Tutorial (5)
Adventurers staked their lives on every single commission.
To have a priest or an acolyte accompany them into the field was a luxury bordering on fantasy. After all, those who served the gods had no need to throw themselves into the jaws of peril, braving death at every turn just to scrape together a few coins. Their calling was to remain safe within the sanctuary of their chapels, offering healing for a fee, lifting prayers to heaven, and tending to the destitute. Naturally, almost none of them ever stepped onto the road.
It was understandable, of course. Adventuring was far too hazardous a trade for the clergy to walk alongside sellswords and mend their wounds on the front lines.
Yet every once in a long while, an anomaly appeared.
Those who sought penance—the modern counterparts of ancient pilgrims who once wandered the earth to preach the divine word. In days past, their duty had been to travel the continent unescorted. But after far too many had perished along the way, the Church had curtailed the practice, reducing penance to accompanying high-ranking adventurers on their perilous commissions.
Even so, Danas could not bring himself to welcome it. Especially not he, a man who had clawed his way through a brutal world where the strong devoured the weak, with survival as his sole creed.
Danas traced the jagged scar running across his eye, stirred by memories of the past. He was blind in that eye—a blood-soaked badge of honor carved into his flesh during a hellish blizzard that whipped like razors across the frozen wastes, where he had fought tooth and nail simply to draw another breath. Losing an eye was an undeniable handicap, and for survival's sake he would have gladly restored it. But regrowing lost flesh was a miracle reserved strictly for high prelates. There was nothing he could do.
"Hmph..."
If pressed on whether he liked the girl or not, the truth was that he favored her. Compared to the vermin holed up in their cathedrals—creatures who never dared fight for what they needed and did nothing but chant hollow prayers to their distant god—she was far better. It was only natural that his heart leaned toward a girl who had survived against overwhelming odds, burdened with handicaps far crueler than anything those cushioned clergymen could fathom. On top of that, she had willingly taken up penance, an ordeal no sane soul would ever welcome. How could he not feel a grudging fondness for such a tender slip of a girl?
Yet, Danas knew the harsh truth of the world.
To a warrior of the North, battle was glory, and the one who survived was the strongest. Even such warriors shrank from death if it lacked honor—if it was nothing more than dying like a dog. They despised what some called reckless bravado. To live with honor while knowing one's own limits: that was the Northern warrior's creed, for whom living to see the morrow was the greatest triumph.
The girl, however, did not know her limits.
Blind and deaf—what could she possibly be thinking, taking up ascetic penance in such a state? What if she proved to be nothing but a hindrance? What if her presence dragged the entire party into mortal danger?
That, and that alone, was his grievance.
Danas prodded the campfire with a stick and glanced sideways. Even now, amidst the wilderness, the troublesome girl was engrossed in prayer to her goddess.
I'll never understand religious fanatics, he grumbled inwardly before calling out to her with a gruff, careless tone. "Hey."
Startled slightly by his summons, the girl drew her prayer to a close and turned in his direction.
"[Is something the matter, Brother Danas?]"
No matter how many times he experienced it, he could never get used to this way of speaking. Because she could neither see nor hear, she projected her thoughts directly into the minds of others to communicate, or so she had explained. It was strange, but not particularly inconvenient. Danas tapped the campfire with his stick and pressed on. In fact, since she conveyed her thoughts directly, he could at least be certain she wasn't lying.
"Why drag a body like that out here on penance?"
He simply couldn't comprehend it. Harsh as it sounded, merely staying alive in her condition was an extraordinary feat. Even if becoming an acolyte and channeling divine power allowed her to overcome her disabilities to some degree, wasn't she still severely handicapped? Any objective look at herself would tell her she was in no condition to undertake penance. He couldn't begin to fathom what the priests at her cathedral had been thinking when they granted permission.
"Normally, it's your life, so it wouldn't be any of my business... but this job is different."
