A Nuisance

At the status window that had materialized out of nowhere before my eyes, I pressed a hand flat against my forehead—because of the dizziness that struck me the instant it appeared.

A deal being pushed through without so much as asking whether I consented. The true nature of the reward still anyone's guess. And now, on top of it all, an enemy of unknown identity. With the difficulty set this punishingly high, my brow knitted of its own accord—and as if it had read my mood, the text on the status window began shifting from moment to moment.

"...Observation?"

"Isn't that just the standard feature of every status window in every web novel?"

"...Fuck. Is Causality really that precious to you?"

Here was a being that hoarded its own existence while treating someone else's life like a plaything. Cursing it up one side and down the other, I turned my gaze to the Saintess's location glowing on the status window—all while telling myself that if the reward displeased me, I could always go back and have words with it.

But something was off. Unless my eyes were failing me, the Saintess was still inside the Holy Church. And if she was, there was no way no one had found her by now—countless believers had already combed the Church from top to bottom.

Still, on the faintest chance, I went to see for myself. Sure enough, the Saintess wasn't there. What was more, unlike before, one more enemy appeared to have joined her side—two blinking red circles now hovered beside her where there had been one.

"I need more information. Cough it up."

"I don't need to know that. And every second you stall, the only one in danger is your precious Saintess."

The instant the alerts stacking up on the status window finished scrolling, the location data resolved into something far more precise than before. Where moments ago there had been nothing but dots on a flat map, now a three-dimensional rendering of the structure appeared, right down to the routes for reaching it.

What's more, unlike a moment ago, dots that read as enemies had sprung up all over the place—down to what weapon each of them carried. They weren't concentrated on the Saintess alone; they were scattered through every corner of the Church. These people had come with every intention of seeing this through.

The one mercy, perhaps, was that not many bodies were clustered around the Saintess herself. One of the two who had shared her space was already on his way somewhere else. That left two men each carrying a blade within arm's reach of her, and one more who was stuck to her like a leech.

I couldn't tell what they were doing to her at that range, but men capable of going as far as abduction were certainly up to something filthy. Her face was beautiful enough as it was—it went without saying that she would inflame the lust of any number of men.

The moment the thought reached that point, my feet picked up speed on their own. My breathing turned ragged; my heartbeat spiked. By the time I came to my senses, my body was already running.

I don't know why. It isn't as if I'm fond of the Saintess. If anything, I find her something of a chore. I'd stake my pride on the claim that few people could warm to someone who recites doctrine at them over every last thing and rakes them over the coals for it.

So why am I running like this?

"Like God would ever listen to you?! Nyahaha!"

The Saintess's wailing carried through the door, along with a voice I'd heard somewhere before. It was Bishop Rignil—the man who'd promised to escort her to heaven.

I flung the door open, and light spilled faintly across their figures. Startled by the sudden glare, their eyes swung toward me.

"Wh-who the hell are you?! Where did the men outside go?!"

"Hh... uhh...?"

What greeted me the moment the door swung wide was quite the tableau. The Saintess, half-naked, lying there in tears, and Bishop Rignil poised to violate her. From the circumstances, he looked to be the traitor who had aided her abduction. He plainly hadn't imagined anyone would find this place, and bewilderment was written all over his face—while hers, by contrast, held shock and relief in equal measure.

Swallowing my revulsion, I stepped closer, and the scene sharpened into focus. The Saintess's clothes had been torn to ribbons, no longer serving any purpose as garments, while the pig—who had been interrupted just as he was hauling down his trousers—wore a look of sour displeasure. Her beautiful face was a sodden mess of tears and snot, and pale traces marked her skin, as if spit had dried there.

And on her face I could read both a humiliation that looked ready to burst out of her at any moment, and the fragile hope that someone might have come to save her.

Watching her like this, I found nowhere to rest my eyes, so I moved toward her slowly, meaning to at least cover her with something—but Rignil planted himself in my path and slammed the wall with a bang, dragging my attention back to him.

"You there!! Are you ignoring me?!"

"Ah, my apologies. What was it you said?"

"I asked what happened to the men outside..."

He got no further. Because I courteously tossed him what I'd been holding in my right hand.

