Training Log [Ronin & Aria & Nermaraud] (6)
My daily routine hadn't changed much. I endured correction, studied holy spells, and otherwise handled the various duties expected of a Saintess. For a modern person like me, already numb to stimulation, there was nothing easier to fall into than the inertia of such monotonous days. Still, living like the gears of a clock, repeating the same motions over and over, made the days slip by in the blink of an eye.
The cold, dry winter had already passed its halfway mark. Of course, I hadn't grown used to everything. The stimulation was simply too intense for that. Over the past few weeks, I'd experienced the absolute worst a woman could possibly endure, in full course. Going about my day without underwear was on the milder side. Some days I had to move around with tentacles lodged inside my body. Other nights I was forced to masturbate, completely naked, in places where people came and went. And—though it's embarrassing even to mention—I was made to mate with animals as well.
I'd felt so much shame and humiliation that the mere emptiness between my legs no longer registered as anything at all. They called me a Saintess, but looking at what I was put through, I was nothing more than a sex slave. So that was why the novel was titled Seed-Receiving Saintess. It was a story that didn't even allow for bitter laughter.
If I tried to list everything I'd suffered so far, the list would be endless. Every single act had been designed to thoroughly destroy my personality, and as such, they were cruel and merciless. Yet the only reason I could endure it all was thanks to Makarof and Nermaraud.
Makarof, who believed without a shred of doubt that I was a noble Saintess. And Nermaraud, who understood my situation and genuinely sympathized with me. If not for these two, I would have gone mad long ago.
Oh, and as a side note, Nermaraud was an excellent teacher of holy spells. Whenever I was struggling with their complexity, he would casually toss out advice that proved remarkably effective. He had a way of pinpointing exactly what I needed. He was the very model of a superb instructor.
Take the advice he gave me last time, for example.
"Holy spells are different from magic. They aren't heavily bound by formulas or rigid forms."
Those words struck at the very foundation of the doubts I'd been harboring about the holy spells I was learning. If they truly weren't bound by formulas or forms, then what was the point of all the headache-inducing things I was struggling to memorize?
"Is that a lie?"
At my skeptical reply, Nermaraud simply shrugged. No, then what exactly have I been learning? What is it, you awful man?
"Have you ever come across the saying that the heart itself becomes will?"
I frowned and clicked my tongue. "You mean that cult-like phrase? I've heard it before."
It was rather extreme language for a Saintess to use, but Nermaraud was a flexible man. He let my comment slide without issue and continued.
"To put it simply, that principle applies surprisingly well to holy spells."
"How so?"
He stroked his untidy beard, lost in thought for a moment. "Hmm, what would be a good example... Ah, that one should work."
"Don't keep it to yourself, Teacher. Share it with me too, won't you?"
When I made a sullen face, Nermaraud gave a wry smile. My casual attitude seemed to fluster him.
"I am a man who has done terrible things to you, Saintess. Is it really all right for you to behave this way toward me?"
What does it matter? It's not as if the only people in this cult who have raped me are one or two. And compared to the rest, Nermaraud was practically a gentleman.
"Enough of that. Just tell me already."
"I was going to explain even without you rushing me so impatiently."
Even now, he was like this. He didn't scold my rude attitude or pressure me. Instead, he coaxed and soothed. How could I dislike someone who respected my will this much and guaranteed my comfort? I'd thought he was in league with Ronin, but it seemed I'd been wrong. Aside from that first day, he had never forced himself on me again. Though in truth, I should still be suffering that kind of treatment even now.
I smiled and said, "Hehe, is that so?"
My expression seemed to burden him, because he averted his gaze. Was he feeling guilty? Suddenly, a mischievous impulse rose in me. I leaned my upper body forward and tilted my head.
"Oh? Does it bother you when I smile? Why are you avoiding my eyes?"
His face had turned as red as a beet. He really was fun to tease.
"Please restrain your mischievous behavior to that extent. I beg you."
"Oh, Nermaraud. How could I possibly tease my teacher?"
"Do you truly wish for me to keep my mouth shut?"
Even I couldn't go that far. I playfully covered my mouth with both hands. He let out a deep sigh. He looked quite angry. Since I didn't want to lose the one person I could actually talk to, I had no choice but to read the room.
"Y-you're not mad, are you?"
"It's good that you're bright, but if you shine too brightly, Ronin will harm you."
"I know that much, at least."
Because Ronin wanted me to fall into despair. The warm atmosphere suddenly grew heavy. Nermaraud scratched his head awkwardly and offered an apology.
"I'm sorry. That was careless of me."
"No, it's true that I got a little carried away."
Before things could grow any more awkward, he brought up the main topic.
