Chapter 10: The Holy Pontiff Austin
The priests were receiving more and more refugees by the day.
The relentless drought had turned humans into restless, volatile creatures, nervous, irritable, and quick to anger. Conflicts among the refugees broke out constantly.
But the most serious ones were not between the refugees themselves…
It was between them and the citizens of the capital.
The noble ladies who idolized Princess Milim had followed her to the relief sites, hoping to imitate her benevolence and yet they carried with them the same arrogance and disdain that came with their titles.
The starving peasants, stripped of land, home, and family, now humiliated by condescending nobles, could hardly endure it.
Watching the growing chaos ripple through the relief camp, Emilia could only sigh and shake her head.
"It's the Milim princess's fault," Ellan remarked dryly. "If she hadn't come here, those nobles wouldn't have either."
Emilia's lips curved into a faint smile.
"Ellan, you're a noble yourself, aren't you?"
The mage straightened slightly, nodding.
"Indeed, Your Highness."
He took a quiet pride in that. Even within the Magician Tower, mages of noble birth held subtle privilege over those born of common blood.
A noble-born mage could always return to their family to inherit lands and title, or join the royal court as a royal mage.
Common-born mages, on the other hand, had little choice but to serve as mercenaries for lords or merchant guilds once they left the Tower, a life rarely kind or stable.
"If you're both a noble and a mage," Emilia said softly, "then how can you fail to see the board laid out before us?"
She reached into her spatial ring and drew out a pouch of bread. Walking over to a group of children, she began breaking it apart, handing the pieces to them with delicate fingers.
Ellan followed close behind, puzzled.
"The board? You mean to say this drought is part of a conspiracy?"
For nobles who never had to worry about hunger or survival, such a perspective was beyond reach.
Emilia gave a quiet laugh.
"The drought itself, I'm not sure about. But bringing so many refugees into the capital, now that is no coincidence."
Those desperate, broken people were like ticking bombs. Even the temple couldn't care for them all. Feeding and sheltering them would drain endless resources.
And though the temple was wealthy, Emilia doubted it was that wealthy.
The nobles, on the other hand, bloated rats feasting on gold, would never spare a single coin to help those they deemed filth.
If the temple's coffers ran dry, would these nobles step forward to fund the relief?
Not even in the refugees' wildest dreams.
A bomb left too long will eventually explode.
How and when it detonates depends on the hand that set it.
"The longer the sickness festers," Emilia murmured, "the more devastating the fever when it breaks."
Ellan blinked, utterly lost.
Seeing his confusion, Emilia only sighed inwardly.
This was as far as she cared to go.
The lazy princess had no intention of involving herself any deeper. A few words of warning were more than enough.
Whether hundreds died later or thousands, none of it concerned her.
Though she had never officially become an astrologer, Emilia had learned one lesson from her astrology master well: the cold detachment with which one must face the fates of strangers.
And above all, Emilia was lazy.
If disaster were to strike, it would be Arthur's problem long before hers. Why should she bother getting involved?
"So pretty…"
The child receiving bread from her suddenly gasped, eyes widening.
Emilia turned, following the child's gaze - and was momentarily dazzled.
A cascade of platinum hair shimmered in the light, rippling like liquid silver in the wind.
Around her, the refugees dropped to their knees as though light itself had descended among them.
"Your Holiness! Please, bless us!"
"Pontiff Austin!"
They cried out, weeping as they reached for the young man who shone like a figure painted in divine gold.
In that moment, Emilia felt the raw force of faith that pulsed within the Velarent Kingdom.
She was never fond of the temple, but even she had to admit… the young pontiff was breathtakingly beautiful. And his reputation was no exaggeration that he was said to be the most powerful Pontiff the kingdom had seen in two centuries.
"Austin is one of the few pontiffs of common birth," Ellan commented matter-of-factly.
"That's why those refugees trust him far more than the noble-born priests."
To mages, and especially noble ones, the gods were little more than comforting myths. They scoffed at the so-called "embrace of divinity."
To Ellan, Austin's humble origins placed him beneath even an average common-born mage of the Tower.
At least, mages earned their power through effort.
Priests simply prayed and received whatever grace they sought.
"They say before awakening his holy power, Austin lived as a child in the slums," Ellan continued with a faint smirk.
"Truly, a lucky commoner."
The blinding radiance of divine light made Emilia instinctively narrow her eyes.
She turned away.
Light was warm, yes… but the brighter it burned, the deeper and darker the shadows it cast.
A mere pontiff — how many souls could he truly save?
"Come, Ellan. Let's walk a little farther."
"As you wish, Princess."
They wandered beyond the heart of the city, into quieter, poorer districts where the air grew damp and foul. The buildings leaned with age, their walls streaked with mold.
Ellan wrinkled his nose.
"Where are we going, Your Highness?"
Emilia's dark eyes gleamed faintly as she whispered,
"The black market."
The one place where the light of the temple could never reach.