Chapter 236

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Translator: Harry Potta
Chapter: 236
Chapter Title: Change
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Raphael de Valdesal swayed endlessly atop a camel, clad in a white turban and a long robe that covered his entire body. The desert was endless.

It wasn't the vast, white sand that came to mind when one thought of a 'desert.'

Low, seemingly useless shrubs sparsely poked their heads from the parched earth. It was a dead land, devoid of any mystery, where the dry air and cracked ground seemed to forbid human entry.

"Hah..."

Yet, the knights of the Central Continent and the infidels of the Moorish Empire, who participated in the holy war to gain even a single patch of this land, were generously spilling their blood upon the desiccated ground.

Such was the symbolism of the holy land, Yesak.

"What in the world is so great about this land..."

A man from the Boccanegra Company, who had accompanied Raphael to Yesak, clicked his tongue.

"Perhaps because I'm a merchant, I just can't understand it."

He glanced around.

"Further south in the Moorish Empire, you can at least find profitable things like spices or ivory. This place is truly barren. You can't even farm this land. What in the world is so great about it..."

Raphael smiled and answered the merchant. His tone was gentle.

"When you see the world in fragments, you can't see the whole picture."

But the content of his words was anything but gentle.

Raphael tore his gaze from the short-sighted merchant and imagined the ancient city beyond the wasteland, the crumbling walls of Yesak.

It was the land where the Son of God, Esak's Gon, preached his teachings, which were first compiled into the .

"The monarch who possesses the Castle of Yesak becomes the only sovereign on the Central Continent who can be called 'Emperor.' An 'Emperor' has the authority to crown kings. No matter how far from the Central Continent, no matter how meager their military force, that monarch becomes a secular absolute ruler who need not bow to any king."

A faint sneer touched Raphael's face.

"Gold isn't just something you earn by transporting spices. Gold naturally follows power."

He thought of the old fools in central politics, engrossed in their squabbles over interests. If mere feudal lords were like that, how much more so would be the sovereigns with ruling authority?

"If the first emperor since the Ratan Empire were to emerge on the Central Continent, do you think the prominent grand dukes and dukes would remain quietly under their own kings?"

They would offer anything to obtain the title of 'King.'

Be it gold, an army, a fiefdom on the mainland, or a monarch's daughter who comes as part of a set with the fiefdom.

Raphael was certain there were men who would even offer up their wives if the other party would accept.

Independence, autonomy—such things were that sweet.

"Will they trade titles for gold?"

"The new 'Emperor' will bestow titles upon his subordinates as a reward for their loyalty, and for those who contributed nothing, he'll bestow titles in exchange for gold. It's a can't-lose proposition for him."

The 'Holy War,' with the exception of a handful of the truly faithful, was a second chance for those who had lost on the mainland.

A gathering of riffraff who, wearing the noble mask of faith, flocked here seeking a quick fortune and a reversal of their lives.

Raphael, who loved theology as a discipline, didn't get along well with those who blindly believed in the as if to devour it, but he despised the losers who gathered here, gambling on a single stroke of luck.

Yet his dear friend was dropped in the middle of that mess, and Raphael himself was now crossing the desert on a camel, heading to that very place.

"Tsk."

A bitter taste filled his mouth. He wondered how he had ended up here.

"Young Marquis, I think we're almost there!"

The voice of the Boccanegra merchant pulled Raphael back to reality.

"I see a Central Continent-style garrison up ahead! It must be the Crusaders!"

To Raphael's eyes, sensitive to the sun, it was barely visible, obscured by sandstorms and heat haze.

The reality that he had reached the Crusaders only set in after he was questioned by the soldiers of the Central Continent.

"Who goes there!"

It was a language from the northern part of the Central Continent. They sounded like they were from the Duchy of Sternheim.

Raphael removed his turban, revealing his face. His snow-white skin shone under the harsh sunlight.

"I seek the Third Crusade. I am the Young Marquis of Valdesal, from the Kingdom of Etruscan."

