The Crown Prince Who Raises Alt Characters

#356 Corrupt Priest Rufus (14) - By God's Grace The mayor of Belt thought and acted wisely. "Send a message to the Grand Council immediately. Inform them at once that the two criminals from the city of Boots are currently gathering people and advancing upward." "Yes! What should we do about the people out front?" "Don't let them in. Tell them firmly that we cannot open the gates until orders come down from above." "Will that be enough? If it comes to military movement…." "No. If we make any move at this point that looks like we're physically threatening or attacking them, it'll only hand them justification. Stay quiet." By nature, the Sacred State of Hasht was not a country that cared all that much about public opinion. It's different from a republic that, despite being a Premier's dictatorship, at least calls for revolution and republicanism, or an empire where if you oppress the common folk too much, they might gain some fated opportunity from a cliff and come for the royal family's heads (though this side tends to ignore the lower classes more often). In this nation, all power, all wealth, and all strength were concentrated in the hands of the priesthood. The opinion of some ordinary believer who couldn't even wield Divine Power meant nothing of importance when viewed at the national level of Hasht. But that was only true when looking at Hasht as a whole. A single city. The one responsible for a single city. From that narrower point of view, public opinion mattered, and justification was something that had to be managed. "If we hold the city gates shut and wait it out, what can they possibly do?" First, block them. Then follow whatever orders come down from the Grand Council. The mayor of Belt thought and judged wisely. That is, within "the scope of what he was capable of imagining." "Um, Mayor?" "What is it?" "The people over there are scattering in all directions." "Heh, that was faster than I expected. Who'd have thought they couldn't even hold out half an hour after we announced the entry ban. Seems reality's finally sinking back in for them." "That… Mayor?" "What's the matter?" "A report has come in from a nearby village. They're asking what to do—apparently a group calling themselves a 'medical corps,' including a priest, showed up in their village and started treating people." "What? They didn't run off? Send someone out to investigate further, for now." "M-mayor." "Now what is it?" "Similar reports are coming in from other villages too. No—it looks like this so-called medical corps has split up and is operating in every single village around the area. And some of them are even gathering back here again, with even more people than before!" "Wait! What about the men we sent out first? What in the world did they do that—" "…It seems they've joined the other side." "Mayor. Unrest is growing inside the city. All the villagers nearby are getting treated for their illnesses, and people are asking why they can't have the same, when it's happening right in front of them." "Beat every last one of them into silence!! And still nothing from the Grand Council? How long ago did we send the messenger, and there's still no word at all!!" "……." "……." "…Mayor. Orders have come down from the Grand Council. We're authorized to use force—disperse them immediately, and escort the two who attempted the illegal assembly back under guard." "Well, that order came down fast, didn't it." The mayor looked down from atop the city wall. Compared to when they'd first blocked the group off, the number of people had multiplied several times over, even by the most conservative estimate. What was more frightening was that, among the ranks that had swelled that way, a good number of citizens from the very city he governed seemed to be mixed in as well. The mayor, overcome with a hollow sense of defeat, could only let out a dry, empty laugh. "This has got to be some kind of scam, right?" Someone might well say this. That it's really nothing to be so surprised about. That since the road ahead was blocked, they'd simply split the group up while waiting and gone around treating the local people before coming back—wasn't that all it was? The mayor of Belt could say this with certainty. It was something to be surprised about. No—something one ought to be utterly stunned by. A human being is not a puppet that carries out a given order exactly as instructed. Even a group of fewer than five people total—hardly an "organization," more like what you'd call a mere "squad"—when told to do A, will end up doing something else, dragging their feet, causing trouble, or otherwise tangling the whole thing up somehow. That's just the basic law of how the world works. And yet the people dispatched to each region had completed their task without causing a single problem? And come back having picked up even more people along the way? Right now, in front of the city, a four-digit number of people—original members plus new recruits—were gathered, and they were waiting quietly while maintaining "order"? He was supposed to believe that was reality? Just how overwhelming a reputation, how competent an administrative and leadership ability, would it take to make something like this possible? Wasn't it supposed to be just one pharmacist from some rural village, and one