The Witch (1)
The Hero and the Saintess lived happily ever after. If this were a fairy tale, that is how most would wrap up the grand finale. Reality, however, is regrettably not so accommodating; it has a way of dragging on without a clean, satisfying conclusion. Yes. It continues, and continues, and continues—right up until the protagonist draws their final breath. It was a harsh reality.
Even so, Aria refused to view it with pure pessimism. If she had once walked that path alone, from now on she would walk it with Ain. A journey shared with him might make even this tiresome road appear somewhat different. It was an optimistic outlook, but what did it matter? Simply knowing Ain was by her side was enough to bleach every negative assumption pale. With him, couldn’t everything be all right?
I really am hopeless, aren’t I?
Aria had been able to wash away the miserable circumstances that once trapped her thanks to the help of two men. Ain had shielded her from the demonic grasp of Cardinal Mavlof, Bishop Ronin, and all the others. Makarof had laid their tyranny bare for the world to see and ensured they received proper punishment. Their methods had been different. Yet both had done everything in their power to protect her. On that point, there was no disagreement.
She owed them an enormous debt of gratitude. She lacked the means to repay it at present, but she refused to grow impatient. If she lived on, an opportunity to return their kindness would surely come one day. Until then, she would carry a heart full of thanks for the two who had freed her from despair. No—as long as life continued, she would remain grateful forever. She would pray to the Goddess of Sexual Love that this precious emotion might never fade.
“There it is again. That stupid look on your face.”
A man’s voice, laced with mockery, reached Aria’s ears. Its owner was Ashtain—the man she affectionately called Ain.
“What’s wrong with my face?”
“Your face is pretty, but your expression is stupid. Want me to spell it out?”
The word “pretty” bothered her far more than “stupid.” How could he utter such embarrassing things with that utterly straight face? The man must have a heart of iron.
“……You’re hateful, Ain.”
“Whenever you make that face, you’re usually lost in some useless delusion.”
That wasn’t true at all. How could expressing gratitude toward the two of them be considered a useless delusion? Aria’s mouth turned down as her brows drew together.
“It isn’t.”
Ain waved a dismissive hand.
“Like hell it isn’t.”
It was a trivial quarrel. Yet even this felt dear to Aria. When an unconscious smile rose to her lips, Ain frowned.
“You haven’t gotten even stupider after everything you’ve been through, have you?”
As Ain said, she had endured a great deal. To list the major events: the Pope, who had once turned a blind eye, had come in person to bow his head in apology; the fact that Ain had been acknowledged by the Holy Sword had been publicly announced; and the Cardinal and Bishop had received severe punishment through proper legal channels. There had been other minor incidents as well, but by now they had become stories that no longer mattered.
At this point, wasn’t it a rather ideal conclusion? Having organized her thoughts, Aria gazed at Ain with smiling eyes.
“You’re right. I’ve become a fool who can only think about you, Ain.”
Her smile bloomed like a flower in full blossom. For once, Ain’s face flushed and he shut his mouth. He had been utterly sunk by Aria’s counterpunch.
“………Why aren’t you arguing back?”
Seeing his awkward reaction, Aria grew embarrassed herself. Ain pulled her into his arms and gently bit her earlobe.
“Eep!”
“I think I’ve been properly seduced by you, Aria.”
Seduced? She hadn’t meant it that way at all. Aria’s panic refused to subside.
“A-Ain, w-we’re inside the carriage…?”
Her face burned crimson like pomegranate seeds as she stuttered and patted his chest with frantic little slaps. The reason she couldn’t quite push him away was simply that his embrace felt far too comfortable. Nothing more. Probably.
“What does it matter? Do you hate it?”
“……I-I don’t hate it, but the coachman will hear.”
“You don’t actually care, do you?”
Ain’s face drew closer. Aria’s heart hammered so violently she feared it might shatter.
“Y-You’re right. I-I like it too.”
She closed her eyes softly and leaned forward, offering her lips. It was a clear invitation for his kiss.
