Secret History (3)
The dark night sky veiled Demonic's face, so Kenis could not see it.
She did not particularly try to look.
Demonic leaned against a fold of the night's skirt and shed tears in secret, and so Kenis simply kept quiet vigil at his side.
The sight of a father weeping before his child was truly pitiful, and truly sad.
"Hah... I've shown you an unsightly side. I'm sorry."
"...It's all right, Father."
"That locket is just as you imagined — something Ria and I shared with each other on the day of our wedding. Treasure it carefully."
Clasp.
The locket hanging at her throat clinked, boasting a subtle weight. Kenis closed her hand tightly around it. The faint warmth she thought she felt — was that only her imagination?
As Demonic walked on through the darkened streets of night, he spoke to Kenis.
"And though it is late — congratulations on passing the trial."
"Ah. Right."
She had forgotten the trial entirely. Between her mother, Demonic, and the tangled history of the Pantheon, the trial had slipped from her mind. At Kenis's reaction, Demonic glanced back over his shoulder, puzzled.
"Don't tell me you failed?"
"Uh, um— I think I passed... probably?"
"Probably?"
Demonic let out a short snort of laughter at her vague reply.
"Well, fine. We'll know when morning comes. We have to be back before then, so we'd best move a little faster. Come — hurry along."
Demonic quickened his pace. Kenis followed and asked,
"Where are we going now?"
"To pay our respects to your mother."
Ria — the mother who had sacrificed everything for Kenis until the very end. At Demonic's words, an unnameable emotion welled up inside her.
Sorrow, longing, affection, tenderness... they rose like bubbles, then sank deep again. She pressed down hard on whatever was trying to surface.
It was still far too early to cry.
How long did they walk with the stars of the night sky as their only companions? At last Demonic came to a public cemetery in the Holy City — a modest hillside burial ground.
Among the countless headstones stood a pure white marker bearing the name Ria. Someone had tended it with care; the stone was unusually clean.
Demonic's gaze settled on the grave. Longing and grief were written plain in his eyes.
Kenis slowly read the inscription carved into the stone to herself.
You who shone like the stars and were beautiful as snow.
From woman to wife, and at last to mother.
And thus you sleep...
Yes. Her mother had fallen asleep as fleetingly as a snowflake — pure white, beautiful, and sorrowful.
Softly.
She brushed her palm slowly down the face of the stone. The piercing cold of it was almost welcome. Kenis forced her reluctant lips to open.
What should she say? How should she say it?
Words gathered and scattered. Phrases assembled and broke apart again and again, until at last Kenis managed a single line.
"...I'm here."
It was a ridiculous greeting — utterly unsuited to a daughter's first meeting with her mother.
Yet both Demonic and Kenis simply bowed their heads in silence before the grave.
After more than a decade, a family gathered at last.
It was just like that.
Grief is buried with the night, and the rising sun brings a new day. Kenis had talked with Demonic through the dark hours — laughing, crying — and only managed a little sleep in the late small hours of morning.
The result was a pair of thoroughly swollen eyes. The moment Friga saw her, her first greeting was a jab at those eyes.
"Hey. You been crying?"
"Pardon? Ah — no, I haven't!"
"Like hell you haven't. Your eyes are puffed up like dumplings. Get over here. Why were you crying? Who made you cry? Was it that bastard Hans?"
"Wha— why would Hans come into this?!"
"That guy's been weird ever since he started dragging a little girl around with him. Hey! Don't try to stop me. This is my chance to beat some manners into him. Guys like that only learn when you chop their hands clean off!"
"L-Lady Friga! It's nothing like that!! Put the axe down — the axe!"
Whatever scene Friga was imagining, murderous intent poured from both eyes as she made to charge off with her axe; Kenis scrambled to hold her back. From the first light of morning, a commotion that was not quite a brawl erupted in the arena.
"...What was that? Daisy, did someone just call my name?"
"Hmm. No? I didn't hear anything."
"That so?"
Hans, just stepping through the arena entrance, scratched his head at the odd feeling that someone had spoken his name. He had one of his usual candies in his mouth, so his speech came out a little thick; Daisy watched him and smiled, finding it adorable.
"Ah. Hans. Take this with you."
"What's this? A lunch box?"
"Yes. You seem to like meat, so I put in plenty."
"Good heavens. You made all of this yourself?"
The contents of the lunch Daisy handed him were magnificent. Perfectly grilled meat and bread looked mouthwatering, and nestled among them were vegetable pieces cut into cute little animal shapes. Hans's jaw dropped. Was this really something a girl Daisy's age could make?
At his astonished reaction, Daisy twisted shyly in place.
"Heh, hehe. I didn't make all of it by myself — Mom helped... but I still made quite a lot!"
"Wow. Daisy, you're amazing. Thank you so much — I'll enjoy every bite."
Stroke, stroke.
Filled with fond pride, Hans ruffled Daisy's hair. Savoring his touch to the fullest, Daisy recalled her mother's teaching in her mind.
"Remember this, Daisy. You tame a man starting with food. Getting him used to your cooking, training his palate to your hand — that's how it begins."
A small, secret smile.
Daisy had plenty of time. Like filling in a moat, she would steadily occupy the ground around Hans, bit by bit.
I told you I wouldn't let you go.
Beneath Hans's hand, Daisy's eyes flashed — but Hans, knowing nothing of it, simply accepted the lunch box and beamed with pure delight.
"Haha! So diligent first thing in the morning. It's good to see the young folk like this."
"Old men should stop getting in the way and go rest in that corner over there."
"Aren't we still in our prime? When I walk into a tavern, the women flock to me!"
