Aftermath (2)
"Hans, are you all right?"
"Mm... it hurts a little, but I can still walk. What about you, Daisy? Are you okay?"
"I'm fine."
Daisy supported Hans—who was larger than her own body—as they stumbled down the mountain. She was putting everything she had into helping him, but in truth Hans had merely draped his arm over her shoulder.
Daisy herself was far from whole. She had rolled down the slope and injured her ankle, and she was limping along on a makeshift crutch fashioned from a tree branch. The "support" was little more than a gesture.
"You've lost so much blood. We have to get to the village, quickly—"
"Ugh—ah! W-wait a second. If you walk that fast the wound—"
Every time Daisy, frantic with worry, urged him onward, Hans hissed in pain as the wound pulled open a little more.
He glanced down at the sword at his hip. The Rune of Courage, which had once pulsed madly, heating his blood and flooding his body with endless strength, now lay quiet—as if its work were finished.
If the rune would lend him its power just once more, they could reach the village in no time. But this was a gift bestowed by a god. The rune would not grant its strength for something so trivial.
"Ah—that plant!"
Daisy limped off toward something, then dropped to her knees and began clawing at the earth with her bare hands. Dirt packed under her nails, but she paid it no mind.
At last she carefully dug up a root and hurried back to Hans.
"Hans, this is a Salsali flower! They say if you crush the root and apply the juice when you're hurt, it eases the pain a little."
She roughly brushed the soil from the root, then popped it straight into her mouth.
"Wha—Daisy! That's filthy! Spit it out right now!"
Hans recoiled in horror, but Daisy ignored him and chewed the root with stubborn determination. Then she spat the mashed pulp into her palm. The root had been reduced to a formless paste.
She looked up at him with perfect calm.
"Hans, show me the wound on your leg."
"Huh? U-uh..."
"Hurry. At this pace we won't reach the village even if we walk all day. And if the wound festers, they say it can last a lifetime. What if you end up with a scar on your leg? So please—show me the wound."
The clear, logical stream of words left Hans with nothing to argue. She was right; if the wound turned septic he would be in real trouble.
"All right... then I'll leave it to you."
"Yes!"
There was a faint note of happiness in her voice. Was she simply glad she could be of use to him? Her small, fern-like hands reached for his shin.
"Ah—Daisy, wait—"
"Ah..."
Hans tried to stop her, but Daisy was a fraction faster. She rolled up his trouser leg, and the full horror of the injury came into view.
A mass of red and black, clotted blood tangled with unidentifiable debris, and a wound larger than Daisy's own fist. White bone showed through the gash.
It was a grievous wound. That Hans had walked this far with it was almost miraculous.
Tears welled in Daisy's eyes.
"H-Hans..."
"Huh? Why are you crying, Daisy? Don't cry—come on, stop."
"B-because of me... you've been walking with this wound all this time..."
"No, I really was fine. I could walk. It looks worse than it is—it doesn't hurt that much, I swear."
Hans tried his best to reassure her, but Daisy could see the lie written plain on his face and refused to believe it.
She wiped the tears away with the back of her hand, then carefully began spreading the crushed juice over the wound.
"Ugh!"
"Does it hurt a lot...?"
"Hss—stings a little, that's all."
Hans forced a smile, though cold sweat was already beading on his forehead.
Daisy applied the juice even more gently. Once the last of the pulp was used up, the pain in his leg began, remarkably, to ease.
Her method had worked.
Hans walked with renewed vigor and called out to her.
"Daisy, look—it hardly hurts at all now. This stuff really works!"
"Whew... I'm so glad."
Daisy wiped her brow in relief. Then they fell into step once more and continued down the mountain.
For Daisy's sake—her gait still awkward on the crutch—Hans deliberately slowed his pace to match hers.
They spoke little. Only the rustle of leaves underfoot and the sharp crack of breaking twigs filled the silence.
After a long stretch of quiet walking, Daisy suddenly spoke.
"Hans."
"Hm?"
"In the Holy City, at what age do people hold their coming-of-age ceremony?"
"Coming-of-age?"
Hans thought it over. He wasn't from the Holy City himself, so he wasn't certain, but he remembered it was around eighteen.
"Probably eighteen, I think."
"Eighteen... eighteen minus my age... seven years left... seven years..."
She murmured to herself, opening and closing her fingers as she counted something out.
Hans pretended not to hear. Daisy had asked out of pure, innocent curiosity. That was all it was.
...It had to be.
"Hans."
"Y-yes?"
"How old are you right now?"
"My age?"
Daisy's eyes fixed on him with perfect clarity. A chill ran down Hans's spine—as if he were staring into the eyes of a predator the instant before it pounced.
He shook the feeling off as best he could and answered.
"I'm twenty-one..."
"Twenty-one... twenty-one plus seven... then if I subtract my age at that time..."
Daisy kept muttering, adding and subtracting numbers under her breath.
Hans deliberately let her monologue wash past him and quickened his steps. He had heard nothing. Absolutely nothing.
Far ahead, the entrance to a small mountain village began to come into view.
Faint pink flushed her cheeks. Kenis stared at Friga with something close to horror. That look—directed not at a person, but at a horse?
