8.
“It’s the pilgrimage group.”
“They have gathered again.”
The air felt heavy today, there was a palpable weight that everyone passing through the capital’s center could sense.
The source of this oppressive atmosphere was the hundreds of pilgrims who had begun swarming the area since dawn.
Lancel watched from the terrace of a distant restaurant.
“Silence! Duke Meryll Dunn, who will lead this pilgrimage, is set to arrive.”
A man almost entirely encased in gleaming armor strode onto the prepared platform.
Lancel frowned.
The armor’s silver was so polished that each step the man took sent blinding flashes of light reflected from the sun, searing Lancel’s eyes.
“How unfortunate! Truly regrettable, pilgrims! Citizens of the Empire! Descendants of the great god!”
Duke Dunn began his speech, unfolding a pre-prepared sheet of paper.
“Why does the evil rooted in this land persist? Why do those who obstruct the Empire’s dream of creating a paradise never cease to exist?”
Slurp, slurp.
Lancel sipped his fruit drink with an indifferent expression, his eyes glazed over.
‘Here we go again, with another endless tirade…’
“Therefore, I swear…!”
By the time Lancel ordered his third drink, Duke Dunn’s speech had finally reached its climax.
“I, Meryll Dunn, in the name of the Imperial Family and the Martyr’s Church! I vow to uproot every sprout of corruption and wickedness that has spread to every corner of this glorious Empire!”
An uprooting.
The pilgrimage group was a group of hypocrites, but that much was undeniably true. Just a week into the pilgrims’ journey, the cries of the Empire’s people, who had been worn down to their roots, echoed across the land.
“Oh no, if you take this, we won’t have enough food to last until the harvest!”
“You dare defy a pilgrimage ordained by the gods? Look at this wretch—he’s a demon! Hang him immediately!”
“Eek! P-please spare me! I’ll give you everything!”
Wine and food, shelter and women, horses and coins—the pilgrims seized whatever they needed, and plundered even what they didn’t.
“Hand it over. All of it.”
* * *
“They must be in the Old Bottle region by now.”
Lancel meticulously traced the pilgrimage group’s route on the map.
There was no need to inquire about their whereabouts. The pilgrimage group themselves announced their exploits daily. Every four days, the group’s detailed accounts of their journey were posted in Rodnis’s square center, a routine Lancel had grown accustomed to.
“… Furthermore, the pilgrimage group eradicated the vile and malicious bandit forces illegally occupying the village and dealt with the monster dwelling in the lake!”
‘In other words, they razed a village that resisted their looting.’
Most of the announcements were filled with flamboyant tales of glory, but they provided enough information to track the band’s movements.
“If you’re so interested in the pilgrimage, why not just join them?”
Baron Ibil Shen looked at Lancel with a hint of suspicion as he meticulously recorded the pilgrimage group’s procession each day.
‘There is no other answer than this.’
Lancel had no intention of letting this opportunity slip through his fingers. After all, an event like the group’s procession was rare.
Indeed, this was the right opportunity.
Their very existence, their arrogance, the atrocities they were committing, even the relatively close proximity of their pilgrimage route to the capital—all of it was an opportunity for Lancel.
“Lord Ibil, would you like to make a fortune with me?”
As soon as all the pilgrimage group’s travel routes were finalized, Lancel went to see Baron Ibil Shen.
The most successful stablemaster in the land. A miser. Lancel intended to make him an offer he couldn’t refuse.
“If this goes well, no one in the capital will ever look down on you again, Lord Ibil.”
The baron was leisurely sipping his tea, but his eyes betrayed a hint of unease.
“Why are you acting so strangely? Just spit it out. It’s not like I haven’t lent you money before.”
“This time, the sum is… substantial.”
“Roughly this much…”
Baron Ibil Shen’s eyes widened as if they might burst from their sockets.
“W-what on earth do you need such a sum for…?”
“I told you, it’s for business. Business.”
“…Let’s hear it then. What exactly are you scheming?”
Lancel lowered his voice and explained his plan. After listening for a long while, Baron Ibil Shen let out a heavy sigh.
“This requires approval from the Imperial Archbishop. It’s not something anyone can just do on a whim.”
“You don’t need to worry about that.”
“Why not?”
“Because you’ll get the approval, won’t you?”
“Who? Me?”
The baron stared at Lancel in disbelief.
.
.
.
“Doing something like that? At this time?”
“Yes, Archbishop.” Baron Ibil Shen was sweating profusely.
