The Crown Prince Who Raises Alt Characters

#Chapter 357 The Delinquent Priest, Rufus (15) - The Last Deal A wasteland without the grace of the gods. It's a phrase the people of Hasht often use to describe anything outside the Sacred State. It was close to propaganda meant to heighten national belonging by defining outsiders as "unbelievers," but it wasn't entirely baseless either. After all, the gods of the Heavenly Realm hardly ever looked upon any land beyond Hasht, and so their Divine Power didn't reach there either. But even where there are no gods, humans still search for one. For when life is hard and painful, seeking something to believe in and rely on is one of the fundamental natures of humankind. And con artists, by nature, are those who latch onto such desperate hearts and suck them dry. "Believe! For the noble ones of the Heavenly Realm bestow their grace only upon those who believe!" "Wealth in human hands is nothing but corruption! Offer it before the altar of the heavenly gods and save your rotting flesh!!" ...Raphaela's parents were exactly that kind of con artists. They posed as priests, speaking of the gods' divine power to bewitch people. The unfortunate thing for everyone but the couple themselves was that they were exceptionally gifted con artists. A handsome appearance and voice that put people at ease. A way of speaking sweet as honey, one that bewitched people and left them unable to think straight. A sharp sense and instinct for knowing exactly when to strike and when to pull back. They were undeniably capable, and precisely because they were capable, they were harmful. At some point, young Raphaela came to realize something. The more abundantly her parents ate and drank, the more someone else went hungry, clutching their empty stomach. The more her parents adorned themselves in soft silk clothes, the more someone else shivered in the cold, wrapped in mere rags. The more her parents squandered people's fortunes and time with fake medicine and false prescriptions, the more their victims died in vain, never even receiving proper treatment. Raphaela was a clever child—clever enough to notice that the abundance she enjoyed was bought at the cost of someone else's suffering. Raphaela was also a foolish child—foolish enough, as a mere little girl, to defy the parents who held total control over her life. Her parents coaxed her, lectured her, tried to persuade her. Child, this is for their own good. Child, illusion is naturally sweeter than truth. Child, grow up a little. It's because we do this that you're alive and not starving to death. It's surprisingly not rare for those who are wicked to others to dote fiercely on their own family. In that sense, her parents loved Raphaela in their own way. But that love wasn't enough to make them accept a situation where their own child tried to scold and correct their wrongdoing. Coaxing turned into coercion. Lecturing turned into violence. Persuasion turned into verbal abuse. And in the end. "If you're so high and mighty, then go do whatever you want on your own!!" Raphaela was abandoned. Considering that she wasn't even ten years old at the time, it was, in effect, no different from indirectly pushing her toward death. Or perhaps they were waiting for Raphaela, once she'd learned how harsh the world was, to come crawling back in tears, admitting her fault and confessing that her parents had been right all along. But there was no longer any way to confirm which it was. Because in the time since Raphaela had been cast out, her parents had died. It was revenge, carried out by victims who had lost family members to their false treatments. Their corpses were battered to shreds—so much so that it was clear they'd been struck with stones again and again even after the breath had already left them. What followed in Raphaela's life was, if anything, an irony. Even as countless orphans died in poverty, Raphaela managed to survive. Thanks to having eaten well and grown up properly in her early years, her base stamina was better than others'. While the uneducated lost their lives to eating something wrong or to trivial illnesses, Raphaela was spared that fate. Her parents may not have had the ability to actually cure illness, but they did have the ability to make it look like they had—and even that much medical knowledge was valuable in this world. While countless children in the world were treated like weeds, with common names and grubby looks, Raphaela could be treated like a beautiful flower. To the old alchemist who, near the end of his life, wanted to take in a "special disciple," Raphaela's appearance and name—both carefully cultivated by her parents—looked more than worthy enough. It really was a bitter irony, and nothing less. Raphaela had so despised her parents for swindling and exploiting others, and had scorned the name and looks they'd given her— —and yet every single thing that had allowed her to survive in this world was, in fact, a legacy left behind by those very parents. That was why Raphaela's life was both a proof and an atonement. She wanted to live a life different from her parents'. She wanted to prove that her life hadn't come from exploitation and deception alone. Crawling her way, against all odds, into Hasht, the Sacred State that was her parents' homeland, the very place where they had cried out the names of gods—that too was born of the same reasoning. If she was going to help people anyway, she thought it would be best to do it at the very place where that sin had begun. Judging only by the results so far, it had been a foolish decision. Hasht turned out to be a far more stifling, oppressive, suffocating country than she had imagined. A culture that rejected any and all skills