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"Asty. Are you listening to me? Hey! Asty!"
So what was this kid's name again?
Facing the thoroughly enraged French steamed bun yelling at the top of his lungs, she dredged up Asty's memories from the corner of her mind where they'd been buried.
Hans.
A childhood friend of the same age who'd played with Asty since they were very little, back in the nowhere rural village where she'd grown up. Nothing special compared to the wealthy merchants or nobles of the cities, but still the son of the village chief — relatively well-off by village standards.
…And Asty's fiancé. A fact known to both sets of parents, the relatives, and everyone in the neighborhood — everyone except Asty herself.
Honestly, the atmosphere had been so blatant it was hard to believe she'd never noticed. But regardless, Asty had been completely unaware that this steamed-bun of a kid was supposed to become her husband.
Tsk. What am I supposed to do about this.
Which made the calculation considerably more complicated.
If Asty had thoroughly hated the kid standing in front of her, she could have just scared him off empty-handed. Conversely, if she'd liked him or considered him a decent friend, Asty would have seen him off with something decent enough not to leave either of them feeling shortchanged.
But Asty had no particular interest in Hans.
Truly none at all.
How else would she have completely forgotten even the kid's name? An ugly steamed bun who wasn't particularly close but kept clinging annoyingly all the same. That was all Hans amounted to for Asty, and that fact made her judgment difficult.
If Asty's likes and dislikes had been clear, she could have simply responded accordingly. But the impression itself was so vague she couldn't even get as far as likes or dislikes, leaving her thoroughly uncertain about what to do. He was her fiancé, after all — she couldn't just throw him out on a whim.
"…How dare a worthless country bumpkin fail to know his place and—"
Unable to listen to Hans's complaints any longer, Sister Rebecca was about to resort to force while spouting rural-discriminatory invective, but Asty stopped her with a light raise of her hand.
He hadn't done anything wrong, after all.
In an era where physical labor made up the bulk of economic activity, getting married and starting a household was practically common sense. In a rural community that didn't have many members to begin with, the village chief's eldest grandson was an excellent match. They were the same age, and he had land to inherit.
Well, the land wasn't anything particularly impressive. But it was a hundred times — a thousand times — better than two dirt-poor peasants meeting and passing poverty down to their children, or being sold off like goods to some rich old man. In an age where the lives of commoners barely counted as lives, fretting over self-determination was the stranger thing.
So there was nothing wrong with the engagement itself.
Until their insane goddess had awakened the past-life memories sleeping in Asty's soul.
"Hans. What do you think the clothes I'm wearing are?"
And so Asty had died. A departed soul who'd found rest was dragged back to the living world with a second life she never wanted, and the backwater village boy Hans had forever lost the fiancée he loved.
It was a tragedy cruel enough to make one doubt whether the person who'd reincarnated her was truly a goddess. Next time they met, she was going to smack her upside the head at least once.
"…Aren't those the clothes nuns wear?"
"That's right. And nuns can't get married."
Of course, her rage toward Vesta and the breaking of the engagement were separate matters, so she taught the poor child the cruel truth.
Across all times and places, clergy were often forbidden from marriage by doctrine. Partly to prevent the inheritance of important clerical positions, partly to practice the abstinence considered a key virtue in most religions, and partly to keep the order's wealth from leaking out through inheritance and the like.
And the old Vesta Order had likewise strictly forbidden marriage for its clergy. Holy knights had apparently been granted exceptions in some cases, but ordinary priests were without exception forced into lifelong celibacy.
So she, appointed as the Order's Saintess, was likewise unable to marry.
"What? What kind of law is that?!"
Right here.
She bit the words back and kept her mouth shut. Because this was nothing more than an excuse, after all. As if she would have decided to live her whole life as a celibate out of religious devotion.
She was, after all, the strongest cleric on earth — issued a free pass of indulgences by Vesta herself. While she was rebuilding a fallen order, rewriting a bit of doctrine would be nothing.
The reason she was deliberately breaking the engagement anyway was entirely because she was a wraith who'd stolen Asty's body.
"I'm sorry, Hans. But I have absolutely no intention of marrying you."
