Not a Confession, but a Declaration - Chapter 17

Abel absentmindedly ruffled the back of the noble’s head as the man trembled with overwhelming gratitude.

“I shall offer a prayer on your behalf this time.”

The noble looked as though he might faint on the spot. Had Abel been too kind?

Still, listening to someone ramble on was a far better use of time than engaging in pointless contests of will. At appropriate moments, Abel simply nodded or offered a few perfunctory responses.

When their audience came to an end, the noble bowed repeatedly, his face radiant, then departed while showering Abel with praise.

Deeply moved by Abel’s treatment, the noble could be seen stopping the person who had been about to approach Abel next and lecturing him about something.

Since there seemed to be some time before the next noble arrived, Abel turned to Felix, who was standing behind him, and asked:

“Do you know that noble’s name?”

Since he had bestowed his blessing before even hearing the man’s introduction, he had never learned it. The numerous badges pinned across the noble’s chest—awarded to one of the temple’s foremost benefactors—made it obvious that he was a frequent visitor, but they did not tell Abel his name.

As everyone knew, Abel had no interest in other people.

“……”

Meeting Felix’s gaze as the other man stared at him as though witnessing something incomprehensible, Abel grew puzzled.

Why was he looking at him like that?

Because he didn’t know the man’s name?

At this point, shouldn’t Felix be used to this about Abel by now? To Felix, Abel was a man who had not even properly known the name of the person he claimed to love.

To begin with, there were countless devout nobles. How could Abel possibly remember all of their names?

Wasn’t the important thing here not that Abel didn’t know the noble’s name, but that, even if it had only been an excuse to heal his injured hand, he intended to keep the promise he had made?

“Felix.”

“…Count Reynald.”

There was no need to ask for anything more than the name. If Abel simply offered a prayer for Count Reynald, the Father would know who he meant.

There was only one Count Reynald, after all, and the count happened to donate more money to the Father than anyone else while offering prayers every single day.

“Make sure I remember it. I’ll probably forget.”

Since he had already enlisted Felix’s help, Abel decided he might as well rely on him to the end.

Felix’s mouth was agape in disbelief, but Abel decided not to concern himself with it. At least Felix was no longer looking at him as though he were literal garbage, as he had earlier.

Besides, another noble was already approaching.

“Lord Abel.”

Abel regarded the noble, who offered only the barest dip of his head, with boredom.

* * *

It was hard to believe that only a single day had passed.

Abel went limp against the sofa and closed his eyes.

Why did everyone have so much to say? It had been so tedious that he had nearly died of boredom on the spot.

A trial even more grueling than the Father’s trials.

It would have been far more entertaining to sit Felix beside him and simply admire his face. Not that Abel could actually try such a thing. If he went that far, there was a chance that the criticism directed at him would spill over onto Felix as well.

Opening his eyes, Abel turned to look at Felix.

Perhaps because he trained diligently on a regular basis, Felix did not look particularly exhausted.

Despite having stood the entire time, Felix showed no signs of slouching. Even as Abel had spent the entire day sat, Felix was ramrod straight and showed no signs of fatigue.

Physically, at least.

“Felix.”

Abel pulled a small vial from inside the side table.

“You must be tired. Take this.”

The contents of the elegant vial in Abel’s hand were holy water infused with divine power.

The vial itself was so luxurious that it could easily serve as an ornament. The holy water it contained was of the highest grade, something even nobles could not easily obtain.

Imbuing water with divine power required far more energy than simply using divine power directly. In other words, producing holy water was an extremely inefficient process.

Even so, demand for holy water never ceased because it allowed people to deal with emergencies without having to visit the temple.

Even the people of the Empire, who stood in opposition to the temple, sought to acquire as much holy water as possible.

They were preparing for the worst-case scenario: that the temple might refuse to aid them in a moment of danger.

‘Not that such a thing would be impossible.’

Gregory was an ambitious man, after all.

Besides, there had always been people who, for one reason or another, could not come to the temple in person.

The excessive demand compared to the available supply had driven the price of holy water endlessly upward.

This tiny vial was barely the length of two of Abel’s finger joints and was probably worth more than a month’s living expenses for most noble households. Or was it a year’s worth?

‘I don’t know the exact price.’

The price of holy water rose and fell, fluctuating constantly. Naturally, the one controlling those prices was the temple—or rather, Gregory.

Because no matter how inefficient the production of holy water might be, there was no way supply could truly be so scarce with so many clergy around. The temple deliberately regulated the supply in order to increase the value of both holy water and the clergy themselves.

The production of holy water was carried out under strict supervision, and secretly producing and selling it was considered a grave offense by the temple.

Officially, the charge was that one had used the Father’s love for personal gain, but that was merely a convenient pretext.

The temple itself openly profited from the sale of holy water, after all.