There Might Still Be Some Left (3)
The Archmage looked at the one who had been dragged in by the temple official who had rushed out at the Inquisitor's request, then at the Inquisitor, then back at the one who had been brought.
"It seems you mistook the Demon Knight for a demon contractor...."
A sigh escaped of its own accord.
"I expected as much, but...."
The Demon Knight's description had been passed along to the temples, yet that was never a perfect safeguard. There was always an unavoidable gap between an appearance described in words and the real form standing before one's eyes.
"I... still cannot believe it. How can someone who carries demon energy...."
"The Demon Knight is not the same as the demon worshippers!"
"And how can you be so certain of that!"
Of course, in the Demon Knight's case the hair color alone was so distinctive that remembering even that much made recognition easy... yet the world was full of people like this heretic inquisitor, who simply lacked the will or the leisure to remember.
People who would never store away the knowledge even when told of a one-of-a-kind trait, even when given a description of the most striking and unmistakable personality—until the moment that very person stood right in front of them.
"The cunning of demons is something even the Goddess herself has told us to beware of!"
And when hatred and loathing toward a particular target were piled on top of that, there was no longer any need for lengthy words.
The field of vision belonging to such people was never something that language could expand.
"And yet how can you leave a person like that...."
"Enough! That is enough, Inquisitor Daniel."
"Your Excellency!"
"I told you that is enough."
Only greater authority or power could stop him now.
"But...."
At that point the Archmage let out a faint lament. That was precisely why she had wanted to bring the Demon Knight as far as the temple. A thin regret came as an extra.
"Inquisitor, do you imagine I am doing this because I do not understand your circumstances, your feelings? If that is what you believe, then I shall recommend the confessional to you."
"...Your Excellency."
"Go cool your head. At present, Inquisitor Daniel, your emotions are far too inflamed."
Quite apart from any improvement of relations or grasping of schedules, the fastest way to inform this diocese of the Demon Knight's existence was to bring him in person.
To show the Demon Knight to everyone and strictly charge them never to treat him as an enemy—that was the swiftest method of all.
"I am perfectly rational."
"A mind that has no intention of being convinced and no thought of being persuaded cannot be called rational. So I shall ask once more. Are you truly certain you have no need of it?"
"...I shall go."
Moreover, doing so allowed those who placed their own convictions and emotions above the temple's decisions to be weeded out quickly.
While the Demon Knight was unpacking, people like this could simply be sent to the confessional or dispatched on errands that would keep their paths from crossing. Even those who were already out could be contacted through messengers and asked to stay away—the Demon Knight always took a bath once the luggage was sorted, so there was ample time.
"...I apologize. The inquisitor is simply so unyielding...."
"No. It is not a state of mind I cannot understand. There was a time when I myself was the same...."
Yet if they parted ways the moment they entered the city as they had just now... incidents of this sort might well erupt frequently from now on.
And she could not very well force someone who already found the temple uncomfortable to come along against their will.
"So that the same thing does not happen again... I ask that you please take every care, Your Excellency."
"Yes, Archmage."
In the end there was no good answer either way. The Archmage could only keep sighing as she watched the Inquisitor receive the bishop's apology.
"Should any trouble arise, call for me at any time."
"Yes."
"The same goes for you, Inquisitor. And for you as well."
"Yes!"
"Yes, understood."
Still, if she at least laid down words like these, she might be able to prevent the incidents that lay ahead. After impressing the point upon the bishop and the others once more, she turned her body.
Her will was simply to return to the room that had been assigned to her.
Was there not something more she ought to do? She deliberately ignored that thought. If nothing came to mind at the moment, then nothing did.
"I'm going to die...."
She collapsed onto the bed under the weight of her dwindling stamina. Compared with the early days of the journey, her body—now noticeably gaunt—sagged limply.
"I don't know how I ever managed to travel like that in the old days."
