Esther's Break
Esther's Break
"Welcome back, Saintess."
Priests and nuns she passed in the corridors offered their greetings one after another. Esther returned each one with a bright, practiced smile. Yet the warmth she usually showed Leo was nowhere to be found. In a way, her responses were as empty as a doll's—soulless. Some might have found it chilling. No one in the temple paid it any mind.
She walked the vast, ornate halls until she reached a particular door, opened it, and stepped inside.
"Ah, Saintess!"
Several children filled the room. They were receiving the temple's special education—lessons in the Goddess's words and doctrine—so that one day they might become priests, nuns, or holy knights. Every one of them rose and bowed to the Saintess. It might have been an exaggeration, but their eyes shone with the fervor of true zealots.
The Saintess greeted them in turn. Of course, none of it was sincere.
At last she turned toward the nun who had been watching over the children until that moment.
"Welcome, Saintess!"
"I've missed you, Sister Anne!"
Esther's greeting to her was different—filled with genuine delight instead of the mechanical courtesy of a moment before. Leaving the children for a while, the two of them slipped away somewhere quiet and began to talk.
"And then I just flashed my holy power—like that!"
Esther's face was radiant with pleasure as she recounted her academy days to the nun.
"I'm so glad you seem happy."
True relief softened Sister Anne's expression. Back at the temple, Esther's face had always been blank except when she was with Anne. Knowing the girl was enjoying life at the academy was a genuine comfort.
The nun spoke again.
"From everything you've told me, this Louis sounds like a truly good person."
Esther shook her head.
"No, he isn't."
"What? But you just said you were grateful to him…"
"I was. But the Hero dislikes that man."
The nun found herself at a loss for words.
"Then, Saintess, you…"
"So I dislike him too. When I speak ill of him, the Hero is pleased."
"Ah…"
"Especially recently—he even insulted the Order. He's truly the worst."
Because the Hero hated him, she hated him as well. The words pained Anne deeply.
"And what of this Hero himself?" she asked carefully.
To Esther, that question mattered more than anything. If the Hero turned out to be an unworthy man…
But the nun's worry proved unnecessary.
"What I think of him isn't important. He is the Hero."
"Haa…"
Anne let out a quiet sigh, soft enough that Esther would not hear. Was this something she ought to be glad about after all?
Seeing the troubled look on Anne's face, Esther spoke as if to reassure her.
"It's all right, Sister. I exist for the Hero's sake. And I'm so glad he likes me in return."
"The Saintess has arrived."
"I see. What is she doing now?"
"She went to visit Sister Anne."
At the young priest's report, the elderly man pondered for a moment.
"Hmm… Anne…"
"The nun who was responsible for her as a child. You know—the one who…"
"Ah, the leash," the priest finished for him.
"That's right, of course. Age makes a man forgetful. Hohoho…"
The kindly smiling old man was none other than a Cardinal of the Order—second only to the Pope himself. He looked like nothing more than a gentle elder, yet the priest never let his guard down.
"Keep a close watch on her. She listens to us for now, but one never knows."
The priest next reported on her life at the academy.
"…Consequently, her relationship with the Hero candidate appears even stronger than anticipated. At this rate, there should be no disruption to the plan."
The Cardinal nodded slowly. He thought of the Saintess, Esther Kalt.
The Order "educated" certain children by special methods. Those who grew up under that regimen far surpassed any priest, nun, or holy knight who had come from outside—and their faith was far more fanatical. That the current Saintess had emerged from among those carefully "educated" children was nothing short of a stroke of fortune.
Unfortunately, unlike the Saintess, the Hero candidate of this generation had not been born among the Order's own people. When a Hero candidate arose from among the common folk, the nation of his birth and the Order always wrestled for influence over him. This time was different. The candidate had been born into one of the Empire's three great ducal houses. The Order had needed another approach—and that approach was the Saintess, Esther Kalt.
The work had been easy. She had been raised by the Order from birth; every scrap of common sense and knowledge she possessed had been taught by them. Esther had simply been given a new "education" that it was only natural for a Saintess to devote herself utterly to the Hero. Through her, the Order intended to bring the Hero candidate under their control.
"We must secure this generation's Hero for the Order, no matter what it takes."
Of late, discontent toward the Order had been bubbling up here and there across the continent—more than they could comfortably crush. Having the Hero join their ranks would be the perfect solution.
In principle, a Hero was the one who would defeat the Demon King and bring peace to the continent. Reality was somewhat different. Heroes appeared at regular intervals. Yet a Demon King did not appear every time a Hero did. Even the Goddess herself did not know when the next Demon King would rise. That was why Heroes were selected periodically—to stand ready against a threat that might come at any moment. Waiting until the Demon King appeared before choosing a Hero would simply be too late.
The process of a Hero's birth was complex. First, the holy sword said to have been bestowed by the Goddess herself selected a single Hero candidate. That candidate then manifested the power known as the Hero's Strength. Only on the day the candidate grew strong enough to wield the holy sword—only when he could finally grasp it—did he become a true Hero. A being born through such hardship carried enormous weight across the entire continent.
And if a Hero appeared yet no Demon King followed? The powerful of every land would scramble to draw him to their side. The two foremost contenders were the Order and the Imperial Court. A Hero made an excellent figurehead; he was just as useful as justification for war or as raw military force. A Saintess held great meaning for the Order as well, yet she ranked below a Hero. Fortunately, this Saintess had been shaped exactly to the Order's liking. She was a tool for securing the Hero.
While the Cardinal drifted in thought, the priest spoke carefully.
"Your Eminence…"
"Hm? What is it?"
After a brief hesitation, the priest continued.
"If, by some chance, a Demon King were to appear in this generation…"
The Cardinal offered a magnanimous smile.
"You're a fine young man, but you worry far too much about nonsense."
"Forgive me."
The priest bowed his head at once. The tone had been mild, yet he understood the warning beneath it.
"It has been centuries since the last Demon King appeared, has it not? I guarantee you—there is no Demon King left. Hohoho…"
The Cardinal's words mirrored the belief of most people on the continent. After the final invasion centuries earlier, the Demon King had vanished without a trace. For the first hundred years, people had trembled, wondering when he would return. Another hundred years passed, and another. Slowly the conviction took hold: the Demon King was truly gone. A monster that had not shown itself for centuries would hardly appear now. And in a world without a Demon King, a Hero was little more than a convenient ornament.
No matter how loudly people cursed the Order's decisions, if the Hero endorsed them, the people would follow. No matter how absurd the pretext on which the Order launched a holy war, the mere presence of the Hero at its head would make the cause legitimate. That was why the Hero was a treasure the Order could not afford to lose.
"Hah!"
Veronica gave a small shout of effort as she leaped down from the carriage. Shouldering a bag far too large for her frame, she headed for the tower. Of course it was packed full of her personal experimental equipment.
"Who goes—ah!"
The mages guarding the entrance of the tower took one look at Veronica's face and opened the gates at once. There was no further verification; Veronica strode inside as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
The Red Magic Tower, after so long an absence, was as chaotic as ever. Explosions echoed from every direction; flames erupted here and there. It was her longed-for hometown—her home.
And right in the middle of the tower lobby stood Sally, who by all rights should still have been on assignment at the Black Magic Tower.
"Veronicaaa!"
Sally waved from across the lobby, calling her name.
"Sally!"
Veronica shouted back and ran to her without a second's hesitation.
"Sally…"
She buried herself in Sally's arms.
"Have you been well?"
The simple question nearly brought tears to Veronica's eyes. After so many hard days recently, that embrace felt almost too warm, too safe. Veronica made up her mind then and there: she would seek advice from her master—and from Sally.