Traces of the Great Catastrophe
Those were the words Arcelia had spoken to Juhan.
"What did you just say?"
He hadn't quite grasped her meaning in the moment, and so he asked it back, frowning in confusion.
She only lifted a single finger to her lips, her face that of a mischievous child.
"Shh."
"…Ahem."
Of course, Velkras—standing some distance away—had almost certainly heard every word. One glance at him was enough: he was chewing at his lip as though the whole exchange made him deeply uncomfortable.
"Anyway! What do you think? Isn't it wonderful?"
"……"
In a rush she leaned in so close her face nearly brushed his forehead, eyes sparkling as if to say, Just say yes already.
No, even if you put it like that…
Juhan was simply at a loss. From Arcelia's words and Velkras's reaction, it certainly sounded like a good offer.
I just can't get a clear sense of how good.
In the end, there was nothing for it but to ask outright.
"Is it really that great?"
Even setting aside the obvious drawback of belonging to an organization like the Holy Kingdom—was it truly that good? As expected, Arcelia had been waiting for exactly that question. She beamed and answered at once.
She didn't know precisely how high he was aiming, she said, but it would definitely be higher than that.
"It's not just good. It's incredibly good."
"……"
"It's not even a position just anyone can hold, either."
"Saintess."
A long sigh drifted over from Velkras, who had been listening from afar—as if begging her to stop talking.
That was when it happened.
Hoofbeats pounded closer—clatter, clatter!
Between Juhan, Arcelia, Velkras, and the throng of Holy Knights, a priest suddenly came racing up on horseback.
"Guardian!"
He vaulted down and rushed straight to Velkras.
"What is it?"
A low murmur of voices followed.
"……"
"……"
The priest from the cathedral whispered something close to Velkras's ear. The longer he listened, the more Velkras's expression hardened.
"…What did you say?"
He asked it again under his breath, as though he could not believe it. The priest only nodded.
Footsteps approached—step by deliberate step.
"Saintess."
"…Has something happened?"
"I believe we need to return to the village at once."
Whatever it was, it was urgent. Velkras looked at Arcelia and told her they would have to head back without delay.
"R-right now?"
"Yes. Now."
"…But we still—"
Her fingers tightened.
Of course Arcelia looked as though she could not possibly leave. She still had not persuaded Juhan; how could she simply walk away?
"Saintess."
"……"
"I think you will need to verify this yourself."
At the firmness in Velkras's voice, she finally let go of Juhan's hand. She understood there was no more room for stubbornness.
"All right."
She answered him with a dejected look, then immediately turned her head back to Juhan.
"Juhan."
"Yes?"
"Will you be staying in Enton Village for a while?"
He had planned on remaining at least a month anyway, so he simply nodded.
"Probably?"
"For how long?"
"Well… at least a month, I'd say."
"Really?"
At his answer—that he would stay for a month at the very least—Arcelia's face brightened again, as though she had just been handed the best news imaginable.
"I'll be staying another three or four days myself."
She said it as if that, too, were a stroke of luck.
"So you have to come, all right?"
"What?"
"You still haven't given me an answer."
She seized his hand again, her expression suddenly serious.
"Whether you'll do it or not."
"……"
"I want you to come and tell me for certain."
She sounded almost desperate, as though she were extracting a solemn vow.
"Well, I can always answer later—"
"No."
Her voice cut him off, firm and absolute.
"You must not simply disappear."
"……"
"Absolutely not."
She was smiling as she said it, yet something uncomfortably close to obsession clung to the words.
What is this?
A faint unease prickled through Juhan. It felt like she had just declared she would never give up until she heard his answer.
"Just come to Antonio Cathedral. Where are you lodging?"
"…Number five. I'm staying at an inn called Konkon, run by a man named Logan."
"Logan… Konkon…"
She repeated the names under her breath, as though committing them to memory forever.
"Juhan."
"Yes?"
"You wouldn't be lying to me, would you?"
"……"
"I'm joking, joking. You will come and give me your answer, won't you?"
She smiled sweetly.
"As soon as you can, please."
"Saintess."
"I know, I know. Let's go."
At Velkras's urging she nodded, her face full of reluctant regret, and followed him toward the village.
But then—
After only two steps, she spun back around. Clasping her hands as if in prayer, she smiled at Juhan once more.
"You really have to come."
"Yes."
"Promise?"
"…Yes."
Only then did she finally turn away. Watching her retreating figure, Juhan still could not understand why she was so fixated on him.
The only thought running through his head was this:
"Seriously…"
Between Velkras telling him to become a Holy Knight and the Saintess urging him to become a Pilgrimage Knight—
Are all Holy Kingdom people like this?
Their pace was simply impossible to keep up with.
