B-ronken-R-ing 159...

Emiliano

When Cárcel emerged from the archbishop's chamber, the sentry returned his revolver and sword. Securing his revolver to his baldric with practiced ease, Cárcel noticed an elderly senior priest waiting a few steps ahead.

The priest beckoned him forward with a respectful nod. "This way, if you please, Lord Escalante."

Silently, Cárcel walked after him.

The cathedral of Bilbao, like many grand places of worship, boasted towering ceilings and pillars, with arches that resembled cascading waterfalls frozen in time. Cárcel continued walking, his gaze drawn to the intricate carvings and torches adorning the ceiling, impossibly high and seemingly unreachable even by the tallest ladder.

"As you may be aware, the nave currently under reconstruction is the central nave that was destroyed in the great fire of Bilbao a hundred years ago," the priest began. "We now have the grand nave and chancel in the east, built by the orders of Tristan the Fourth and miraculously completed in just ten years with the imperial family's support. However, our efforts to restore this sacred ground faced many challenges because the sacred remains and relics of the apostles-the ones that Bilbao had been protecting for seven hundred years-were all buried under the ruins."

"I understand."

"Progress would have been impossible without Archbishop Sergio's resolve thirty years prior. His orders initiated a decade-long excavation of the sacred relics. And his successor, Archbishop Claudio, has since led the completion of the old grand nave and chancel... bringing us here today."

Sunlight spilled in from the open door at the end of the corridor. Squinting, Cárcel gazed upon the incomplete structure beyond the garden. Though close to completion, it seemed it would take more than another decade to finish.

"It is indeed already magnificent, yet much remains to be done. Your recent generous contribution to this holy cause is deeply appreciated, but..."

"No holy place can ever be built overnight," Cárcel responded, quoting a phrase from the sacred text.

"Yes, precisely so."

Cárcel continued to walk after the priest, whose slow, labored steps were a stark contrast to how he had slyly broached the subject of financial matters. Clearly, this man was ill-suited for a guide, both in stature and station. He was here solely because of the money.

The priest glanced back at Cárcel and added, "Compensating the painters, including the one you commissioned, currently restoring the holy images have been placing additional burdens on us. You see, those painters had already been receiving a great amount of financial support in Mendoza. Many of them have promising futures ahead of them, and some have already achieved recognition."

A great amount of financial support? Cárcel thought to himself, maintaining a courteous smile that did not reach his eyes.

Artists who had actually achieved recognition would never tether themselves to religious work, although it wasn't to say that the painters who were currently restoring the paintings lacked talent-the archbishop would have made sure to vet them thoroughly. However, true artistic freedom flourished outside of prestigious institutions, away from the shadows of power. Those laboring for the cathedral would only find such freedom after the aristocrats-the ones who would pay the cathedral handsomely for the privilege of entering the chapel before the benediction-marveled over their finished work.

At least, that was usually the case. However, Emiliano would rise to fame years far earlier than that if he managed to fulfill Cárcel's request to finish the sacred painting to celebrate the crown prince's marriage within the next two months. In fact, this would happen before anybody even laid eyes upon the painting once the world found out just how much the painting was worth. After this, the archbishop of Bilbao would be able to begin his "business".

"It is no easy task to compensate those artists year after year," the priest continued, feigned exhaustion clear in his voice. "Last year's drought in the northeast exacerbated our difficulties. Though Bilbao is a large parish, the offerings fall short of supporting our mission to save poor souls. At this point, we are beginning to question the wisdom of investing so much in the reconstruction when we should be helping our smaller neighbors provide salvation to the people. Paying for five painters... perhaps it is quite unreasonable."

Cárcel couldn't help but scoff to himself. They weren't spending a fortune on the painters. Of course, there was the price that one had to pay to the patrons of the artists for the sake of formalities. However, no wealthy individual would be foolish enough to seek profit from religious institution. In fact, the cathedral paid far less than the value of the talented painters that somebody else had uncovered for them.

