Chapter 28: Is It Still a “Holy Pilgrimage” If You Sleep Inside the Carriage?

Religion and magic are not things that oppose each other.
They are things that make use of one another.

It was a perfectly clear morning, without a single cloud in the sky.
In front of the royal palace’s main gate, an imposing procession had gathered.

At the head stood Duke Valerius, dressed in the full regalia of the Master of Ceremonies.
Beside him was the Archbishop, invited as an official witness from the church.
And there were Claude and me, who were supposed to be facing a hellish mountain climb.

“…Fine weather,”

The Duke looked up at the sky and nodded in satisfaction.

“A perfect day for pilgrimage.
To sweat, to be covered in mud, and to pray to the gods after enduring hardship.
That is what befits a royal wedding.”

His gaze dropped to my feet.
Today, I was wearing the actual lightweight wedding dress and heels, not practical shoes.
If I walked ten kilometers up a mountain path like this, my feet would not just blister, and the hem of my dress would be reduced to rags.

“Eliana.
You are prepared, are you not?
If you fall even a single step behind, you will be left behind.”

The Duke struck the ground with his cane.
I smiled sweetly.

“Yes, I am prepared.
…Prepared to protect ‘purity.’”

I snapped my fingers, and the garage behind us opened.

Gogogogo…

With a heavy rumble, a single carriage emerged.
No—calling it a carriage felt questionable.

It was pure white in color.
There were no glass windows, replaced instead with magic mirrors that hid the interior from view.
The wheels appeared to be slightly floating above the ground, thanks to a combination of powerful suspension and levitation magic.
And above all, the entire vehicle was enveloped in a faintly glowing barrier.

“W-What is this…?”

The Duke gaped.

“This is the ‘pure conveyance’ I prepared,”

I said proudly.

“The base is an Eastern Empire military transport vehicle.
Claude installed his custom shock-absorption magic arrays, and I poured in all my magic to deploy barriers of [Perpetual Cleansing] and [Spatial Isolation].”

I ran my hand along the carriage’s body.
It was perfectly smooth.

“Inside this barrier is a completely sterile environment.
Not a speck of dust or pollen can enter.
It is sealed off from the outside air, and the interior temperature and humidity are always kept comfortable.”

“…What?”

“In other words, no matter how muddy it gets outside, the inside is paradise.”

Silence fell.
The Duke pointed at the carriage with a trembling finger.

“D-Don’t be ridiculous!
What kind of pilgrimage is it to hide inside such a soft box?
Only by walking with one’s own feet and tasting suffering can one show reverence to the gods!”

There it was.
Spiritualism.

Just as expected, I responded calmly.

“Uncle, have you forgotten the founding canon?”

I recited it from memory.

‘The bride’s feet shall not touch the earth.’
‘Sweat and mud are an affront to the gods.’

“If we follow these teachings, then entering sacred ground while panting, drenched in sweat, and wearing mud-caked shoes would be the greatest act of irreverence, would it not?”

“Ggh…!
B-But to arrive without hardship—”

“Whether there is hardship or not is irrelevant.
What matters is the ‘state.’”

I turned toward the Archbishop.
He was a gentle old man with a long white beard.

“Your Grace.
Which do you think the gods would welcome more, a bride covered in mud and sweat, or one who is pure and refreshed?”

The Archbishop looked between me, the Duke, and the white carriage.
Then he smiled serenely.

“…The gods cherish purity.”

“Y-Your Grace!?”

The Duke cried out, but the Archbishop continued.

“As Lady Eliana says, the ancient teachings speak of appearing ‘without defilement.’
…If modern technology and magic can achieve that, then that too must be divine guidance.
I sense not the slightest impurity from this carriage.”

Judgment delivered.
Victory secured.

Thank you, Archbishop.
It seemed the ancient manuscripts Claude had donated recently had done their job.

“T-This is impossible…”

The Duke staggered.
Being refuted by the head of the church left the guardian of tradition utterly defeated.

“Now then, Uncle.
Would you like to ride with us?
It is quite spacious inside, and there is a very soft sofa.”

I whispered temptingly.

The Duke was elderly.
From the way he walked, it was obvious his knees and back were not in good condition.
In truth, he probably did not want to walk at all.

His eyes darted back and forth.
A battle between pride and lower back pain.

But at the last moment, he endured.

“…I refuse!
I will walk!
As Master of Ceremonies, I will uphold the tradition of ascetic suffering!”

“I see.
What a shame.”

I shrugged and opened the carriage door.
With a soft hiss, cool air spilled out.

“Then we will be waiting at the summit.”

Claude and I boarded the carriage.
Sylvia followed, her expression unchanged.

“Depart!”

Inside the carriage was another world entirely.

“…It doesn’t shake,”

Claude murmured in amazement.

Outside should have been a gravel road, yet even the surface of water in a cup remained perfectly still.
The fusion of Imperial suspension and magic completely nullified the rough terrain.

“This is a masterpiece,”

I sank deeply into the sofa.

Sylvia took out chilled tea and cookies from a cabinet.
The service was impeccable.

“Lady Eliana.
We have also prepared an eye mask.”

“Thank you.
We have an hour until arrival… I can take a nap.”

I put on the eye mask and reclined the seat.
Outside the carriage, the Duke’s party was surely sweating and struggling up the mountain.
I did feel a little sorry.

Just a little.

But this was a victory of civilization.
Humanity had evolved in order to make life easier.
To deny that was to deny human potential itself.

“…Eliana,”

Claude took my hand.

“You really are incredible.”

“Compliments will not produce anything,”

I replied.

“No, I mean it.
…I never imagined you would outmaneuver my uncle and build something like this ark.”

He laughed happily.

“When I am with you, I am never bored.
…Please keep breaking my common sense from now on as well.”

“I do not mind breaking it, but please have the repair costs paid from the national treasury,”

I said.

We laughed together, and soon surrendered ourselves to the gentle motion and drifted into sleep.

One hour later.

The summit of the holy mountain.

When the door opened, refreshing highland air spread before us.
Without a single drop of sweat, with the hem of my dress still pristine white, we stepped out calmly.

“…We have arrived,”

I stretched leisurely.

Thirty minutes later, a gasping group finally climbed up.

“Hah… hah…!”

It was Duke Valerius.
His face was bright red, his steps unsteady.
His formal attire was splattered with mud, and his dignity was nowhere to be seen.

“Thank you for your hard work, Uncle,”

I said, handing him a cold towel prepared by Sylvia.

“You were quite fast.
…As expected, walking does have meaning.
You look very fulfilled.”

It was not sarcasm.
I genuinely admired the resolve required to accomplish something so pointless.

The Duke snatched the towel and wiped his face.

“…Hmph!
Of course!
This… this is what a ritual is…!”

He put on a brave front, but his eyes kept flicking toward my carriage.
And I did not miss his muttered words.

“…For the return trip… will you let me ride?”

“Of course,”

I replied with a smile.

Final boss defeated.
Even the stubborn old fox could not overcome back pain and the conveniences of civilization.

With this, the greatest concern—the physical endurance issue—was resolved.
All that remained was the wedding ceremony itself.

But complacency was dangerous.
The more perfect a plan seemed, the more easily it collapsed through a trivial hole.

And that hole was often opened not by external enemies, but by the ‘small malice’ of those close to you.

On the wedding day.
I had no idea that the most important ‘thing’ would go missing.