What Is a Festival? (3)
The sky was still dim with the pale grey of earliest morning, the sun not yet risen.
Alesia stepped out of her room.
As she left behind the darkened manor, wrapped in silence, she felt a faint sense of release. A crisp wind swept in carrying the scent of the forest, stirring awake the distant murmur of someone else already about.
The training yard, doubling as a sparring ground.
Even at this early hour, a man was there, stripped to the waist, absorbed in jumping drills through the lingering dawn mist.
"You've had your fill of travel yourself, haven't you? Can't you sleep either?"
"And yet for someone who preached so loudly last night, Holy Lady, you seem to have slept quite soundly."
Luke, who had stopped near her, said it with a teasing edge.
"I was told never to do any work while drunk. An older acquaintance of mine once warned me that spending your first night like that only leads to deep regret later on."
And then—
"Look, I may be desperate enough to hunt down a man, but you don't honestly think I'd pounce on someone who's crying, do you?"
"Crying? You mean Ruel?"
"That's how it looked to me."
She hadn't gotten that impression merely because the boy wore a gloomy, despondent, shadowed expression.
"A saintess's true calling isn't combat or combat support—it's aid and relief work. That's the heart of the vocation."
"And so?"
"...He looked like he hadn't slept a proper night in ages. So I just put him down gently and left him to rest. When someone's mind is unstable, proper sleep never comes."
"Then aren't you tired yourself? Ruel and I at least rode part of the way, but you walked and ran alongside our boys the entire time."
"That was training. In that respect, stamina is the one thing I'm confident about. You have to prepare in advance. I've regretted it too many times—collapsing from exhaustion right when it mattered. So that part's simply non-negotiable for me."
For such casually delivered words, the content felt strangely hard to plumb.
...Well, unless she chose to lay her heart bare herself, Luke had no particular reason to dig into it.
"You must be quite taken with him, though. Seeing how you cling to him like that."
"Hmm, it's strange to say this, but just having him near me makes me feel... something almost sacred."
"...What on earth does that mean."
"His face is very much my type, that's true. And he seems so fragile—like someone I ought to protect and cherish—yet his resolve is firm, his skills are exceptional, and his temperament isn't bad at all, either."
Only—
"But the way he seems so obedient... I suspect his household wasn't exactly gentle with him."
"If he's a noble's child, there are no exceptions to that, are there? If his parents placed that much expectation on him."
"It would have been nice if he'd been a child who could bear it. And... you've noticed it too, haven't you? How Ruel sometimes stares at something in a completely wrong direction. Why do you think that is?"
"Isn't it just that he's spacey, or lost in thought?"
"No. He does it because he sees something. And how a child who sees what others cannot gets treated—I don't need to explain that to you, do I? So he must have been suffering in silence all this time, swallowed by the anxiety and doubt that he was abnormal."
Alesia shook her head as though the taste had soured in her mouth, and then—
"Ah."
"What is it?"
"...My hangover."
She clutched her head.
"That's what you get for drinking the way you did."
"I paid for it, didn't I? A barkeep should know when to seize a windfall—when else would one come?"
"That's the tavern owner's concern, not yours. Besides, a festival is almost upon us—who would bother fussing over such things? You could simply have said you wanted to drink your fill."
"Ah. So you noticed?"
Their exchanges seemed to flow along, and yet always circled back to trivial banter.
"Anyway, I've got a feeling."
"What kind of feeling?"
"About Ruel."
It bothered her enormously. No—was that even all of it?
"I think I might have fallen for him a little. And there's something... if I leave him be, he seems so precarious it makes me anxious."
"Isn't that less love and more pity? Maternal instinct, perhaps?"
"Don't spout nonsense—I've never even borne a child. And I'll stake my word on this: in a few more years, Ruel will grow into a far finer man than you."
"He'll still be smaller than either of us, though. You're that certain?"
"...Now you've left a holy woman speechless. Since when was being big your pride, anyway?"
