The morning light poured into Chikarta Temple.
It was probably designed for just this effect. The altar, simple yet immaculate, was bathed in a serene, sacred glow. Nicold Ibuton stood before it in full regalia as the temple’s high priest.
“…What foul sorcery did you use?” he growled the instant he saw Venetim’s face. “I have absolutely no interest, but five high priests have recommended me for the position, so I suppose it is the will of the goddesses. And I cannot go against the Temple’s rules.”
“Thank you very much.” Venetim bowed deeply. The priest showed no reaction.
“Glad to have you on board. We need you to win, too,” said Xylo, pointing at his own neck as he leaned back in one of the temple’s pews. “Otherwise, they’ll blow our heads off, and we’ll be stuck in the repair shop until next year.”
It was a rude way to talk to a priest, but Ibuton didn’t seem particularly bothered.
“If enough people choose me, then I will become archpriest,” said Ibuton. “If not, someone else will. Personally, I’d prefer the latter outcome, as I already have too many tasks to attend to.”
“This isn’t just your problem anymore. You need to win, no matter what.”
“Ultimately, religion is a deeply personal matter that must be dealt with as an individual. It exists to protect the sacred beliefs we hold dear in our hearts, and a priest’s role should be to serve as protector of that faith, and nothing more. Ideally, that is.”
“…Sure, I can agree with that. One day, I’d like to live in a world like that.”
Venetim couldn’t understand even half of this exchange. It sounded terribly complex. But soon, Ibuton fixed his collar, straightened up, and began to move.
“Luffe Aros is right around the corner. I can finish all the necessary paperwork by the end of the day, but I expect there will be people after my life. If you all wish to see me become archpriest, then you’d best guard me carefully.”
“You have nothing to worry about,” Venetim replied. “I have already made the necessary preparations to keep you safe.”
That wasn’t exactly the truth, however. They needed a bunch of soldiers for the task, and they weren’t going to find them through normal means. Something had to be done, and until they figured out what, they’d need to have Tatsuya and Rhyno take turns protecting Ibuton. But that would only go so far. They needed to take action quickly.
I can pull this off, but I’ll have to work hard. Very hard.
Venetim had his work cut out for him.
“Very well,” said the priest. “Let’s move on to my statement of beliefs, then.”
He walked past them, then stopped in his tracks. He wasn’t looking at Venetim or Xylo, however. His gaze was fixed on Tatsuya.
“He’s the spitting image of him.”
“Excuse me?”
“The hero in the legends. Surely, you’ve heard the stories. He was one of the Nine Stars of Destiny summoned by the First Goddess to help end the original War of Subjugation. They say he descended wielding a sword and a radiant beam of light. Eventually, he transformed himself into a divine beast and fought the Demon Blight.”
Ibuton glanced at the painting adorning the altar behind him. It depicted a goddess and her warriors. Rendered in vivid colors, the figures all appeared distinctly inhuman. Of course, as it was only a fictional depiction; it had likely been somewhat exaggerated.
Venetim had heard tales of the First War of Subjugation and knew of the Nine Stars. There was the bodiless grand sage and founder Vladd the Sealed, Avilly of the Cursed Sigil, Nieg the Glutton, and Yukihito the Judge. Who were the others, again?
Suddenly Xylo spoke up. “The Legend of the Nine Stars, huh? I’ve read it.”
His eyes were fixed on the painting. For someone so wild and uncouth-looking, he seemed surprisingly knowledgeable when it came to ancient texts. Perhaps it was a result of his aristocratic upbringing.
“Eight of their names are consistent, but the last one seems to have been lost to history. Though a few authors have taken it upon themselves to make up a name and background for him.”
“Yes, the name of the Ninth Star—the one who wears the flesh of the sacred beast—is lost to us.” Ibuton looked away from both Tatsuya and the painting and continued walking. “All we know is that he was a holy warrior with an unusual appearance, summoned from a foreign world long, long ago.”
“We’ve heard rumors that Tatsuya has been fighting for humanity ever since the First War of Subjugation,” said Xylo. “No clue if there’s any truth to them, though.”
He turned to look at Venetim, the one who’d passed those rumors along to him. He hadn’t lied—he’d been hearing such stories since he was first sentenced. Still, he had no way to verify that any of it was true.
“To be honest, I never really believed it,” said Xylo. “But maybe he really was the same guy.”
Xylo pointed a finger at him, but Tatsuya didn’t react. He’d been ordered to guard Ibuton, and he simply followed along after him, fulfilling his mission. To Venetim, the scene seemed somehow sacred.
“…So, what’s the plan, Venetim?” Xylo stood up and yawned. Apparently, he and Tsav had spent the night searching for Gwen Mohsa’s whereabouts, and he was still a bit sleepy. “Now that we’ve got High Priest Ibuton in the running, we’ve got a chance of winning this. I’m feeling optimistic.”
Xylo was right. Nicold Ibuton was quite popular among believers and other priests. Some were even willing to donate to his cause. If he was archpriest, such income would likely increase, and that possibility could bring in the votes. At the very least, there were the five high priests Verkle Corp had bribed, and others might decide to join them.
Then again… If Verkle Corp intends to help High Priest Mirose win, they probably have something a lot more solid in the works…
But Venetim kept that thought to himself. He’d always been the type to anticipate the worst-case scenario, but he almost never talked about it. Other people tended to dismiss such ideas as ridiculous, after all. If he spoke up, they’d just think he was lying. And if he was right—well, that would be even worse. One time he’d been right, and he’d wound up sentenced to serve as a hero.
No, it was better not to say anything unless he was asked.
“Our only concern now is keeping High Priest Ibuton alive. Let’s hurry up and hire some guards. The enemy might even try attacking the election, so we’ll need at least one hundred guards on standby.”
“You just need me to get as many people as possible, yes? I could probably get…around fifty.”
“Wow, look at you. Planning to ask your brother? Or rather, Verkle Corp?”
“Uh… Broadly speaking, yes.”
“Well, now you’ve got me worried! You’ve gotta tell me what you’re thinking, or else I start to get anxious.”
“Um, well, I’ll tell you if it will make you feel better. If we’re considering the long term, the most effective way to get the numbers we need is…”
And so Venetim explained his thoughts to Xylo. He’d feared the man would fly into a rage, but instead, his jaw dropped in astonishment.
“…Are you serious?”
“What? Uh… Yes. I believe this is a surefire way to win the election…”
“That’s awful! I mean, I thought you were joking at first. What a con. But…” Xylo seemed to be hesitating over whether to chew out Venetim. “You really come up with some crazy ideas, Venetim. I’m genuinely impressed.”
“Th-that’s a compliment, right? I mean, I can’t think of any other way for us to win.”
“It’s a compliment. We’ll need to make a few adjustments, but the plan should work… Our problem now is how to get fifty more people. There aren’t many people we can ask, either.”
“Yes, unfortunately… That worries me, too.”
Venetim could feel a stomachache coming on.