the Templars in time.”

It was a clear dismissal. Philip bit his lip, then bowed his head and vanished.

Cardinal Key clicked his tongue at the empty space where Philip had stood. He, too, rose and stalked toward his quarters.

Amid the chaos, Louis turned to the Pope.

“So,” he said, his voice calm, “does this mean I’ve passed the trial?”

* * *

I watched the cardinals scatter.

They can argue about the Stigmata all they want. I just need to know if this is over.

The brand on my forehead was their problem. My problem was the clock.

Other trials remained, and any delay here would consume more time—time the Grand Duke didn’t have.

That is unacceptable.

Better to finish the trials quickly or fail them outright. The Holy Grail was a legendary artifact, but my revenge wouldn’t be derailed by its absence.

I just want this to be done.

A trickle of blood ran down my forehead. I swiped it away with my sleeve, my eyes flicking upward in a pointless attempt to see the mark myself.

I didn’t understand why the Stigmata had appeared now.

What had I done to earn it? I knew it was precious to them, but to a non-believer like me, it was just a story. If anything, the scar was an annoyance.

Can it even be healed?

If they started insisting I remain in the Holy Kingdom because of this, it would become a massive headache. Of course, becoming a Saint meant access to the Holy Grail, which was its own advantage. Even so…

The responsibility outweighs the authority.

If that was the deal, I wanted no part of it.

I nodded to myself and got to my feet.

Turning back to the Pope, I lowered my voice. “So, is the trial finished?”

My question seemed to snap him out of his stupor.

He nodded slowly. “Ah… yes. Baron, you have more than proven your qualifications.”

Good. It seemed the Stigmata had at least brought a swift conclusion.

“However,” the Pope continued, his expression grave, “the matter of a Stigmata is a momentous one for our kingdom. You may find yourself embroiled in some… troublesome affairs.”

I’d expected as much. The raw emotion in the eyes of the men who had just left—Pain and Key—was plain to see.

Greed and jealousy.

In the eyes of those two clerics, I saw jealousy. They felt the Goddess’s favor had been stolen from them, and they greedily desired to possess it for themselves.

That one, Key, seems quite furious on top of it all.

Whatever their motives, it was my problem to handle.

I nodded in response to the Pope’s warning. “I will be cautious, Your Holiness. By the way, how is His Grace the Grand Duke’s condition?”

I hadn’t expected the Pope himself to be present for my trial. He should have been treating the Grand Duke.

Since he was standing right here, I had to ask.

“Ah, the Grand Duke is currently acclimating to the divine power.”

“…Does that mean the treatment is finished?”

“Not quite. Think of it as a preliminary stage. We must get him accustomed to the divine power before the main treatment begins. Receiving too much too quickly can cause the skin to necrotize.”

I think I’ve heard that before.

I nodded, accepting his explanation. “…I leave him in your care. He is to be my father-in-law.”

“Do not worry,” the Pope said with a benevolent smile. “As of this moment, he has become very important to me as well.”

I had no idea why the Grand Duke’s well-being was suddenly so important to the Pope, but I nodded. My own business here was finished.

As the adrenaline of the trial faded, another thought surfaced, one that had been nagging at me.

Right. And who was that girl?

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