self-proclaimed priest of unclear identity, and that was it? Was this self-proclaimed priest secretly someone who'd once managed a population of hundreds of thousands without breaking a sweat, so that handling a mere four-digit headcount was as easy as eating cake? (E/N: *COUGH* *COUGH* *COUGH*) Did this self-proclaimed priest's connections and wealth rank among the finest on the continent, so that supplying provisions for this many people was nothing difficult at all? It was a story with absolutely no basis in reality. And so, the mayor of Belt arrived at a somewhat more "realistic" conclusion. "Open the gates." "…Mayor?" "Aren't they the ones blessed by the great beings of the Heavenly Realm? This isn't something we ought to be blocking." Ah, so the gods had arranged all this. (E/N: NO! Don't let yourself be fooled! It is the Demon King's work!) That would explain everything. The mayor of Belt was a wise man. And about two weeks later— The Grand Council hall was surrounded. *** The attendees of the Grand Council. The priests who stood at the very pinnacle of Kargal's faith thought to themselves. 'Is this a dream?' They say the maximum size of a host that a person can visually perceive and recognize is roughly around twenty thousand. And that's only for those who've set foot in the military and received professional training—ordinary people can't even gauge an opposing number once it crosses into the low thousands. Whether it's a thousand or hundreds of thousands, the visual shock a person feels is exactly the same. Put positively: even coming face to face with the "hundred-thousand-strong army" that so often appears in history books, the pressure an individual actually feels tops out at, at most, the thousands. Beyond that, it simply doesn't register as real anyway. Put negatively: even just facing a few thousand people, the burden an individual feels isn't so different from facing a hundred-thousand-strong army. Because there's no way to be certain there isn't more beyond what you can see. And the reality the priests were perceiving right now clearly leaned toward the latter. People. People are all he can see. People. People, people—wherever they looked, over there, over here—people. Just people. It wasn't as if they were equipped with any particular weapons or armor. Nor had they formed up in perfect ranks and entered a battle stance. But the mere fact that a crowd vast enough to fill the entire field of vision was simply "watching" was more than enough to make the priests feel a suffocating pressure bearing down on them. "Ah, terribly sorry about this. Since it was my first time on this road, I got a bit lost here and there and ended up running late." With a voice and expression that didn't seem the least bit sorry, Rufus stepped forward. Beside him stood Raphaela, looking somewhat tense, and a little further off stood Fredrick, who looked less than half-resigned to fate and more like he'd simply let go of his sanity entirely. While the priests exchanged wary glances with one another, the representative of the city of Vambrace—known to be somewhat hot-tempered—stepped forward and spoke. "Just what do you think you're doing!! Dragging along a swarm of people like this—are you trying to start a war!?" "Oh, if it's a ritual offering to the war god Kargal you're after, I wouldn't say no." "……." "Ha ha, don't worry. That was a joke." And with that, he was thoroughly crushed without so much as a peep. By nature, the impact of a message changes depending on the messenger. When some back-alley thug goes on about starting a war, it earns nothing but ridicule—but when an "agitator" who has gathered an uncountable crowd talks of war, that's something that can never be brushed off lightly. Because he really might go through with it. But not everyone was overwhelmed by Rufus. The representative of the city of Helm, the most seasoned member of the Grand Council, stepped forward and spoke. "Do you think you've won? If so, I can only call that foolish." He spread both arms wide and drew forth his Divine Power. A soft light poured out from his body, and his voice rang out, carrying an air of solemn majesty. So that even the crowd gathered around could hear. "I understand full well what you're after. You thought that if you dragged along a great crowd of people, we'd be frightened. But what do you suppose will happen in the process?" "This place is overflowing with seasoned Wardens. If they set their minds to swinging their weapons, do you honestly think those pitiful people over there could put up any resistance at all?" "Numbers like that mean nothing here. If anything, the more of them there are, the greater the casualties will be. If you dragged them here without realizing that, you're a fool—and if you knew and dragged them here anyway, then I can only call that a vile act." Spread the words. Plant the seed of distrust in their hearts. Make them realize that Rufus had simply used them—that he'd merely driven them into a field of death. Whether it was true or not made no difference. Words, after all, could be dressed up however one pleased. The representative of Helm had prepared every manner of argument, waiting only for Rufus to deny the accusation. "Yes. I did use them." When Rufus affirmed it without so much as a flinch, it was the representative, of all people, who found