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“By the name of Saintess Snow, I hereby convene the Emergency Council of Sages for the 138th year of the True Holy Calendar!”

Solemnly, the presiding high-ranking cleric announced the opening, and the members of the Council of Sages, who were standing, cut their holy seals and took their seats.

The Council of Sages: the decision-making body of the Saintess Church, composed of its highest leaders—male clerics must be cardinal or higher, and maidens must be at least High Priestess rank to qualify as members.

Having once participated as a defendant in this council, I quietly exhaled, feeling both relief and a tinge of melancholy upon noticing that most of the members present had been replaced by a new generation.

For this session, not only the council members but also clerics and maidens of sufficiently high rank were allowed to observe, filling the fairly large hall to the point that there was no room to spare.

(So thirty years have passed since then…)

As I was lost in quiet reflection, I suddenly felt my sleeve being tugged. Turning around, I saw Cestlavie, seated diagonally behind me as a witness, looking slightly panicked.

“H-hey. This is bad. You don’t have to stand up and cut your holy seal, too!”
“—Ah.”

Half-reflexively, I had stood and cut my holy seal—apparently out of habit, since I had been doing it every morning and evening until yesterday. Habits can be scary, indeed. Flustered, I quickly sat back down in my seat.

But it seemed I was a fraction of a second too late, because a murmur rose from a row of older clerics who had been watching my every move:

“ “ “Ooooooooh…!” ” ”

“’It’s Lady Clara!’”
“That face, filled with that ‘oops’ charm, it’s definitely Lady Clara!”
“Just like the Lady Clara from her carefree, airheaded days… how nostalgic…”

They began repeating “Lady Clara” over and over, and their excitement quickly spread, turning the entire council room into a buzz of commotion, like a hive that had been disturbed.

“—Great. We came here to deny you being Clara, and yet this is what we get.”
“Auuuuh…”

I slumped my shoulders in despair, completely at a loss for excuses over my blunder.

“—This little slip isn’t really a problem. For a devout believer, reflexively cutting the holy seal is normal. Honestly, though, I think you were the strange one for doing it so thoughtlessly, considering you’re an active priest.”

Luke, seated to my right, immediately came to my defense. But in this case, I was entirely at fault, so the more he defended me, the deeper my guilt sank.

“Don’t spoil her! This woman could accidentally wipe out a country or two!”
“—You’re being extreme, you know. That very carefree nature is precisely what makes Jill great. If you can’t accept it, it speaks poorly of your character as a man.”
“Carefree… That’s one way to put being airheaded, though?!”

Ignoring me entirely, the commotion continued to escalate around us.

“…Whatever. I just want to get this charade over with,” muttered Pope Theodoros, seated to my left, who had at least officially acknowledged me and changed into a neat vestment. He stifled a yawn while grumbling his discontent.

Even though I had been recognized as Clara, it was still unofficial, and this council had been convened to verify the truth. Yet, perhaps because of the generational change, many around us asked, “Who’s that old guy?” at the Pope. Their cold indifference made His Holiness quite displeased.

And then—

“Quiet!! You are in the presence of His Holiness the Pope!”

At last, the chairperson shouted, trying to quell the chaos that showed no sign of calming. Finally, everyone’s attention shifted—they realized the target of the covenant wasn’t me, but Pope Theodoros, whose idle hands were reaching for my breasts and buttocks.
Under the concentrated white-hot stares of those around him, Pope Theodoros instinctively straightened his back and restored his dignity.

“—Ah, so that’s His Holiness.”
“…He’s alive, huh.”
“That lecherous old man… stubborn as ever.”

Thanks to this, Pope Theodoros was instantly recognized—but in a very different sense from me.

The chairperson cleared their throat lightly.

“—Ahem. Your Holiness, Pope Theodoros. To verify beyond doubt that you are indeed yourself… well, there’s no question it’s Your Holiness… Still, would you consent to a formal verification by the Truth Officials in the name of the Saintess?”
“Ah, that’s fine by me.”

And so, to the chairperson, who asked with a tinge of despair at the fact that this lecherous old man sat at the top of millions of church members, Pope Theodoros answered with his usual easygoing grace.

At the chairperson’s signal, a man who appeared to be in his late forties or early fifties, wearing the purple shoulder sash marking him as a cardinal and exuding a sharp, composed presence, stood up from the slightly elevated platform within the Sage Council and descended toward us with a bow.

“…Cardinal Lawrence.”

Cestlavie muttered the name almost in a whisper deep in his throat.

“Lawrence…? Could it be… Father Lawrence, the Monastic Priest?”

Hearing the familiar name, I checked with Pope Theodoros sitting next to me. As expected, it was indeed the same young clergyman we had met thirty years ago.
Hmm… the facial features still bore a resemblance, but somehow his overall aura reminded me more of Archbishop Georgios, who had been my superior back then.

“Your Holiness Pope Theodoros, Your Imperial Grandson Lucas, Shrine Maiden Princess Clara—”
“Not her!”
“—Pfft. It is a great pleasure to see you all in such fine spirits. I am Lawrence, Head of the Truth Officials, affiliated with the Sant’Angelo Sanctorum of the Saintess Church.”

With no pause at all, I denied being “Clara,” but Cardinal Lawrence merely chuckled through his nose and continued his greeting.

For the record, Luke was also present, openly revealing his identity, acting as my official guarantor that “I am not Clara, just an ordinary person (monotone).”

After all, here was a direct imperial grandchild of the Graviol Empire, fifth in line to the throne and an extremely important figure, visiting the capital of their theocracy, albeit incognito. The reaction from the church officials when this was revealed was nothing short of astonishing.

Then,

“This person is not the Shrine Maiden Princess Clara. She is my fiancée, Julia Fortuna Gravis of the Graviol Imperial Family!”

So Luke declared while shielding me behind his back. Calling him cool would be a disservice.

The church officials and templar knights were thrown into a panic, though they were probably awestruck by Luke’s imposing presence. Although maybe the Ancient Dragon breathing fire behind him also played a large part in it.

Even so—

“Is this really alright? Even if it’s a pretense, I don’t think it’s okay to treat someone like me as part of the imperial family?”

I quietly asked later, worried about being punished for sacrilege. To my astonishment,

“It’s not a lie. Since you are recognized under the surname Gravis, there’s no doubt you are part of the imperial family.”

Luke dropped that bomb on me.

“—What…!?!?”
“Though you have no claim to the throne, as a member of the imperial family, your rank is equivalent to that of a foreign king—or queen. And since you are an unmarried woman, it’s customary to call you ‘Princess,’ so your common title would be Princess Julia.”

Luke delivered this one-two punch of information, leaving me utterly speechless.