Aftermath (1)
"Um... might I... perhaps be... with child...?"
This was a matter of great importance. If a child had been conceived, then my brief death might well have left its mark on it.
The red-haired woman blinked at my sudden question, exchanged a glance with the white-haired one, and — some silent confirmation evidently reached — gave her answer.
"Not yet. Though at the rate things are going, I'd give it little time."
So this was the Hero Party for you. Exchanging information through nothing more than a meeting of eyes.
"Thank goodness. If I had died while carrying a child..."
What a relief that nothing had taken root. A mother who died tangled in her own child's father's arms — I would never be able to show my face to that child in the great beyond.
With that settled, I figured I could simply entrust Vincent to these women and go my own way.
"Hey, you brat — Vincent! What the hell did you do to someone whose body was already this frail?!"
The women, who had been watching me relax in relief, seemed at a loss for words of their own — and took to scolding Vincent instead.
"Hero, I never took you for this sort. I'm disappointed. At the very least, you ought to be mindful of your partner's condition as you go!"
"Hero, however much grievance may have accumulated between you, I believe restraint would serve you best."
"Hold on — what is this nonsense? Adela, frail? Her?"
Watching them squabble like this, I found myself thinking that even if their differences had kept them from seeing the Demon King's subjugation through together, they made a fine party all the same.
Rumor had it that the Hero Party had halted its journey partway for some reason or another, put off the subjugation with one excuse after another, and finally came to the sorry pass of the Hero setting out for the Demon Castle alone.
As for what that reason might be — it was something beyond anything I could have imagined.
If the chance presented itself someday, I could always ask Vincent about it.
Before I knew it, as though shielding me from my own brooding, Vincent produced a fresh blanket and drew it over me.
The gazes of the three women watching the two of us felt prickly against my skin.
As if to hide me from those eyes, Vincent turned his back to them and gathered me into his hold.
"Adela, what happened...? How did your body grow so weak?"
My jaw dropped. My throat was so raw that any attempt at speech would have come out as the screech of grinding metal.
"I did make certain to kill the one who cast the curse of demonification."
"Good heavens... You killed Lilith? Are you certain?!"
He said it so casually — but Vincent was claiming to have torn apart one of the Demon King's Twelve Generals.
"Certain. I deliberately struck at the moment all Twelve had gathered in one place."
"Good Lord..."
The red-haired woman, blunt as she was by nature, seemed struck dumb.
"It seems the list of matters requiring our preparation has grown yet again."
The blonde woman looked to be nursing a fresh headache over her mounting pile of concerns.
"May blessing attend the Hero's every step..."
And the white-haired woman quietly offered Vincent her blessing.
I was still observing the three of them — differing not only in hair color but in their every pattern of behavior — when the white-haired woman addressed me in a friendly tone.
"Hello there, Adela. I am Kiara di Nerobianca, a servant of God from the Holy Kingdom. Please, call me Kiara."
"I-I am called Adela. It is an honor to behold the light that speaks for God."
She had only said she served God in the Holy Kingdom, but I could tell she was one of that realm's highest dignitaries — a woman holding the very office of Saintess.
"No family name? You said you were Vincent's wife, didn't you? Then I suppose you're Adela Rainer now. I'm Estelle — Estelle de Blancnoir. A mage."
The blunt woman who introduced herself as a mage could only be the successor to the Master of the Magic Tower.
Which meant the last one remaining — golden-haired, cold of countenance — had to be the Imperial Princess of the Empire herself, Emily von Schwarzweiss.
"I greet the future of the Empire and the star of the Republic. My name is Adela."
When I staggered upright and offered a formal bow, Estelle flapped her hands in dismissal, declaring she couldn't stand that ceremonial stuff.
Emily, for her part, watched me bow with a tangle of emotions in her eyes.
"A bath would seem to be the first order of business."
Ah. I had forgotten. Forgotten exactly what a state I was in.
And to explain the state I was in, I would first need to explain how I had spent the past several days.
I had been trying to run from Vincent. When word came that the Hero's party would arrive within days, I liquidated every asset I possessed, scraped together travel money, and prepared to flee.
My plan was to skirt wide of the highway the heroes would come by, slip onto the road they had already traveled, and ride hard in the opposite direction — surely then I would never have to lay eyes on Vincent again.
To a man who had become the Hero and triumphed over the Demon King, a leftover like me belonged to the past; all I had to do was keep out of his way, as I always had. But never once did it occur to me that I was what he was hunting.
