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Chapter : 32
I Saw a Wailing Soul
The imperial palace lay sunk in silence.
An intelligence officer stood holding a white urn of ashes in his arms. He was marked with a red plume. The red cord on his shoulder signified an urgent dispatch to the imperial palace—an order that no one was to block his way.
The chief attendant swallowed back his tears and pleaded.
“Your Majesty… please give the order.”
Benjamin spoke in a low,沉淀된 voice.
“Set the urn down.”
A place had been prepared in the open court of the imperial palace. The white urn was placed atop a white marble table. The hastily prepared arrangement felt desolate.
The intelligence officer set the urn down. The deceased’s belongings were placed beside it. The white urn itself showed that the old man had strained himself beyond what his circumstances allowed.
‘Her Late Majesty, the Empress Dowager…’
Charlophe gazed quietly at the scene.
‘So you’ve finally come.’
It may have been a long wandering. Perhaps she had not wanted to return to the imperial palace at all.
“The priest…?”
Benjamin murmured softly.
“Has the High Priest been informed?”
“The priest has arrived, Your Majesty.”
The High Priest hurried up. When he placed his hand upon the urn, a blue aura rippled outward.
The temple was a sanctuary ruled by the god of healing,
and the High Priest could read the lingering aura of a person imbued in an object through divine power.
“Ah…”
The High Priest withdrew his hand. Stepping back a few paces, he performed the rites for the dead.
“I pay my respects to Her Late Majesty, the former Empress.”
Those words carried only one meaning.
“When I was summoned by the imperial family and came here, I could hardly believe my ears. Your Majesty, these remains do indeed belong to Her Late Majesty, the former Empress.”
After paying his respects, the High Priest stepped back. Benjamin placed his hand on the urn.
“They are truly the remains of my predecessor?”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“Twenty years.”
“Yes. A great deal of time has passed.”
All the attendants lowered their heads. The knights knelt and observed proper decorum. The intelligence officers likewise paid their respects.
Charlophe watched from behind. Hundreds of knights knelt, and attendants bowed their heads.
“Who has kept these remains?”
“This old man, Your Majesty.”
A shabby old man knelt on the marble floor.
His appearance was pitiful. Even Benjamin, looking down at the urn, could tell.
You did your best, despite having nothing.
Though the weather had turned cold, the man wore clothes meant for spring or summer.
“…See that the old man is given a place to rest.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“Later. I will speak with him again later.”
The chief attendant led the old man away.
“Bring the remains inside.”
The urn was enshrined in the Chamber of Eternal Rest within the Eternal Rest Palace. The palace had an office that managed its facilities, and inside, an altar had also been prepared.
The chief attendant asked cautiously.
“Your Majesty, shall we withdraw?”
“…What did you say to me?”
“I asked whether we should withdraw.”
Benjamin silently gazed down at the urn. He simply stared at it, endlessly.
“Everyone, leave.”
All the attendants departed. The doors of the chamber closed, and curtains were drawn over the altar.
Like white veils.
The inner part of the altar was concealed, and candles were lit along the path leading to it.
Benjamin walked along that path. With each step he took, the candle flames flickered finely.
“Your Majesty.”
Charlophe called to him from behind. The hem of her long dress dragged along the floor.
She wore no ornate lace or jewels—only a neat, modest outfit.
All that adorned her was the dignified fullness of a dress layered with fine fabric.
“Shall I withdraw as well?”
When Charlophe asked from behind, Benjamin shook his head.
“It’s fine. Stay as you are.”
“Is your heart unsettled?”
“Perhaps. Was the reason my mind’s been in turmoil these past days this?”
Charlophe smiled faintly.
“If Her Late Majesty heard that, she would be disappointed.”
Even so, she understood his feelings.
“So much time has passed—it’s natural that it was hard to believe.”
“Yes. It was a long time…”
“The imperial palace isn’t a place where wanting to believe makes belief possible. You ascended the throne, and from that seat you merely reexamined the facts that had to be examined first.”
From that position, he could not have acted otherwise.
“Is that consolation?”
“Yes. Probably.”
“How dull.”
Benjamin trailed off, once again looking over the altar.
“Her long wandering has ended; she must be tired. My mother also needs her rest, so I’ll leave her be for a while.”
With that, Benjamin left the Eternal Rest Palace. The doors closed behind him. Charlophe watched him go.
“I know what kind of feelings those are.”
Even upon seeing the remains, emotions too conflicted to grieve freely.
A heart that could neither rejoice nor sorrow.
Benjamin was rational—perhaps painfully so.
‘Her Late Majesty, the former Empress.’
Charlophe murmured inwardly.
‘Please do not feel disappointed. It has been many long years. This position, unable to believe the truth as it is, is not his fault.’
“The old man has been brought to the audience chamber. Since he is not a noble, he may be unfamiliar with proper etiquette.”
Benjamin dismissed the concern, saying it was fine.
The old man who had carried the urn knelt on the floor. He trembled violently, hunching his shoulders as though guilty of some crime.
When Benjamin approached and stopped before him, the old man flattened himself against the ground. Though utterly terrified, he still managed to offer his greeting.
“Y-Your… Your Imperial Majesty.”
“Have you committed some crime?”
“I do not know where to put myself, being so lowly and yet granted an audience with Your Majesty.”