Hence, everything that the priest had said was completely false, aside from the fact that the two artists had been receiving "a great amount of financial support".

The cathedral wasn't taking complete advantage of the artists. In a way, those artists were making an investment in their future wealth and prestige. One could even say that they were incredibly fortunate to have such an opportunity. After all, there were numerous artists who wished to take part in the holy work while the cathedral chose only a select few.

Yes... it is great fortune indeed, Cárcel thought to himself. A very intentional one that should never have fallen to such a clumsy and naive man.

Upon reaching this train of thought, Cárcel ran his tongue over his lower lip. Here he was, thinking about Emiliano as if he knew him personally. In reality, he know nothing about him. He almost released a wry huff of laughter, but it soon dissipated into thin air.

After a prolonged silence, Cárcel finally said, "My apologies. I should have considered the burden that would be placed on the Bilbaoan Order. I was preoccupied with my desire to rebuild the holy ground."

"Others may deem it a luxury, but we are merely striving to recreate the glory of our Lord. Such an endeavor demands proper support."

Cárcel nodded, his expression impassive. He gave the priest the answer that he was seeking. "I will speak to His Highness about providing more support for Bilbao. I am sure he will be generous, considering that the archbishop has graciously decided to bless and gift him with a holy painting in celebration of his birthday."

"We would be most grateful," the priest said.

Cárcel took a moment to observe the peaceful garden and the clear blue sky. In the distance, he could see an altar server walking briskly.

"It may appear finished," the priest continued, "but they are only just beginning to polish the carvings on the outer walls. It will take ten more years, at the very least. And that is assuming our finances will remain stable over those years..."

I see, Cárcel nodded to himself. Even if that man completes his paintings and frees himself from here, it will take no less than five years to do so. Cárcel turned his gaze to the spire that the priest was pointing out, quickly calculating the size of the structure on the inside.

As he slowly lowered his gaze, a young man came into view. His wavy red hair was tied back in a ponytail, and he was carrying an empty jar on his shoulder. His tattered tunic, stained with red, did not mark him as a priest or an altar server.

The priest also turned to look once he realized that Cárcel had stopped completely to stare at the young man. "Oh... Was that the painter that Lord Escalante recommended to the archbishop?" he muttered to himself.

"No... not him," Cárcel said in response.

The priest shot Cárcel a curious glance, as if he was confused as to why Cárcel had decided to respond to his musings, then beckoned to the young man.

The man, who had been ambling toward the well with a hand shoved inside the jar to support it, immediately straightened his posture and approached them.

As the man drew closer, the priest nodded in recognition. "You are... Lourdes, are you not?"

"Yes, Father."

"I am impressed that you managed to distinguish him from the other one, Lord Escalante," the priest said to Cárcel. Then he turned back to Lourdes. "Is Emiliano inside?"

"Yes, he is by the altar."

The priest explained to Cárcel, "Brother Lourdes traveled here from Oligarchia with his fellow painter Emiliano. The artwork that had caught Archbishop Claudio's eye at the store in Mendoza was a holy painting that the two of them had created together." Then he addressed Lourdes again. "Put down that jar for a moment and lead this gentleman to Emiliano, Lourdes. He is our distinguished guest from Esposa."

"Of course, Father." Quickly, Lourdes set down the jar near the flower bed and bowed deeply.

The priest also turned to bow his head to Cárcel. "Well, then... I will take my leave now, if that would be quite all right with you. I am not feeling well at my old age."

"Of course."

Cárcel lightly bowed his head to the priest then gestured to Lourdes with his chin, silently ordering him to lead the way. Lourdes, who had been staring at Cárcel's face in astonishment, snapped into action.

As they began to walk, Lourdes stole discreet glances at Cárcel. Finally, he asked, "Excuse me, sir... Are you a knight of Escalante?"

"Yes."

"My goodness, I did not think such things actually happened in real life!" Lourdes ran a hand down his face, awestruck. His skin was tanned from the sun and his body was slender yet muscular, indicative of years of hard physical labor. Cárcel noted how unusually fit he seemed for an artist who spent his days painting sacred images in a prayer room.

