The moment Ruby’s weight settled into the chair, the Pope stood up.
His white robes shifted quietly as he rose. The polite calm on his face had tightened into something sharper.
“Sage-sama,” he said, voice still measured but carrying clear disapproval. “A slave cannot sit beside people of noble or clerical rank. This should be as obvious as water. Please reconsider.”
Jiro kept his hand lightly on the back of Ruby’s chair so she wouldn’t try to stand again. He looked straight at the old man.
“And who made that rule, honored Pope? Was it the god this Temple serves, or was it his majesty, the king? As far as I know, there’s no discrimination written in any god’s heart. So why should we, who are only mortals, invent so many classes and rules that make one life count for more than another?”
Hearing the young Sage’s reason, silence dropped over the table.
The nobleman’s face turned red almost instantly. His fingers tightened on the edge of the table. Tsunade’s eyes moved between Jiro and the Pope, alert but unreadable. Even the servants standing along the walls seemed to freeze.
No one spoke for several long seconds.
Then the Pope inclined his head. The gesture looked respectful, but the words that followed were polished and empty.
“You speak in a strange way, Sage-sama. This mere mortal is always humbled by your wisdom.”
Jiro knew flattery when he heard it. He knew clearly the Pope was merely trying to smooth this situation somehow, so he didn’t bother answering. He simply kept Ruby seated beside him.
The nobleman looked ready to stand up and storm out, feeling insulted. His jaw was clenched so hard a muscle jumped in his cheek. Seeing the situation was getting out of hand, the Pope made a small, sharp gesture with two fingers under the table, as if saying “control yourself”, and the man forced himself to stay seated, though his eyes still burned with anger.
A broad-shouldered man in the dark-green uniform of a high-ranking Temple captain walked in with easy confidence. He looked to be in his early thirties, hair tied back, a single finger, his thumb missing from his left hand, looking very weird.
“Sorry, I was a little late,” he said, voice loud and cheerful. “Those fools at the training yard made me late. Oh? Sage-sama is already here, I see. Hmm, hmm. And who’s this? Oh, a new face I see?”
Ruby stood up at once and bowed deeply.
“This one’s name is Ruby. I am Sage-sama’s personal slave. He bought me from the Temple market after taking pity on my situation and stopping a merchant from treating me roughly.”
Jiro blinked.
‘So her name is Ruby… I guess I finally learned that.’
The captain’s mouth curved into a knowing grin that was just a little too wide.
“Heh. So our Sage-sama is as kind, and as like-minded as the rest of us, huh? Heh, good to know!”
The crude implication coming from him landed cleanly. Realising what the guy meant, heat rushed up Jiro’s neck. He opened his mouth to correct the misunderstanding, already feeling the familiar mix of anger and embarrassment, but the Pope spoke before he could get a single word out.
“Sage-sama. Now that you have begun to settle into the Temple and the formalities of your recognition are complete, we of the Temple wish to begin your proper instruction and the duties of a Sage without further delay.”
The old man’s voice filled the hall again, steady and heavy with the weight of long frustration.
“As you know, fifty years passed without a living Sage. In that time, this realm has suffered enough already. What’s worse, the previous Sage possessed no mana core. After her death, even the limited support she provided was cut off. While the upper realms have continued to grow stronger year after year, we of the Mortal Realm have too often been nothing more than a stepping stone for them to walk across and issue orders.”
He paused, letting the words settle.
“Only because a few mention-worthy cultivators have appeared among us in recent years have we managed to keep any footing at all. But we common people remain the weak ones, without a way to heal these mortal bodies of ours. Cultivators can heal themselves, even reconstruct their bodies through their arts. But we mortals cannot. Most of us do not live past fifty. Seventy is a rare fortune, and only for those lucky enough to have access to an imperial apothecary. But as you know, not everyone is so fortunate to have an imperial apothecary by their side all the time.” This chapter is updated first at g.com.
Then his gaze rested on Jiro.
“We poor people can only rely on local apothecaries… or on our Sage. And after a long time, we have finally been blessed with one again. We do not have the luxury of letting you rest from your journey, Sage-sama. I fear we must begin your studies as soon as possible. What do you say?”
Jiro met the Pope’s eyes without looking away.
“There’s no need to ask my permission for something like that, is there? It is what it is. If it can’t be helped, then why delay? Let’s just do it. I’m ready whenever you are.”
The Pope glanced sideways at the nobleman. The man finally received the cue he had been waiting for. He stood, walked around the table, and placed a small faceted crystal in front of Jiro. The object glowed with a soft internal blue light and carried a faint pressure that made the air around it feel denser.
Jiro realised what it might be immediately.
“It’s a nectar?” he asked aloud.
“Yes,” the Pope confirmed. “Please hold it in your hand, Sage-sama, so that we may know whether you possess the potential to form a mana core or not. And do not be concerned if the result is negative. Even without a core, you may still use your gift; we have methods to teach that path, too. The previous Sage walked it as well, if that soothes your concern at all. But if you do have the potential, it would be a great benefit. After suffering so long under the shadow of those cultivators, if our new Sage cannot cultivate, your lifespan will remain that of an ordinary mortal, seventy years at best. So…”
Before the Pope could finish the sentence, Jiro’s fingers closed around the crystal.
For two full seconds, nothing happened. Jiro frowned down at the still-blue stone.
“What? Why am I not feeling anything? Do I not have any potential?”
“Quiet,” Tsunade shushed him softly but firmly from her seat. “Wait for it.”