He despised zealots, but he had spent many long years as an adventurer. Naturally, he had crossed paths with priests and sisters on penance a few times before. Since they had almost always joined dangerous expeditions, their fates had rarely ended well. Some had lingered between life and death before finally departing to meet their beloved deity. If even those with sound limbs and sharp senses ended up like that, how could a frail girl who could neither see nor hear expect to survive this mission?
"What will you do if you put the whole party in danger?"
Danas posed the question, heavy with unspoken intent. He had drifted through countless groups over the years, but this party meant something to him. In a profession where comrades dropped dead like flies, remaining together for several years was a minor miracle in itself. He knew full well his companions weren't bad people. And yet, his cold treatment of the girl had stemmed from plain anxiety.
Even dumping extra baggage on her and treating her like a burden had been an attempt to make her break and turn back before it was too late. Not that it was done out of pure concern for her. Adventurers were people preoccupied with saving their own skins. If they met their end because of a disabled girl, nothing could be more bitter. He had simply judged that spending a few coins on low- or mid-rank potions was vastly preferable. Besides, without being an ordained sister, any healing she could offer would barely equal a low-rank potion anyway.
Yet despite his blunt and seemingly callous question, the girl maintained her serene, benevolent smile.
"[The only reason I came out on this penance... was to help those in the same plight as myself.]"
"Ha..."
Her answer left him all the more baffled. No, perhaps it wasn't completely incomprehensible. If she meant those in her plight, she had to be speaking of the disabled. For a sister devoted to a goddess, it was a remarkably personal motive. Most clergymen prated on about saving pitiful lambs by the will of God, only to tremble more pathetically than anyone when death stared them in the face.
Why was it, then, that Danas felt her answer hadn't told the whole story?
"[I have heard... that you lost an eye as well, Brother Danas.]"
"Well... yeah."
"[If the chance ever arises, would you permit me to heal that eye?]"
"..."
This eye?
He had lived as a one-eyed man for decades. He was accustomed to it by now and had no urgent need of a cure, though the inconvenience was undeniable. Danas gave a dry chuckle.
"Sure. If you can manage it, that is."
Still, for a mere novice acolyte to talk of restoring a lost eye... Writing it off as the childish boast of a naive girl, he had simply told her to do as she pleased. Even so, he didn't dislike that confident declaration of hers.
With that thought, Danas looked up toward the sky. And slowly, the night deepened.
How many days had we marched?
At last, we arrived safely at our destination: Varna Village.
"We're the B-Rank adventurer party assigned to your commission."
"Ah, travelers! Adventurers! Heaven bless you, you've finally arrived!"
An elderly man who appeared to be the village chief rushed out to greet us... but my attention was pulled elsewhere.
— It hurts... Please, someone save me...
— The village... the Orcs... ghk...
— Mother...
— It hurts... I'm going to die... ugh...
Wails of agony echoed from every corner of the village.
Since the only way I could perceive 'sound' was through mental resonance, the injured were broadcasting an immense volume of thought waves. The cacophony was deafening enough to drive me insane.
I need to heal them immediately, or my head will split open...
Without waiting to hear what anyone else was saying, I headed straight for the source of the nearest mental cries. Inside the building, the wounded were packed together in a single room. Most were able-bodied men from the village.
"W-Who are you...?!"
The flustered voice of a woman rang out as I barged through the door, but I ignored her. Heaving the heavy pack off my shoulders, I knelt beside the nearest fallen man. My legs were trembling so violently from carrying that monstrous baggage all the way here that I felt ready to collapse on the spot. But the sheer noise radiating from these concentrated thought waves was far too unbearable to ignore.
I have no idea what kind of injuries these are, but...
Say what you will, my talent for sacred power was overflowing. Slapping a decent Heal on them ought to do the trick.
For now...
I have to shut up this maddening racket first.
I liked suffering, but that didn't mean I liked loud, shrieking headaches... I felt pathetic for still being unable to properly filter out stray thought waves.
Gathering divine power into both hands to cast Heal, I let out a silent sigh.