The Saintess Irina (8)
Proof of defiance against heaven.
The field, sunken deep as if a meteor had struck it, seemed almost like a portrait of the Heavenly God Order itself.
Yes—like the Order, hollowed out by the loss of the one thing that mattered most.
A bitter, lonely place.
The Saintess, Irina, hated it.
And yet she knew it was something she could not turn her eyes away from, which was why she always came here to offer her prayers of atonement.
She had intended to do the same today, in fact.
Her own private confession. Regret and penance, repeated over and over in a hollow, empty world where no one was left to listen.
"A story, you say?"
She had lost too much blood.
Her head was hazy.
It felt like she was dreaming.
A hollow laugh spilled out of her, and the final picture she had been painting in her mind warped and smeared. She had meant to die alone, confessing her sins to God.
And now she was not alone.
But somehow, the feeling wasn't unpleasant.
A miracle born from impossibility—the very trace of the Heavenly God she had believed in. That was what Jim was.
She knew by now that it had all been a lie, but Irina was already so thoroughly broken that even that no longer mattered.
"What kind of story?"
She smiled sweetly. The situation was absurd, her body in the worst possible state, and yet somehow she was laughing.
Perhaps it was because the being before her was proof that miracles existed.
Perhaps it was because he was the very thing she had wanted, if only for a moment, to cling to.
Irina felt as if she were looking at a hopelessly naive younger brother.
And then that feeling shattered.
"Well, how would you feel about a story about miracles—and about perspective?"
"……"
The moment the being before her touched the doubt she had carried for so long.
Ah. So this isn't just a simple ending, is it?
Even in the final moment, the contradiction I've held in my arms insists on tripping me at the ankles.
Irina smiled bitterly, and tears began to fall, one by one.
"Then let me ask again, Jim. Do miracles exist in this world?"
"Yes, they do."
"Even if they only look that way? Even if they're coincidence?"
The same conversation they had shared once before, in this very place.
"If it isn't a miracle that overturns the impossible, but merely finding a way through something that was always possible—what then?"
"Then I would call it a miracle—that the way was found at all."
But this time was different.
A conversation they had already had once. There was no shock in it now, and no disappointment either.
Yes—this was a conversation about perspective.
A moment to take the same words and consider them from the opposite direction.
"Because even if it were coincidence, if for a single instant you mistook it for a miracle, then surely it must have been an idea so brilliant that the person I used to be could never even have dreamed it up."
Words that had once shaken her heart. But they no longer swayed her.
Because the words that followed had overturned their very foundation.
And yet……
"Even in the place where the Heavenly God was dragged down from his throne, a flower bloomed in the end."
This time was different.
Jim pressed the flower he had held out to Irina firmly into her hand.
"The place where the Heavenly God was pulled down. The Order's deepest shame. And yet even in a place like this, a flower has bloomed like so."
"That is proof that the world—that people—are forgetting the Heavenly God."
"No."
The field, sunken as if a meteor had fallen long ago. But the wind blew, and flower seeds drifted on it, and even a place like that began to fill in again, and bloom.
The way new flesh knits itself over a wound.
"Even in this defiled, condemned ground, flowers blossomed. If that isn't a miracle, then what is it?"
"It's coincidence. Entirely possible—nothing more. Call it a shame, but that's all it is: a symbol. In the end, this is just land, and there's nothing strange about plants growing on land. No—come to think of it, maybe they grew all the better for the trace of the Heavenly God left in the soil."
"Is that so?"
"Yes."
"Then, Saintess—let me ask you this."
Fwoosh!
A blue flame took root, banishing the night as it lit the surroundings bright.
The flame burned nothing at all. It simply went on swelling, larger and larger.
"A Heavenly God who makes miracles was dragged down to the level of a mere mortal. Is that a miracle? Or is it coincidence?"
The Heavenly God had departed.
That was a fact that could not be denied.
"If what we thought impossible was, to the Heavenly God, trivial and simple—then was that a miracle to him? Or coincidence?"
His influence had vanished.
That, too, was a fact that could not be denied.
"If a hero who was once no more than a country girl takes up a sword and fells the Demon King, is that a miracle? Or coincidence?"
But miracles exist in this world—even when they look like coincidence, like something bound to happen eventually.
"And the meeting of you and me."
That judgment belonged to the one who received it.
On the plane of human relationships, a matter of perspective that no one could ever definitively declare.
"Was it a miracle to you? Or was it coincidence?"
"……"
"And then—then there is this. Suppose, just suppose, that the Heavenly God were to forgive mankind. Would that be a miracle? Or coincidence?"
The Heavenly God forgiving humanity.
That was neither a miracle nor a coincidence.
"How would you judge it?"
It was nothing more than a choice.
But to the one on the receiving end, it would surely become something like a miracle.
The moment that thought surfaced in her mind, Irina understood.
"……So the one who chooses is me."
There are no miracles in this world.
With the Heavenly God gone, this had become a world where miracles could no longer occur.
And yet, miracles had existed.
