How aggravating, thought Simurid Kormadino as he stared at the middle-aged woman in front of him, her long white hair gathered in a single braid. She’s let her anxiety get the best of her. Though I suppose I understand…
He was looking at High Priest Lawin Mirose. Under normal circumstances, a potential archpriest and a military governor-general were not supposed to meet like this—it was a clear violation of the rules. And that was exactly why Kormadino had gone to such great lengths to ensure their privacy.
“It appears our plans have started to go awry,” she said, an undeniable sense of urgency in her voice. “What is going on? Five high priests have endorsed Nicold Ibuton, and now everyone is talking about him. To make matters worse, the Verkle Development Corporation is up to something as well. Did you think I wouldn’t notice? It seems they’re backing Ibuton. Weren’t they on our side?”
“No. Businessmen like that will side with whoever can make them the most money.” Kormadino offered a warm, reassuring smile. At least, that was how it appeared. “I predicted this might happen. After all, the warmongers weren’t going to simply sit back and watch.”
The warmongers—that was how the coexisters referred to their enemies. To Kormadino, they were a despicable bunch—nothing but optimists clinging to an impossible dream, pursing an unattainable goal. As he saw it, the only real struggle was the fight to be one of the survivors when everything was over.
“We still have the advantage. We’ve secured the support of fifteen of the high priests—a clear majority. All of them want you to become their next archpriest.”
To Kormadino, parliamentary systems and the practice of voting were merely symbols of a fragile society. For such processes to work, a majority would have to be wise enough to choose their own leaders—another unattainable ideal. And so to him, such systems were merely tools to be exploited.
“In matters of faith, Ibuton will be a formidable opponent.” Mirose drummed a restless rhythm with her fingertips against the arm of her chair. “This is a sinful thing we’re doing. Do you think this is divine punishment?”
“There is no need to worry. I’ve already convinced the other two candidates to drop out.”
He’d struck a deal with High Priests Carne and Duffrey, the other contenders for archpriest, agreeing to balance reforms and personnel appointments based on the proposals of both factions. Mirose’s victory was now a foregone conclusion. Ibuton’s surprise entry might sway a few votes, but it was unlikely to alter the outcome.
“Do you really wish to give up now, High Priest Mirose?”
Kormadino grinned, and Mirose fell silent. She didn’t need to say anything; he understood her intentions perfectly. After all, he’d thoroughly investigated her background before deciding to cooperate with her.
“Of course you won’t. You understand that this is your best chance to bring Mavika Reagar to her knees. I know she has been a source of constant frustration for you.”
Once, long ago, High Priest Mirose had been a warrior priest, and her rival from back then was now the captain of the Third Order of the Holy Knights, Mavika Reagar, knight to the Goddess of Prophecy. After losing to her, Mirose had given up her aspirations for military advancement and become a high priest instead. Kormadino didn’t know the specifics, but it seemed their rivalry had been quite intense.
And for Mirose, at least, the hostility had never dissipated. Envy or perhaps jealousy toward Mavika Reagar still simmered within her.
“…You appear to have misunderstood me,” said Mirose. As Kormadino had expected, she bristled at the mention of her rival. “I have no desire to humiliate Captain Reagar. She is simply too dangerous. In fact, I believe the Holy Knights should be abolished entirely.”
“I agree with you there. They desire war, and they are forcing people to sacrifice themselves fighting the Demon Blight. And Mavika Reagar is their ringleader!”
The Holy Knights were inherently aggressive and saw the Demon Blight as an existential threat. And thanks to their pacts with the goddesses, that view was unlikely to change. High Priest Mirose was hoping to do something about this problem.
“Those with great power naturally want to use it, after all.” Mirose gazed past Kormadino into the distance, as if she were thinking of something else. “Yes, all the captains of the Holy Knights are afflicted by the same sickness. It is time for us to reconsider their relationship with the goddesses.”
Her ultimate goal was to dismantle the system by which captains of the Holy Knights forged pacts with goddesses. She believed it was a mistake to treat the goddesses as weapons, and that allowing them to forge pacts with captains put those captains in control of excessive amounts of power and military force. In her view, the goddesses should simply be revered as symbols. And that was why she was able to cooperate with Gwen Mohsa.
Kormadino suspected these beliefs were merely a twisted form of jealousy toward Mavika Reagar. But there was no need for him to point that out and risk angering Mirose. However, he was more than happy to exploit those emotions.
He chose his next words carefully.
“I completely agree with you, High Priest Mirose. They are abusing their goddesses’ authority to continue this fruitless war. We cannot allow this madness to go on, don’t you agree?”
“…Yes.” After a slight pause, Mirose nodded. “This world doesn’t need a hero. Such people bring nothing but suffering to the people. The only way to ensure humanity’s survival is to make peace with the Demon Blight.”
“Exactly.”
Kormadino was lying, however. While he agreed with the latter half of her argument, the first part was drivel. Without a leader, the humans would fall into chaos. They needed a champion, and not a mere figurehead who’d won glory on the battlefield. They needed a prudent, grounded guide. A true champion in every sense of the word.