Yet her mind, from long habit, continued to reason. The days when she had toured several cities insisting she would choose the laboratory site only after seeing it with her own eyes, the moment she had finally found a place and raised the building, the face of the one who had shared all that time with her....
"...This won't do."
The Archmage turned her thoughts aside from the long-unvisited memories and the pain that naturally engraved itself along with them. It was an event she had overcome ages ago; there was no need to deliberately drag out a sorrowful recollection.
Instead she shifted the subject of her thinking. That is... she tried to picture the Demon Knight's appearance before they had met him.
"Hm?"
Then, all at once, her thoughts reached a blind spot she had overlooked until now.
"...How on earth did he manage to get around?"
Now, with the Hero and her own guarantee, he could move freely through the cities. But in the past, when none of that had existed, how had he ever slipped past the eyes of the temples?
If he had killed a heretic inquisitor there would have been a wanted notice for murder; even if he had only subdued them and fled, there would still have been plenty of people tracking him by the demon energy he carried alone.
In a situation like that, how in the world...?
"...To think of this only now—I really have grown old."
It was a trivial matter, yet one she could have arrived at much earlier. And still she was only pondering it now.
She rubbed her head, muttering that perhaps her thinking ability had thinned along with her flesh. Then she tapped the bed with her fingers while she fretted.
"Adventurer registration is simple enough as long as you pass the test, but...."
If one possessed at least the minimum skill, and if one's face was not already plastered on existing wanted posters.
The Adventurers' Guild would register anyone.
No personal details such as name or age were required. What the guild valued was the ability to carry out commissions, not the past of the one being registered.
"There's no way that guild would fail to recognize a wanted target, though...?"
Of course, the moment it was revealed that someone was a wanted criminal, registration was cancelled at once and a pursuit order issued. That was partly the minimal moral responsibility the guild had taken on as it grew in scale... but more essentially because it was simply more profitable that way.
One must never forget that the Adventurers' Guild was also an organization that made money off bounties.
"Hrm...."
Then had the Demon Knight simply been blessed with the luck of never crossing paths with a temple official throughout his entire period of activity? And was something like that truly possible in reality?
There were castles that stationed temple people right outside the gates.
Woom.
Just as her thoughts were about to deepen, a contact arrived. Should she ignore it? The Archmage's conscience and her heavy sense of annoyance clashed.
"...What is it?"
—Outside?
Conscience won. She could not quite deny that the name value of the one who had contacted her had also played a part.
"I only just arrived in the city a moment ago.... Is there some sort of problem?"
—Nothing major. It's about the formula you sent this time. Things look like they might get rather large.
"...?"
—You probably didn't create it with that intention, but....
Yet the annoyance and fatigue she had barely suppressed under the weight of conscience and that name soon flew away completely.
—This might change the entire board of this world. If it goes a little further, it might even be able to turn zombies... or the knight you have with you... back into humans.
The Archmage's upper body jerked upright.
"Um, are you all right?"
Absurd as it was, I had been invited inside.
The child refused to let go because I kept crying, the child's father could not leave the shop unattended for long yet worried about leaving the two of us alone, and I myself lacked the presence of mind to sort the situation out—that was how it had happened.
Decisively, the child's house was right around the corner as well.
"...I am fine."
And finally, if one were forced to choose between "crying on the main street" and "accepting the kindness of a complete stranger," the latter was honestly better, was it not?
There were of course people for whom that would not be true, but at least for the concept it was correct. The fewer witnesses to a broken character, the better.
"This is all I have that I can offer you.... I'm so sorry."
"Even this is more than enough."
Setting that aside, I accepted what the child's mother held out. It was wine with fruit floating in it—vin chaud.
"Me too, Mom, me too! Give me some!"
"No. You only get this when you have a cold, remember?"
"But Mister doesn't have a cold and you gave him some!"
"That's because he's a guest...."
"Then I'll be a guest too."
"What are you even saying, you little...."
