The Hero (1)
The crimson rays of morning light stabbed through the window and into Aria’s eyes. She frowned, grimacing as she woke.
“Ugh…”
Stretching both arms wide, Aria yawned. Sleep had been fitful. Perhaps it was because she had collapsed into bed while her body was still heavy with exhaustion. When she rose, her legs trembled and her groin ached. Last night’s union had been far more violent than usual.
…No, could that even be called a union? Perhaps gang rape was the more honest term.
…That was truly too much.
After today, they would no longer be able to touch her. The Seed-Receiving Saintess was to accompany the hero and leave the cult for some time. Last night’s violation had been their version of a farewell party. Thanks to that, it had been the most grueling evening in recent memory. They had taken her again and again, unwilling to let her go even as she begged. She had climaxed so many times she feared she might lose her mind. And toward the end… hadn’t she even wet herself?
The memory of losing control brought a fresh wave of shame. Those vile men. How many times had she screamed for them to let her use the bathroom? They had ignored every plea.
Aria rubbed her aching lower back. The night’s violence had left her spine stiff and sore. To be suffering from back pain at such a young age filled her with despair.
“Ugh.”
On top of everything, her cycle had arrived. Her mood was at rock bottom. The cramps felt like needles piercing her organs—sharp, relentless. Nausea and migraines followed the rising pain. It was pure torment. She had never known such discomfort as a man. A woman’s body was far more inconvenient than she had ever imagined.
She drank every drop of water left by her bedside, then forced herself to stand. Part of her wanted to burrow back under the covers, but a Saintess was supposed to set an example. In other words, she was not allowed to be lazy. Even if she had slept only four hours, Aria would move. She had to maintain the flawless reputation that Makarof so admired.
Rubbing her tired eyes, she thought of the guest who would arrive today.
…The hero is coming, isn’t he.
Yes. Today was the day the famous hero would personally visit the Church of Sacred Love. The purpose, of course, was to collect her.
I don’t like it. Not one bit.
Aria straightened her clothes, changed out of her nightgown into her sacred robes, and left the room. The cathedral interior was already bustling. They seemed to be preparing for the Saintess’s departure ceremony. To her, it was all unnecessary commotion.
…They could just send me off quietly. Who would actually enjoy this kind of spectacle?
When she asked a passing nun, she learned the ceremony was to be quite extravagant. Matters of the cult’s dignity and honor apparently demanded it.
…Sigh.
The cult members were excited, yet the person at the center of it all—Aria—felt nothing. Instead of wasting money on empty formalities, they would do far more good by donating to the orphanage.
With those thoughts in mind, she walked down the corridor toward morning mass.
“Well now, if it isn’t Saintess Aria.”
A man with neatly parted brown hair smiled gently. It was Bishop Ronin, who had risen in rank within a single year.
“…What brings you here, Bishop Ronin, when official duties must keep you so very busy?”
Aria’s tone was sharp. She could not help it. It was not only Cardinal Mavlof who had dragged her into the abyss. This man, Ronin, was one of those who had plunged her into despair.
“No matter how busy I am, I must attend the departure ceremony of a Saintess I regard as my own dear daughter.”
Aria’s cheek twitched. Dear daughter, dear daughter, dear daughter. Does Your Grace possess a taste for violating your own “daughter”?
“…Is that so.”
“It is heartening to see you looking so well these days.”
The words sounded like pure mockery. You no longer resist, do you?
“It is all thanks to you, Bishop Ronin.”
Aria stared at him with eyes that asked, You broke my will to resist and now you dare say such things? He looked strangely downcast.
“Saintess.”
“…What is it?”
“I hope you will hold on to a little more hope.”
“…Pardon?”
Having said his piece, Bishop Ronin turned on his heel and walked away. From Aria’s perspective, it was absurd. Who was the one who had shattered her hope? Who had cooled her every longing? Whose fault was all of this!
“…Ha.”
Trembling with humiliation, Aria wiped at the corner of her eye. It was already an awful day, and it seemed determined to grow worse.
Ronin enjoyed watching Aria break. More precisely, he savored the pathetic resistance she showed while breaking. The way she glared with sharp eyes even as pleasure overwhelmed her. The low curses she spat, the way she raked her nails across skin. Every rebellious gesture faithfully fed his dark desires.
Aria, how can you be such a sweet existence?
Yet lately Ronin had been dissatisfied. She had grown far too obedient. Where had that fervent resistance, that desperate rebellion gone? He wished she would struggle more, suffer more. He wanted her to fight with greater fervor. Only then would the despair she tasted become truly sweet.
Ronin decided this would not do. Tormenting Aria while she drowned in despair like a rotting fruit brought no pleasure. What fun was there in playing with an empty puppet? That was exactly what the current Aria was like. No matter what was done to her, she simply accepted it like a well-trained dog. Her hollow state gnawed at him.
What he wanted to see was Aria with a vivid expression, offering frail resistance—not this doll with dead-fish eyes who merely obeyed. This would not do.