Benjamin examined the man’s shabby appearance. His worn clothes were torn and frayed in places.
“What would you have done if I had refused to see you?”
“I… did not think that far.”
Seeing the man’s hands—worn and cracked—Benjamin asked,
“…A farmer, then.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“How long have you farmed?”
“I am not certain. My parents farmed before me, and I took over their work. It is a small plot—just a little field. The farm itself is small as well.”
Benjamin checked the old man’s fingernails. They were indeed the nails of a farmer.
“You were the one who kept the remains?”
The old man lowered his head deeply.
“This old man simply could not abandon an elder of the imperial family in a cold field.”
“Why?”
“I have lived within the Empire for nearly seventy years. I felt ashamed that someone so lowly as myself could not even enshrine a single memorial tablet for Her Majesty, in such a miserable place.”
Looking down at him, Benjamin replied,
“Thanks to you, Her Late Majesty has set foot in the imperial palace once more. The imperial household will not forget this help and will repay it.”
“No, Your Majesty. That was not why I did it. I would be struck by divine punishment. Please, I beg you—take back those words.”
The old man trembled violently, as if truly expecting punishment. His appearance alone testified to it.
He had acquired an urn far beyond his means to house the remains.
Each act he called insignificant was anything but light.
“Chief Attendant.”
“Yes, Your Majesty. You called?”
The chief attendant bowed.
“Send the old man grain and clothing. Provide plenty of firewood as well, and send someone to see to his needs.”
“Th-Thank you, Your Majesty.”
“The imperial family will not forget this. Chief Attendant, bring warm and comfortable clothes and take care of him.”
Tears fell from the old man’s eyes. Truly, he had never acted seeking reward.
His hands and feet trembled. He collapsed to the floor and wept silently.
After the old man departed, a shadow approached behind the audience chamber.
A breeze stirred behind the folding screen. The High Priest, Haneli, stepped out from the rear of the chamber.
Benjamin, who had sensed his presence already, ran a hand through his hair and turned.
“You don’t need to return directly to the temple?”
“His Holiness granted permission for me to return at my leisure.”
Haneli let his long golden hair fall loose. It swayed softly below his waist, as smooth as silk.
He looked the very image of a human loved by the gods.
Even the smallest gesture carried dignity.
“A pure soul.”
“You can see that?”
“It is common among those who have lived long lives. Seeing such a clear aura reveals one’s character.”
Haneli slipped alcohol inside his priestly robes.
“Is it acceptable for a priest to drink?”
Haneli pretended not to hear and fastened his robe.
“As long as His Holiness doesn’t know, it’s fine.”
He hid another bottle inside his robes and muttered quietly, “Surely the Pope won’t search me this thoroughly.”
“Her Late Majesty rests peacefully. I could see that her soul has entered repose. It seems she found stability alongside that clear aura.”
Benjamin cast his gaze out the window.
“And.”
Haneli lifted eyes that seemed filled with emptiness. His unfocused gaze turned toward Benjamin. His voice, mixed with divine power, echoed as if reverberating.
“One who should have had no one at their side has placed someone there. Space was made beside them.”
“…Is that a prophecy? I was under the impression that prophecies must not be spoken aloud.”
The temple foretells prophecies, but speaking them aloud is forbidden. To meddle with causality invites divine punishment.
“It is a prophecy, and yet it is not.”
With that, Haneli turned and walked away.
Haneli pulled out a bottle of strong liquor from his robes. When he drank straight from the bottle, the young priests were horrified.
“If His Holiness sees that—!”
“If you keep your mouths shut, no one will know. Any fool who babbles recklessly, I’ll hang upside down from a tree—”
Haneli froze with the bottle still at his lips. The Pope was staring down at him with a demon-like expression.
“You send him on a single errand and he comes back completely crooked!”
Haneli used divine power to disperse the alcohol in his system.
“Your Holiness is old and rigid.”
“You think using honorifics makes that acceptable?!”
“Divine power doesn’t cure high blood pressure. If you’re old, take care of your health.”
Haneli walked away alone. When he wiped his mouth, blood stained his fingers. He spat out the blood pooled in his mouth.
“Did you say something you shouldn’t have again?! Did you speak a forbidden prophecy aloud?!”
“This body can’t even freely choose a few words… Enough.”
In this era, Haneli possessed the most powerful divine power of all. He saw the future through prophecy—but his prophecies walked hand in hand with taboo.
As an example, Haneli had his tongue cut for what he said in the imperial palace.
‘One must not interfere in worldly affairs through prophecy.’
As Haneli stepped forward, small bells chimed softly near his ears.
“It will heal soon. Tsk.”
“I sent you out to see the world beyond temple doctrine, and the moment you arrive in the capital, you come back with your tongue cut out?!”
The Pope clicked his tongue in irritation.
“Was Her Late Majesty sent off properly?”
“Yes. Then I will return to my room.”
“Haneli…! Leave the alcohol behind. I saw you hiding another bottle. What do you plan to become when you grow up—!”
The Pope took the bottle and vanished. The temple’s white marble buildings were unbearably dull.
Its doctrines were antiquated; its laws obsolete.
“I saw a wailing soul before death.”
It is a past that has passed, and a future that will never come.
A soul that has lost its way. Please, comfort it well.
Only when he was alone did Haneli murmur this. His voice sank low, resonating quietly in the stillness.