The Imperial Archbishop gazed down at the crown of Baron Ibil’s head through half-closed eyes.
The meeting had been arranged at Lancel’s semi-coercive request.
It went without saying that securing this audience had cost him the equivalent of five thoroughbred horses in bribes.
“If something goes wrong, I will take full responsibility. On the honor of the Dante family.”
That damn Dante family. If it weren’t for the baron’s past connection with the Dante family, Baron Ibil Shen wouldn’t have even dreamed of doing something like this.
Muttering inwardly, Baron Ibil Shen cautiously observed the Imperial Archbishop’s expression.
“U-um, what do you think?”
After a long silence, the Imperial Archbishop’s eyes slowly opened.
“I heard that you are a nouveau riche from the frontier, but now that I see you…”
A silence stretched between them, first short, then long. Sharp eyes swept over Baron Ibil Shen from head to toe.
Fear of what might follow gripped the baron. His breath hitched, his chest feeling as if it might burst at any moment.
“You’re quite the clever one.”
“Hah…”
Overwhelmed by a sudden relief, Baron Ibil Shen let out the breath he had been holding.
“I hadn’t considered that before. Why didn’t I think of that? Especially at such an opportune time.”
“…Pardon?”
“However,” the Imperial Archbishop interrupted Baron Ibil Shen. “No matter how wealthy you are, can you truly manage such a grand festival alone?”
“Of course! Of course! I’ll sell every last one of my possessions if necessary!”
“No, I do not believe it. Since we’ve come this far, the Martyr’s Church should also contribute. After all, we can’t let you handle everything yourself.”
“Ah, yes, that’s… that’s right.”
Baron Ibil Shen couldn’t hide his growing panic.
The Imperial Archbishop wasn’t just endorsing Lancel Dante’s reckless plan; he was now digging even deeper into it.
“Those people will never refuse. Just trust me. Just do it.”
Could Lancel’s words truly be right? Baron Ibil Shen felt a shiver run through his body, raising goosebumps on his arms.
“It seems we’ll need to expand this further. His Majesty appears to have some free time today.”
“Your…!” Baron Ibil Shen’s face turned ashen.
“You’ll deliver this message to His Majesty yourself. Do you understand?”
“Huh? Y-yes… yes!”
Baron Ibil Shen felt as if his lifespan had been cut in half.
9.
At the heart of the capital lay a vast park where nobles spent their leisure time.
Lancel and Marigold had been visiting this place every weekend for months.
Waterfowl flew around the lake, and wealthy and noble families from the capital gathered in the bustling gardens.
“Hic!”
“It’s okay. I’m holding you.”
As always, Lancel helped Marigold onto a small rowboat floating on the lake.
For Marigold, who was blind, the boat was a symbol of terror. Her lips trembled, convinced she would lose her balance and fall over at any moment.
Once they reached the center of the lake, Lancel began rowing, and Marigold took a deep breath.
“I’m… ready.”
“Then let’s begin.”
Lancel snapped his fingers, signaling Marigold. Her expression transformed instantly.
Her eyes remained closed, her face serene. Birds fluttered around the swaying rowboat, but her gentle demeanor remained unshaken. Her appearance, bordering on sublime, was breathtaking.
After a long moment, Marigold’s lips slowly parted.
“Knight,” she said.
Lancel smiled.
Marigold’s quiet voice carried an almost oppressive weight. She was a completely different person from moments before.
“Tell me who you are.”
Lancel shifted his position in the rowboat. He knelt on one knee and lowered his head.
“I am Lancel Dante.”
.
.
.
“I am your loyal servant, Lancel Dante.”
Lancel knelt before Marigold.
Beside him lay the knight he had just fought, now unconscious and sprawled on the ground.
Behind them, a small fence separated the arena from dozens of spectators and gamblers, their cheers creating a deafening roar.
“The winner of the first preliminary round of the Imperial Knights’ Tournament is…!”
Baron Ibil Shen rushed forward, grinning widely, and raised Lancel’s arm in victory.
==========
—Regular Event: The final round of the “Imperial Knights’ Tournament,” hosted by Baron Ibil Shen and the Martyrs’ Church, is three months away. Who will be chosen as the Empire’s greatest knight?
※Due to the guidelines of the Martyrs’ Church, knights from all denominations within the Empire will participate in the Imperial Knights’ Tournament.
==========
“Lancel Dante of the Holy Maiden Church!”
“Woooooah!”
“Give my money back, you… son of a bitch!”
Just for this, gambling takes the W home.