I do not know why... but he irks me. Cárcel glanced at the artist coolly. However, overwhelmed with excitement about his friend's incredible luck, Lourdes did not notice it. He could not even dare to meet Cárcel's eyes to begin with.

"At first, I didn't believe Emiliano when he said he was going to work on a sacred marriage painting for His Highness. We are poor painters from Oligarchia, after all. Every day that I spend in Bilbao feels like a dream."

"Who was Emiliano's last patron?" Cárcel asked.

"I heard they were a wealthy banker from Mendoza. Apparently, they like to anonymously support young emerging artists, so I do not know their name... But we only had to put up one painting for sale to get their patronage, and that was after being turned down over and over again by one of the biggest painting shops in Mendoza!"

Cárcel listened to him quietly, his face stern.

"That was nine years ago... Looking back, I feel like that's when our good luck started. If it hadn't been for our patron, we wouldn't have been able to maintain a connection to Don Joaquín's painting shop. In fact, I would still be doing simple chores at a brewery. I'm sure I speak for Emiliano as well. Whenever he secured an assistantship anywhere...well, it never worked out. Anyway, our patron provided us with a studio in Oligarchia and helped us form our connection. They suggested we work together on a sacred image, saying we could complement each other's painting styles. We figured we might as well try it when we remembered their advice, not realizing that the archbishop would see it."

"Are you receiving support now?"

"Ah... We do not receive any support while we are on the sacred ground of Bilbao. However, we are both planning on pledging our loyalty to them again once we are done here. After all, we have never managed to pay them back for supporting us for so long."

"I see. So that is how everything happened." Cárcel's tone turned cold from unemotional.

Finally, Lourdes noticed the change in Cárcel's tone. As he led Cárcel through the back door of the main building still under construction, he began to glance nervously at the other man. Oh no... he thought regretfully. I must have gotten too excited. I'm sure he didn't want to hear about my past...

Although Lourdes had encountered many kinds of wealth in Oligarchia while painting the portraits of aristocrats and the rich, he had never seen anybody as handsome and refined as the man walking behind him. The man's beautiful blond hair framed a face that looked like a masterpiece of an era, coupled with his intimidating stature and perfectly sculpted body. He exuded an air of effortless elegance.

Overall, it was obvious that he was the scion of a noble house with great influence. There's something special about him, I can tell, Lourdes thought to himself. All of the holy knights at the cathedral hailed from houses renowned in their hometowns, but none of them looked quite like him.

Lourdes discreetly turned his head away, slightly intimidated by the stern line of Cárcel's lips.

However, finding the silence in the narrow corridor unbearable, he spoke again.

"Emiliano's talent is truly unmatched. And I'm not just saying this because I am his fellow painter! His skills make mine pale in comparison. Honestly, I should consider myself lucky for being able to ride on the back of his talents all the way to Bilbao. He has been better than any famous painter ever since his twenties. Please assure Lord Escalante that he will not regret his decision. Sometimes I wonder if he is gifted-"

"Have you ever been to Calztela?" Cárcel asked abruptly.

"Pardon?"

"I suppose there is no point in asking you."

After some hesitation, Lourdes said, "Do you mean... the port city with the naval base, sir?"

"Yes."

"Personally, I have not. But I know that Emiliano visited that area a couple times to see his relatives. Oh! If I remember correctly, the son of Duke Escalante is stationed at the naval base in Calztela..."

Cárcel did not respond. His eyes were fixated upon the man who had just appeared at the end of corridor. The light seeping in through a small gap in the door illuminated his light brown hair. The man's beautiful face held two soft eyes. It was the one that Cárcel had come to begrudge so much.

"That's Emiliano," Lourdes said. "I'm afraid he won't be able to speak very well in your presence. He was so honored that all the blood drained from his face when he heard the news, you see."

At last, Cárcel was face-to-face with Emiliano.