Before Death Comes (2)

"Come in."

With the priest's help, we entered the church without any trouble. It seemed that even the holy knights wouldn't bar the way quite so thoroughly if you had an acquaintance inside.

Once we were through the doors, the priest who had called us in seemed to pick up on something. She leaned in and whispered.

"You've come to see the Bishop, haven't you? Follow me."

I was grateful no explanation was needed. We followed her into a room whose atmosphere was entirely different from the rest of the church. The will to keep the Bishop alive with every last ounce of effort was written across every surface — the countless blessings and holy power blanketing him were proof of that. But before a demon's curse, none of it meant a thing.

The Bishop looked even older than the last time I had seen him, and closer to death. On the back of his hand, the mark of the demon's curse was etched with terrible clarity.

"Could we have a moment alone here?"

"I cannot give you much time."

"Just a moment will do."

Faced with my unyielding resolve, the priest bowed her head and stepped outside. At last, I had a space where I could actually do something. I drew my dagger.

"W-wait a second. Is this what I think it is, Argal?"

"You're not about to die just to save the Bishop, are you?"

The two girls rushed at me in a flash. Of course I had no such intention.

"I need at least a trace of magi to touch a demon's curse. For that much, what's already in the dagger will be enough."

"Th-that's all, right? If you suddenly start stabbing yourself, I won't just stand here."

"That's not going to happen, so don't worry."

Even without doing anything special, magi bled out from the dagger. Through it, I began to analyze the demon's curse. It didn't take long. A curse was less a complex construct than a single concept — if you could read it and interpret it, you could understand how it worked.

It was, without a doubt, a curse that could not be lifted by ordinary means. The phenomenon sealed inside it carried a will of its own: someone, without exception, had to die for it to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠be released.

There was no other way. To lift it, I would have to take the curse onto myself.

With that intent, I laid my hand over the back of the Bishop's. I poured a powerful will into the contact — to pull his curse into me — and concentrated, bending the magi to that single purpose. The demon's mark carved into his skin began to waver.

Then something unexpected happened. A vast surge of holy power swallowed the room.

"A sudden, intense light—!"

Beneath that searing brilliance, I lost consciousness. A force seized me and dragged me down, hard — and when I opened my eyes again, Bishop Revega was sitting across from me.

"It is a pleasure to see you, my benefactor."

He looked nothing like the man who had been lying in that bed moments ago. A middle-aged man in the prime of his vigor sat here, existing inside a world of quiet mystery. I had seen a place like this before. It was the kind of space a transcendent being often invited someone into when they wished to speak one-on-one. So I said it aloud.

"Is this your inner world?"

"You recognized it immediately."

It was rather startling. The Bishop's inner world? That was one of the special powers possessed only by a Transcendent. Did that mean the Bishop had become one?

...No. That couldn't be it. If he had truly become a Transcendent, would he have fallen to something like a demon's curse?

As if he had read my thoughts, the Bishop offered an explanation.

"It is not so grand a thing. After I collapsed, I simply contemplated myself — and this world unfolded as a result."

"...That's possible?"

"It is, and so I sit here facing you."

If he had truly made this possible, there was nothing more I could say. Even on the brink of death, the Bishop had drawn out his capabilities to an absurd degree. And so I was curious. How had he manifested a world like this?

Even when I had reached transcendence in the past, a mind shattered by madness had been unable to create an inner world. Even if the Bishop had not become a true Transcendent, the fact that he had manifested one meant his mind, at least, had reached that level. Speaking with him here was no different from conversing with a Transcendent. If his spirit alone had crossed that threshold, the amount of information he could have gathered while lying there would have been considerable.

"What happened?"

"Haha. I moved far too hastily."

The Bishop slowly recounted everything that had happened. To hold the guilty royal family accountable, he had sent letters to influential figures from every walk of life and devoted himself fully to the work given to him.

"...But the shadow I had to cut away was far too vast."

It was not only the royal family. The rot had spread within the Church as well. The Bishop had moved as the Church commanded, as he always did — and what came back to him was a demon's curse.

A question occurred to me. A man residing in the Church, a holy sanctuary, had been afflicted by a demon's curse. For a cleric with a natural resistance to such things to fall victim, far too many conditions would have needed to be met.

"That is what I wish to know. How did you fall under a demon's curse?"

"On the Church's orders, I went outside for a time to treat the weak and the wounded."

That would have made it possible. He would have left the Church — and if a cleric had exhausted his holy power in the act of healing, he would have been in the perfect state to be cursed.

Then I needed to bring up something else. I knew why the Bishop had been cursed, and I knew whose conspiracy it was. But in the end, it was the Bishop who was dying from it. The situation was ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠still grim.

"Do you know that Besia has been falsely accused?"

"...I know it well. That child's desperate plea of innocence reaches even here."

"Then do you have a solution?"

The Bishop wore a faintly relieved smile. It was an expression that felt familiar from somewhere. That was the face of a man who had already prepared himself for death.

"There is a way for me to overcome the curse, if only briefly, and move. But if I do so, I will surely die. In that time, I should be able to clear Besia's name."

"...Is that the only way?"

"There is something I wish to leave behind. If that plan is carried out, it will surely lift — if only a little — the darkness that hangs over this kingdom."

...But Bishop. I have no intention of letting you die. I could not simply stand by and watch a being who had manifested an inner world — whose mind had reached transcendence — perish like this. I held out my hand.

"There is another way."

"And what is that?"

"Transfer your curse to me."

