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“What is the meaning of this—‘Shrine Maiden Princess’!?”

I had been led to a separate room, where I immediately began a furious protest to High Priestess Teressa, who had been waiting for me there. For some reason, Cardinal Callisto was lounging next to her in a most unseemly posture, sipping firewine in broad daylight—but I barely registered him in my mind.

“A special title?! The highest rank of active Shrine Maidens? A symbolic figure of the Church? A leading candidate to be the next Saint!? This is absurd! I’m just an ordinary first rank Shrine Maiden—how can I be promoted while skipping every official step and rank?! It’s outrageous! Positions and responsibilities aren’t something you just hand out like sweets! They should be decided through proper procedures, with the consent of those around, fairly and transparently—shouldn’t they?!”

Just as an aside, though it’s often misunderstood, even when a monarch grants a title of nobility to a vassal, it’s not normally done on a whim. There are advanced discussions, matters are presented to the assembly, papers go through proper channels, and finally, the national religion must give its approval before a title is officially bestowed.

This applies across the continent, with the exception of beastkin nations in the south and the lands of the demons. Even the most tyrannical rulers with immense power are, on paper, still subject to religious approval. A title granted without it is as good as a worthless scrap of paper.

Therefore, the Church is supposed to make such decisions with utmost rigor, guided by law, conscience, and doctrine.

In fact, in the Eunice Theocracy, the Church holds overwhelming authority. Even the Senate, the highest body in the land (as Eunice has no king), cannot confirm promotions in noble rank—whether merit-based promotions or hereditary succession—without first consulting the Church’s wishes. Without its endorsement, no noble title can ever be granted.

Meanwhile, in the continent’s mightiest nation, the Graviol Empire, the relationship between the state and the great continental religion of the Deva Kureha Faith is more relaxed—closer to a win-win arrangement. There, local nobles often handle ennoblements rather loosely, and the local church head simply retroactively affirms them. In return, the nobles donate to the Church or offer tax breaks, and the Church provides religious backing. It’s a well-oiled, mutually beneficial system.

However, it’s a different story when it comes to the central nobility. Unless someone has truly exceptional achievements or abilities, not even a decree from His Majesty the Emperor himself is enough to have a title of nobility granted. Most recently, my senior apprentice—and adoptive mother—Madam Christy was promoted in rank, but even that was considered an extraordinary exception. It’s not hard to imagine the intense jealousy and suspicious stares she must have faced from those around her.

So really, even a child could understand that the Church must never arbitrarily allow exceptions or show favoritism to specific individuals.

“In any case, I reject this decision! I absolutely refuse!!”
“—Yes, indeed… I quite agree. You make a very valid argument,” Lady Teressa said, gently nodding as she sipped from her teacup.

“That said,” added Cardinal Callisto with a grin, his glass of spirits in hand, “it’s usually the losers who complain. It’s rare for the winner to protest and try to get everything annulled. Hahaha… you’re a riot. Still, flailing around in here isn’t gonna do squat. If you wanna overturn this, you’ll have to convince the Council of Sages. That’s the only place it’ll matter.”

He chuckled to himself as if none of this concerned him in the least.

“This wasn’t some simple matter of protest!”

The moment the decision about Pope Theodoros’ judgment and the proclamation of “Shrine Maiden Princess” was announced, the templar knights—those divine warrior-priests stationed in the chamber—raised their right hands high and shouted in unison:

“All hail Lady Clara, the Shrine Maiden Princess!!”
“Long live the Church!”
“To hell with that old b̲a̲s̲t̲a̲r̲d̲ Theodoros!!”
“Lady Clara! Lady Clara!!”
“ “ “UOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHH!!!” ” ”

It was well beyond spirited. They roared like warriors on the battlefield (though, admittedly, some of their words were more than a little disturbing), and they whipped themselves into such a frenzy that I, who had suddenly been thrust into the center of it all, could do nothing but freeze.

And then, in that moment—

“Guooohhh! So this is the end, is it?! If it’s come to this—”

Slumped over in the defendant’s seat, the Pope suddenly sprang to his feet, shouting like some shameless villain clinging to the last scrap of dignity.

“Then at the very least, let me grope those t̲i̲t̲s̲ and that a̲s̲s̲ to my heart’s content before I go into confinement!”

Like a grasshopper, or a frog, he leapt at me.

“KYAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!?!?”

This heinous act was completely unexpected. The knights were so stunned that, for a moment, they failed to react—and I was almost pounced on. Somehow, I managed to throw up a desperate guard.

Even so, the Pope’s filthy hands kept reaching for my chest and butt, undeterred. Coppelia tried to smack them away with chopping strikes, but he dodged them with surprising agility and dexterity.

“What the… You evaded my aggressive defense techniques?!”
“Fuhahahahahaha! I didn’t get to be Pope for nothing, you know! You think you can beat me in a contest of footwork and split-second decision-making?!”
“Heeeeeehhhh…”

He slipped past Coppelia’s guard by the slimmest of margins and kept sneaking in pervy gropes whenever he could, until I was practically in tears.

At that point, Archbishop Georgios—who had been on the podium the entire time—was the first to act. He calmly grabbed the warhammer beside him, stomped over with heavy steps, and without warning shouted, “Divine punishment!” before raising the weapon high and smashing it down on the Pope’s head with deadly precision.

“NUWAAAAAAGHHH!! I’M GONNA DIE! You were seriously trying to kill me, weren’t you!?”

The impact was thunderous, smashing the thick floorboards—and even the foundation beneath—into pieces.

Through the cloud of rising dust and rubble, the Pope, having narrowly dodged death by leaping back just in time, scrambled on all fours and looked up to protest. Georgios, unbothered, raised an eyebrow and easily pulled the warhammer—now embedded deep in the floor—free, slinging it over his shoulder.

“Hmph. Missed. I must admit, when it comes to fleeing and shirking responsibility, you truly are the best in the land. …Very well. Since you’re still so full of energy, forget a mere one-thousand-day ascetic pilgrimage. I’ll amend the sentence to ten thousand days. Agreed?”
“Why do you always have to crank the difficulty up to insane levels!? Do you have something against me or what?!”
“…You mean you didn’t realize?”