The guard didn't understand Etruscan but immediately recognized from Raphael's face that he was from the Central Continent.

Raphael put his turban back on and repeated himself in the continental common tongue, ancient Ratan.

"I come as an envoy of the Holy See. Take me to Prince Alfonso de Carlo."

It was just as he had arranged with Ariadne.

The guard, a common soldier, couldn't speak the Ratan common tongue, but he understood the words for 'the Holy See.'

Realizing he was dealing with a high-ranking guest, he guided Raphael and his party inside the garrison.

***

Unfortunately, however, the guard led Raphael's party not to Alfonso's tent, but to that of the Crusaders' Commander-in-Chief, Grand Duke Eulenburg.

Grand Duke Eulenburg, whose brown hair had only been flecked with gray when the Third Crusade set out but was now dominated by it, greeted Raphael with a weary expression.

He spoke in the old tongue of the Ratan Empire, the common language among intellectuals.

"I hear we have a guest from the Central Continent. Welcome. We welcome any child of the Yesak faith."

He added.

"What business brings you all this way?"

"It is a pleasure to meet the last true believer of the Central Continent. I am Raphael de Valdesal, eldest son of the House of Marquis Valdesal, from the Kingdom of Etruscan."

Raphael introduced himself with a smooth smile.

"I completed my theological studies in Padova and have been running various errands for the Holy See since my return."

It wasn't a lie.

He was a regular participant in 'Verum Quaeritis,' a gathering of young theologians sponsored by the Etruscan diocese.

It was just that today's errand had been assigned not by a clergyman, but by a clergyman's daughter.

At the same time, he took one of the two letters he carried in his coat and handed it to Grand Duke Eulenburg.

It was a document proving the source of funds, stamped with the seal of the Holy See, which Ariadne had prepared to ensure Raphael's safe delivery.

While the Grand Duke read it, Raphael explained the official purpose of his visit.

"The dioceses of the Holy See within Etruscan wish to deliver a donation to His Highness Prince Alfonso de Carlo, the heir to our kingdom. They say the money was raised through the combined efforts of many. I have been honored with the task of visiting Yesak as their representative."

Raphael recited the false alibi with a straight face, without so much as batting an eye.

Grand Duke Eulenburg frowned slightly but said nothing.

An ordinary commander-in-chief would have insisted, 'All income for the holy war should be given to the commander-in-chief to be distributed later.'

But Grand Duke Eulenburg was a man who lived and died by fairness.

No matter how strained his finances, he would not touch what was not his.

"Hmm."

Just as Grand Duke Eulenburg was about to order someone to fetch Prince Alfonso, the flap of the commander's tent was drawn back, and a man entered.

"Raphael!"

A familiar voice. Raphael spun around.

But the silhouette of the man who entered was completely unfamiliar.

His hair, which once shone like spun gold, had been bleached by the sun to the color of straw and, uncut, now reached his neckline.

His build, once large but with a boyish slenderness, was now undeniably robust.

Their heights had once been similar, but he had shot up and was now more than half a hand taller than Raphael.

His shoulders were broad, and his chest looked to be at least twice the size of an average adult man's.

"Your Highness..."

As Raphael tried to bow, Prince Alfonso strode forward and embraced him without hesitation.

"Such a long journey! You've suffered much!"

The prince carried the faint scent of ingrained blood and sweat, pus and death, and victory and spoils.

***

After Ariadne was made a countess and became the Duke of Pisano's fiancée, the person most saddened by it—aside from perhaps Leo III—was undoubtedly Isabella.

Isabella had locked herself in her room for three days and nights, refusing food and weeping, resenting the half-sister who had stolen everything from her and the father who favored that sister while excluding her.

Even now, she sat in the 'Maidens' Drawing Room,' chewing her lip with a resentful expression.

Just then, there was a commotion at the entrance hall on the first floor.

Isabella left the drawing room and stood at the second-floor railing, looking down.

"Your Grace, the Duke of Pisano, has arrived."