Ronin wanted to craft the ultimate tragedy using Aria as his material. She must not crumble so easily. She needed to taste a despair more fitting for her, on a more suitable stage. And so, for the first time in a long while, Ronin fell into deep thought.
How could he rekindle her fierce will to resist?
After careful deliberation, he reached a conclusion: he would give her hope.
Granting hope in order to deliver despair? It might sound contradictory. Yet people can only truly despair when they still possess some measure of hope. Consider it. If one has already given up from the start, there is no despair, no resentment—only emptiness. But if even a thread of hope remains? If it seems there might be a way out of this miserable situation?
Then Aria would think: Perhaps I can escape this swamp after all. A small bud of expectation might sprout. And the moment that expectation reached its peak—
—he would deliver a colossal despair and shatter her completely. The greater the hope, the deeper the fall into despair. Just imagining it thrilled him.
Bishop Ronin covered his mouth with his right hand, swallowing his laughter.
Ah, how he longed to see Aria’s face twisted in despair. How he longed to watch her break.
Aria. I am your most ardent follower. Please, resist with all your strength. For your happiness. For my pleasure.
Now, then. What would be the best way to give this wilted Aria a taste of hope?
He stroked his chin, lost in thought. At that precise moment, information about a figure known as the hero reached his ears. Ronin saw an opportunity.
The hero and the Saintess. Wasn’t that a tale as old as time? It might provide excellent stimulation. Ronin smiled. An rather elegant scheme had occurred to him.
It has already been a month since then.
Finishing his recollection, Ronin walked through the cathedral. He hoped this plan would successfully revive Aria’s will to resist.
Today is finally the day.
Today, the hero would arrive. The world called him the perfect hero. Ronin did not entirely believe those empty rumors. He judged only what he saw and heard with his own eyes and ears. That was precisely why he had set aside his busy duties to be here.
Would this hero truly be able to give Aria hope? He had come to confirm exactly that.
And while I’m at it, I’ll see Aria as well.
Speak of the devil. From across the way, he saw Aria walking with an awkward gait. Since she would be following the hero for some time and unable to fulfill her duty as the Seed-Receiving Saintess, they must have made her receive more than her usual share last night.
“Saintess.”
“…What is it?”
Ronin smiled at the sullen look she gave him.
“I hope you will hold on to a little more hope.”
Wouldn’t that be better for both of them? For a brief moment, Aria would escape her wretched reality and dream a sweet dream. And Ronin would be able to enjoy her vivid, lively resistance once more.
Had Aria known what he was thinking, she would have been horrified. But since she could not read minds, she would never know.
Aria finished morning mass and slipped into the bathroom. She had barely drunk anything, yet the urge was overwhelming. Could she have developed incontinence from climaxing too intensely last night? The thought made her anxious.
S-surely not… right?
The sound of water trickling echoed. Come to think of it, this was the very bathroom where she had once played hide-and-seek with Bishop Ronin. A memory from a year ago suddenly flashed through her mind.
What if I hadn’t been caught back then?
Perhaps she would have adapted to this fantasy world and lived differently. Not as a canary trapped in a cage like now.
…It was a meaningless supposition.
Aria wiped herself with toilet paper, stood from the toilet, and was about to pull up her panties when—
BANG!
The locked bathroom door was violently kicked open. An unexpected situation. Several question marks popped up over Aria’s head. Beyond the forcibly opened door stood a man with the same obsidian-black eyes and dark blue hair as her.
Surprisingly, the one who had opened the door was a man.
“Found you.”
His voice was a pleasant, low baritone. Aria froze, panties still halfway up.
“Wh-what?”
“Let’s go.”
He offered no explanation, simply uttering those words. Go? Where? And why had he forced open the women’s bathroom door? He didn’t look like someone from the cult—how had he even gotten inside? Countless questions swirled in her mind.
But the man gave her no chance to ask. He wrapped a powerful arm around her waist, slung her over his shoulder, and murmured something toward the wall with the window. It sounded like an incantation. No—it was an incantation.
A flash of light. An explosion.
KWAAAAAAAANG!
The roar was deafening. In an instant the wall crumbled. Was this the magic she had only heard about? She had seen plenty of holy spells, but this was the first time Aria had witnessed true magic. She could not hide her panic.
What was happening? Was this… a kidnapping? Why? What use could she possibly be? The situation was progressing so rapidly her mind could not keep up. For the past year she had lived a life of submission to tyranny and violence. She had never encountered enough varied incidents to handle an emergency with composure. So she could only panic.
“…Wh-who are you?”
The man’s indifferent eyes scanned her. He answered with extreme brevity.
“The hero.”
Having introduced himself as the hero, the man prepared to leave with her over his shoulder. There was something she needed to say before he moved.
“W-wait!”
“…?”
“P-please let me put my underwear on first.”
Even as she spoke, Aria burned with embarrassment.