Well, it was called wine, but in truth it was closer to a beverage. The warming process would have driven most of the alcohol off.
"...Come here. I'll share some with you."
"Yay!! Mister's the best!"
"Oh my, you really don't have to...."
In that sense, giving the child just a little of the drink would be fine.
I sat the excitedly running child on my knee—there had been no choice, since the child had climbed up first—and carefully helped hold the cup. The warmth the vin chaud had lost was replaced by the child's own, so it was all right.
I wiggled my fingers against the body heat resting on my knee.
"Um, guest. Are you... an adventurer?"
In the meantime the child's mother had taken the seat across from me. For herself she had only a glass of cold water.
"I saw you were carrying a weapon, so...."
"Adventurer!"
But the conversation could not continue. The child, whom I had thought was concentrating on the vin chaud, reacted to our words.
The legs that had been resting on my knee started bouncing, and the face that had been tilted down to drink lifted back so the child could look at me.
"Mister, you're an adventurer?!"
"Schutz!"
At the rough movement the vin chaud inside the cup swayed. Just like my heart.
"...I do adventurer work."
"Really?! That's amaaaazing!!"
"I can't even live, seriously."
To calm my startled chest I wiped the drops of vin chaud that had spattered on the table with the cloth. The mother had given it to me earlier for drying my tears... and now it was being used for this. Good thing I had not returned it right away.
"Oh goodness, you don't need to wipe that."
"It's fine."
"Then Mister, is that a real sword too?"
"Schutz!"
"It is a real sword."
"Wooooow!"
I knew what the mother was worried about, but it was all right.
I gestured to her and answered the child's questions. The warmth bouncing on my knee was terribly endearing. So small and fragile that it almost became frightening.
"Can I touch it?"
"If you promise to go slowly and only touch the places I say you may."
"I promise!"
Blocking children's curiosity only meant it would return later as a larger debt. So I permitted the child to touch the sword under my supervision.
"Mister?"
"...Here. You only stroke it like this."
A sudden worry struck me—was it really all right to let a child touch a sword that had once been stained with people's blood? It was already too late, though.
"Wooow...."
"This is the grip, and this is the blade."
"Blade!"
"Do not touch the edge. It will cut you."
"Yes...!"
While I explained each part in a settled voice, the child stretched a hand toward the sword. Fortunately no wild, excited grabbing occurred.
Whether because I had limited the permission or because the certainty that it was a real sword had actually calmed the child, the fingers only gently stroked the broad face of the blade exactly as I guided.
Even the mother, who had been watching with her heart in her throat, finally showed a relieved face.
"What's this?"
"The guard."
"Why is it there?"
"To keep the hand holding the grip from sliding up onto the blade."
"It slides?"
"Kid, have you ever held a broom handle... or any long stick like that?"
"Uuum. Yes!"
"And have you ever swung it hard?"
"Uh... Mommy said it'd break so I don't do that anymore."
"Good. You did well. Separately from that, after you swung it, did you ever find yourself holding a different part from the one you first grabbed?"
"Uhhhh... I think so! Is a sword like that too?"
"Yes. That is why there is a guard. Unlike a smooth stick, a sword is sharp on the upper part, so you get hurt."
"Wooow! Then what's this?"
"The pommel. It is there to balance the weight."
"Balance the weight?"
"...When you rest a spoon on your finger, if you place it in the middle it tips to one side. Have you seen that?"
"Nope!"
If not, I could simply show it. I reached into my inventory for a spoon.
"Um... would this work?"
"...It is more than enough."
But before I could, the mother handed me a wooden spoon. A glance at her face suggested she had been quietly enjoying the explanation herself. Even though it was nothing more than knowledge about swords.
"Look. It tips to one side, right? The scooping end is heavier than the handle, so it leans that way."
"It really does!"
"But if you support it like this... not in the middle but under the scooping end.... There. It does not tip. That is the center of gravity."
"Wow, woooow!!"