Once ignited, Ain was the type to see things through to the end. At this rate they would end up entangled in sticky passion right here inside the carriage. Even knowing that, she offered no resistance. If he desired her, Aria was prepared to give herself to him anytime, anywhere.
“Idiot.”
Thwack.
The flick to her forehead stung sharply. Aria clutched her nose, tears welling in her eyes.
“Auuu… You talked like you were going to do it…”
“You think I’d do it here?”
When she opened her eyes, she found Ain grinning. What a hateful man. She whipped her head away in a sulk, only for him to catch her chin.
“L-Let go.”
“I don’t like showing other people my woman looking disheveled.”
The words were thick with possessiveness, yet to Aria, whose self-esteem was painfully low, nothing could have sounded sweeter.
“………Will we do it tonight as well?”
“You think we won’t?”
Ever since their relationship had deepened, the two of them had shared passionate nights without missing a single day. As was natural for a man and woman in their prime.
“…Auuu.”
At his words, Aria imagined herself sprawled beneath him, utterly undone. She pictured herself moaning shamelessly in pleasure of her own free will. She shook her head vigorously. The fantasy had been too intense; heat flooded her body. Biting her lower lip, she looked up at him. To Ain it must have appeared as though she were sulking in dissatisfaction.
“All right, I’ll stop teasing.”
Aria was genuinely startled by the statement.
“D-Do I look angry? I’m not at all!”
“Then should I keep going?”
Aria lowered her gaze and whispered.
“………Yes.”
“Hah.”
He let out a dumbfounded laugh. A comfortable silence settled between them for the first time in a while. It was not an unpleasant quiet. After a moment, Ain spoke again. This time his tone carried no trace of jest—only solemn sincerity.
“Aria. Are you truly all right with remaining the Saintess?”
He asked as if worried. The sight of him like this was so lovable that Aria could hardly bear it.
“It was my choice, Ain.”
The Pope had signaled that she could relinquish the position of Saintess if she wished, and had even publicly guaranteed that no disadvantages would follow. Yet to Aria the act held no merit, so she had refused. Wouldn’t keeping the title of Saintess allow her to lend Ain more strength than if she were merely an ordinary girl? In the journey ahead, the role of “Saintess” would prove useful in countless ways. She had no desire to abandon it simply because it made her uncomfortable.
Perhaps sensing her resolve, Ain gently stroked her hair.
“If it becomes too difficult, tell me anytime.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
Aria gave him a strained smile.
“In that case, Ain… it’s already very hard for me to endure.”
He did not ask what exactly was hard to endure. Ain already knew.
Aria’s body leaned against him.
Clatter, clatter.
The carriage shook violently. A persistent migraine crept over her—an omen of oncoming motion sickness.
Ain asked, “Shall I tell the coachman to stop the carriage?”
“No. I need to grow accustomed to it. Instead… could you hold my hand?”
Ain offered his hand at once. It was two or three times larger than her own.
“Hehe.”
Aria let out a silly little laugh as she took it.
The pair were once again headed for the Asendio Mountain Range.
Azazel Anaide.
She had been called a genius of magic since childhood. With only a few glances she could comprehend any spell formula and manipulate it exactly as she pleased. Part of it was undoubtedly her bloodline, but the truth was that she possessed extraordinary talent.
So they had been busy praising her. To onlookers she must have seemed like a dragon incarnate, commanding magic at will.
In truth, Azazel felt nothing but crushing boredom and ennui. Humans were inherently complex, troublesome creatures; too easy was a problem, too difficult was also a problem. For Azazel Anaide, who received only endless praise and adoration, everything had eventually become tiresome.
So she had let go without hesitation—her faction, the Magic Tower, her research, everything. She had simply lost interest.
Thus her days of meaningless waste continued. A life almost entirely without stimulation. It had been more than enough to make Azazel forget what it felt like to feel truly alive.
Then one day, at the kingdom’s summons, she had met that rude Hero.
In truth, Azazel had felt no desire to set off on an adventure with him. After all, both the Hero and the Demon King were beneath her. What did their petty squabbling have to do with her?
The moment she opened her mouth to refuse—
“I don’t need you.”
