Just the Two of Us
The Hero was not, at her core, unintelligent. She did have a tendency to lean on instinct, but that was something that could be improved upon, little by little. A truly foolish person dragged everything toward ruin without the faintest awareness of their own folly. The Hero, by contrast, understood perfectly well where she fell short.
She would state her opinions without the slightest filter — but when I pointed something out, she was remarkably good at taking it in. I couldn't deny that her thinking ran a little short at times. That didn't make her stupid. A person who had spent her entire life living to kill her enemies could hardly be expected to start thinking things through just because someone asked her to. She had been, for all intents and purposes, halfway in love with dying. If she was going to keep living, it would do her good to learn how to think properly.
There had been no Olivia Reinhardt in the life she had lived until now. But she had more days ahead of her than behind her, and that being the case, the situation was perhaps not so hopeless as it appeared.
"Why are you looking at me like that?"
"I was just thinking you really do love books. Where did you get that one?"
"This ship is quite luxurious, you know. They've stocked a fair number of books so the passengers don't grow bored. I only borrowed it to pass the time."
"I see."
"Would you like to read it?"
"I don't like reading."
"A book holds the thoughts of the person who wrote it. For you right now, Livia, that might be exactly what you need most — the understanding that the way people think can differ from one person to the next in the most extreme ways."
"Is that so. Then tell me your story instead."
I genuinely wondered how her thoughts had leapt in that direction. Perhaps she had taken my words to mean that it was good to see and hear a variety of stories, and from there had arrived at wanting to hear mine as well.
"I'm from the slums."
"What!?"
"You didn't know?"
"I didn't! Th-the slums? You grew up in that lawless place?"
Of course the place had laws. The problem was that they were scarcely ever applied, and a fist or a blade was always closer at hand than any statute.
"Yes. So unfortunately, I don't even know who my parents are. Eventually I decided I couldn't go on like that, and I escaped."
"I see."
"But what could a young boy possibly do? I suffered for it, my condition worsened in every way that mattered, and I collapsed in the street. That's when Madame Florence saved me."
There were gaps in the middle of that account, but I wasn't lying.
"I was taken in and put to work at Madame Florence's establishment. Then, as I mentioned before, she glimpsed my talent as a Spiritist and recommended me for the path — which is how I came to walk it."
Put that way, my life really could be summarized in a handful of sentences. Then again, a person's life didn't necessarily need to be long and verbose.
The Hero listened, hummed thoughtfully for a moment, and then asked:
"What about relationships?"
"Relationships?"
"Women, for instance. Or women. Or, you know. Women."
Ah. So that had been the point from the start.
"You seem quite interested."
"It's actually my biggest concern right now."
Had she forgotten that her own life was currently running on a timer? Come to think of it, she had always been this sort of person. She had simply grown a little more optimistic.
"I haven't had any connections worth mentioning. Unfortunately, I've never become deeply involved with anyone. I kept a moderate distance, did moderate work, and lived a moderate life."
"You're surprisingly dry. I thought you'd be the type everyone falls for, since you're such a good person."
"If you draw a line, people generally don't cross it. There may well have been people who wanted to get closer to me. I was the one who refused."
"Why?"
"Well... why was that, I wonder. I was just a little afraid."
"Of people?"
"That might be it."
It was because of Madame Florence that I lived as a human being. If she hadn't been there — even if I had somehow survived and grown to this age — I would almost certainly have become someone entirely different from the person I was now. Other people's goodwill had circulated and returned and made me who I am.
Even so, I still grew afraid from time to time, and so I kept my distance. You could call it keeping a line. I had lived that way, and in all that time, not a single person had crossed that line and come inside.
And yet.
...Why?
"It's nothing."
A fool who only knew how to charge straight ahead had simply walked right in.
Just as I had entered her interior of my own accord, she too had entered mine, and that was surely not a wrong thing. I had thought I would be fortunate if she simply regarded me as a decent person. Instead she had launched a confession at me without the slightest preamble and charged in at full emotional speed, leaving me utterly at a loss.
Even now, that face brimming with affection seemed to send a sweet fragrance drifting to the tip of my nose just from looking at it, stirring something in the back of my mind. That kind of illusion took shape in my head. No — it might not have been an illusion at all.
At any rate, I needed to think this through carefully. The one whose virtue was presently in danger was not the Hero, but me. And if she decided she could no longer hold back and pounced, what exactly was I supposed to do about it? I would have nothing to occupy myself with except staring at the patterns on the ceiling while my chastity was plundered.
"You're not scared of me?"
"Well, since no one has ever crossed that line, I wouldn't know."
"What about Madame Florence?"
"She was already at my side before I became this way, I suppose. She isn't so lacking in sense that a parent would need to be told to keep a line."
"I see. So family isn't a problem, then?"
