I Became a Demon Hunter (1)
I had become a demon hunter.
A tangle of thoughts crossed through my mind. I shook them off like dust.
It's an ugly truth — but knowing it now won't change a thing.
That applied to more than just the previous Juttak's story. The same was true of how I had washed up in this world to begin with.
"The Saintess is coming here for that very reason, you know. To close a door, you've got to find the one that's open. Figure she means to catch the demon herself and track down wherever it crawled in from."
With that, Priest Margaret left, as if her business was done. I, however, couldn't bring myself to leave my seat even as closing time crept up on me.
The world's door opened — and was fixed in place.
A flicker of déjà vu had caught me.
Dungeon stabilization?
The dungeon I had, by certain means, anchored in place not long ago rose to mind. Suddenly I thought I understood why the Saintess of the Solar Church was skipping every other destination to come to Millers first.
Maybe it isn't the demon she's after. Maybe she thinks it's connected to that incident.
By the time I started home, the moon had already risen. And the number 5 that had been etched upon it until yesterday had, at some point, become a 6. Ridiculous as it sounded, that was this world's way of marking the calendar. June had arrived. Spring was over, and early summer had begun.
Time flies.
And so it did, slipping by by degrees, until the fourth day she had announced was upon us.
The city was buzzing with anticipation from the moment morning broke. The entire population had turned out to cheer the Saintess of the Solar Church on her procession — a rather astonishing sight, considering this city was the Earth Church's home turf.
"Saintess, look over here!"
"You're beautiful, Saintess!"
Townsfolk lined the streets and roared. With every step she took, flower petals scattered above her head. I couldn't bring myself to watch the spectacle with unreserved joy.
So that's why the neighborhood kids kept stripping the flower beds. It was for this.
The church garden, looking like it had come down with a case of male-pattern baldness, drifted into my thoughts. My mood took a sharp turn for the worse.
I watched the Saintess's procession from a distance for a while, then quietly slipped away.
I should start getting ready myself.
Once the procession ended, the Saintess would be escorted by the local lord straight to my church. There was a fair amount of time left, but factoring in what I'd need to prepare a proper welcome, it was going to be tight.
She looks about Priest Malja's age. A cake ought to do it.
A cheer from Goddess Iris rang out at the mere mention of baking a cake. The only thing I had promised her was three meals a day, but I decided not to bring that up.
I think this is how I used to make it.
The moment I got back to the church, I dredged up old memories and slid the batter into the wood-fired oven. I wasn't confident it would work without an electric one, but I trusted the gluttonous goddess would lend a hand — if only out of self-interest.
It's rising nicely, though.
Whether the goddess's cheering had actual power in it or not, the cake baked without a hitch. I was spreading strawberry jam in place of the whipped cream I didn't have enough of when I felt a presence in the courtyard.
An ominous sort of presence.
What now.
I leaned out the window. A stranger was standing in the church yard. That alone wouldn't have been a problem. The problem was the axe in his hands. Of all things, he had picked up the axe a workman had left behind, and he was about to bring it down on a tree that had only just begun to bloom.
So they've gone from picking the flowers to chopping down the flower trees themselves.
The decision took a split second. I crept up behind the scoundrel and locked an arm around his throat.
"Ghk…?"
I was tightening my grip, about to put him under, when a frantic shout burst out behind me.
"Priest Flower! Stop! He's with the Saintess!"
I turned my head. Charlotte — who still could not, apparently, memorize my name — and the Saintess I had seen in the procession were both staring at me with identical looks of alarm.
Ah.
I looked back down at the man tapping weakly at my arm, his face gone pale. The dust had hidden it, but a sun motif was embroidered on his clothes.
I'm screwed.
My first meeting with the Saintess was a disaster.
Grasping the situation, I released the arm I'd been putting my weight into. The priest, barely snatched back from the edge of unconsciousness, staggered and gasped for air.
"My apologies. I saw you about to cut down the tree and mistook you for a thief."