Surprise flickered across the Bishop's face, which until now had been so composed. At the sacrifice I had just proposed, he looked as though he could not comprehend it at all.

"Why do you seek death, my benefactor? I cannot possibly allow you to die in my place."

"...There's no need to worry about that. I am a being who cannot die."

I had been prepared for this from the moment I entered the inner world — prepared to reveal the secret of my immortality to the Bishop. From the start, I had judged that someone of his nature would never permit my sacrifice. Better to lay the truth bare and save his life this way.

The Bishop tilted his head, as if puzzled. The words that came from him were shocking.

"You said you were an Immortal?"

"That's right, Bishop."

"That is rather strange. To my eyes, you are—"

A being whose mind had reached transcendence stated it with absolute certainty.

"...What?"

"Why do you call yourself an Immortal? Why do you believe that?"

Before the regression, I had been an Immortal who died over and over without rest. Even now, the sensation that I would not die even if I were killed still lingered, and I had been certain of it. The Bishop's words made me consider a possibility I had never once entertained.

What if I had actually died — truly reached death? What if I had genuinely died, and it was Besia's miracle that had brought me back? The path I had walked until now was one where dying several times over would not have been strange. For a moment, my mind was in turmoil.

Had I truly not been an Immortal?

"...But."

I seized hold of my wavering mind. I had believed it all this time, and it could not be otherwise. Even if I had never actually performed the ritual of immortality — even if every power I had possessed had evaporated upon my regression — immortality, at least, remained with me. Even if I had not yet felt an experience of it that I myself could be certain of.

I was an Immortal. An Immortal who would never die.

"...You possess a firm conviction."

The Bishop nodded at my certainty. Then he proposed a different approach.

"Then let us use a somewhat safer method. I shall share a portion of the curse."

"Then I cannot save you, Bishop."

Sharing the curse would only prolong his life. It would not bring back a man already walking toward death. It could not be a solution.

"Then allow me to propose a more fundamental one."

The Bishop swept his hand through the air, and far in the distance, a connected fate came into view. Truly, if even the mind alone had reached transcendence, the omniscient power it granted was remarkable. From where he lay, he could know exactly where the one who had cursed him was. Within the inner world, her figure was faintly visible.

"The Lord of the Black Magic Tower, who placed this curse upon me. Do you know her?"

"...Tiagris."

"I ask that you defeat her."

The Bishop swept his hand once more, and beings approached as if drawn by fate itself. Besia, the Hero, and the Sword Saint — none of whom were here now — came into view. Fran and Laeli would naturally take part in this as well, which meant that virtually every key figure who had overcome the dangers of the practical exam would be gathering to slay the Lord of the Black Magic Tower.

"You and your companions will make this possible."

"We will. Without fail."

I held out my hand. The Bishop did not particularly seem to want this, but in the end, answering my strong will, he transferred a portion ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠of the curse.

And at the same time, I collapsed under a terrible agony. The moment I escaped the fading inner world and opened my eyes, I heard Laeli and Fran's screams. Fran caught my fallen body and spoke urgently.

"Priest — call the priest!"

"I-I got it!"

And with that, I passed out.

...If transferring just a portion of the curse was enough to knock me out, I probably would have died the instant I took the whole thing. This body of mine really is frail.

"A-Argal, wake up! Please!"

Fran blamed herself. Why hadn't she seen this coming? Of course Argal — a man who would stake his life to save another — would transfer a curse onto himself just to save even the Bishop. She had overlooked that. And now, what lay before her was Argal, collapsed after taking the curse upon himself.

"What's going on?!"

The priest rushed over. Sensing the urgency of the situation, she hurriedly began healing Argal and assessing his condition — but only worse news came from her lips.

"No — his body is even more wrecked than before?! How did he even walk here?"

"...Wrecked?"

"His entire body is falling apart, and on top of that, the curse is rapidly draining his life force. In other words — if we're not careful, he's going to die soon."

"W-what?"

Bad news kept exploding out without pause, and Fran could do nothing but stamp her feet, not knowing what to do. Argal was going to die? The Argal who had barely survived last time — again? The memories of that day came alive like a nightmare. Fran's teeth chattered as she recalled him collapsing, his heart pierced by a high-ranking demon.

"N-no. You can't die."

Just before that terrible trauma could fully resurface, the fallen Argal's body, thankfully, stirred.

"...I'm not dying, so don't worry."

Argal, who until moments ago had been at death's door, had woken — and Fran, even as she soothed her trembling heart, erupted like a volcano. A patient who couldn't even withstand a trickle of mana had transferred a demon's curse onto himself. She had every right.

"Not dying, my ass! Why the hell would you do something like that?!"

"I know who placed the demon's curse on the Bishop. If we defeat the Lord of the Black Magic Tower, the Bishop will wake and Besia's name will be cleared. To do that, I needed time — so I temporarily took on the Bishop's curse."

"W-wait. So if we just take down the Lord of the Black Magic Tower, this whole thing gets resolved?"

"That's right. And I intend to go with—"

Fran seized Argal's body tightly. She could not accept this. Not at all. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠A man who collapsed from mere physical enhancement, tagging along to slay the Lord of the Black Magic Tower — the one who had cursed even the Bishop?

"No. Absolutely not."

"...She's not someone you can easily catch without me. If meaningless sacrifices are going to happen anyway—"

Slap!

Fran's hand struck Argal's cheek hard. Jaw clenched tight, she poured the tangled emotions scraping up from her chest into her voice.

"..."

"Answer me, Argal."