Chapter 233: At the End of the Wait (3)
Chapter 233: At the End of the Wait (3)
After stowing the corpse of the Tarasque—now crispy on the outside and moist on the inside—into my inventory, I reshaped the wall where the barrier had vanished into a set of stairs and slowly climbed out of the pit.
Then, I promptly collapsed onto the ground.
"Ugh... I’m actually going to die..."
Even though its reverse scale had been shattered, allowing at least some damage to go through, and Clara’s divine power had neutralized the Evil God’s blessing to weaken it, the Tarasque had been incredibly sturdy.
No matter how much mana I had, firing off mid-tier spells in the triple digits was bound to drain me.
I could manage the mana levels with potions here and there, and the mental strain was minimized by the System’s corrections, but there was still one problem.
The mana circuits through which that power flowed.
Usually, if your mana control is clean, your circuits won't be damaged no matter how many spells you cast in succession.
However, the Lintblum Core was a different story.
It was a specialized mana breathing technique where the core was situated in the heart and the circuits were linked to the blood vessels and nervous system.
Perhaps because of that, drawing up massive amounts of mana over a long period caused a few minor side effects.
Specifically: dizziness, heart palpitations, nausea, indigestion, and so on. My overall condition just took a dive...
Wait, what is this? These symptoms are exactly like when I used to drink too much coffee back on Earth.
I suppose mana is a stimulant in its own way.
As I stared blankly up at the barrier-covered sky with such idle thoughts, a woman in pure white suddenly entered the edge of my vision.
Saintess Clara. She was staring down at me intently.
"Uh, um. Did you have something you wanted to say?"
"Yes. I was worried it might be something serious. I know from experience that dying hurts quite a bit."
"...Pardon?"
"You just said 'I'm actually going to die' because you were struggling, didn't you?"
"Ah, no. That’s not what I meant..."
"It’s fine, so just stay lying down for a moment. Your companions are winning their battles smoothly, so don't worry."
Saying that, Clara crouched down by my head. She rummaged through her robes and pulled out a handkerchief embroidered with a single blue lily.
Even though she was beaded with sweat herself, she gently wiped my face with careful movements.
Setting aside why she was being so kind to me, I felt like I’d just heard something I couldn't simply ignore.
As I stared at her blankly, Clara paused, her transparent green eyes blinking.
"Is something the matter? Even at this angle, you shouldn't be able to see my underwear, though it might be close..."
"...I wasn't looking because I thought I’d see something. I was just concerned about what you said earlier—about having died before."
"Aha? I see. It’s natural to be curious. No one except the undead has experienced death, after all. Especially not a curious mage like you, Sir Yandel."
Clara nodded as if she understood. To me, however, her behavior was incredibly baffling.
The information I’d seen in H&A had never been wrong. If anything had changed, it was always a butterfly effect caused by my own actions.
That was why, at least within dungeons, everything had gone according to my plan.
But Clara was different.
Originally, she was someone who should have stayed holed up in the fortress focusing on defense, yet she had come out to fight alongside us. And unlike the Tarasque, she had even retained her memories.
In truth, this was nonsensical.
No matter how much a scenario dungeon is created with a powerful will and lingering regrets as its core, the current Clara was nothing more than a residual thought—not even a soul.
A ghost, in common parlance... or to put it more simply, she was like the grease that splatters while grilling meat.
You can tell meat was grilled there, it smells like meat, and if you taste it, it has a hint of meat flavor.
But you could never call it the meat itself.
Naturally, the idea of her perfectly maintaining her memories was absurd.
"Isn't that right?"
"Mage Yandel is correct. Normally, a residual thought cannot hold onto the memories of its life perfectly. At most, it’s just a few intense memories from right before death."
A bitter smile played on Clara's lips.
"If life is compared to a flame, then the current me is the ash left behind... no, perhaps more like the soot scorched onto the floor."
That’s a much more elegant metaphor than meat grease.
Clara carefully folded the handkerchief soaked with my sweat and tucked it away. She then wiped her own face with her sleeve and continued.
"But do you know what my final wish was?"
"...Wasn't it salvation? At least, that’s why I came here."
"Oh my? How kind of you. So you really did come knowing everything? To be more precise, I wanted it all to have meaning."
That the deaths of the Holy Knights who protected her until the end would have meaning. That her life, spent fighting as a Saintess, would have meaning. That her choice to forgo rest and burn her very soul would have meaning.
And that her foolish stubbornness in becoming the core of this anomaly called a dungeon, just to wait for someone to come for her, would please have meaning.
"I didn't care who it was. I just wanted to hear it once. 'You did well.' 'We survived thanks to you.' 'You weren't wrong.' 'Thank you.' 'So, rest now. Leave the rest to us'... things like that."
"......"
"For those words to reach me as salvation, I naturally had to maintain my memories."
Even residual thoughts retain fragments of memory. Specifically, memories regarding why their lingering regrets remained as such.
If... Clara's lingering regret was the act of waiting itself, then it made sense that she kept her memories.
Because waiting without a purpose is nothing more than standing blankly.
"Well, even that was reaching its limit."
"Ah."
With that one sentence added with a shrug, I understood why the Clara in H&A had lost her memories of those 300 years.
No matter how high Clara's status as a Saintess was, or how brightly her will burned in her final moments.
In the end, all that remained was scorched soot.
The kind of soot that gets washed away with water or wiped off with a rub.
Just as old earthbound spirits eventually forget why they were tied to a place, Clara’s residual thought must have begun to weather away as time passed.
