The Investiture Ceremony

Noon was fast approaching.

Esper patted the dust off her belted coat once more, then pulled open her door and stepped into the corridor.

The Holy Sword floated up from the head of the bed, quietly trailing behind her.

Constantine stood at the top of the stairs at the end of the corridor, stepping aside to clear the way down.

“The ceremony is at the Palace Square. Follow me.”

“Right.”

The two of them walked down the stairs one after the other, heading toward the main entrance.

Young knights stood lined up on both sides of the courtyard, every single eye tracking the sword behind Esper.

No one made a sound; Constantine led the way, his back serving as the ultimate command for silence.

A carriage was parked on the cobblestone road outside the main gate—a simple, open-topped four-wheeler.

“His Holiness said the Hero shouldn't be too flashy,” Constantine said as he opened the carriage door, his tone subtle.

“...And I indeed prefer to keep a low profile.”

Esper stepped onto the footboard and climbed in. The moment her rear touched the wooden seat, her peripheral vision caught something that absolutely shouldn't have been there.

In the far corner of the carriage sat a person.

Deep blue hair cascaded from the top of her head, spreading all along her shoulders, arms, and waist.

The ends of her hair piled on the wooden floor of the carriage, snaking beneath the seats like a length of blue silk spilled carelessly.

The texture of her hair was incredibly fine, as if it had been pampered with the finest essential oils since birth. The color was unbelievably pure, a blue so vivid it looked as though the entire clear sky had been melted down and poured over her head.

A white linen robe wrapped around her slender frame, the fabric coarse and loosely woven. The cut of the robe was excessively oversized; the shoulder seams draped down to her upper arms, and the collar hung loosely open, revealing skin that looked so healthy it was almost eerie.

She was barefoot. Her ankles were delicate, her toes resting quietly on the carriage floor.

A pair of sky-blue eyes gazed out from her serene face.

Her gaze was like someone looking at the world through a thin layer of mist.

The focus of her pupils seemed unable to lock onto the things right before her, instead drifting to some unseen place further away.

The Saintess, Eladia.

“I thought she wasn't supposed to arrive for three days...”

Esper didn't say the words aloud, but her temple throbbed.

She understood. She had been played again.

Even if it was just a trivial matter, even if it was solely to annoy her, Beatrice would never pass up such an opportunity.

Silence reclaimed the carriage.

Esper sat on her seat, her spine stiff, hands resting on her knees with white-knuckled intensity.

She could feel a warmth radiating from Eladia's direction, diffusing through the air like morning mist.

It was the holy light.

But the concentration was far lower than Esper had anticipated. It was so faint that it only caused a mild warmth on the surface of her skin, rather than the agonizing pain she had imagined, like having her face shoved into holy water.

Because of the distance.

Eladia sat in the very corner of the carriage, leaving about four feet—the entire width of the vehicle—between herself and Esper.

It was no coincidence.

Esper caught the sound of extremely faint breathing.

Eladia was suppressing her presence.

She was practically holding her breath, pulling all of her holy light deep inside her body, allowing only the tiniest, uncontainable traces of her presence to leak out.

The Saintess was accommodating her.

Someone whose very breath radiated holy light was deliberately controlling the distance between them, keeping the diffusion of holy light below the threshold of hurting her.

She knew Esper was afraid of holy light.

Yet she didn't say a word; she simply watched Esper.

Her eyes remained out of focus, still drifting toward some distant point.

Her lips were pressed together, showing no sign of opening.

She wore no expression.

Esper had imagined what she might see on that face.

Anxiety or disgust—as the Saintess, it would be only natural for her to detest a demon.

Worry and caution—if the rumors were true, then as a fellow victim of Beatrice's torment, she might feel some empathy.

But what Esper saw was a third possibility.

Serenity.

It was as if Esper didn't even exist. Yet, she was indeed actively suppressing her presence.

Esper's gaze slowly drifted upward, finally resting on that quiet face.

Those sky-blue eyes didn't waver.

“...Thank you.”

Esper's voice was very soft. It was so quiet that it was nearly drowned out by the rattling of the wheels over the cobblestones.

Even if she couldn't discern the Saintess's motives, the girl was indeed protecting her.

Eladia nodded.

As if accustomed to being thanked, she showed no emotion whatsoever.

There was only a silence deep enough to breed hesitation and unease.

...

After a while, the carriage came to a stop at the entrance of the Palace Square.

The square was even more crowded than before.

A human wall of Holy Spirit Knights stood in place of barricades, and a wooden high platform had been erected in the center at some point.

The platform was draped in deep blue velvet, its edges embroidered with the thunder crest of the Pendragon royal family, the sun crest of the Church of Radiance, the gear crest of Esperfite, and the book crest of the Mage Tower.