"Ahem. Then I shall tell you the story I originally intended."
"Please do."
Nermaraud composed himself and began to speak in a relaxed manner.
"There was once a priest who was deployed to the front lines to combat the monsters that periodically invaded. He wanted to be of help to the heroes fighting on the battlefield. However, his skill was lacking, and his experience was shallow. Much like you are now, Saintess."
"No need for the unnecessary jabs."
Was he really holding a grudge just because I'd teased him a little? What a narrow-minded priest. When I pouted, he smiled faintly.
"What came to him were patients far beyond his capabilities. Yes, I mean the severely wounded. Since it was the front lines, all manner of injured soldiers flooded into the barracks. Having a leg or arm severed was actually one of the better cases."
"...Even that?"
I thought having limbs severed was already horrific enough to count as severe injury.
"Yes. All that was required was disinfecting the wound and healing the severed surface to stop the bleeding. The priest would come to understand, in his bones, when people say they can't bear to watch something with their eyes open. There were those whose heads were half blown off yet still clung to life through holy power, screaming in agony. Others had their stomachs torn open with their intestines spilling out. Some had been hit with acid or poison and were literally melting away."
His words were so vivid it was as if he'd experienced it himself. Even I, who had never been through such things, could clearly picture the scenes he described. That alone said everything.
"It must have been horrific."
"That was the reality the priest faced. He had to treat critically wounded patients even when no improvement could be seen no matter how hard he tried. People often say the cries of the injured never cease. Ironically, the truly critical patients made no sound at all. They no longer had the strength to scream. The priest suffered greatly. The patients knew they were going to die, and they would often leave behind last words. 'Please deliver this item to someone.' 'Please tell this person these words.' Yes, in a way, the priest became a conduit for the dying. There was no hope of survival for them. Death was simply inevitable. The barracks were never free of a gloomy atmosphere, and the stench of rotting corpses hung in the air."
Nermaraud gazed into the distance for a moment. I instinctively realized this story was drawn from his own experiences. Otherwise, he wouldn't have shown such a bitter reaction. So I said nothing and simply waited for him to continue.
"The priest had underestimated the situation. He thought that if he stepped forward, he might be able to contribute something to the front lines."
"...Did he not actually help at all?"
"Even if he did, people tend to remember what they lost far longer than what they gained. The priest was no different. He would have thought more about those he couldn't save than those he did."
"...So what does this have to do with the saying that the heart becomes will?"
I knew it was rude to cut him off, but wasn't this supposed to be a lesson on holy spells? He continued without any reproach.
"The priest thought that it was because his own desperation had been insufficient that he couldn't save them. So he prayed and prayed to the Goddess of Holy Love. 'If you grant me the power to heal them, I will praise you for days and nights on end.'"
"And then he gained tremendous holy power?"
"No. Nothing happened."
"...Pardon?"
"However, the priest had no time to despair. Patients kept appearing. Ironically, he stopped seeking the gods. He moved solely with the obsession to save others. Only then did holy power answer the priest's call."
He paused for a moment to catch his breath. I mulled over his story. Was I just stupid? I couldn't quite grasp the point.
"You have the expression of someone wondering what on earth I'm trying to say."
It must have shown on my face. I lifted the corners of my mouth.
"Ahaha, you caught me."
"What is needed is desperation."
For my benefit, since I still didn't understand, Nermaraud summarized it simply. I couldn't complain that he should have said so from the beginning. His story had left too deep an impression.
"...I'm desperate too, even if not as much as that priest."
"To be precise, the desperation to save others. This may be presumptuous, but have you ever truly felt, Saintess Aria, the desire to save someone with all your heart?"
"...Well."
I don't think I ever have.
"When that moment comes, your immense holy power will naturally follow you, Saintess."
Easy for him to say. I'm someone who only thinks about myself. I asked, lacking confidence, "Do you really think such a day will come? I'm not exactly a noble person."
Nermaraud smiled gently and stroked my hair. His large, thick hand didn't feel unpleasant at all. I realized a middle-aged man's smile could be this charming.
"Nobility isn't something you're born with. It's something you create."
His words struck a chord in my heart. For a moment, I simply looked up at him without saying anything.
"You know, Nermaraud..."
"What is it, Saintess Aria?"
"That story about the priest... it was about you, wasn't it?"
"Was it that obvious?"
"It was so vivid. I thought it must be your own experience."
"You're quite perceptive."
"I've eaten my fair share of bitter experience, you know."
Indeed. The time spent learning holy spells had been truly enriching for me back then. It could even be called a sanctuary. However—
Happy moments tend to pass by quickly. The incident occurred exactly one month later.