The first things to be discarded would be the 300 years of pointlessly repeating days.
Conversely, the things that had to be protected at all costs were the memories of her life, including her final choice.
This dungeon was originally supposed to be discovered two years from now in the tracks left by a moving 4th District. During those two years, Clara must have discarded many things.
Not just the time spent waiting in the dungeon, but perhaps even parts of her own emotions.
In H&A, she had appeared lifeless, like someone utterly exhausted, except for the moment she finally vanished.
But the current Clara was different. She looked just as tired, but she was radiating a vibe that said, 'I am very moved right now.'
Noticing my hesitant gaze, Clara patted the dust off her rear and stood up.
A bit of dust fell onto my face.
"Please don't look at me like that. Everything turned out well in the end, didn't it? I don't know how much time has passed outside... but in the end, Righteous Light found where I was. And though it was a bit late, she came to save me. Along with the Saint of this era, no less."
"Pardon?"
"Honestly, I was a bit surprised. It’s not that there haven't been outsiders who became Apostles, but it’s no easy feat. Sometimes people don't know how to use divine power when it's suddenly given to them, or it clashes with the power they already built up."
"...Pardon?"
"I suppose she descended into Mage Yandel’s unprepared body because she was in a hurry to get here after finding me. Ah, should I call you 'Sir Saint' instead?"
"U-uh. Wait a moment. I think there’s been a misunderstanding."
"Oh, stop it. A misunderstanding? When you carry such a thick blessing? Above all, I saw it, you know. That attack that manifested the front paw of Righteous Light. Of course, it wasn't the actual body but a pseudo-body made of divine power... but I am a Saintess, after all. I can recognize that much."
Clara puffed out her chest and acted important with a little "Ahem."
But she was completely off the mark. That 'Nyan-Nyan Punch' wasn't me; it was Helena's doing.
"I don't even have divine power, so how could I be an Apostle?"
"You probably used it all up getting here. Since you seem inexperienced, it must have been hard to draw out massive amounts of divine power... and more than anything, since you were originally a mage, it was probably easier to fight without divine power. That’s why I thought you were just a mage at first."
"I'm really not... this blessing was just given to me by Righteous Light because she liked how well I smash cultists."
"I told you, I was a Saintess. I know very well that Righteous Light used a lot of strength during the war and wouldn't be able to create a new Apostle for a while. She wouldn't just give a blessing like this to anyone. You’re either my junior or a very strong candidate to be one. It’s one of the two."
"Hah..."
"Oh, don't worry, I won't get upset that she made a new Apostle while I was gone."
"......"
I had nothing to say because it was true that Righteous Light had actually tried to make me her Apostle.
Still, I could roughly guess why she was making this mistake.
From Clara's perspective, she had witnessed a technique that only an Apostle could use, and the person leading a party that included a high-ranking Holy Knight to defeat the Tarasque was now standing before her with a thick blessing, saying he came to save her.
It was a reasonable assumption.
The way she had suddenly wiped my sweat and acted friendly, and how she had unexpectedly poured her heart out.
It was all directed at the 'Apostle of this era' and the 'Righteous Light' she believed was within me.
I pondered for a long time how to refute this, but the answer that came out was simple.
They say seeing is believing. It would be much faster for her to see for herself than for me to say anything.
As she said, she was a Saintess, so she would recognize another Saintess immediately.
"Please look over there."
"Why is this era's Saint so shy... yes, yes. What is it this ti—huh?"
Helena, who had long since sprouted lion ears and a tail—and whose entire body was glowing brilliantly from heaven knows how much divine power she had poured in—grabbed both arms of a chimera that was trying to flee.
The chimera, which resembled a saber-toothed tiger twice Helena's size, was pinned as if caught in a vice.
Strengthening through divine power works on the principle of a god exerting force on one's behalf. That’s why there are no side effects no matter how much you strengthen... and she must have used that to boost her physical abilities to an insane degree.
The chimera, apparently shocked that it was being overpowered in strength, panicked. Helena, firmly gripping its arms, drove a knee into its solar plexus.
CRACK.
a sickening sound reached all the way here.
Helena mounted the chimera, which was reeling from pain and confusion, and pinned its forelimbs down with her knees.
Then, she raised her mace.
Thwack! BAM! CRUNCH!
A merciless skull-smashing followed from the mount position. After quickly and surely finishing off a named-level chimera, Helena lifted her head.
"Phew..."
With a face splattered with blood, she was wearing a very satisfied smile.
Then, like a hyena scouting for prey, she looked around at the other chimeras the others were fighting.
"Ah?"
Her eyes met Clara's, who was staring at her blankly.
Perhaps sensing some strange attraction between fellow Saintesses, Helena tilted her head.
On the other hand, Clara's face darkened instantly and froze hard.
Clara looked back and forth between me and Helena with a look of utter despair. Then, she suddenly buried her face in her knees and curled into a ball.
I briefly worried that I might see her underwear again, but then—
"Waaaaah!!"
Clara began to glow brightly as she wailed.
The way she scattered small clusters of light like fireflies made it look as if she were about to pass on...
"Wait, why are you suddenly trying to disappear!"
"It’s embarrassing! I want to die! I’ve had enough, so just let me vanish!"
"You’re already dead! And you said dying hurts a lot!"
"My heart hurts more! A Saintess like me! Failing to recognize where her own god is! Kyaaaaaaaah!!"
Clara was now screaming and tearing at her hair. In her violent movements, the slit of her dress became a bit disarrayed.
...Her underwear was white, too.