"Talk sense for once! What woman would take a liking to that white hair of yours?"
"The world is a wide place. How many women you will never meet in your whole life — you'll never know."
For once walking in under their own power, Lionheart and Adam appeared in the arena, bickering as usual.
The towering Lionheart standing side by side with the notably short Adam looked almost like a circus act.
Perhaps because today might be the final day of the duel festival, both had dressed with care. Lionheart had dusted off his paladin dress uniform for the first time in ages; Adam wore neat, respectable clothes.
Trailing after the two old men came Iscal, looking thoroughly exhausted. Whether he had been up all night or not, the dark circles under his eyes stood out sharply.
Kenis, still trying to restrain Friga, was startled enough to worry.
"Good heavens, Iscal? Are you all right?"
"Ah, ah... Hero. I'm fine..."
His mouth said he was fine; his face said otherwise. What on earth had happened?
"And what about you, Hero? I heard you only woke up after several days."
"Ah... me? I'm perfectly fine."
Kenis answered with an awkward smile. Subjectively it had felt like only a single night, so the news that she had been out for days had given her quite a shock.
No wonder they had gone to the trouble of carrying her to a bed.
The moment Friga spotted the swaying Iscal, she came running. Her pounding footsteps gradually slowed as she drew near him.
When she finally stood in front of him, Friga shifted awkwardly from foot to foot.
"S-so, hey! Wh-what's with that face? You look like you didn't sleep a wink last night..."
"Lady Friga, haha... it's nothing. I just had some things to think about late into the night, so I..."
"Huh? What things? What happened? Hey! What's that? A letter? Is that a letter?!"
"Waaagh! I-it's a secret! Aaaagh!"
"You bastard, spit it out! Spit it out right now!! What kind of letter is it! A love letter? Is it a love letter?! Hey!! Who's the girl!"
Iscal tried to hide whatever was tucked against his chest; Friga tried to force the truth out of him. A certain amount of physical interrogation was involved. Friga's headlock locked onto Iscal with devastating force.
Soft.
Friga's plush chest pressed against Iscal's head, and he thrashed as if having a seizure. Still, he could not escape her hold.
"W-waaaagh! Lady— Lady Friga!! My head!! It's touching my head!!"
"Talk, talk right now!! Who's the girl!! Huh? Why is your head— hiiit!!"
Iscal's face went red enough to burst. Realizing a beat too late that her chest was pressed against him, Friga flung him away in a fluster.
"Y-y-y-you! You bastard!! Huh?! You're dead, for real! You filthy little pervert!!"
"Aaaagh, ghk!! Ack!"
Face blazing scarlet, Friga gave chase as Iscal fled, continuing her furious pursuit. One side was doing most of the bickering... but all the same, they seemed to get along rather well.
Watching them with a small smile, Kenis felt Demonic drift quietly to her side. He brushed one hand lightly down her shoulder and spoke with gentle care.
"Kenis, are you all right? You're not tired, or feeling strange anywhere?"
"You worry too much over a little late night. I'm perfectly fine."
"Good. That's a relief, then."
A sharp prickle.
While talking with Kenis, Demonic casually turned her body in another direction, then flicked a glance toward Hans.
A truly murderous look. Demonic's pupils had shrunk to pinpoints, and raw killing intent filled his eyes.
I will kill you.
A chill ran down his spine.
Hans, lunch box in one hand, had been walking toward Kenis — and froze like a frog before a snake. The killing intent of a powerhouse who had crossed the Wall took on almost physical form, pressing down on him — yet!
"Ghhk...!"
Hans, too, was a warrior who had crossed the line between life and death against beings beyond ordinary measure more than once. He clenched his teeth, endured Demonic's killing intent, and forced his body to move.
His joints creaked unnaturally; cold sweat rolled down in drops. Even so, little by little, little by little.
Hans's steps advanced. What mattered was an unbending heart — and so Hans kept moving forward without end.
"Oh?"
A flicker of approval passed through Demonic's eyes — then he stamped his foot. The holy-power-laden stomp raced through the ground and erupted beneath Hans.
Boom!
"Waaaaagh!"
A light explosion launched Hans into the air; he came down with a thud. Even so, he cradled the lunch box against his chest and protected it. Demonic looked at him and curled one corner of his mouth in a thin, cold smile.
He would not hand Kenis over to some frail good-for-nothing.
"Hm? I thought I heard Hans's voice somewhere..."
"Ah! Kenis. Have you by any chance seen Great Priest Antonio today?"
Demonic hastily changed the subject and drew Kenis's attention. She looked into his eyes for a moment, then gave a soft laugh and answered.
"No. Why? Did he have something he wanted to say?"
"It seemed he had something he wished to discuss with you and me, but he isn't at the Pantheon either... I have no idea where he might be."
"Hmm... well, if it isn't urgent, we can always seek him out later."
While she and Demonic talked of this and that, the spectator stands gradually filled with people. Perhaps word had spread that today might be the final day of the duel festival; the crowd was denser than it had ever been.
The murmur of so many voices was itself a vast, rolling sound.
Boom — boom — boom —!
A great drumbeat cut through the noise. One by one the people fell silent and fixed their attention on the arena.
Just as the last of the noise died away, a group of figures appeared in the arena.
"Huh...?"
"Hm?"
Sounds of puzzled recognition slipped from both Kenis and Demonic. The people in white cloth robes were faces the two of them knew all too well.
Barefoot and clad in white cloth, they crossed the arena and walked all the way to the place where the great throne stood. Then they dropped to their knees.
At the head of those kneeling before the throne was none other than the elderly Great Priest — Antonio.