Kenis leaned in and whispered carefully.
"Um... Your Grace. That isn't...?"
"Whoa—seriously, look at that muscle and the way it runs. If I could ride it just once I'd die happy... Huh? Oh, sorry, I didn't catch that. What did you say?"
"N-nothing! Never mind!"
Friga, still gazing dreamily at the horse and muttering to herself, seemed not to have heard. Thankfully, the unholy and dreadful possibility Kenis had imagined appeared to be off the mark.
Clip-clop, clip-clop. Usurius rode slowly toward them.
Behind his head a halo of light formed a perfect semicircle, and sacred radiance streamed from his eyes in steady rivulets.
The marks of a saint, unmistakable.
"Glory to the Hero."
"G-g-glory to the Six Gods!"
Kenis stammered out the greeting, voice trembling. Even after dismounting, the man towered a full two heads above an ordinary adult male. A massive scar crossed his face; claw marks covered his left eye. A long, thick beard, and the holy war-hammer he was said to have favored—everything about him proclaimed that the figure standing before Kenis was none other than Usurius.
Friga whispered to the flustered Kenis.
"Hey, so who is this old guy that you recognized him right away?"
"Your Grace! You can't call him an 'old guy'! This is Paladin Usurius—regarded as the greatest paladin in the history of the Pantheon!"
Kenis practically leapt into the air as she explained.
"You've seen him every day in the First Prayer Room! The wall with the portraits of the saints—he's right next to Saintess Kenelm!"
"Huh. Was he?"
Friga, who had never taken much interest in the saints, answered with complete indifference.
Her attention had been fixed, from beginning to end, on that magnificent, powerful warhorse.
"Damn. Look at those muscles. Seriously... words fail me. Just once—just one ride. No chance, right?"
Friga kept letting out little gasps of admiration while stealing glances at Usurius's mount.
Kenis thumped her own chest in frustration at the reaction.
"Your Grace! We are standing before a saint! The greatest paladin in history, they say!"
"So what."
Friga's expression remained thoroughly unimpressed.
"Kenis, aren't you a saint too? Has that guy ever met a god? Ever received a weapon straight from one? Didn't think so. Then I'm a saint, and Iscal over there is a saint."
"Uh... well..."
Kenis faltered at the unexpected logic. Thinking it over carefully, Friga wasn't entirely wrong.
"E-even so... he fought three hundred demons alone in the Tolores Gorge..."
Kenis's voice had lost its earlier confidence and dwindled to a mumble. Usurius watched her and let out a booming laugh—so loud the very air seemed to shake.
"Ah-hahaha! Hero, I am nothing more than a frail old man. The tale of fighting three hundred demons is merely a heroic legend inflated by later generations. You, Hero, are the one who deserves praise."
Usurius drove the butt of his banner-spear into the ground and dropped to one knee. Behind him, every warrior followed suit as one.
Toward the red-haired girl, the once-great warriors offered their reverence.
"To the Hero beloved of the gods, who destroys evil—honor!"
"Honor!!"
The unified shout made the surrounding mountains tremble.
Caught off guard, Kenis stared at Usurius with wide eyes.
"Hero, the road you must walk will be harsh and grueling. Evil bares its fangs everywhere, waiting for its chance, while goodness is all too frail and easily extinguished. If you seek compromise, easier paths will always appear. They will tempt you without rest."
But—
"Remember this well. A hero does not compromise with injustice, nor abandon even a single thing. At the end of the path you walk lies a glory so radiant that the likes of us cannot compare."
Behind Usurius, the first light of dawn slowly brightened.
The dazzling sun lifted its head over the ridgeline; the lingering gloom retreated, and the hour of the bright sun arrived.
"Ah... my body..."
As sunlight fell upon the Glorious Cavalry, the warriors one by one dissolved into bright clusters of stars and scattered. They rose toward the high heavens, returning to the place where they properly belonged.
Usurius paid it no mind and kept his gaze fixed on Kenis.
"Hero, you must always remember: the Sixth God walks at your side. Never forget that."
With those words Usurius rose, drew his banner-spear free, and turned to face the members of the Apostle company who were watching him.
They were blood-soaked warriors. They had fought more fiercely than any, and in the end they had survived to greet the radiant sunlight of victory. Usurius met each face, each pair of eyes in turn.
Already the sunlight had reached his feet; his body was slowly turning into motes of light.
"Glorious warriors of the gods—!"
The banner unfurled wide. Though not a breath of wind stirred, it spread itself of its own accord, displaying its majesty for all to see.
"The gods watch over you! Remember this, warriors!"
Light had already claimed him up to the torso and was scattering away, yet his presence only swelled, growing ever more immense.
"Live with honor, and fight for glory!!"
Sing of the glory of the gods—!
Usurius's cry rolled through the mountains and returned as a vast echo, as if hundreds or thousands were shouting as one from the peaks above. It shook the air and stirred the hearts of all who heard it.
At last Usurius became a great star and ascended into the high heavens.
And finally, the darkness lifted, and the brilliant sun revealed itself in full.
It was the moment the darkness that had fallen over the little mountain village was driven away.