"...What exactly are you thinking?"
"Nothing much. I just thought I could become your family."
Then what, pray, would count as something?
"Lois, your life is kind of boring."
"Would you please not call someone else's life boring? That's rude. You need to learn to say things that take other people's feelings into account."
"I-is that so?"
"You were in a position where you didn't need social graces, so honestly, you probably still don't need them going forward. You have the name of Hero. You have power. You can obtain anything you wish. So the lack of a single social skill isn't really a problem."
"Right?"
"But I don't care for that kind of woman."
"What should I start with? Honorifics?"
Her about-face was blindingly fast. Quicker than a hawk's stoop, it seemed.
"We'll deal with the way you talk later. First — you've picked quite a few fights in conversation, haven't you?"
"I was just saying things without thinking. Sometimes people got angry."
"Don't say things without thinking. That's how you ended up in that kind of relationship with Elvenheim."
"B-but...! That wasn't only my fault! It was the truth!"
I took a sip of the tea beside me and addressed the Hero, who was protesting from the bed.
"In this world, just because something is true does not mean you should say all of it. Society, to put it a little unkindly, is built of lies — and etiquette, if you look closely, is a lie as well. A world in which everyone spoke only the truth would be a truly terrible place."
"Wouldn't no lies be a good thing?"
"Truth and fact are not necessarily the same thing, and they do not necessarily bring about good results. You threw your whole heart into everything you did. And as a result, what state are you in now?"
"The state of being betrayed."
"Yes. Exactly that."
It wasn't that being truthful was wrong. But the world was overflowing with people who deceived those who worked purely and lived honestly, and treated them poorly. Even the Hero had ended up like this. There was no need to mention what would become of an ordinary person.
"So what are you going to do about Elvenheim? Should I bow my head and ask?"
"That's essential, for a start. We have no choice but to go in with our heads bowed. ...But it isn't as though there's no method at all."
"Really?"
"I know someone among the elves."
"Rayna?"
"Ah — not her."
I had accumulated a fair number of experiences of my own, so I did know a few elves. The problem was that the connections weren't particularly deep, and I had no way of knowing whether they would take our side. Still, it was wise to lay down a few insurances, so it would be worth at least trying to speak with them. If we were lucky, they might become allies and speak in the Hero's defense.
"Then I'll leave that to you. I'll think about how I should apologize."
"Shall I write you a script?"
"No. I want to do the apologizing myself. ...I'm relying on you for a great many things, and I will going forward, too. I'll say sorry and thank you in advance. I'm going to cause a lot of trouble. I already am."
"..."
"But this is probably something I have to do myself. ...Well. If it gets too hard, I'll at least come to you for advice."
"I see."
I had been worried. To the Hero, I was in many ways a special figure, and since she had been saved in that state, I had wondered whether she might become obsessed with me in some fashion, or show me various broken pieces of herself. There were people like that, from time to time — people who, having been pulled from a shattered situation, devoted everything to the one who had saved them and clung without letting go. It was an unhealthy kind of bond.
But she was strong. Even as she leaned on me, the look on her face said she did not want to become dependent — as though she knew, by instinct, that she must not. She was strong and full of life, a person for whom the word sun was a perfect fit. That much, I could say, had not changed from then to now. If anything, she shone even more brightly.
"Ugh. Still, I've been lying here too long. Should I walk around a bit?"
"I'll go with you."
"Overprotective."
"Isn't that a body that warrants it?"
"Alright."
And so the Hero and I left the room. We were walking down the corridor, about to head above, when—
THOOM!!
The entire hull lurched without warning, and the startled cries of people losing their footing echoed through the ship. The Hero and I went on alert by instinct.
This is the most expensive vessel out of East Port. The hull almost never shakes. If it shook anyway, that means there was an external cause.
Monsters? Or pirates?
"P-pirates!"
Pirates, then.
"Pirates?"
"..."
I looked at the Hero for a moment. Watching her hand rise slowly — truly, entirely naturally — toward the Holy Sword, I nodded. This was not a joke. It would be a remarkably efficient way to commit suicide.
"Livia, the Holy Sword stands out. Let's use this one instead."
"That's a wooden sword."
Killing them would make things rather troublesome. I felt no sympathy for pirates who made a living of deviance and slaughter, but in our present circumstances, using the Holy Sword carried more risk than merit.
"Alright. I'll show you what I can do with this. This is the perfect chance to prove I didn't become a Hero with the Holy Sword alone."
"..."
When the Hero smiled, I frowned.
"I told you to subdue them. I did not ask you to demonstrate the magic trick of cutting people down with that."
"Ah. Um... I knew that!"
She wasn't seriously planning to cut them all down with a wooden sword, was she? Then again, she probably could, which was rather frightening. What did a wooden sword matter? She could likely manage it with her bare hands, or a tree branch.