"Back to the pommel—it exists for the same reason. Without it the blade side would be heavier and keep tipping that way, so the pommel is attached to balance it."
Anyway, when the response was this good I could not help but get excited and keep explaining.
I used simple examples to answer the child's curiosity. With every piece of explanation that stacked up, the child's eyes sparkled brighter.
"Mister seems like a nice person. My big cousin never tells me any of this stuff!"
"...?"
"I mean my cousin. He uses a sword too."
"Big cousin is super mean. I asked him to show me and he never ever did!"
I see. I stared blankly at the child's grayish-brown hair for a moment, then lowered the left hand I had lifted.
Putting the child on my knee was one thing; stroking the hair was something I could not quite bring myself to do.
"The one he uses is smaller than the one you're using, guest...."
"Yeah. The sword big cousin uses is only this big. The soldier guys I saw the other day used swords that big too. Mister, why is yours so long?"
"...Because this is a two-handed sword."
"Is that good?"
"Well."
In terms of raw power a two-handed sword was better than a one-handed, but if strength and stamina were lacking and skill was insufficient it was better not to pick one up at all.
...That was not an answer I could give a child. I chose my words more carefully.
"A two-handed sword is heavier than a one-handed sword. Because of that, fewer people can use it, so comparison is difficult."
"Two-handed swords are heavier?"
"They are bigger."
"Ahh. Then isn't that better?? Because it's heavier and bigger!"
"Well, perhaps."
"Hah! Then I have to tell big cousin! That two-handed swords are better!"
Just as expected, that result arrived. Children of that age were in the phase where bigger and heavier looked the strongest.
"...Two-handed swords must be expensive, right?"
...Well. Even grown-ups who had no interest in swords could make the same mistake.
"...Rather than changing weapons recklessly, polishing the one already in use is better."
"Ah, is that so after all?"
In case the mother ever thought of buying a two-handed sword for that "cousin," I carefully steered the conversation away. Fortunately it took.
"That child isn't my own, but... looking at my late sister and brother-in-law I just keep taking care of him. I can feel him not looking after his own body either...."
"Yeah. Big cousin never rests and always goes to work. Daddy said if you do that you die early!"
Ah... so the parents had passed away.
I unconsciously twitched my fingers and offered a silent prayer of condolence to someone whose face I did not even know.
"And the work he does is so dangerous...."
Separately, that cousin—given the talk of using a sword and the danger of the job—was probably a combat profession like an adventurer or a soldier.
Not a hunter; those used bows or traps, not swords.
"An adventurer, then."
"No... he's a heretic inquisitor."
But that was not the answer I had wanted.
I wondered if I had asked needlessly, then decided that since the concept was already cracked a little, cracking it a little more would not matter, and I set my mind at ease.
Even if word somehow reached a heretic inquisitor, surely it would never reach the Hero's party, right?
"I'd like to tell him to quit if I could...."
"If you tell him to quit he gets really mad. Super scary."
"Well, ah. My sister and brother-in-law... um. They happened to die while doing heretic inquisitor work, so...."
Then the mother's way of speaking grew slightly hazy. Her gaze was resting on the child in my arms.
She must have judged that what came next was not something the child should hear.
"Huh?"
I briefly covered the child's eyes and moved my lips. "Revenge?" The mother nodded at the shape of my mouth.
"Mister, let go."
"Yes... he says he will find the culprit... no matter what... and do it."
That... was an extremely solid reason. There was no motive more intense or harder to stop than revenge for one's parents.
"Misteeer."
"But... with several years already passed, the wish that he would stop has also grown. Moreover...."
The child's mother scratched her cheek, then spoke with a bright smile so the child would not notice.
"The day my sister and brother-in-law died... that child was there too, you see."
What was I supposed to say to that.
"It was an opponent from whom simply surviving alone had already been the best he could manage... how is that child supposed to catch something like that?"
The more I listened, the more the circumstances reminded me of the concept.