After parting from Juhan, Arcelia turned a faintly sulky look on Velkras.
"What is so important that we had to leave like that?"
Her expression said it all: He was just about to come around, and you ruined everything…
Velkras's face, however, did not change in the slightest.
"Saintess, I trust you remember why we stopped in Enton Village."
That was all he asked—why they had come to Enton in the first place.
"Enton Village? Ah… the Bell of Catastrophe…"
Of course she remembered. Half the reason she had left the Holy Kingdom at all had been that very excuse.
Her original purpose in visiting Enton Village had been to inspect the anomalous behavior of the Bell of Catastrophe that hung at the top of Antonio Cathedral.
"Has something gone wrong with it?"
Velkras fell silent for a moment. Then, with a rigid expression, he nodded and answered—drawing a deep breath as though even he could scarcely believe what he was about to say.
"Yes."
"……"
It was the last answer Arcelia had expected. She had never imagined he would actually say yes.
"I believe you will need to see it for yourself."
No further words passed between them after that.
Clatter, clatter.
Velkras simply rode on in grim silence. It felt as if he had resolved to say nothing more—or perhaps as if he believed he had no right to speculate on the matter at all.
Before long they arrived at Antonio Cathedral.
"G-Guardian!"
"The Guardian is here!"
Priests waiting outside recognized Velkras's face and cried out; those inside began pouring out one after another as if they had been waiting for this moment.
"Clear everyone out. Everyone except the bishop of Antonio Cathedral."
"…Yes. Understood."
A sharp signal from Velkras's hand.
At once his Holy Knights moved with practiced precision, sealing off the area. Not only passersby, but even the priests who belonged to the cathedral itself were ushered away.
When the surroundings had fallen still, Arcelia stepped forward through the cleared space.
The bishop of Antonio Cathedral—clearly already aware of her arrival—began to offer the formal greeting due a Saintess. Arcelia raised a hand to stop him, and he settled for a brief bow of the head.
"Something has been found, then."
"…Yes."
With a rustle of fabric, the bishop reached into his robes and drew something out.
"That is…"
"Records concerning the Bell of Catastrophe."
An ancient document, its age obvious at a glance. He opened it as he spoke to her.
"At first we believed it was a malfunction."
"Yes."
"That was how we reported it as well. Even so, we of this cathedral could hardly sit idle and simply wait."
The bishop continued as they walked, Arcelia matching his pace and listening closely.
"So we investigated every related record."
He handed the ancient volume to her.
"This is…"
On the page he had opened for her, something almost impossible to believe was written.
"It matches the records far too precisely."
"……"
"The Bell of Catastrophe was never merely a relic that rings."
It reacted only when certain conditions were met, the bishop explained, his voice beginning to tremble.
"The reaction pattern recorded in the ancient texts. The flow of Divine Power. The internal engravings and the residual traces of activation."
"You mean to say… all of it matches?"
The bishop swallowed hard at Velkras's question, then nodded.
"All of it. With astonishing precision."
Everything aligned perfectly.
"But more than anything else…"
"It will be most certain if the Saintess confirms it herself."
"Yes."
Fear underlay the bishop's words. He still could not bring himself to believe that what he had verified was truly real.
"There it is."
The Bell of Catastrophe rested in a chamber off to one side of the cathedral.
The door creaked open. Arcelia stepped inside and approached the bell.
Its surface was crowded with ancient characters no one could read, and time had left it heavily rusted in places. It looked as though a full thousand years had settled upon it without mercy.
Carefully, Arcelia laid her hand against the Bell of Catastrophe.
Velkras and the bishop watched in complete silence, as if they would wait for nothing but her judgment.
The moment her fingers touched the metal—
A low, resonant hum rose from within.
"…!"
"…Heavens."
A faint light began to travel along the surface of the bell. The bishop's eyes went wide enough to start from his head.
It matches the ancient records perfectly.
The exact scene he had already confirmed was unfolding before him once again.
Like blood through veins, Divine Power flowed across the surface of the bell and gathered toward its center.
"……"
And Arcelia, still resonating with the bell, found her expression growing steadily harder.
Even Velkras could sense that something was wrong.
"…Saintess."
There was no reply. Arcelia simply kept her hand on the bell, eyes closed in silence.
A few seconds passed—or perhaps what felt like several minutes of deep, unbroken quiet.
At last she slowly opened her eyes and carefully withdrew her hand.
When she turned back to those waiting for her, the first words she spoke were these:
"The Bell of Catastrophe… is functioning normally."
It was a devastating revelation: the Bell of Catastrophe had never been broken at all.
"It was never broken to begin with."
The bell had been fulfilling its purpose—after a thousand long years.