After days of wandering mountain trails, I entered a village the Hero's party had supposedly passed through, intending to buy a horse there and make my dash for the highway. Vincent, it seemed, had predicted I would run from him.
I had bought the hay, filled my water skins to bursting, and was on the verge of purchasing the horse itself when — for some reason the village fell into an uproar, and as I glanced toward the entrance, the Hero's party was riding in.
I thought our eyes met. Turning my head with all the naturalness I could muster, I looked away. Heart hammering, I reached up to check — and mercifully, my hood was still up. With any luck, he would take me for an ordinary traveler and think nothing more of me.
Rather than linger to find out for certain, I decided it best to be gone, and led my horse at a careful pace toward the village entrance on the far side from where the party had entered. Fortunately, the village chief had Vincent's hand clasped in both of his, showering him with thanks, and seemed to have no attention to spare for me.
The moment I was clear of the village, I circled along its outer wall and made for the highway on the side where Vincent's party had come in. That said, my plan — fleeing precisely so that idle gossip would never weigh on Vincent's heels — had come within a hair's breadth of collapsing. Looking back now, it meant that even from that point, Vincent had anticipated my flight and was quietly controlling the flow of information.
Silent and unremarked, I merged onto the highway, mounted up, and rode.
Farewell, my disciple. I waxed sentimental, and a heavy melancholy settled over me — yet alongside it, a strange lightness. Liberation washed over a heart that had felt more stifled than it ever had even at our parting, and the wind rushing against me made me feel as though I were flying.
Unlike me, you were meant for greater waters.
So I rode until dusk, and was resting the horse and preparing camp when — a storm came tearing toward me, churning so violently through my qi-sense that even my ruined body could feel it.
The feeling was not good. I might simply have hidden myself and waited for it to pass, but against all reason, that storm seemed to be searching for me.
I snatched up my belongings, soothed the resting horse, and set off at a gallop. It was the right choice.
Driving the horse down the well-kept highway, I rode until the sun stood high overhead — yet the storm would not be shaken. The animal was nearing its limit; it looked a breath away from foundering.
"Forgive me."
Before its breath gave out, I dismounted and freed the reins in an open field. We were near the highway; some passing traveler was bound to find it. Until then, I hoped it would rest well.
I flung myself forward and ran. My body had grown pitifully weak, but there was no help for it. I wrenched my internal energy up by force and invoked the lightness skill.
Faster than any horse, I left the highway behind and plunged through the forest. I pushed my speed higher still, cutting across the woods — soon, I thought, I would lose it.
But the storm began devouring the distance at a terrifying pace, as though it had merely been toying with me until now. While I rode, it had trailed me like a wolf pacing its prey, waiting for it to tire; now, as if certain of something, it charged with all the fury of a lion.
My broken condition could not draw out my full speed even through the light-body technique, and merely keeping my internal power from tangling in my meridians devoured what little focus I had to spare. To see this enfeebled flesh of mine drenched in sweat like rain — sweat that such labor should never have wrung from it — filled me with bitter grief.
Before I knew it, the storm that had closed the distance had taken the shape of a man. No — the very shape of the Hero Vincent I had seen in that village.
"Master...!"
I did not answer. To look back was to be finished.
His presence pressed close already, mere steps behind me. He must have caught up to within arm's reach of my back. And still I could not stop. I had to put even one more step between us.
To escape his outstretched hand, I flung away my pack, drew my sword, and slashed behind me, trying to tear open a gap — but Vincent's speed never faltered. If anything he came faster still, closing in and batting my flying blade aside with his bare hand.
Like a beast pouncing on its quarry, he took me into his arms — and before I knew it, he had pressed my sleeping acupoints, and the world went dark.
By rights, I should have reeked of dust and sweat, of beast-smell rubbed off from the horse, of wind and road. But from then on, for two days and nights without pause, I had sweated and leaked and taken Vincent's seed until there was no room left — judge for yourself what state I was in, and how I smelled.
I edged a little farther away and tried to bundle myself deeper into the blanket — and something heavy came trickling down between my legs. What fell to the floor with a lewd, wet sound was the residue of our violent coupling.
He had pumped it into me until it spilled from both ends; that it should drip out of me the moment I stood upright was only natural — but my shame was another matter entirely. My face burned crimson to its very limits, and a peculiar silence drifted down over the five of us.
"I'll... go wash up."