Those had been Ashtain’s first words.
Disregarded? Her?
Azazel felt a faint heat pierce straight through her skull. What an insolent bastard.
So she had provoked him.
“Even without a pathetic straw-like Hero like you, I can defeat the Demon King by myself.”
The implication was clear: let’s settle this.
Ashtain was not a man who backed down. He had answered her provocation immediately.
“What a coincidence. I was thinking the same thing—I can catch the Demon King just fine without the likes of you.”
“How arrogant, Hero. Shall we test who’s superior?”
“You’ll regret it.”
The spar that followed had ended in Azazel’s crushing defeat. It was her first loss on record.
“You’re weak.”
Those words had lodged in her ears. Weak. She had never heard that before. Until then, no knight, mage, cleric—anyone—had ever beaten her. You should have been broken. You were supposed to be broken.
Why?
That must have been when it began. The moment Azazel Anaide started following the Hero.
She scratched her head irritably.
“Why isn’t he here?”
A petite girl with voluminous, flame-red hair and matching ruby eyes sat at a table, tapping her foot with an imposing aura. She was extremely displeased with the current situation. The person she wanted to see was not in this village.
“I heard he was hunting monsters in the Asendio Mountain Range.”
No matter how thoroughly she searched, she could not detect even a trace of his mana. When she made inquiries, it seemed he had left quite some time ago. That was strange.
“Given that monster-lover’s personality, he should have hunted down every last monster seed in the area, shouldn’t he?”
That vicious man would never make exceptions. He was a genuine lunatic who insisted a good monster was a dead monster. If the day ever came when he spared any, the sky would split in two.
“……Hmm.”
That was not the only thing making the girl uncomfortable. She glared down at the man lying prostrate on the floor.
“Is what you said true?”
“Wh-what do you mean, my lady?”
Without a word, Azazel conjured a sphere of flame in the air. The meaning was clear: figure it out.
The man, witnessing the unreal sight of fierce flames burning in empty space, turned pale and began spitting out words like a machine gun.
“I-it’s true! It’s been quite some time since the blood-soaked warrior and the blood-soaked nun left this place!”
The blood-soaked warrior clearly referred to Ashtain. His brutal fighting style often left him drenched in monster blood. It was a nickname he had earned elsewhere as well, so it was almost certainly him.
What truly caught Azazel’s interest, however, was the blood-soaked nun.
A blood-soaked nun? There was another one like Ashtain?
Azazel felt inexplicably displeased. Just thinking about it made her head spin. Her intuition was sounding every alarm it possessed.
“So who exactly is this blood-soaked nun?”
“Sh-she’s a beautiful nun who travels with the blood-soaked warrior.”
A beautiful nun? Why on earth was Ashtain traveling with a woman like that?
“What kind of bitch is he fooling around with?”
If frozen flame could burn, it would look exactly like the cold fire now blazing in Azazel’s red eyes.
“Th-that I don’t really—”
“I wasn’t asking you, so shut your mouth.”
Snap.
With a flick of her fingers, the groveling man flew pathetically through the air and slammed into the wall.
Just as Azazel was about to bite her nails and sink into thought—
Creeeeak.
The door opened.
“……Seems there’s already a guest.”
A familiar low voice. Familiar attire. A familiar face.
The man she had been longing to see. It was Ashtain.
“Oh, Ashu……”
The unpleasant feelings that had been boiling inside her seemed to vanish in an instant. Azazel tried to greet him cheerfully, but—
“Isn’t it only natural for an inn to have guests?”
There was someone beside him. And she was an incredibly beautiful woman.
What is this?
Azazel felt her insides twist violently. Her stomach throbbed as though she had come down with appendicitis. Their eyes met as the pair entered the inn. The nun looked puzzled. The Hero’s gaze clearly said an annoying pest had appeared.
What is that look? Why are you looking at me like that?
“Explain what exactly is going on here, Ashtain.”
Azazel glared at him with narrowed eyes and demanded an answer. Ashtain slowly opened his mouth.
“Do you need to know?”
It was an utterly cold reply.