She was sorry, but she had no other choice. She wasn't the real Asty who'd been engaged to him, and it was a contract Asty had never even dreamed of in the first place. She was too busy dealing with overpopulation to spare time soothing a single kid, so cutting the relationship with appropriately cold words was the best option.
"…"
So leave, kid. The courage to chase her all the way here without fear was admirable, but the trials given to her were far too harsh for her to honor it. And besides, she was a body that had left its heart behind in a previous life. She wouldn't give her heart to him or anyone else — so giving up and going home was best for him too.
"No! You promised to marry me!"
Come on, just go home already. This kid really didn't listen to a word anyone said.
She understood that it was confusing and infuriating when your childhood friend and fiancée suddenly switched careers to become a nun and left the village. But annoyance and irritation were starting to outweigh the guilt. She couldn't tell him that the Asty he remembered no longer existed anywhere. Should she just force him out at this point?
…No. Using force against a kid was still a bit much, no matter what. He hadn't actually done anything wrong, and frankly, she was the one unilaterally breaking the engagement — getting angry on top of that would just be the pot calling the kettle black.
If the other party wasn't evil, you should try to understand them; and if you could understand them, you should accommodate them as much as possible even if you didn't like it.
"So that promise is void. I was chosen by the Goddess and appointed as Saintess, and every priest of the Order has a duty to vow chastity to Her. Between a contract concluded under customary law without the party's consent, and the Order's doctrine — which do you think takes precedence?"
"Uh, uhh?"
"There's not even a written contract, let alone a recording. Even if there were, as long as it's not a contract for consideration, the parties can dissolve it by mutual agreement anytime — and this was just a verbal promise between our parents without my consent, so it has no legal effect or binding force whatsoever. You could still hold me to some moral responsibility for unilaterally breaking it, but… well. Now that the Order has returned, who would even care about something like that? You'd be lucky not to get cursed out for blasphemy against the Saintess."
And so she did her utmost to persuade Hans. The steamed bun who'd been listening quietly suddenly went pale like a spoiled bun, tears welling at the corners of his eyes as he bolted from the room.
It was the face of someone thoroughly heartbroken. He must have finally accepted and come to terms with the fact that their engagement was broken.
Thanks to that, she could return to her work with a light heart. Taking time out of her busy schedule to kindly explain the situation had been worth it.
"It's admirable how the child didn't whine for long and was considerate of my circumstances. I'm sure he'll find a good match."
"…Um, wasn't that little boy the same age as you, Saintess? And it looked to me like he just ran away terrified."
But what on earth was Sister Rebecca talking about?
A reincarnator who'd smoked packs of cigarettes couldn't possibly be the same age as a kid like that. In terms of mental age, there was a gap of over fifteen years. And calling Hans a cowardly birdbrain who ran off bawling over a mere threat like that — even for Sister Rebecca, that was going too far.
"I'm disappointed. How could you say such a thing?"
"Pardon? Did I make some kind of mistake?"
No. She was just in a bad mood and spouting nonsense for no reason. Her stomach was churning with guilt over just dumping one fiancé — how was she supposed to face the family like this?
She briefly pictured Asty's family members one by one, then hit upon a masterstroke to solve the problem.
Just don't see them.
That was it. If facing Asty's family was awkward because she was a reincarnator who'd stolen Asty's life, she simply wouldn't face them. They were someone else's family anyway — there was no reason to try to get close. Send them somewhere scenic and quiet, and they'd be happy and she'd be comfortable.
And if the goal was ensuring their safety, there was one very suitable place.
The North.
Thanks to the Duke of Orléans's last will, she'd properly earned the goodwill of the border marquises. Those gentlemen firmly believed the lie that the Duke of Orléans had been colluding with the Kaiser, so they wouldn't refuse a request to look after a few people. In northern territories far from the city of Montpellier, no matter what the loan sharks did, there wouldn't be any danger.
"Right. Now that I've made it in the world, I ought to practice some filial piety."
One might ask how shipping them off to the cold northern lands without their consent counted as filial piety — but that damned engagement had been arranged without her consent too, hadn't it?
If even a bad law is still law, and hypocrisy is still virtue, then an unfilial daughter is still a filial one.
Swearing by the name of Vesta, Goddess of Home and Hearth — she would show them exactly what fiery filial piety looked like.