Sticking Out Like an Awl (4)
Lately, Sara had been having quite enjoyable days. By nature, she loved new and exciting things, so with her routine life settling into a rut, she'd been wriggling in boredom. Then, just in time, her encounter with Justina provided the perfect new thrill.
Justina made for an excellent conversation partner. What made her so great? For one, she pretended to listen really well. Sara had already seen right through the fact that it wasn't her true nature, and that gap was what made it fun.
"So, Joseph goes and starts using divinity arts right then, and I told him! 'Hey, Joseph! Divinity arts? Don't overdo it!'"
"Ahaha, did you really?"
"And the kid immediately bows his head like this...!"
"Puhahaha!"
Sara was sharp at reading people. She could tell exactly where Justina was laughing for real and where she was faking it. Mostly, it was genuine during the parts where she exaggerated her superiority. Everywhere else, she was bored stiff. People were so transparent. Justina was the type who was dead serious about receiving admiration from others.
Sara found that contrast delightful, so she put even more flair into her storytelling. Justina laughed because she enjoyed Sara's antics. It was like the bizarre dynamic between a high-status cat grooming and a high-status rabbit receiving it.
About three days had passed like that, with them spending three or four hours together every afternoon.
"Krhung! Time's flown by again today!"
"Oh my, has it really?"
"Wonder if I can come tomorrow... Nah, tomorrow's assembly day, so it'll be tough."
Sara smacked her lips. The church's regular assembly was the most important duty she had to perform as the goddess, so she couldn't skip it. Justina probably couldn't either. Religious gatherings were usually held on the last day of the week. As Malic's mouthpiece, she had to lead the church assembly too.
"How's the Malic Church assembly? Gotta be packed, right?"
It was right then, as she tossed out the question.
"Ahaha, yes, thankfully lots of people attend."
Sara tilted her head. Doesn't seem like she likes it much?
A shadow flickered across her face for a moment. Why? The reason hit her late, but suddenly she noticed it.
...She looks exhausted.
There were faint dark circles under her eyes, and she had this oddly weary vibe. Sara knew that look—or something very similar, at least. She'd seen it a few times before.
When the sisters' business got sabotaged by thugs?
Similar. But not exactly the same. It was stickier than the madams' fatigue back then. Was she dealing with some worry? Curiosity bubbling up, Sara's lips twitched.
"Master."
Lenoir appeared. Sara jumped up with a grin so bright her tail would've wagged if she had one.
"My lord!"
"Yes, 'master.'"
"Ack, ahem!"
Lately, Lenoir had been nagging her to act like he was the higher-status one in public. He'd even confiscated her "my lord" nickname. It felt unfamiliar and a bit upsetting, but it wasn't all bad.
"R-right! My faithful servant!"
"It is time to return."
"Eugh..."
There was a certain savor to Lenoir treating her with such utmost deference. Sara, quick on the mental pivot, forgot all about Justina in a flash, beaming wide as she grabbed Lenoir's sleeve. She waved at Justina.
"See ya, Saintess! Catch you the day after!"
"Ahaha, y-yes..."
Justina, who seemed uneasy around Lenoir, replied awkwardly. And so Sara headed back to the church with him.
* * *
For the past few days, Lenoir had been combing through the Malic Church's archive. By examining the doctrine's background and the system's foundations, he hoped to narrow down which of his brothers was behind this.
And after flipping through it all, he pieced together the big picture of this research from the church's history.
It's an experiment to form qi.
An experiment to create a god's spirit. Every trail of research pointed straight to that goal.
Of course, divinity alone couldn't do anything. If merely forming it could revive a god, then no one other than Lenoir himself would have eagerly attempted it. Impossible.
But they claimed to have "found a way." And they were actually carrying it out based on that theory. That nagged at him, so Lenoir ran through some hypotheses.
What if...
Suppose they tried what comes after filling it with qi. Where would they get the vessel to hold it—the body?
The answer came easily. There were hints in the research for that too.
...An artificial apostle?
A mutant designed to accept divine spirit. They could use patients with what moderns called mana addiction syndrome. It might require tedious processing, but it was worth attempting. And there were results.
Justina.
Malic's saintess was a mutant chosen by a massive aggregate of divinity rather than a divine soul, ascending above apostles. Malic as the qi and Justina as the body—they were prepared.
Even to Lenoir's eyes, combining the two at this stage didn't seem all that difficult.
But doubts lingered. The union of that qi and body wouldn't be a perfect transcendent being—it'd be something incomplete. For the vessel to be usable, it needed a soul of matching stature to fill it—the heart.
That's where his brother had halted the experiment. They'd discarded Malic, they said. Where and how would they extract that? Could they make one artificially?
None.
Still impossible. Yet one of his brothers had attempted it anyway. There, Lenoir recalled a cunning coincidence. Chilling and ingenious, upon reflection.
"My lord! We're short a player for card games tonight—wanna join?!?"
Sara came bounding in noisily right on cue, grinning ear to ear while waving a deck of cards.
A goddess's soul encountered purely by chance. But was calling it mere coincidence right anymore? Doubts surged sharply now. Let's share the unknown brother's idea and think it through.
If you can't make a soul...
Just summon one. He didn't know the method, but it was possible. If it was just the washed-clean vessel of a soul, not its full form. Proof was right here.
...A few years after my brother left the Malic Church.
Coincidentally, that's when Sara was born. Born in that era, allowing Lenoir to meet her again like this.
"My lord? You listening~?"
Sara waved a hand in front of his face. Lenoir's mind grew tangled. It felt realistic. But at the same time, utterly repulsive.
Would something fabricated like that truly match the gods of old? Could it equal their parent, who had ascended to the throne with pure divinity piled under the right name and form? No, it'd just be a mockery of the shape. Applying that method to Sara made the answer clear.
The purity of her divinity was woefully insufficient. Divinity defines a god's greatness not by sheer volume, but by its purity.
Then why.
With it protruding this far, they had to know—why? Pondering it, Lenoir reached an unpleasant conclusion.
The hearts of children abandoned by the gods were all the same. Lenoir had shared that despair and sense of betrayal back then. If it twisted into this.
If they couldn't let go of the gods despite that.
If it began from those emotions.
Then what lay at the end was.
A parent they could never leave.
A parent trapped forever in the fabricated qi and body, staying by their side no matter what. No matter how soiled or fallen it became, the fact that it wouldn't abandon them would remain unchanged. It'd probably be something repeating chirps in a cage, with the master-servant roles reversed.
At that moment, Lenoir felt a chilling shiver. He realized how far that warped affection had extended over centuries.
"My lord!"
Snap! The voice by his ear jolted him back. Sara was glaring at him with a massively sulky face.
"Were you listening to me?! You weren't! I'm hurt! Upset! I was talking up a storm! I was trying sooo hard to get your attention!"
Sara pounded his arm with her tiny fist. Watching her huff and puff so carefree only deepened the strange emotion stirring in Lenoir.
Similar. The desire to fill this empty soul-vessel and reclaim a god—it was similar.
Return?
How could he not wish for it? Even now, he longed for that day. But not in that form. He didn't want Immaculate Fate's return to be so grotesque.
That feeling came first. Naturally, outrage at the impurity should be paramount.
But for some reason.
"My lord! Card! Game! Time!!!"
Lenoir thought of this girl first. The instant Sara Lorojin was used in creating such a twisted god—that image hit him foremost.
That alone made him furious and confused.
"...My lord?"
Lenoir's heart lurched. His priorities were off.