The Bombshell Statement
Sylvia was, at this very moment, more flustered than she had ever been in her life.
Yesterday, and again today. Crowds had come swarming around her—people whose eyes were unmistakably fixed on her with some purpose behind them. Now and then those eyes were slick with lust, or brimming with greed and envy.
Having honed her skill at reading others' emotions since childhood, Sylvia had long since grown used to such looks. She was an elf princess, after all—there had never been any shortage of factions hoping to make use of her.
But being used to something didn't mean it was fine. True, she was older than her classmates at the Academy—but that was only by human reckoning. Among elves, who lived no fewer than several hundred years, she was still young.
"Miss Sylvia, might you join us after class...?"
"There's something I'd like to ask about the elves—just for a moment, if the two of us could..."
"About the magic that only the elves know..."
If only I had an aide, at the very least...
There was no way she could handle, all on her own, this endless barrage of questions that were, to any observer, aimed squarely at her. Worse still, she couldn't afford to treat these people carelessly. She had been dispatched here, above all else, for the harmony between the Empire and the elves—which meant that a single word or gesture from her could ripple all the way into the Empire's goodwill.
"I'm sorry, my head has been aching a little..."
"Oh! Are you headed to the infirmary—!"
"No, I couldn't trouble anyone over something like this. I'll go and return on my own."
And so, rather than refusing or rebuffing anyone, Sylvia chose simply to slip away.
"Goodness, elves are as gentle of heart as they are beautiful..."
"She certainly has a mind of her own. How admir—"
...That isn't what this is.
The murmurs at her back were caught by her keen elven hearing, but she forced herself to ignore them and pressed on toward the infirmary. What mattered to her right now wasn't untangling anyone's misunderstanding—it was rest. Even a little would do; she wanted only to ask for leave and let her body recover.
And so, when she finally reached the infirmary and pulled the door open, the sight that greeted her was—
"...Huh?"
"..."
—a woman in pure white whom she knew all too well, bowing at the waist to the black-haired man she had met only yesterday.
The misunderstanding had to be cleared up—with the elf still standing there awkwardly in the doorway.
"...Could you close the door first, perhaps?"
"Ah... of course."
Sylvia shut the door, stepped inside, and began furtively reading the two of us.
Untangling her misunderstanding took some time. I had to explain the attack on the Church—that my business with the Saintess had been because of it—and then ask her, on top of that, to keep what had passed between the Saintess and me a secret.
"...If those are the circumstances, then I understand."
"Thank you."
Unexpectedly, she didn't seem to dwell on the matter much at all. She simply lay back on the bed without another thought. She was likely the only person in the entire Academy who would react that way at the sight of the Saintess.
Then the Saintess, quiet until now, looked at the elf sprawled across the bed and spoke.
"Um... M-Miss Sylvia...?"
"You may simply call me Sylvia. You are, after all, the Saintess of this land."
"Oh—then, Sylvia, what brings you to the infirmary? You don't look unwell, though..."
At the Saintess's murmured observation, Sylvia's shoulders gave a jolt—as though something had pricked at her.
"...I came because I am unwell."
"Oh... where does it hurt? Let me take a look at—"
"N-No! There is truly no need!"
Startled by the Saintess's earnest concern, she kept her face as blank as ever—but she couldn't quite stop her ears from burning red.
I had a fair idea of why she was acting this way. I'd only glimpsed it in passing, but she didn't strike me as one for much conversation. She was obviously worn down by the crowds that kept swarming her and had come here for a moment's rest—that much was plain. Partly to spare her dignity, and partly to keep the Saintess from fussing over her condition any longer, I took the Saintess by the shoulders and gently drew her away.
"Saintess, you look exhausted yourself. I think we ought to be going as well."
"Ah, but I still haven't heard your definite answer..."
"I'll consider it favorably."
At those last words her face brightened at once; she bowed her head in thanks and bustled out of the room.
And so, at this moment, only Sylvia and I remained in the infirmary. I was the one with business with her, which made this the perfect situation for making my request. With the crowds that always clustered at her side nowhere in sight, I could approach her with ease. She, for her part, seemed a little flustered—apparently it hadn't occurred to her that I might stay, let alone come closer.
"Er... hm? Is there something you wished to say?"
"Miss Sylvia."
"Ah—if this is about yesterday, I apologize for the misunders—"
"No, it isn't that."