besides Divine Power. An atmosphere that branded you a Heretic the moment you tried even the smallest new thing. Treatment using alchemy, Raphaela's specialty, was hard even to dream of, and even when she somehow managed to use it, she always had to watch her surroundings warily. She had lived on, holding it all in, but she never thought it would go on forever. An end would surely come. Turmoil would surely visit her life. In some corner of Raphaela's heart, that resolve had always existed. Only— "Therefore, from now on, you'll need to take charge of all of Kargal's medical care." "Huh?" Still, she hadn't been prepared for this kind of thing. To the dazed Raphaela, Rufus went on speaking as calmly as ever. "What's wrong? You look like a sparrow that's just been waterboarded." "...How on earth would you know what a waterboarded sparrow's face looks like?" "Well, 99% of humanity has no idea what that looks like anyway, so if I just claim this is it, doesn't that make it correct?" As always, it was nonsense so absurd she couldn't even tell if he was joking or serious. "A-anyway, suddenly telling me to take responsibility for all of Kargal's medical care..." At Raphaela's protest, Rufus spoke while folding down his fingers one by one. "There aren't many higher-ups left in Kargal's Faith-Based Territory right now. You know that, don't you?" Of course she knew. Rufus had "educated" them one by one himself. That "education" had been so masterful and thoroughly satisfying that the ordinary believers—who, seething with resentment, indignation, and fury at the city representatives, had seemed ready to start a revolution—had simply muttered "ugh, that's a bit much" and set back down the stones they'd picked up. Raphaela was fairly certain that if Rufus had been around during the Republic's revolution, the heads of royals and nobles would never have ended up on the guillotine. Because the people would have thought, "we've done enough, let's just leave their necks intact," and turned moderate instead. "Which means, from now on, there's no need to read the room or anything—you can just tear the whole inside apart and rebuild it however you like." "Um, excuse me, but... when exactly have you ever read the room in the first place...?" "Isn't this truly the perfect opportunity? A building that's fallen apart beyond a certain point is more efficient to just tear down entirely and rebuild. You could say this is the optimal timing for reform." One thing was certain: Rufus never read Raphaela's mood at all. Otherwise, he couldn't have brushed off her question so casually, as if it were nothing. "Well, rest easy, Raphaela. I won't ask you to do anything like politics. Our dear Mayor Fredrick has graciously and voluntarily agreed to take all of that on himself." "..." Raphaela felt she could bet her entire fortune that it had been anything but gracious or voluntary. "So, what will it be? If you truly don't want it, I won't force you." "...Saying all that and then offering me a way out at this point—personally, I think that's a pretty cheap move." "My apologies for that." Even as he bowed his head, Rufus's attitude wasn't the least bit serious. He probably already knew it too—that Raphaela wouldn't refuse this proposal. And he was right. There were many people to save. Many people who needed treatment. Raphaela had already come to know it. The fact that, if she reached just a little further, greedy for just a little more, so many more people would be saved because of it. That very feeling of it, real and undeniable. Even if someone told her now to go back to quietly helping villagers as a small herb shop owner, she herself would no longer be satisfied with that. There was just one thing, though. Raphaela intended to make sure of this much, at least. "Priest. You're planning to leave soon, aren't you?" There was no particular reaction from Rufus. He didn't flinch, nor did he fall into a long silence. He simply looked at Raphaela, quite naturally. As ever, he was a man whose true thoughts were impossible to read. Still, Raphaela didn't mind. She was the type to trust her own instincts. "Is there a reason you think that?" "You have a strangely consistent tendency to avoid taking on any official post. Though, honestly, that's just a pretext—it's really just instinct." "That's rather thin evidence." "So, am I wrong?" Rufus gazed steadily at Raphaela. And then he spoke. "No. You're not wrong." Rufus shrugged. "Honestly, I meant to reform just the one city of Boots, and if the war god responded to it, negotiate with him and borrow his authority to wrap things up quickly. But the gods' silence has dragged on far longer than I expected. So Kargal alone has already turned into something far bigger and far more drawn out than I planned." Raphaela recalled her first meeting with Rufus. Rufus had definitely said, back then, that he was in the middle of a pilgrimage. That he intended to travel all across Hasht. Right now, that plan of his had clearly run into some trouble. "Of course, Raphaela. From your position, this might feel irresponsible. So let me explain the circumstances. This is—" "No. It's fine. You don't have to tell me." Raphaela shook her head. "I haven't shown you everything about myself either, after all. What your true identity is, why you're attempting this reform—you don't need to tell me any of that. Knowing it wouldn't let me treat any more people anyway." "Hmm?" Rufus tilted his head slightly. The corner of his mouth curled upward, giving him a look of subtle amusement. "Instead, if you're going to leave anyway, grant me one favor before you go." "I'll hear it first and decide. What is it?" Raphaela answered. "—I want to make alchemical treatment legal in this country."