himself at a loss for words. "…What?" Had he heard that correctly just now? Facing the stunned representative and everyone else, Rufus spoke on, unshaken. "If I'd truly thought of their safety, I should have forced them to stay behind even if they insisted on coming along. Since I failed to do that, yes—I used them." "I calculated that their presence would work to our advantage, and that is vice; I failed to warn them of it, and that is ugliness. Your words are entirely correct." That was a statement that fully conceded everything the representative had said. It sounded like a clean acceptance of defeat—something close, in a sense, to a declaration of surrender. But somehow, even having won the debate outright, the representative felt a creeping sense of foreboding. He felt that he mustn't let the man say another word beyond this. Trusting that instinct, before the representative could open his mouth, Rufus spoke on ahead of him, continuing with his next line. "But tell me. Do you really think they didn't know that themselves?" "The people gathered here have minds and thoughts of their own too. Do you really think they came out here not knowing it was dangerous to show up in a place like this without a second thought—that they might get marked by you, that their very lives could be at risk?" "There's no way that's true. These people aren't so foolish or so ignorant as to be taken in by the scheme of some nobody like me, or some old man like you." So then, why had they moved? Why had they acted, having accepted every risk and seen through every scheme? "Because you people are fucking awful." "Not fixing something when you have the power to fix it—that's fine. It's a little galling, sure, but what can you do if someone doesn't want to share what's in their own hands. It belongs to them, after all." "But then, why get in the way of someone who does want to fix it? No one's telling you to fix anything, no one's telling you to give anything away—so why are you so desperate to tear it down?" When I'm sick and suffering, it's fine if you don't fix it or comfort me. I can bear that. But pointing a finger at someone who does treat me and comfort me, demanding to know why they're doing such a thing, insisting it's wrong and telling them to quit at once—that's fucked up. And when a person's sense of being wronged reaches its peak, they can become as reckless and bold as anything. The representative of Helm—no, every priest at the Grand Council—looked around them. They looked at the crowd. They looked at the "pigs and dogs" they had once considered ignorant. The moment they realized that the eyes looking back at them held neither respect nor fear, but disgust and rage, they broke into action almost like a fit of convulsion. "The heretic!! He's bewitched the believers with his wicked teachings!! What are the Holy Knights doing!! Execute this man at once!!" The Wardens stepped forward, and among them, the Holy Knights of exceptional skill. Each of them was at least 4th rank. Some of the finest among them had even reached 5th rank. For the medical corps and its followers, who had no proper combatant besides Rufus, winning by force was simply impossible. Knowing this, they drew their swords. To snuff out the fire right here. To keep this restless, wicked ember from spreading across the entire Sacred State. A wave of Divine Power surged from their bodies all at once— —and in the very next instant, that wave vanished, all at once. "Eh?" Someone's bewildered voice rang out. And that bewilderment quickly turned into despair and shock. "O, O God!! Grant us strength! Bestow your power upon your faithful servant!!" "Kargal!! O great god of war! Your warrior begs for your blessing now!!" "Why? Why in the world!?" They were stunned, but to Rufus, this was only natural. The gods of Hasht wanted nothing but faith; they had little to no interest in earthly affairs themselves. More precisely, the supply of faith was their top priority, and they hardly involved themselves in the concrete details or methods. So then, let's do a bit of simple arithmetic here. On one side: holders of Divine Power, high in social standing and strong in force, but a mere handful in number. On the other: ordinary believers, low in social standing and pitiful in force, but the overwhelming majority by headcount. When these two clash against each other, which side disappearing would be the greater "loss" for a god? This wasn't a matter of faith at all, but simply one of rational calculation—yet to those who didn't understand that, it felt as though the gods of the Heavenly Realm had taken the side of Rufus and the ordinary believers. And so, the people cried out, overcome with emotion. Kargal! Kargal! Kargal! O great god of war! O guardian who protects the oppressed!! We have surely grasped your will now!! Their faith deepened. Their cheers grew fiercer. The war god came to understand exactly what "image" of himself would make people burn hotter with fervor, would make them offer up ever more passionate faith. And so, from then on, that was the form he would choose to take. In front of the trembling "former" priests and Holy Knights, Rufus cracked his knuckles, one by one, with a series of sharp pops. Then, smiling, he said: "God's protection be upon us, it seems—and He says you bastards can go ahead and die now."