The Prince in Question Is Not Stable

Chapter 83: Reverence

Violet took his hand and stepped down from the carriage. The crowd saw her and made the sound crowds always made when they saw her.

Deep, involuntary and collective exhale of people.

But the tone subsided when Ymir stepped down. It was more of a disappointing ’Oh,’ rather than the cheerful and reverent ’ohh’ of the saintess.

The village elder who stood in front of the crowd bowed, and all of the people followed.

Ymir stood where he was. He looked at the graves, who had dismounted and positioned himself at a distance from the covenant contingent.

"Honestly, this town looks pretty good for an unstable rift’s aftermath." Ymir whispered.

"It’s a relief everyone survived," Violet replied.

The covenant’s attendants moved without asking anyone about the directions; it seems they had a floor plan ready.

The monastery father stood to the side of all this activity and watched it happen in his building. He was perhaps fifty, solid through the shoulders, the kind of build that came from physical work rather than training, dark hair going grey at the temples; he had come to greet the carriage with dignity of the one who respects the saintess with all his might.

He bowed to Violet, deeply. "It’s as if all of my wishes have come true now that I’ve seen you in person," he said.

Violet, slightly bowed back, which surprised the father a little.

Then he looked at Ymir.

Ymir looked at him.

"Your highness," he said, in a slight bow.

Ymir waved his hand and nodded.

"..."

Violet looked at this exchange in confusion.

That was the extent of it. The father seemed to find this acceptable and returned his attention to the covenant attendants reorganising his building.

The injured who returned from the rift were being organised along the monastery’s eastern wall, a line of people in various states of damage, wounds open, the kind accumulated by people who lived near rift-adjacent territory and did the kind of work that put them in proximity of things that try to kill them.

Mercenary work is now a high-risk, low-reward job.

Ymir moved his attention once before entering the closed walls of the monastery; the group of eleven he’d flagged on the road had redistributed.

’Ah- how can they be pretty obvious,’ he thought.

The walls inside were scarred black; there were shadows of evaporated bodies clinging to the stone, etched silhouettes frozen mid-movement, but despite this horrific scene of the past, the monastery was well maintained.

The air was fresh, the floors were clean, and the hinges of the doors didn’t make a sound.

This monastery used to be a bunker, and that was evident, witnessing the massive steel gates of the prayer hall, the spacious elements of dark wood, and narrow doorways leading into adjoining chambers.

Inside those rooms were beds of the injured knights and civilians, along with the accommodation of nurses and doctors wearing grey coats.

Ymir stayed behind as Violet moved alongside other knights and the father, leading her to the podium.

Draping that podium were white curtains, and within them was also a statue of Lunar, with her hair running deep into the ground like roots, holding a flute with elegance.

The knights surrounded the halls, and pulled their swords out, placing the blade stabbed into the ground firmly.

Violet wasn’t here to heal someone, no, that would require her to use her powers focused on healing. She was here to bless, which is similar, but quite different. It’s a process of just calmly circulating her divine energy in the monastery, so the people here feel less pain, and their wounds heal faster.

She’s going to stay here for the night and meditate, like she always does in her quarters.

While Ymir was watching the whole scene unfold with a certain interest, Ferrey appeared near his shoulder.

"Your highness," he said.

"The blessing will begin shortly, the saintess will be in this room, the injured are positioned in the surrounding rooms, the-"

"I understood the procedure," Ymir said, interrupting his words.

"Of course," Ferrey paused. He fumbled slightly and smiled.

"Given the reduced formation, the tower master’s departure was unavoidable. I’ve positioned the remaining knights for optimal crowd coverage." Ferrey spoke.

Ymir looked at Ferrey once, and he wanted to laugh in his face because he had already caught on to the game Ferrey was playing, but he said nothing.

"The guards will remain inside. I would suggest that your highness remain here during the blessing."

"I’ll be here," Ymir said.

Ferrey seemed slightly relieved by this, which Ymir definitely noted.