"Unfortunately, it is precisely my pride. As a man, that is."
Luke's build was considerable by any ordinary standard, but the fact that his frame and a woman's—Alesia's—were nearly identical said everything that needed saying.
"Still, you know. Not once—not a single time—did Ruel ever look at me with the sort of thoughtless eyes you two do."
"And what kind of eyes were we sending, exactly?"
"'She's huge. Enormous. A titan of a woman. No man would dare. That sort of thing. One hit from her and you're gone—better not cross her.' Ring a bell?"
"And what does Ruel think, then?"
There, Alesia paused for a moment.
"...That I'm pretty?"
"Have you lost your mind? Or are those rose-tinted glasses—"
"It's true! He's actually quite handsome, if you look at the face alone!"
"......"
It was hard to deny, and Luke found himself abruptly saddened by that fact.
There were fouls, and then there was this foul.
"And do you know how much care I've put into my figure! I worked so hard my arms wouldn't bulk up! My legs were... well, there was nothing to be done about those... *sigh*."
Just thinking about it brought a dull ache to her chest.
At times like this, there was nothing for it but to bury it and keep walking.
"Anyway! He treats me as a proper, dignified woman—how could I not fall for him and go around snarling?"
"...It's not simply that Ruel happens to be your type, so you're rationalizing it into something pleasant, is it?"
"That too—and it's sad, but hard to deny."
Trivial, idle chatter.
And yet, through conversations like this, the two of them were, bit by bit, coming to know one another.
And getting to know a member of the lord's family in this manner meant, in turn—
...gauging the general temperament of the lord's house itself.
For Luke, being able to build rapport with the saintess was a good thing in its own right.
Of course.
Neither Luke nor Alesia had deliberately sought out these conversations and meetings with such considerations in mind.
Luke offered a half-hearted cheer.
"See what you can do in a short time, then. If things work out nicely—well, I'll offer you my blessing while I'm at it."
Certainly—
"......"
He woke just short of a nightmare.
Seeing the window awash with light, he could only find it strange.
I only closed my eyes for a moment and opened them again.
Cariel had opened his eyes just before Rueld kicked the door open.
Still, unlike before, he felt as though he had slept deeply, and so the nerves that had been wound so taut had loosened, at least somewhat.
In the stillness, where the faint cries of birds drifted in from afar, Cariel calmed himself with slow, deep breaths.
For someone like him, to whom mana control and breathing techniques meant nothing, it was difficult to take stock of his body and guide it by such methods.
What remained to him, then, was consciousness and will.
Heightening his focus to contemplate his inner self, checking the state of his body...
It was no easy process, but once he grasped the knack of it, he found he could roughly assess his condition, if not perfectly.
"......"
Back when he'd been hollowed out by fatigue, even this much had been a shambles—so to find it washed clean now, he must have slept well indeed.
When he left his room, a passing servant directed him to the wash place, and told him along the way when breakfast would begin.
He stepped out of the manor and walked a little downhill, where a well stood.
There was a small fountain before the manor, and a well here as well; the sound of flowing water carried clearly from what seemed a fair distance off, suggesting the area was richly blessed with water.
He'd learned at the academy that villages—and especially large cities—tended to spring up where water was plentiful, but the lesson had never truly landed.
It was the most obvious thing in the world, and yet I only understand it now, standing here.
He couldn't help but marvel at how much there was still to know.
As he washed and wet his hair, he noticed it was beginning to bother him—the length, that is.
Should I tie it back?
Too short to tie properly.
Too long to leave alone.
...Should I just shave it all off?
The mantle-robe Elhermina had given him was, in sheer practicality, superb. Even without a proper bath, it kept him reasonably comfortable—an enormous benefit in itself—and back when that wolf-monster had torn at him, it had somehow refused to rip.
Same with the sword.
It had cleaved through hide and severed muscle and bone alike.
And yet it had not bent in the slightest.
His old two-handed sword was now awkward to use without repairs. He carried it still, but if pressed, he ought really to dispose of it.
