A Rather Strange Saintess (3)
Before anyone noticed, the sun had set.
They said the nights in the Imperial Capital offered no shortage of things to see.
Luid, who had thoroughly enjoyed the food he'd eaten that morning, decided he wanted more of it — so he and Hershey set off in search of the night market, stomachs leading the way.
The alleys had sprouted vendors of every kind: food stalls, trinket merchants, storytellers. The streets, lit by enchanted lanterns, carried a charm that rivaled any lamplit boulevard.
Luid turned to Hershey and repeated himself, looking her dead in the eye.
"Got it, Hershey? Absolutely no acting like a noble."
"That's not difficult, but... might I at least ask why we have to pretend to be commoners?"
Luid answered without a moment's hesitation.
"Because it's fun."
"Fun...?"
"Come on, you know how it goes. You do a good deed for some beggar, and it turns out he was the Emperor all along."
"...!"
...That was purely Luid's taste. Being a kid, he was hopelessly drawn to these surprise-reveal events.
"That is... a rather grand example."
It was, needless to say, a concept Hershey found hard to wrap her head around.
"Anyway, today we're commoners."
Hershey gave an awkward smile.
With all due respect, Master Luid would look like a noble even if you turned him inside out.
Noble etiquette wasn't something you performed — it was a habit carved into the body. The tiniest gestures, the tilt of a hand, the cadence of one's voice, the way one's eyes moved. Those small things, gathered together, were what made dignity.
It couldn't be imitated no matter how hard one tried, and couldn't be hidden no matter how one schemed.
Besides, it was quite common for nobles to slip out incognito on secret inspections. Hershey herself had done it often as a child.
Back then, she'd believed everyone was fooled by her flawless act — when in truth, they had all known, and simply played along.
No doubt Luid would experience something similar. And Hershey would be the one to make it so.
I have to protect Luid's innocence.
So she resolved.
Then—
"Um, Luid?"
"Yeah?"
"May I ask you something?"
"Sure."
Hershey glanced back with narrowed eyes.
A short distance behind them, Lydia was trailing after them.
It had been nagging at her for a while now, so she finally asked.
"Who is that woman, exactly?"
"No idea."
He knew perfectly well who she was.
No wonder she looked familiar.
Silver hair, silver eyes. A high-ranking cleric. And an obviously thrown-together alias, "Lydia." Put all the pieces together, and exactly one person fit the bill.
The Saintess, Lydia.
The only reason he hadn't recognized her on the spot was that the image was so completely different. How to put it — she used to feel much more, well, saintly. Definitely not the type with a bizarre personality that made you feel your chastity was under threat (?).
It was certainly unexpected, but Luid didn't dwell on it. She wasn't a character who played all that large a role in the original story.
"She'll head home on her own once she gets bored. Don't worry about it."
"...You're going to see that woman again, aren't you, Luid?"
"Probably. She's my napping buddy."
"Did you like that cathedral that much?"
For once, Hershey let her displeasure show.
"It's about on par with Delin's Lake. Maybe a cut above."
At that, Hershey had no choice but to accept it.
"...Well then, there's nothing to be done, is there."
"Right. Nothing to be done."
"Shall I... go acquire another Phoenix Feather, perhaps?"
Because really — the thought of twelve-year-old Luid sleeping on the same pillow as some outside woman grated on her something fierce.
"Could you actually pull that off?"
Luid sounded dubious.
"Feathers are banned after the whole Skyscraper incident, so you'd have to ask the Headmaster directly. That old fossil's a tough sell."
"We'll see."
Hershey radiated a strange confidence.
"I have a feeling this time will be a little different."
"...Well, if you say so."
Luid turned his gaze back to the food stalls, where the offerings stretched in a long row.
Nothing I actually want to eat.
Grilled snake. Ogre head. Goblin arm.
...And there went his appetite. Even granting that commoner cuisine had a reputation for being delicious, some of these were hard calls.
Especially watching them handle the food with bare hands — that was a bit much. He wasn't particularly squeamish by nature, but seeing it up close made him reluctant all the same.
"Did you check over there?"
"No, nothing at all."
"That's a problem. If we dawdle any longer, Sir Lancelot will start fretting."
Just then, a scrap of conversation reached Luid's sharp ears.
He looked over — a holy knight in gleaming silver plate armor was bustling about, his face clouded with worry, as if things weren't going smoothly.
Luid glanced back with the weary eyes of a man watching trouble simmer.
Lydia was peeking out from behind a crate, staring at them with an unbroken, unblinking staaaare.
"Ugh."
"What is it?"
When Hershey looked at him quizzically, Luid scratched his head.
Can't exactly just leave her like that.
She was a Saintess broadcasting her identity for all the world to see. If she'd only changed her clothes — but no, she'd come out in full vestments, guaranteed to be spotted at a glance.
And if that happened...
You there! What business do you have accompanying the Saintess?! You'll be taken in as well!
—he could practically hear it coming.
Luid beckoned to Lydia. A gesture that meant get over here. Lydia shook her head with an exaggerated motion.
"Fox."
[Yep!]
"Go bring her over. And hide her while you're at it."
[Yes, sir!]
Miho, who had been draped around Luid's neck like a scarf, dropped to the ground. She stretched once, then darted swiftly toward Lydia.
Whatever she said, Lydia blinked in surprise and rose to her feet. Along with a faint drain of mana, a translucent veil shimmered into being around her.