"Well then, I’ll depart shortly, there’s administrative business in Judea Dukedom that requires my personal-"

"Safe journey," Ymir again, cut off his words.

Ferrey looked at him for a moment, then inclined his head and moved back towards the contingent.

Ferrey’s carriage departed through the square’s eastern exit, which was odd, when Ymir glanced from a broken window, because the Dukedom of Judea would be in the west of the Monastery.

Keeping his indifference, he started roaming around in the monastery.

From the narrow doorway connecting the main hall to the adjacent rooms, he could see the injured; the beds were arranged perfectly.

The mercenary with the bad leg was lying on his back staring at the ceiling; his expression was of a man who had stopped expecting anything good and was now in the process of revising that position. He moved his leg slightly, then looked at it, then at the ceiling again.

Ymir assessed the leg from the doorway. The infection at the wound’s edges was visibly reactivating faster than the injury’s conditions minutes ago should have allowed. The mercenary’s colour was better; his breathing had the evenness of someone no longer spending energy managing pain.

A sister appeared from a side corridor. She was around sixty, draped in a black cape, small through the shoulders, but rigid in personality. She carried a tray with two cups and a small pot of tea.

Navigating around the knight and the attendants of the saintess, she arrived near Ymir, set one of the cups on the narrow ledge of the window beside him, and poured some tea into it.

"It’s getting cold outside, Your Highness," she said.

Then picked up her tray and walked back the way she’d come, disappearing into the side corridor.

Ymir looked at the cup.

Then in the corridor.

Then again, at the cup.

"That was kind of unannounced," he murmured.

"Your Highness," Ymir heard a voice, and turned to look at the corridor again. It was Graves, with another teacup in his hand.

"The sister makes it for everyone," he said. "This is my second one."

"Is it that good?" Ymir asked, smelling the aroma of the tea.

"Genuinely awful," Graves replied.

"...Then why the second cup?" Ymir asked.

"I love the scent of the tea," Graves replied.

"Oh," Ymir nodded.

"The crowd outside has thinned, your highness; people are returning to their homes for the night,"

"Most of them, Graves, not all."

Graves smelled the aroma again and nodded. "Most of them, indeed."

A moment passed, outside through the broken window, the Townsquare was quieter now, the ambient noise of a crowd settling into the stillness of the night.

"There are some suspicious individuals that I noted, your highness. I couldn’t sense any core, so either they’re assassins who’ve completed the ritual or...something worse," he spoke.

"Thirty-three, precisely," Ymir added.

"As expected, you knew about it," Graves said.

"How would I miss a gift that a friend left me?" Ymir spoke. "Do one thing, bring the scattered knights inside the monastery, tell them it’s the orders of the saintess."

"If they refuse to follow orders, knock ’em all out, and place them in an isolated area," he said.

"They’re in a disposable formation. Ferrey scattered them so it could be easy to kill them and approach, so it’s better if you just secure some lives."

"Understood, your highness, and one question, what about..."

"Ferrey? The high priest. Is he the one conspiring it all? If so...I could secure him before he runs off to somewhere,"

"Hmm...Judea is in the west, Ferrey went east. In the east is Grahm Burnhum, and Ferrey’s there to alert the people here before Grahm’s arrival. It’s a pretty planned-out scene if you think about it, because if anything were to happen to Saintess in the presence of Ymir..."

"Ah-" Graves snapped his fingers. "That is actually pretty foolish of them, your highness."

"But plus ten for the effort, I wouldn’t lie about it," Ymir nodded.

"I think you’re being a little generous with grading," Graves said.

"I believe in encouragement, and I also have to give feedback to Ferrey, too."

Graves scoffed and nodded; it was a reasonable educational framework for him.

"Then, I’ll take my leave, and gather the knights, Your Highness," he said with a bow, and turned around.

"And try not to look like you’re ’gathering them’" Ymir said.

"...I will try my best, Your highness,"

"Don’t worry, I have faith in your mediocrity."