...It wasn't as though he held any particular attachment to it, so it hardly mattered.
He returned to the manor.
"You're awake?"
Alesia stood there—dressed lightly, but in noticeably tidier clothes than yesterday.
A priest's vestment in pale white, threaded with filaments of gold.
...The dissonance was overwhelming.
Worse, since it did not fit her at all, the strangeness only deepened. With the chest region ballooning out obscenely, it invited the most peculiar impressions.
And that wasn't all—she seemed to be wearing her own shirt and trousers underneath the white vestments, which made the whole arrangement...
...rather comical, one might say.
Besides, that wasn't even a proper priestess's robe or a vestal's garment, was it?
"I know perfectly well how ridiculous I look. But this is the only thing that would even go on me, of all things."
That's why you don't stop by a church on a whim.
So lamented Alesia. In her red eyes, dissatisfaction and chagrin seemed mixed together in a jumble.
"They say clothes are wings—but in the end, wings cannot replace the body that bears them. I think you're most splendid exactly as Alesia is."
"......"
She went suddenly quiet.
"You have a lovely way with words. If you'd only softened 'splendid' into something else just now, I might have fallen for you all over again."
What a terrifying thing to say.
After chatting with her for a good while, the servant's announcement came—that the meal would begin slightly early—and they were shown straight to the hall that served as both sitting room and dining room.
The rectangular table was already half filled with people.
"Behold! The bearing of the famed Guardian Saintess herself!"
So cried a middle-aged man with a neat brown bob and a full growth of beard upon nose and chin, springing up from his seat.
Though he was not dressed for receiving guests, his garments—reddish-brown dyed with purple knots woven in clean harmony—gave an impression both solid and refined.
Alesia answered with an awkward smile.
"...Baron. I know you mean well, but I may look like this, yet I am, first and foremost, a woman?"
"Heh heh! What does man or woman matter! What knight alive could stand comparison with Lady Alesia!"
"...I am not even a formally consecrated holy knight, so even that is too generous a compliment."
"A saintess who has carried forth the will and conviction of a knight as well! My insight may be somewhat wanting, but this much I know—you may well hold your head high, Saintess!"
"No, that's what I've been trying to say—"
Why won't he listen to a word I say?!
Her face all but demanded an answer.
"Father. Do compose yourself."
"Compose myself, he says! I've met the knight among knights and I'm overjoyed! Overjoyed, I tell you!"
And a booming voice, at that.
The one who had restrained the middle-aged man was sturdy in bearing, though carrying a good deal of flesh. His beard was still sparse, but his plain brown hair was neatly trimmed like the Baron's own, so his face looked relatively presentable. His attire, too, was roughly similar to the Baron's.
Only Luke was dressed simply among them.
"Forgive my lack of manners. Let me introduce myself properly once more—I am Roia Varonens, the present master entrusted with the keeping of the Varonens territory. And these are my sons."
The Baron's eyes went back and forth between the saintess and Cariel. At his subtle signal, the heavier of the two sons began a somewhat awkward self-introduction.
"I am Ludhi Varonens. In modest measure, I act in my father's stead in the great and small affairs of Varonens."
"You can skip mine, surely?"
When Luke waved it off with an embarrassed air, the Baron flared up.
"You brat! Where are your manners!"
"Ah, please, not again. We made our introductions ages ago—it feels strange to repeat them now."
"Well you two may know each other, but what of the guest from the Edenlevan Coalition? Is he mere furniture to you?"
At which—
"Ah, please don't trouble yourself on my account. We exchanged greetings just before arriving."
When people praise another's skin, it is customary—almost ritual—to rattle on about how white it is, how lustrous as white jade.
This went well beyond that.
So pale one wondered if bone could be this color.
Perhaps even paler than marble.
And with hair to match, snow-white to the last strand, the effect was one of extraordinary otherness.
"Since my assigned contact has arrived, I suppose I can finally set to work?"