Because if someone called it a miracle, then it was, unmistakably, a miracle.
Because something that looked possible through one person's eyes might have been impossible to that very person.
There was no such thing as a perfect miracle in this world. All that had vanished was a being capable of accomplishing more than others.
Yes—the Heavenly God had never been omniscient or omnipotent. He had simply been dragged down by mortal hands, and the things he had believed impossible had merely been possible for him.
"Then, Saintess."
Jim smiled. It was a gentleness he had never once shown before.
He looked like an ascetic who had grasped the truths of this world, and like a teacher instructing a child.
And sometimes, like a fool who could not see one step past his own nose.
"To you, who has waited all this time for a miracle—there is something I would like to show you."
The blue flame danced.
The fire that had swallowed the two of them swelled wider still.
Soon it rose so high it seemed it would burn the very sky.
"If a blue sky were to spread across the night, would that be a miracle? Or a coincidence?"
The blue flame drove back the darkness.
The fire that had devoured the heavens glowed a brilliant, luminous blue—bright as broad daylight.
Wrapped in the flame, Irina felt not heat, but warmth.
"What do you want to believe it is?"
For Jim, it was a choice.
But for the countless people who would look up at that sky……
"Yes. It feels like a miracle."
And Irina smiled, sweet and soft.
There, at last, hung the blue sky that she and the entire Heavenly God Order had lost.
If this was to be the final thing she saw, then there could be no scenery in the world more beautiful than this.
She began to sway.
She had already poured every last ounce of the power that should have healed her own body into Esmeralda. She had come to this place in the first place choosing it as the spot where she would die.
And the last sight such a woman beheld was a miracle like this.
"A miracle far too beautiful for someone like me."
Tears spilled from Irina's eyes once more. She could hardly believe she was permitted to taste such happiness.
She was that overjoyed.
And yet, she thought—if it was only this final moment, perhaps it was all right to be happy.
And so Irina began to crumple to the ground.
But watching her, Jim declared, resolute:
"Then next time, don't wait for a miracle to come to you. Go and find it."
The place where the Heavenly God had fallen, long ago.
"Change the way you set your heart, and your perspective changes with it."
And now, in that place, beautiful wildflowers were in full, glorious bloom.
In the end, Esmeralda despised herself for failing to save Irina.
She had talked such a big game, only to fail. Honestly, embarrassment weighed heavier on her than self-loathing did.
And yet, after taking that beating and blacking out cold, here she was, waking up again.
There was only one way to read it: Irina had shown her mercy.
More importantly—where am I?
Esmeralda, who had spent a long while stewing in her regrets with a blank look on her face, finally got around to surveying her surroundings.
A hospital room done up in white. It looked little different from the place where she had first been held captive—but there was one crucial difference.
The window had no iron bars.
Which meant Irina had called off the plan to turn her into a Holy Relic.
Then this place is……
Just as Esmeralda was finishing her assessment of the situation—
"Jim, try some of this. Come on, say ahh."
"No thank you, I've lost my appetite…… For some reason the night before is all a blur, and I think something in here isn't sitting right with me……"
"Is that so? Then perhaps I should use holy magic to examine your insides and check?"
"Now that you mention it, that sounds absolutely delicious. I believe I will eat."
"Wonderful. Ahh."
In the bed beside hers, Jim and Irina were carrying on like absolute idiots.
"Is this hell……?"
The feeling of witnessing something no one should have to see.
Esmeralda let out a long sigh as she watched the sorry spectacle—the two of them. No, the one human and one demon. Since both shared the distinction of being utter bastards, the odds that this place was actually hell seemed fairly high.
"Ah, Hero. You're finally awake. You've been sleeping ever since we arrived at the Papacy, and I was ever so worried about you."
"Ever since……?"
"Yes. Ever since."
Ever since, my ass.
Esmeralda ground her teeth.
So the woman who had pinned her down and smashed her face in with a morning star wanted to pretend none of it had ever happened.
Does this lunatic have no conscience at all?
She pulls a stunt like that and then just expects to go back to being comrades?
Cyl's insistence that his memory of the previous night was fuzzy had been nagging at her too. Knowing this maniac, she might well have gone digging around in his head.
"Oh, Hero. And this is a package of support goods from the Heavenly God Order, for you. Please, accept it."
"Aha-haha! I must have been dreaming last night. Funny thing is, I can't remember what the dream was about at all."
"Oh dear, you may be run down. Let me prepare some extra potions for you."
"Aww, thanks, Irina!"
But the moment assorted elixirs and a pouch of gold coins appeared before her eyes, Esmeralda remembered absolutely nothing.
Considering the sheer scale of the Heavenly God Order, it wasn't really all that much money—but to a country girl like Esmeralda, there was no sum she had ever laid eyes on that came close.
She had been asleep ever since her arrival at the Papacy.
That was the story, anyway.
Well, whatever. A gift in the hand beats a verbal apology any day.
So her conscience wasn't entirely absent after all.
And thus, the two of them concluded their quiet little transaction.