Lydia glanced around warily, then came trotting over at a clip.
"What a coincidence."
"...What an astonishing coincidence."
Lydia turned this way and that, examining her own body as though marveling at it.
"It's been a while, the aura of spirits. Anyway, nice to meet you. Since fate has brought us together — care to kiss?"
This girl is absolutely going to die alone.
Luid was certain of it. If anything, her bluntness only made her seem hopelessly inexperienced.
"I'd also accept marriage."
"P-please stop saying things like that!"
Hershey snapped.
Lydia shot her a sidelong glance, then spoke with utter seriousness.
"I could forgive up to a third wife."
Luid beamed at her.
"I really do think lost children should head home. People will worry, you know."
"I would like the lost child's circumstances taken into consideration."
Lydia answered quickly. Her face was expressionless, her voice flat — but her eyes were fixed on the holy knights, and the corners of her gaze trembled ever so slightly.
Still, Luid was cooler-headed than he looked.
"Fox. Drop it."
[Okay!]
Pop.
With a sound effect almost too cute for the moment, Miho's spirit magic dissolved. The instant the veil fell, the holy knights turned toward them.
"There she is—!"
"L-Lady Lydia!"
They came rushing over.
Lydia paid them no mind, looking straight at Luid as she spoke.
"Deceiving a man of the cloth. What a naughty child."
"Better than a fallen priest who asks a twelve-year-old to bear his children."
Hershey nodded vigorously beside him, as if to say the point was entirely deserved.
**
"Your Holiness the Saintess. It troubles us greatly when you leave without a word."
Lancelot, Commander of the First Holy Knights, knelt on one knee and bowed his head in reverence.
In a space that admitted nothing but the faintest light, Lydia walked slowly forward.
"I met a wondrous person."
She settled into a chair of purest white.
Lancelot remained perfectly still in that place where darkness and light existed side by side.
This chamber was called the heart of the Grand Cathedral —
a sanctuary reserved for the Saintess alone.
It held no light because she had never wished for any.
"His eyes held stars in them. His hair glowed even in the darkness."
"...I am glad you have made such a blessed acquaintance."
"How long has it been, do you think?"
"By the records of the Grand Cathedral... some three hundred years, Your Holiness."
Lancelot's fists clenched tight.
"...What manner of bond have you formed with this person?"
"I see."
The Saintess Lydia had existed for an unimaginably long time.
For eons so vast that counting them had long ceased to mean anything.
Much had happened. She had wept, and she had laughed.
As the years flowed past, the people she had formed bonds with fell one after another.
Every mighty warrior. Every dragon. Every elf.
In the end, they all died. Everyone but Lydia herself.
And so, the Saintess Lydia's emotions had gone dull.
Emotion was, at its root, nothing more than a response to stimulation.
It was only natural that the feelings of one who had lived so long she could no longer feel any stimulation should wither away to nothing.
And yet — a single emotion remained.
The desire to die. That wish alone burned with an intensity that no living human could match.
But a Saintess did not die easily. Her flesh could be torn limb from limb; the world itself could end — and the Saintess would remain unharmed.
Because she bore the protection of God.
Then one day, Lydia prayed to God with all her heart. Take this protection from me. To live beyond the years I was granted is far too cruel.
And God delivered a new oracle.
Raise up a pure soul to receive new karma.
Thereby shall the shackle of thine eternity be severed,
and thou shalt come unto Paradise.
Lydia, who had devoted her entire existence to heeding the word of God, understood at once what it meant.
Raise up a pure soul.
By its very nature, the "pure soul" of which Justitia spoke could mean only the Saintess herself.
Which meant — if she passed her Holy Stigma on to a child of her own body, she would at last be permitted to die.
In other words: the pure soul was her own child.
And Paradise meant death.
"How did that boy see through to me, I wonder. I never permitted it. Did he carry a holy relic? But I sensed nothing of the sort."
"Is that truly the case, Your Holiness? You say he breached the Grand Cathedral's great barrier?"
"No. He simply approached, quiet as anything. Harmed nothing. He was permitted. And I was asleep at the time."
It was an eerie affair.
No one could set foot on the roof of the Grand Cathedral. She had wanted to be alone, at least in that one place.
Only two kinds of beings could neutralize that barrier: Lydia herself, by her own express permission — or one bearing a holy relic on their person.
Yet that boy had approached without a shred of hesitation. He had picked out a pleasant spot, laid himself down, and settled in for a nap.
"Yes. The partner of destiny must surely have been speaking of that boy."
The golden-haired boy who had drawn near without the slightest wariness.
The truth was, Lydia had been captivated from the very first moment she laid eyes on him.
She had felt something she had never once felt from all the countless people across all her endless years.
It was, perhaps, a new stimulation.
"If it's that boy... I think I can do it."
Kiss me.
That was why she had let slip words she had never once spoken aloud in her entire existence.
"It has taken far too long."
The road here had been so long.
And yet Lydia was the Saintess.
A being who owed her duty more than her own desires.
She could not seize just anyone and bear their child. True, if her intentions were truly so impure, it was doubtful God would have sanctioned it at all.
But this time, Lydia could be certain.
"I think I've finally found him, Lancelot."
The Saintess wore a faint smile.
Lancelot had served her for the past ten years — and never once had he seen her smile.
"The child who can save me."