His red eyes gleamed with eagerness. Between his slightly parted lips, sharply grown canines flashed.
His attire—dark tones throughout, embroidered with long lines of red stitching—bore a sophistication rarely glimpsed even in society's finest salons. Perhaps it was the red rose claiming his breast pocket that drew the eye so.
Whatever the cause, his instinctive, visceral sense of aversion to the man's appearance dissolved surprisingly quickly.
"And so—Lady Alesia, the great saintess whom the Church of Irenis holds so proud! She of the fourth rank, bearing the title of Protection! I ask that you look after me well."
"I'd have done it without your asking."
Alesia sniffed.
"Provided you do your job properly."
"All of it—for the sake of the artist's soul that shall soothe the innocent."
He said it with a smile.
"Our Blood Sharing Family Well-being Association of the Edenlevan Coalition shall, as ever, contribute to the stability and abundance of humanity and the continent alike. Ah—my introduction comes late. You may call me Filbar Asubnara. As for the details, here—"
Rising from his seat and stepping before Cariel and Alesia, he held something out to them.
"Please accept my card."
Alesia took the tiny, blackened slip of paper with the ease of long familiarity.
"......"
"And you as well."
Glancing at Alesia, Cariel accepted one in turn.
"It is a token of credentials. Should you ever visit an Edenlevan Coalition branch, building, or meet with any of our affiliates, present this and you shall receive every courteous assistance! For connections are, above all things, precious."
Smooth and sly, yes—but never frivolous or cheap.
He played the clown, yet somehow never appeared careless.
Maintaining that line could not have been an easy thing.
And yet he fulfilled his role with unshaken composure.
"Now then, lastly... might I hear something about the boy beside the saintess? Ah, if it is inconvenient, by all means skip it—but that decision would rest with the Baron, wouldn't it?"
"......"
Cariel hesitated a moment, gauging the Baron's expression, then answered lightly.
"I am called Rueld. It is a pseudonym—I am on a knight's errand—and I would be grateful for your discretion on that point."
Left hand behind his back, right hand raised to his shoulder. He bowed from the waist without bending his neck, left leg drawing slightly back.
"Well met. Here, your standing is of no consequence, so carry no burden over it. That my sons and the saintess hold you in esteem is proof enough that you've shown your ability and character, no? And even were that not so, there is no reason for anyone here to treat you with neglect—so put such worries aside."
"Thank you. And please, speak at your ease."
"Good. Then I shall!"
With matters thus settled, the Baron declared—
"Right! All this talk has made me peckish. Let's fill our bellies first. As for you, Filbar—"
"I shall content myself with what has been prepared for me in advance. Please eat without concern."
Then, unnoticed until now, a pale-skinned boy who seemed to serve as the man's personal valet uncorked a glass bottle, and poured crimson liquid into a goblet set upon the table.
"Will that suffice?"
"It could not suffice more!"
The pale man gazed over the half-filled red liquid with evident relish, as though nothing finer existed.
"My heart quickens. Come, come—I have longed to witness with my own eyes the great feat that Saint Cariel accomplished! Now, everyone, eat! Quickly! Quickly!"
He looked genuinely delighted.
The Edenlevan Coalition.
When the Demon King invaded, they had been the first—while still bearing the standing of demons—to spurn the Demon King and take up arms, defecting to the side of humanity and the continent.
Yet the grace they had bestowed and the deeds they had accomplished were, by any measure, comparable to those of the Church itself.
Cariel found himself gazing absently up at the empty air.
Alesia, seated beside him, followed his gaze with her own attention—
"Ah, the food's here! Come, eat your fill! A full belly is what makes the soul abundant!"
Bread and cheese, boiled eggs.
And beyond them, various cuts of meat arrived whole.
It was a heavy spread for a morning meal, by any measure—though it seemed only Cariel himself took it that way.
Before long, as Baron Roia pressed his invitation and the servants carved the meat and ladled portions onto each plate, Cariel and Alesia too drifted naturally into the meal before them.