MTO C35

Chapter 35

“Come with me.”

Escorted formally by the Duke of Eglence, the Saint began to walk. To the eyes of the crowd, the two together resembled demon and angel side by side. And not only because of the contrast—the Duke’s black cloak against Michel’s blazing white robes.

One of them exuded a presence so forbidding that simply meeting his gaze filled you with guilty dread, while the other shone with such radiance that beholding him alone was enough to make a person feel enchanted.

Everywhere they passed, townsfolk bowed their heads—not out of fear of authority, but as if compelled by awe itself.

The Duke assisted the Saint up the platform erected in the square. Thus, Michel stood before the assembly.

Saint Michel glanced out over the gathered multitude and smiled faintly.

“My brothers and sisters, thank you for coming here in this bitter cold. Let this gathering return infinite glory to the Merciful One who watches over us.”

His voice—neither too soft, nor too loud—spread warmly, as though wrapping each listener in a sun‑dried blanket. Gentle to the point of tickling the ears.

At that very moment, the clouds above his head parted and bright sunlight streamed down, crowning him with radiance like divine halo. Gasps broke out across the square; voices rose crying for God.

“Now, let us pray.”

At his words, hundreds of people closed their eyes at once and folded their hands. Despite the size of the crowd, Michel’s voice reciting holy words was the only sound. It was so silent one could even imagine the animals themselves holding their breath. Such was their fear of missing even a syllable of the Saint’s prayer.

Everyone listened—save one.

Convincing enough, Kaidan mused. From his station just beyond the crowd, he regarded the spectacle he had so painstakingly assembled. What inner restraint it took him not to snap during the carriage ride over—even God Himself could not measure it.

“…We’ve all been waiting long enough! So, today the First Valois Relief Festival begins! Hweeei! First, the opening prayer—”

“Enough.”

Kaidan had been wise to drill some introductory lines beforehand. The memory of Michel cheerfully clapping mid‑sentence still made his spine crawl. Only after long rehearsal had the words come out civil enough.

“Today let this gathering be a—be a bless—ah… the gathering be, the, the gath…”

“How long do you mean to repeat that one phrase?”

The Duke still winced at the memory of that stupid face parrotting the same words like a deranged bird. He had known it would not be easy to pass this man off as saintly, but never imagined the trial would demand quite this breadth of patience. More than once he had cursed himself for the decision.

Still—the effort produced results. Standing high upon the dais, Michel looked every inch heaven’s chosen. Gone was the sordid first impression.

Annoyingly, Michel’s appearance helped. His features, merely passable before, now polished to radiance. The long neck, the slender limbs—he carried them with a swan’s elegance. Humanity was weak to appearances. A pretty countenance, like porcelain artfully fired, could kindle faith where words could not.

Who now would dare doubt this man a Saint?

“…And thus upon this land, may—may the earth…”

A sudden falter crept into the smooth cadence. Kaidan’s eyes thinned. Already? Here?

He braced to intervene, but no—if Michel completed the present line, they could move to the next segment without notice.

“…Judge all sin.”

The man continued seamlessly, as though the stumble had never happened. Kaidan, who had half‑risen, settled back again.

A needless worry.

But then he noticed something stranger. Michel’s voluminous sleeve had slipped, baring the pale wrist. Most would think it fabric too large. But Kaidan saw his eyes—half‑open, fixed unwaveringly on that arm.

“Who can fathom the heights of Your will? Pity these foolish souls and, in compassion, save them.”

His lips moved unstoppably, without slip. So perfect, it was as if he were reading.

“Hah.”

Kaidan chuckled bitterly. None around noticed—their eyes shut, rapt in prayer. Only he recognized the trick.

So Michel had written the prayers upon his very skin. Ingenious in its deceit. It almost made the Duke glad he had ordered longer sleeves.

Clever wretch.

“Glory, O glory, most high glory be Yours!”

“In line, one after another!”

At last, the endless prayer concluded. The relief distribution began. Soldiers formed the citizens into orderly rows and passed out provisions: sacks of wheat and barley, firewood and oil for winter, even fresh fruits unseen in the cold season. More—rare medicinal herbs and ointments priced beyond reach in the North.

The villagers’ eyes widened. Could such riches truly be free? Would they not be forced to pay later under threat?

The bounty dazed them. They accepted, but nervously, taking only small shares.

Kaidan had expected this, which was precisely why he had put up with that contemptible man’s “saintly” masquerade.

“Saint.”

As Michel stepped down from the dais, Kaidan gently seized his arm—and at once drew back the sleeve. Inked words filled the pale skin. Michel froze like a hare caught by predator.

“T-this… well, you see…”

“I’ll hear it later.”

The Duke pressed a damp kerchief, scrubbing away enough that no peasant eyes could spy the truth. His wrist was so pale the veins shone blue, so thin Kaidan’s thumb nearly wrapped it whole. How could one with a body no stouter than kindling dream of sparring knights? Or was it military power of Eglence he sought?

“I did memorize it! I only glanced in the doubtful parts. Really, I barely looked at all. But—ah! Thomas!”

As Kaidan endured the flow of excuses, Michel suddenly slipped free and darted toward a man rigid in alarm.

The fellow bowed in fearful tremors, overwhelmed to be accosted by holiness.

Kaidan followed swiftly to contain the chaos.

“Brother Kaidan, this is Brother Thomas—the one who donated greatly to our orphanage. We were spared much hardship through his help.”

And before Thomas could stammer—

“Brother Thomas, this is, ah—Lord Eglence himself.”

The man paled to ash and prostrated deeply. “My lord Duke!”

Kaidan inclined his head slightly. To greet a subject face‑to‑face—this was a first. He had planned to remain aloof, letting the Saint distribute blessings while he watched. He had not expected a commoner’s eyes to meet his own.

“You’re not taking more?”

Michel chattered before Kaidan needed to speak. The man clutched only a small basket of bread and cheese, a single bottle of wine. Enough to vanish in a single evening meal. If all the peasants restrained themselves so, they could hold ten such festivals and never exhaust supplies.

Kaidan wanted him to take more, but the man looked desperate to slink away unnoticed.

“No, no… this much is enough…”

“Your back still hasn’t recovered, has it? You limped after that fall on the ice…”

Michel’s expression was thick with pity.

Kaidan blinked. So intimate a knowledge of one villager’s ailment—had they been close before?

Yet that was dangerous. The aura of sainthood came from distance—mysticism demanded separation. The closer Michel crouched, the more ordinary he appeared, and soon doubt would poison faith.

Perhaps Kaidan should separate them now.

“…You are injured?” Kaidan asked instead, directing it at Thomas. Today was a festival; it would not harm to show some concern. After all, this whole pageant of sainthood had been devised for the people’s hearts.