He didn't seem able to speak yet. He just stared at me with wounded, resentful eyes. That didn't last long either. The moment his gaze landed on my flower-patterned shirt, his mouth snapped shut. I couldn't say why, but he was looking at me the way one looks at a lunatic.
"…You must be very fond of flowers."
The priest had finally gotten his breathing under control enough to talk. Meanwhile, he muttered in horror that of course the man would lose his mind — trying to chop down a flower tree in front of someone like this.
"That said. Are you aware that infusing a tree with divine power is a taboo even the gods themselves abhor?"
The tone was decidedly severe. Only then did I understand why the Solar Church priest had been trying to fell the sapling.
"I believe I understand what you're getting at. But it's fine."
The Solar Church priest's brow furrowed. Then the rest of the sentence landed, and his face froze exactly as it was.
"I've already received permission from Goddess Iris."
"…Is that something permission can even cover?"
"Yes. Apparently it can."
"???"
A question mark practically materialized on the priest's face. He looked like he desperately wanted to argue, but a fellow priest could hardly talk back once you'd claimed to have settled the matter with a goddess.
That was when the Saintess, who had been watching the whole affair in silence, spoke up.
"If the goddess herself has granted permission, it isn't our place to argue the matter."
It was a young voice, but there wasn't a tremor in it. She glanced once at the sapling, then dipped her head in a short bow.
"We should have confirmed with you first. That was rude of us."
"Not at all. I choked him without checking properly, so I was far ruder."
I hadn't been playing priest for long, and my hands still had a habit of moving faster than my mouth. Margaret only encouraged it, which made the habit all the harder to break.
"Come to think of it, I haven't even introduced myself. I'm Priest Plawi, in service to Iris, Goddess of Flowers."
The attendant priest, still rubbing his throat, let out a sigh and straightened his posture.
"I am Patch, a small hearth serving the exalted Sun Solar."
A name that somehow sounded like he'd be good at betrayal.
I did not, of course, say that out loud.
"Please, come inside. I've prepared a modest welcome."
The Saintess tilted her head, but followed without protest. Being led straight in without so much as being asked her name, without a single scrap of ceremony, seemed to be a novel experience for her. She appeared to like it, though. Her composed expression was loosening, bit by bit.
And that change was never more pronounced than when she spotted something sitting on the table.
"Is that…?"
Her gaze locked onto it.
"A cake I made myself, I'm afraid with rather unskilled hands."
The Saintess's eyes widened, just a little.
Hurry!
I offered a slice to the goddess as tribute, then waited for the Saintess's reaction. She was only in her late teens; I figured it wouldn't go over poorly.
She couldn't take her eyes off the cake. She also couldn't bring herself to put any of it in her mouth. She was reacting as if she had never seen a cake before in her life.
Saints her rank usually live by abstinence, you know.
Perhaps you might try abstinence yourself sometime, Goddess.
A fourteen-hundred-year-old baby was a difficult thing to argue with. Even so, I couldn't help seeing the Saintess in a different light. Restraint at that age was usually less a matter of will than of circumstance.
Religion, it seems, is not always a kind place.
I added a little persuasion for her benefit.
"I prepared this for you, Saintess. If it isn't eaten today, I'm afraid it may spoil, and I'll have to throw it away."
Only then did she reach for the cake she had been staring at. That was when Priest Patch intervened.
"Saintess, even as hospitality, the consumption of sweets is a path that leads to the sin of gluttony."
She looked, if anything, used to hearing it.
I should have knocked him out earlier.
She was just about to set down her fork when I spoke up this time.
"But throwing away food that was made with care is also a sin. I would be grateful if the Saintess would help me avoid committing one."
Life sparked in her eyes the moment she was handed a justification she couldn't refuse. Priest Patch looked less than pleased about the whole affair, but that wasn't important.
It's nice, watching her eat well.
The Saintess, who had been sparing with her words, opened her mouth after finishing a slice. Opening it, however, proved unrelated to actually speaking.
"Have another slice. There's plenty left."
Only after two more slices, and a plea that she was full, did she finally manage to get to the point.
"…?"
She had repaid my kindness with enmity.