Two objects rolled and tumbled to a stop at his feet. Even Rignil, ignorant as he was of combat, could recognize the smell rising from them. A fresh scent of blood, as if spilled only moments ago—it poured out of the two objects and filled the room to the brim.

"Ulp... what is...!"

"Weaker than I expected. They weren't much good as guards."

"Y-you!! Who sent you?! The Pope again?!"

"The Pope did send me, as it happens."

The slab of blubber went on muttering again, again, again under his breath; I shoved him aside and conjured a robe to drape over the shoulders of the Saintess, who sat slumped on the floor staring up at me.

"Ah... ahh...!!"

"I saw nothing."

Only then did she seem to grasp the state she was in, and she hurriedly clutched the robe across her front. I'd said it to put her at ease, but it seemed to have backfired—her face only burned redder.

Just then, the shape of a hammer came flying at my face. I twisted out of its path by a hair, and a gaping hole bloomed in the wall where I'd been standing. A blow that would have meant instant death had it landed clean. The one who'd thrown it was Bishop Rignil, still muttering something under his breath, over and over.

"Again... again... you're above me...?!"

"..."

"DIIIIIE!!!!"

Sure enough, Rignil kept hurling the same attacks, one after another. First things first, I shifted my position little by little so the Saintess wouldn't take a stray hit. He was aiming at me and me alone.

What I couldn't dodge, I deflected and shed with my dagger's edge; what I could, I evaded by rolling my body every which way. So that was holy power he was flinging around—him, a Bishop. But being clergy, he seemed to have no combat experience whatsoever. Otherwise he would never have so obligingly let me close the distance.

He clearly hadn't imagined I could move this fast, and the composure drained from the muttering man's face. The moment he saw me suddenly upon him, he reflexively tried to lunge backward—and I generated a blade from the sole of my shoe and drove it straight into the top of his foot. I felt the jolt grind through the muscle and scrape against the bone of his instep with a crunch.

"Kgh... AAAAAGH!!!"

"Quit screaming. You're loud."

"U... uurgh!!"

I found it rather distasteful, frankly, that a man who had tried to carve memories this agonizing into the life of a girl young enough to be his own daughter would howl over one stabbed instep. So that I wouldn't have to hear a single sound, instead of gagging his mouth, I simply shoved my hand into it.

"Uuurghh!!"

Then, with my free hand, I slowly went to work on his pinned body. Not that I intended to let him die easily. A shallow puncture where his liver sat. A graze of a cut skimming the path of an artery. His tendons, severed one by one so that he ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠could no longer move. All so that the man would feel his own helplessness with every fiber of his being.

And so that he could die slowly, feeling death approach the whole way down.

I was just carving a thin line toward his spleen when someone seized my arm from behind.

"Th-this is... too much..."

"..."

It was the Saintess, having come back to herself at some point. But what on earth was she saying? Too much? Was she asking me to go easy on this? Soft. Far, far too soft. Her head was a field of flowers. Or did she simply have no instinct for danger at all? Either way, I didn't much care for it.

I ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠wrenched the Saintess's hand off my arm and, gripping her wrist in turn, shoved her back against the wall.

"Agh... why...?"

"..."

The Saintess stared up at me with something like fear in her eyes. I tightened my grip on her arm. She moaned at the pain, but there was no hint of my hold slackening.

"Holy Saintess, I don't know what convictions you hold."

"...I'm sorry?"

"What I mean is, I don't know what creed could tell you not even to kill the pig who tried to rape you like this."

"..."

"But don't go assuming your convictions bind anyone else. There are men in this world who deserve to die. That much is certain."

"..."

"So will you keep standing in their way, every single time? Insisting ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠that surely, surely, they can be redeemed too?"

"..."

"If that's what you want, I won't stop you. But it seems you ought to work on your own strength first. Honestly... you're a nuisance."

Unable to answer the barrage of my words, the Saintess bowed her head. Some part of her was surely biting her lip out of refusal to admit I was right. But when I saw her release that bitten lip before long, it seemed she had, in her heart, accepted my words to some degree.

Before long I eased my grip on her arm, and her wrist bloomed red like a crushed pomegranate.

Deciding she had understood me well enough for now, I turned toward Rignil, who was by then crawling toward the door. And as if to bar my very footsteps, a colossal explosion thundered from above—and in the droplets that beaded on my nose as the blast shook the building, a thick scent of blood came curling.