PMEVBO 140

When I fell from the chandelier and broke my leg, I hid it from the Pope. Even I knew that climbing the chandelier was taking things too far.

Naturally, a seven-year-old kid couldn’t possibly fool a thousand-year-old gentleman. He found out right away that my leg was broken.

The Pope summoned a physician to treat my leg and asked what I had been doing when I got hurt. He didn’t frown or raise his voice. Just his silent gaze alone made me feel a bone-chilling pressure.

In the end, I ended up crying and confessing everything.

My pattern of crying and confessing after getting into trouble just wouldn’t go away. Whether I’d forced my divine power to manifest or thought I’d caused the Hayut Massacre, I’d always ended up making a tearful confession, pushed by that pressure.

It looked like things would play out similarly this time. But I was old enough now; reenacting the crying part felt a bit much. This time, I just confessed without the tears.

…As if Iser wasn’t enough, now I have to say nonsense about status screens and systems to the Pope too?

It was obvious that some kind of disgrace was written in my destiny.

Since I’d already confided in Iser once, my words would probably be a bit more coherent this time. But no matter what, I couldn’t shorten the story’s overall length.

However, I had relatively more leeway with Iser. Now, on the other hand, I was feeling the pressure. I had to praise him within [Read on]the time limit, and more importantly, Iser was waiting.

It was impossible to explain everything from A to Z right here and now. I would just stick to talking about the Alignment skill.

…But how do I explain that?

This world didn’t even have a concept resembling magic. Should I make up an excuse about “supernatural abilities,” like I did with Iser six years ago? But that only worked because Iser also possessed a special ability, the “Power of Life.”

Isn’t there a more efficient way to explain this?

As I idly fiddled with my teacup, a long-forgotten memory suddenly came to mind. Without even realizing it, I murmured as if I were spellbound.

“[Aimera].”

“You mean the fairy tale?”

Yes, that fairy tale. Why had I forgotten about it until now?

You see, it was the first fairy tale the Pope had ever read to me. He said it was a tale written a thousand years ago. Since only a single copy of the book remained today, it might as well be a forgotten tale. But despite its grand history, the story was cliché.

The heroic tale of a prince who defeats a monster with a weapon borrowed from a light fairy to [stolen content]rescue a princess. Roughly summarized, that was the plot of the story.

“Try to imagine that what happened to the prince happened to me.”

At that, the Pope brought his teacup to his lips and asked bluntly.

“So, should I understand that you received a blessing from a fairy?”

“……No, forget the fairy, focus on the weapon.”

Thanks to the blessing he received from the fairy, the prince was able to borrow the fairy’s weapon. True to its fairy origins, it was a weapon imbued with special abilities. And strangely enough, those special abilities were similar to the skills I’d drawn as quest rewards.

Well, I couldn’t say they were exactly the same.

After all, the weapon had a total of seven abilities.

So far, I’d only drawn four skills at most. Discernment, Guidance, Wisdom, and Alignment. However, those four skills all corresponded one-to-one with the abilities of the weapon described in the fairy tale.

“What was the name of that weapon again…?”

I muttered to myself, trying to recall it. Just then, the Pope set his [stolen content]teacup and saucer down on the table and told me.

“The Weapon of Order.”

Ah, yes, that’s right. That was the name.

I refilled the Pope’s empty teacup and tried to sound as calm as possible as I said,

“The Weapon of Order has seven abilities. One of them is the ability to turn a prince back into a human after he’s been turned into a frog. …It’s similar to that.”

“I see.”

The Pope nodded.

…He’s just letting it slide?

It was like scratching the wrong spot instead of the itchy one. Plus, it was strange that he’d listened to me ramble on about fairy tales and fairies, all while acting completely serious, even though I’m a grown man.

If it were me, I would’ve cut him off five or six times and tell him to stop spouting nonsense and just answer the question.

Then again, he was the kind of person who spouted nonsense with a dead serious expression himself.

After all, he’d been dead serious when talking about the snowman’s blessing.