The butler, Niccolo, without leaving it to the footman, had rushed to the front door to greet Duke Cesare himself.

Since becoming her official fiancé, Duke Cesare had been coming and going from the de Mare mansion as if it were his own home.

"Mm. Is the young lady in?"

"Please wait a moment, I will bring her down immediately."

As if they had a prior arrangement to go out, Cesare waited in the entrance hall without entering the drawing room, and Ariadne appeared so quickly that the guest's wait was not impolite.

When the tall, black-haired girl appeared, Cesare stepped forward and offered her his arm to escort her.

"You're here? My lady."

As she stood beside him and placed her gloved hand on his arm, Cesare affectionately buried his nose in Ariadne's hair.

Ariadne turned her head slightly and said something, but the distance was too great for Isabella to hear her words.

Ariadne, elegantly dressed in white fur and a pearl hair ornament, accepted Duke Cesare's escort as if it were her due.

There was no hint of shyness or gratitude. Isabella clenched her teeth.

Even Ariadne's perfectly poised posture, praised in high society as the model for a noble lady, was detestable.

*That arrogant little wench...!*

Duke Cesare was the dream of every girl in the capital.

No matter that she'd received a countess's title, a parvenu like that little Ariadne had no right to treat him so coldly.

But Duke Cesare, as if under a love potion, showed not a hint of displeasure.

He laughed loudly at whatever Ariadne said, and at the end of every exchange, he stroked her hair as if he found her utterly beautiful.

Ariadne openly rebuffed about half of Duke Cesare's advances, yet the Duke accepted it all with a smile, showing no sign of dislike.

He escorted Ariadne with the utmost sincerity out the main door of the de Mare mansion.

"...A carriage...!"

Ariadne's voice could be heard rising.

It seemed she was complaining about the fact that Duke Cesare had come to pick her up with horses, not a carriage.

*My goodness, Duke Cesare came to get her himself, and she has the nerve to complain about the arrangements?*

Isabella's hand, gripping the second-floor railing, tightened unconsciously.

Unaware of Isabella's turmoil, Duke Cesare laughed and waved his hand dismissively, then gazed down at Ariadne with a look of pure adoration.

A cherubic smile graced his sculpted face. Isabella read his lips.

- 'Are you angry, my lady?'

Having seen this much, Isabella could no longer bear to watch the scene.

She returned to her drawing room, seething with a rage that reached the heavens.

Her half-sister's arrogance didn't just pierce the sky; she had to be insane.

And Duke Cesare, who put up with all her atrocious behavior, was not in his right mind either.

*Does he love money that much?!*

Isabella could find no other reason for Duke Cesare to be so besotted with her sister except for her sister's wealth.

*She's nothing but a rattlesnake!*

It's human nature to disparage what one cannot have.

Isabella concluded that Cesare must be sour grapes. But she couldn't stop her lingering interest.

*But I wonder, is that rattlesnake good at hiding her true intentions?*

If he was clearly after her for her money, the Ariadne that Isabella knew would probably not accept Cesare.

*No, besides, just how much money does she have for even the Duke of Pisano to act like that?*

Rumors circulated in high society that Ariadne was not just the wealthiest bachelorette in the capital, but perhaps the richest person in San Carlo, no, in the entire Kingdom of Etruscan, but Isabella couldn't believe it.

Because her sister—aside from being busier than before—hadn't changed at all in her daily life.

If Isabella had become wealthy, she would have filled the house to overflowing with furs, jewels, and perfumes, but she had never seen Ariadne do anything of the sort.

*Wait a minute, she happens to be out right now?*

It wasn't just Ariadne herself.

The red-haired maid who roamed the house growling like Ariadne's faithful hound and that lanky former coachman had left early in the morning, saying they had business outside.

As for the rest of the household staff, she was confident she could wheedle them somehow.

Isabella's violet eyes darted about as she stepped into the second-floor hallway and looked both ways. As it happened, no one was there.

She decided to raid Ariadne's study today.