She seemed to be leaping to yet another strange misunderstanding, so I cut her off quickly.
"Miss Sylvia, I have a favor to ask of you."
"...A favor?"
For some reason, her face went rigid—so much so that you'd never guess she was usually expressionless. Her brows, always level, angled sharply downward; her cold eyes and pupils radiated pure indifference. And somehow, the temperature of the room seemed to dip, just slightly.
"...Speak, then. I shall at least hear you out."
"...I would like to obtain a Spirit Stone. Might you be able to procure one for me?"
"...A Spirit Stone?"
"Yes."
"...Is that all?"
"Yes. That is all."
"I see..."
The instant I made my request, the air in the room—chilled to freezing only moments before—warmed again as though by magic. Her frosty gaze softened ever so slightly, and her brows returned to their rightful place. Beyond that, the corners of her lips curved into the faintest arc, and her spirits—who knew where they had appeared from—were smiling once more.
When my gaze drifted, without my noticing, to those spirits alone, she cleared her throat to cover for me.
"Ahem. A Spirit Stone cannot be obtained at present."
"...Why not?"
To me, the news was a bolt from the blue. The sooner I could run experiments on one, the sooner I could put it to use in my research. Perhaps my feelings showed plainly on my face, because her expression turned a shade more serious than before.
"I don't know what you intend to do with a Spirit Stone, but a Spirit Stone is, in the end, a spirit."
"..."
"And spirits are kin of our Great Forest. We cannot hand them over to anyone who has not been vetted."
"Then is there some other way to obtain a Spirit Stone...?"
"Probably not. Unless the spirits themselves came forward and asked you to form a contract with them."
"..."
"Which, for a human like you—one without that degree of affinity for nature—is... impossible, I'd say."
Judging by the firmness of her expression, she was not lying.
"...And how would one go about being vetted?"
"Before that—may I ask you just one thing?"
"...Ask."
"Why do you need a Spirit Stone so badly that you would go to such lengths?"
"..."
"You truly are a peculiar human."
Contrary to the rumors, he was hardly dissolute, nor did he seem sunk in luxury and pleasure. He picked no quarrels with others, toyed with no women, and showed no trace of violence. Standing before someone of her standing—an elf princess, no less—he made no move whatsoever to profit from it. Nor did he shower her beauty with honeyed flattery, or watch her with a gaze tinged by lust.
It was a reaction she had never once seen from a human, and it made her curious about him. If he were a half-elf—someone who could hardly hold goodwill toward elves—everything would have explained itself. But he had denied being one, insisting, plainly, that he was human.
Young as she was for an elf, Sylvia knew human desire all too well. She knew, just as well, that humans acted upon those desires. Which only deepened her curiosity about his purpose. Why would he need a Spirit Stone badly enough to go this far? And if he truly needed it, why did he show not the slightest trace of fawning?
She had asked him why, but he gave no answer. He didn't seem unable to answer so much as unwilling. That made her all the more curious. What reason could he not bring himself to share with another?
"Do you want this Spirit Stone that badly?"
"...Yes."
"Earning the recognition of the elves and the spirits is no easy thing. Are you prepared for it?"
"Yes."
In the eyes of the man who answered without a flicker of hesitation, resolve burned bright. There was no lust there, no greed conjuring up future gains.
It was true that elves were arrogant, that they scorned and shunned the other races—but that was, in the end, a trait of the race as a whole. Elves who were not so certainly existed as individuals. And Sylvia had always been an elf closer to the latter.
...He does have remarkable affinity with nature, after all... Perhaps I should ask my mother about it...?
"For now... very well. Might we speak of the details tomorrow?"
"...Thank you, Miss Sylvia."
The moment their conversation ended, Jenison opened the door of the infirmary and walked out. Sylvia, left alone behind him, got scarcely any rest before she had to return—only to be swallowed by the crowd once more.
That was the end of my conversation with her. If it came to it, I was confident I could pass whatever vetting they required—though I hadn't the faintest idea what it might involve. I had meant to speak with her further, but holding a conversation with a woman ringed by an adoring crowd seemed harder than plucking stars from the sky, and in the end I had no choice but to let the day slip away. That, at least, was how it should have gone. And yet—
"Follow me to the Great Forest, Jenison."
It was the second bombshell.