When Avare regained consciousness, he found himself in a familiar building with a high ceiling. He took in the white walls with their gold accents and the painted fresco and large chandeliers above him. The windows were made of stained glass, each representing a scene from the Faith’s scriptures.
This is the Cœur Cathedral, isn’t it? I came here once, when I was consecrated a bishop.
Back then, live choirs singing the praises of Lord Motar had filled the vast space.
Is this the second floor?
They stood in front of a large staircase leading down. Peering over the landing, Avare’s gaze fell on the worship area below, with its rows of pews where followers of the Faith would regularly gather. However, it was currently deserted. The last time he’d been there, the cathedral had been teeming with people eager to offer prayers to Lord Motar. Avare couldn’t help but find the sight of the empty pews a little sad.
The other priests and bishops who had been teleported here alongside him began moving about, and so did the king and his subordinates. Based on the confused looks of recognition on their faces, they, too, had been here before.
“Mr. Avare, is this...?” Niesen asked in a shaky voice, followed by a very audible gulp.
“There is no mistaking it. This is the Faith’s base of operations—the Cœur Cathedral in the Dukedom of Brunel,” Avare explained. “That heinous witch teleported us here.”
“How terrifying... I cannot believe that she actually made us change location. But why is the cathedral so empty...?”
Niesen seemed shocked by how different the building seemed.
“Oh... The Faith truly doesn’t exist anymore,” he whispered weakly.
Like him, the king looked around the building in a stupor. Both of them technically knew that the Faith was gone, but that truth had only just started to sink in. Avare couldn’t let them get demoralized over this. He needed their help to revive the Faith in Hanche.
“Your Majesty, Lord Niesen, this is merely temporary. We shall restore the Faith and return this cathedral to its former glory!”
If anything, the fact that there were no other clergymen around was a good thing; it meant that Avare could be involved in the Faith from its rebirth and secure an even better position for himself.
Once I become the new Holy Father, I will organize a witch hunt, he thought, a cruel smirk curling on his lips as he descended the stairs.
That was when he noticed a boy with purple hair leaning against the wall, a spot from where he couldn’t have been seen from above. It seemed that this cathedral wasn’t actually deserted.
He’s just a kid, though, so he likely isn’t a member of the Faith... An intruder, perhaps?
“Hey, you,” Avare called out to the boy. “What do you think you’re doing, entering a place of worship unauthorized? Go home.”
The boy turned around, eyeing Avare in confusion. “Are you talking to me?”
“Is there anyone else in the room, you scoundrel?”
“Oh, wow! You must be a really important person to talk to me that way. That’s perfect; I’ve been feeling a bit stressed recently, so you can help me let off some steam!” the boy said as if to tease him.
His tone made Avare’s blood boil. How dared that plebeian talk to him like that? He would pay!
“How insolent! I’ll let you know, I’m the bishop of the Cerveau Cathedral in the Tête Kingdom. Mind your tone!”
“Oh, yeah? And? If you want to flaunt authority, I win: I’m a former saint of the Faith. So are you sure you want to yell at me when you’re just a bishop?”
“Wha...?!”
Saints ranked higher than bishops in the Faith’s pecking order. There was no way for Avare to tell whether the gloating boy was telling the truth, but if he was, this was bad. The Faith’s saints had a reputation for being dangerous people with no common sense whatsoever.
Avare shuddered, and the boy burst into laughter. “That’s no good, Mr. Bishop. I’m your superior, so you need to treat me with more respect.”
An eerie presence slowly crept from behind the boy—his mana, no doubt.
Th-This sensation... It’s the same as when that heinous witch is about to use her magic. Is he really a saint...?
A chill ran down Avare’s spine, and cold sweat beaded on his forehead.
If that kid is telling the truth, he can likely use magic. It’s said that the saints can use holy spells—although I’ve never witnessed it myself. But this boy’s powers feel no different from those of the Mercures... Is it truly holy magic...?
This boy was bad news. Avare looked for an escape route, but there were none.
This is not good!
Just as despair threatened to engulf him, the door at the back of the worship hall swung open, and two young men stepped inside. One of them, a person with black-and-white hair, Avare could’ve sworn he’d seen before, while the other resembled the kid who had introduced himself as a saint—though this newcomer was wearing glasses.
“Is something the matter, Chaos? It’s awfully noisy in here,” the familiar-looking young man called out to the kid.
Avare had to stare at him for a moment, but it finally occurred to him where he’d seen him before.
Crap! This one’s the most dangerous of them all!
He had traded his robes for lighter clothing, but there was no mistaking it: That young man was the Holy Father of the Motar Faith—the very one who’d given up on the Faith and sided with that vicious witch.
“Oh, we have guests over, I see—and quite a large group at that. Hmm? I recognize you...” the young man said, eyeing Avare.
The bishop stiffened and hurriedly went to hide behind the king of Hanche.
That man is dangerous. I can’t let him see me. It’s fine; I’ll use the king as a shield.
“Ah, you’re the bishop of the Cerveau Cathedral!” the young man exclaimed, having finally recognized him.
The other members of the Faith all turned to look at Avare.
Crap! He found me out! Why did he have to remember?!
The former Holy Father was wearing a gentle expression, but Avare wouldn’t be fooled again: He was the kind of deranged individual who would blast you into the ceiling with a smile.
“You took great care of me in Tête. Now that I think about it, you vanished just before I could deliver your punishment, did you not? I see you have returned for your penance. That is quite commendable.”
“N-No, I...” Avare stammered.
Being punished by the Holy Father was the last thing he wanted. That, and for the others to know that he had offended the former head of the Faith.
“Aw, man. I thought I could finally have fun, but turns out he was your prey all along, Mr. Lance,” the boy from earlier said, puffing out his cheeks in disappointment.
Upon hearing the boy’s words, the men who had been teleported alongside Avare began to stir. Niesen seemed especially flustered.
“Lance? That’s the name of the Holy Father, is it not?” he asked.
“Wait, isn’t the Holy Father called Saint Argent the First? You’re saying he’s that young man? How young!”
Saint Argent the First was the Holy Father’s official name. The Faith’s rules stipulated that every Holy Father had to take on a fitting name once they were elected. As for why he was “the First,” that was simply because he was the first Holy Father with the name “Argent.”
Not that it matters, since there has been no other Holy Father after him.
Avare didn’t know if that young man truly was Argent the First or if they had secretly switched Holy Fathers along the way.
“The Holy Father has never made any public appearance before. That’s likely an impostor,” one of the men said.