Infiltration.
That was the method Eriri had come up with for dealing with the Vandesse Empire's War Church. First, she would use Jessica's family resources to reach the church's upper echelons, then use the influence she gained to subvert the church from within.
The approach was safe, and it was effective. It might take a fair amount of time, but she, Eriri, had time to spare.
"Infiltration is indeed an effective way to dismantle the War Church." Ashley nodded her agreement. "And if you could enter the church's Privy Council, the odds of success would be even higher."
The church Privy Council functioned rather like the Imperial Parliament, a body and department capable of setting the church's strategy.
But compared with the members of the Imperial Parliament, the war bishops of the Privy Council wielded far greater power. Each war bishop was, within his own jurisdiction, rather like a territorial lord of the empire, holding the privilege of mobilizing every church resource in his region.
Going by all this, were war bishops the equivalent of the empire's titled lords?
They were not.
Under imperial law, titled lords were barred from sitting in the Imperial Parliament, the body that decided matters of state policy. The war bishops, however, sat at the very core of the Privy Council.
To put it another way: within the War Church, a war bishop's power equaled that of an imperial parliament member and a territorial lord combined.
This was why Ashley had said that if Eriri could join the church's Privy Council, her odds of success would rise considerably. With authority like that, an uprising would surely deal the War Church a devastating blow.
Of course.
Rising to the position of war bishop was not something easily achieved, either.
One had to be a member of the church first; one had to be a member of the empire's high society besides; and then one still needed the Pope's approval and baptism and purification beneath the gaze of the God of War.
The other requirements were manageable; that last one was the hardest of all.
After all, the gods of this world truly existed, they were not merely symbolic. A god would genuinely cast down its gaze, and this baptism amounted to an infusion of the god's will. In short: brainwashing.
Ashley had no idea whether this Mr. Shinigami could pass such a test, which was why she had emphasized the point so heavily.
"Brainwashing?" Eriri gave a light laugh. "There's no need to concern yourself with such a thing."
Outwardly confident, she was in fact sending out a cry for help in the group. She had no desire to become some godforsaken war god's diehard fangirl, but a god's will sounded awfully high-end, and she was genuinely afraid she couldn't handle it.
Curly-haired Guy: This Gin-san must scold you, Eriri-chan. Do you really believe some "infusion of divine will" can breach our brains? Don't make me laugh. We've all undergone ideological armoring!
Scarlet Lotus Fairy: The rest of us may or may not have ideological armoring, but Gintoki... I can say with certainty that you have none at all.
Machete Girl: Not only does he have no armor, he doesn't even have thoughts.
Curly-haired Guy: ? Don't go assigning my character for me, you bastards! If I had no thoughts, would Gin-san be a paramecium?!
Lazy Kitten: Has anyone considered the possibility that a paramecium might be superior to you?
Soul Society's Villain: The odds are high.
This is an Actor: A single-celled organism, essentially.
Curly-haired Guy: Dammit!
Doujin Artist: Hahahaha! Wait, I didn't come here to clown around with you people! Somebody give me a method, how do I keep from being brainwashed?! I don't want to become some brain-dead moron god's mindless fangirl!
Skirt-Flipping Maniac: "A brain-dead moron god's mindless fangirl"... I get the feeling, Eriri-chan, that there's something pointed in that.
Scarlet Lotus Fairy: The proper term would be "cursing the oak while pointing at the locust tree."
Doujin Artist: ?
Lin Fengjiao: Anzen-dono is a god. Does everyone like him or not?
Doujin Artist: ...
Oh. Oh no.
Eriri went blank. So she had been a brain-dead moron god's mindless fangirl all along? The clown was her all along?
Machete Girl: No, no! You can't count it that way! We can say with certainty that none of us has been brainwashed by Anzen-san, and we're no mindless fangirls either. This liking comes from love, not idol worship!
Skirt-Flipping Maniac: Oh, true! Kotonoha-chan really does see things clearest!
This is an Actor: There's no need to agonize over methods. Just go and attend the brainwashing ceremony as planned. I've added a lock to the alert system, no will-distorting power will ever work on you.
Doujin Artist: Holy crap!
Skirt-Flipping Maniac: Amazing!
Amegakure Village's Angel: That's my darling for you. Simply magnificent!
Reading the messages these girls sent, Gerard's consciousness-body couldn't keep the corner of its mouth from twitching, even though his body couldn't move.
Are these still the Japanese-anime girls I used to know? How does every single message come out dripping with the internet-speak of my past life? When exactly did they all get led this far astray?
Sigh.
His consciousness-body sighed helplessly and finally gave up on thinking. His divine sense turned and reached toward a distant, lonely island.
Azkaban.
An isolated isle hanging alone off England's northern coast, shrouded in dark clouds all year round. It was the most terrible nightmare-ground for wizards, a prison of terror from which no one had ever escaped.
The wardens of this prison were not human wizards, but Dementors.
Dementors were a breed of dreadful magical creatures, called by wizards "the soulless demons." They fed on people's positive emotions.
The prisoners confined here had their beautiful convictions and joys drained away by the Dementors at regular intervals, while the darkest, most terrifying memories replayed without end in their minds.
And so the only humans in all of Azkaban were usually the mad and the dead.
Except for Sirius Black.
He had not yet gone mad, because a conviction still held him up. He knew perfectly well that he was innocent. The ones who had truly killed the Potters were not him at all, but Peter Pettigrew.
But no one believed him, no one had even granted him a trial before they threw him into Azkaban.
More than a decade of agonizing life in the prison had long since numbed Black's heart. Even the sinister smile of Bellatrix, his own cousin, seated across from him, could not stir the slightest ripple in his heart.
Just then, a faint commotion rose at the prison entrance. A glowing, blazing-white light flashed into being, and Black knew that radiance for the Patronus Charm.
And the only ones who could cast a Patronus inside this prison were officials of the Ministry of Magic.
Hmph. More disgusting formalism?
Sirius Black sneered at the thought. In his years of imprisonment in Azkaban, he had grown all too used to the repulsive faces of the Ministry's officials.
These officials would claim, mouth full of promises, that prison conditions would be improved, then glance around a few times and turn right back the way they came.
Even as he thought this, one of the men spoke up, his tone quite respectful: "Sirius is in here, sir."
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