Beatrice stood upon the platform, a dignified, maternal smile gracing her face.

Esper hopped down from the carriage, the sound of her leather boots hitting the stone swallowed by the roar of the crowd.

The Holy Sword floated out of the carriage, hovering behind her. Its white halo was barely visible under the glare of the midday sun.

Eladia stepped down from the other side of the carriage, taking a position slightly behind and to the left of Esper.

She still maintained a distance of four feet.

The two of them walked toward the platform along the white corridor formed by the knights.

The crowds on both sides of the square cheered, chanting “Hero!” The waves of sound crashed against her eardrums from all directions, but Esper's attention was entirely focused on the presence behind her.

The platform had only five steps. As Esper stepped onto the first, Beatrice's golden eyes looked down upon her from above.

The investiture ceremony had begun.

The roar of the square suddenly fell silent the moment she reached the top.

Beatrice stood dead center on the platform.

Her crown sat perfectly straight on her head, and her long silver hair was held back by some unseen force.

It no longer dragged along the ground but levitated half an inch above it, the ends neatly aligned like a frozen silver waterfall.

Her white-gold Pope's robes shimmered with a faint metallic luster in the midday light. The hem remained perfectly still, as if even the wind dared not rustle it at this moment.

On that twelve-to-thirteen-year-old face, all childishness, mischief, and cat-like sharpness had vanished.

In their place was a solemnity that felt dredged up from the depths of centuries past.

Her golden, sun-like eyes stared forward with a calm and profound gaze, her pupils reflecting the dense crowd in the square and the cloudless blue sky overhead.

This was the Pope.

The supreme leader of the Church of Radiance, the living symbol of humanity's faith, and an existence at the absolute pinnacle of Rank Nine.

She looked down upon Esper.

“Kneel.”

Her voice sliced through the air, piercing the eardrums of the tens of thousands in the square and entering everyone's ears.

『Faith』

Every believer of the Church of Radiance, from the commoners in the square to the Holy Spirit Knights in the ranks, heard those words at the exact same moment, as clearly as if the Pope were whispering right in their ears.

Esper's knees buckled, but not of her own volition.

Under this impact, her vampire magic circuits suffered a brief disruption.

Gritting her teeth, she forced her knees to lock, correcting the kneeling motion from an uncontrolled collapse into a barely managed single-knee drop.

The Holy Sword hovered above her right shoulder, flickering with a touch of concern.

Four feet behind her, Eladia knelt as well.

Her movements were far gentler than Esper's. Her sky-blue eyes remained quietly downcast.

Beatrice stepped forward.

She stopped right in front of Esper.

Her golden eyes gazed down from above, and a small hand emerged from the wide sleeve of her robe.

Her pale fingers spread, palm facing down, hovering just above Esper's head.

“In the name of Radiance.”

The words flowed from those small lips, every syllable echoing with the resonance of Authority, vibrating simultaneously in the ears of the tens of thousands in the square.

“By the choice of the Holy Sword.”

Light seeped from her palm.

It was not holy light.

The light pouring from her hand was something thicker and heavier. Like liquid gold spilling from her palm, it condensed in the air into a thin film of light, draping over Esper's head.

This was the manifestation of Authority.

The moment that film of light touched her hair, Esper's skin broke out in goosebumps.

Unlike holy light, this light did not act directly on her magic circuits, but rather on something deeper and more abstract.

—Will and belief.

To a vampire, the stimulation of this power did not burn; instead, it felt as if she had been forced to swallow something utterly repulsive.

“I invest you—the maiden named Esper—to serve as the Hero from this day forth.

“Bear the Holy Sword, traverse the continent, vanquish the Demon King, and fight for all of humanity.”

Beatrice withdrew her hand.

“Rise.”

Esper stood up from her kneeling position. Her knees felt somewhat stiff.

Silence hung over the square for three seconds.

Then, the sound exploded.

Applause, whistles, shouts, weeping, and prayers—all these sounds blended together, surging up from every corner of the square to crash against the platform and beat against Esper's eardrums.

“The Hero—!”

“Long live the Hero—!”

“Slay the Demon King—!”

—Kill Fina?

Kill Fina? Kill Fina? Kill Fina? Kill Fina?

Esper stood on the platform, staring blankly at the sea of people below.

They were cheering.

Cheering for a vampire.

“...So loud.”

She muttered listlessly, her voice swallowed by the roaring of the crowd, heard only by Eladia behind her.

The Saintess had already stood up.

Her lips parted slightly.

As if practicing a movement she hadn't used in a long time.

“...Congratulations.”

And then, those words too were swallowed by the waves of sound.