The Pope was silent for a while. Tap, tap–a steady rhythm echoed through the quiet office. His fingertips were tapping the armrest of the sofa. It was a habit the Pope had when he was deep in thought. It was crazy how even these little habits were just like my brother’s.

I stared at his hand tapping the sofa, then spoke up first.

“……Aren’t you going to ask why I’m here?”

“There’s no need to be curious.”

“Oh, come on.”

…If you’re that uninterested in me, why did you ask about the reason for the body switch? Just out of curiosity?

The Pope set his teacup down on the table, and added in his usual tone.

“If I were to ask why, you’d only come to see me when you had a reason.”

It felt like I’d been struck by lightning.

To have a private audience with the Pope, one was required to state the reason in advance and obtain permission. But I was the only one who could have a private audience without going through such procedures.

I was the kind of person who could go see the Pope without any reason. Because the Pope had never once asked me for a reason.

It was actually me who was always busy asking for a reason every time we met.

‘……What is this? Why are you here again?’

‘I came to see you. I heard you suddenly collapsed, how could I not come?’

‘…Well, haven’t you seen enough? You should go now.’

I stared at the Pope. His faded red eyes met my gaze without flinching.

“You don’t need to explain the reason for your choice to me. Just tell me what you want to do, or what you’d like me to do for you.”

“……If I tell you?”

“I’ll do as you wish.”

In that moment, the memories that had been tearing at my heart like shards of broken glass began to fall into place. They took on new meaning.

When I confessed that I had artificially manifested divine power, the Pope had said this.

‘You did it because you wanted to.’

Those were words I knew all too well.

Whenever I showed any sign of wanting to run away, Bechard would always say that. Since you started it because you wanted to, you mustn’t run away. It wasn’t a wrong thing to say. Yet, every time, I would be overwhelmed by a sense of isolation and helplessness.

Foolish as I was, I internalized the Pope’s words in the way that was most familiar to me.

It was the same when I first met the Pope after the soul fusion. To me, who believed I had killed Iser and caused the Hayut Massacre, the Pope said this.

‘So stop crying and tell me. What can I do to help?’

‘Hmm? Lulu, what can I do for you?’

Even then, I didn’t take the Pope’s words at face value. To be precise, I couldn’t bring myself to believe them. My memories as Lucariel were sealed ​visit our site​away, and besides, I couldn’t even forgive myself.

…To say he’ll do whatever I want without even hearing my reason, is he out of his mind?

But the Pope had always said the same thing to me. It was just that I only understood it today. Paradoxically, that was precisely why I couldn’t understand the Pope any more.

“……Why are you saying that?”

I didn’t want to, but my voice trembled. I clenched my teeth, looked away for a moment, then looked back at the Pope.

“……You said you raised me because you thought I might be a demon. You said you planned to watch me and then kill me.”

The Pope didn’t answer.

So that’s true, then.

But if that’s the case, then why……

My throat felt raw. I clenched the fists resting on my knees, and asked in a low voice.

“When I confessed to being the one who caused the Hayut Massacre, why didn’t you kill me?”

Not only did I manifest divine power through trickery, but I also razed an entire duke’s castle to the ground. It wasn’t me but a demon who caused the Hayut Massacre, but that made it all the more fatal.

It was as if I confessed to committing a crime that a demon had actually committed.

For the Pope, who had suspected I might be a demon, what could be more conclusive evidence than that? And yet, the Pope didn’t kill me.

He learned back against the sofa and gazed up at the ceiling. The Pope finally spoke after a long silence.

“Your true identity means nothing to me.”

…What is that supposed to mean? Does that mean I wasn’t even worth killing, so he spared me?

Just as I felt a sudden surge of emotion, I remembered what Iser had said.

‘It’s alright. It will be fine.’

……Iser wasn’t the type to make such a bold assertion without any basis. That gave me courage, the courage to interpret the Pope’s words as the best-case scenario rather than the worst.

I set my teacup down on the table and looked at the Pope.

“About what you said…Are you implying that even if I were a demon, you’d still spare me?”