Chapter 10: The First Letter (10)
Chapter 10: The First Letter (10)
The temple was a repository for desperate despair.
The building, a culmination of civilization’s finest crafts, was lofty and vast. Adorned with sacred symbols and holy paintings displayed throughout, the temple exuded a reverent and antique atmosphere.
Before such a grand house of God, how pathetic a creature was a mere human?
The lowly things of the earth naturally knelt to offer their prayers to the heavens. It was a task that required long tempering, like a grain of sand enduring light and heat within a furnace.
To pray to God was proof that one could do nothing by their own strength alone.
Therefore, it was earnest, and it was desperate. The only place left to cling to was a transcendent being who did not even offer an answer.
This was no different in the infirmary located within the temple.
The temple situated at the Academy served as a lecture hall for the Theology Department while also functioning as a residence for high-ranking priests. This was to prepare for any calamities that might occur during training.
Even during training, the lectures were conducted with real combat in mind. A single mistake often resulted in casualties.
Of course, most of them only required a few days of treatment at most.
Since an Academy professor’s presence was mandatory for sparring and other high-risk training, it was rare for an uncontrollable accident to occur before the eyes of the continent’s most renowned powerhouses.
However, it wasn't as if patients beyond the temple's capacity never appeared.
Fourth-year students dispatched for practical training like Demonic Beast Subjugation, or students who carelessly wandered into Danger Zones within the Academy grounds, sometimes suffered critical injuries that could lead to death.
Emma was the same. She wasn't dead yet, but despite the high-ranking priests dispatched from the Holy Kingdom and even the Saintess pouring out their Divine Power since dawn, there was no news of improvement.
It was to be expected. I had heard that her entrails had spilled out.
In the meantime, many people had gathered in front of the temple’s concentrated healing room to pray before leaving.
They were all people connected to Emma. Her supervising professor, seniors and juniors she knew, close classmates, and then Reto and I.
Cradling my face in my palms, I ruminated on the events of yesterday afternoon. I was filled with regret. Emma’s potion was still tucked away in my robe.
Around that time, the Saintess, who had been leading Emma’s treatment alongside the high-ranking priests of the Holy Kingdom, emerged from the concentrated healing room with a weary expression.
My body, which had been slumped over with my face in my hands, bolted upright. As if accustomed to such situations, the Saintess clasped her hands as if in prayer and bowed her head.
“Immanuel.”
May God be with you—it was the greeting used in the Holy Kingdom.
Seeing my frantic expression, the Saintess half-closed her eyes as if understanding my plight. Perhaps because she had overexerted herself pouring out Divine Power, her complexion, which was already fair, now felt deathly pale.
She had silver hair that let the light flow through it submissively and pale pink eyes tinged with a faint sorrow.
Her beauty was so profound it made one think that if God existed, He was a terrible favorist. In any other situation, I might have lost myself in admiration.
But today, the eyes of both Reto and I were fixed not on her face, but on her lips. We were desperate for her to say something—anything.
Her lips, which usually traced a gentle smile, remained tightly shut today, showing no sign of opening.
However, perhaps finding it difficult to ignore the gaze of two lambs begging for a miracle, the Saintess let out a small sigh. Her mouth opened cautiously.
“To be honest, the situation is not good.”
It was a truth more threatening than any hollow consolation. My body collapsed back into the chair like a bundle of dry straw.
I let out a long, heavy breath. It was something I had already expected. I tried my best to steady my heart.
“She was left for too long with her intestines exposed. My guess is several hours? Contamination has already spread to her internal organs. The only reason she is still breathing is that Miss Emma drank a suspended animation potion at the very last moment.”
It was a potion alchemists carried for emergencies.
Once in a state of suspended animation, the heart rate slows down drastically, allowing one to survive even with severe hemorrhaging. It was a potion designed to maximize survival rates through various supplementary effects.
But even that had its limits. Spilling one's guts was a critical injury among critical injuries. Divine Power was not omnipotent, and with an injury of that magnitude, one had to be prepared for death.
Perhaps there was a chance. If a high-value sacrifice were offered, a miracle might be granted.
But Emma, who was merely the daughter of a herbalist, could not possibly afford such a sacrifice, and neither could I, despite the responsibility I felt for her injury.
It was a world where even the miracles bestowed by God were not equal. My eyes lowered, filled with a bleak outlook.
“It’s not that there’s absolutely no hope. However, for now… it would be best to prepare yourselves. I heard that Miss Emma’s parents will be arriving soon.”
The Saintess looked at Reto and me with gentle concern. She quietly observed our complexions for a moment before shaking her head.
“Relaying Miss Emma’s condition to her parents may be a painful task. If it is too difficult to bear, it might be better for you to return to the dormitory.”
“…No, I will wait.”
A dry voice escaped my throat. The Saintess gazed at me intently. Her pale pink eyes were asking.
Are you sure you’ll be okay? I nodded weakly.
“I was the last one to see her. As her friend, I should at least tell them about her final moments, if it comes to that.”
And if I had stopped Emma just a little more back then, if I had believed the contents of the letter just a little more.
It was already too late. And it probably wasn't entirely my responsibility. No one would have found it easy to say that a letter had arrived from seven years in the future, warning that she would get hurt.
Even if I had delivered the warning, it was highly likely that Emma would have laughed it off as nonsense. Nevertheless, the guilt of failing to do so remained in my chest.
Reto was the same. He wasn't to blame either, but this had happened while she was gathering materials for his research. He sat there to take moral responsibility.
A sigh escaped his lips. He pressed a hand to his forehead.
“If I had known this would happen, I never would have asked Emma… Dammit.”
“…It is no one’s fault.”
At Reto’s lament, the Saintess spoke with conviction. Her voice was still kind, but her tone was firm.
“Everyone facing the death of a loved one says the same. That it’s their fault, that they should have done better… But every year, several people die at the Academy. It’s just that, right now, Miss Emma might become one of them.”
As she continued, the Saintess traced the sign of the cross over her chest. As if it were only natural for mortals facing matters of life and death to do so.
If it weren't for the current situation, I might have harbored some thoughts about the Saintess’s voluminous breasts. But at this moment, neither Reto nor I felt like doing so.
We simply remained silent.
A human who can do nothing can say nothing. It was only natural.
“That providence and coincidence are not things that can be accounted for by the power of a mere mortal. So, brothers, do not blame yourselves too much.”
With those final words, she bowed her head again with her hands clasped. It was a farewell. It seemed she intended to leave for a while.
“Of course, if it were that simple, no one would suffer… but I pray you may find peace of mind. Immanuel.”
Leaving behind that murmur as she passed by, the Saintess departed.
Even after she left, Reto and I remained slumped in front of the concentrated healing room for a long time.
The situation itself—the possibility of losing someone—was foreign to me. I had only attended a handful of funerals in my life.
Let alone the death of a friend, even if we weren't the closest; a death I might have been able to prevent.
It would be a lie to say my mind wasn't in turmoil. My empty eyes stared into the void, losing track of time.
What finally roused my spirit, which was becoming soggy with regret and guilt, was the wailing of a country man.
“Oh, Emma! Emma, my daughter!”
Startled, Reto and I turned our gaze toward the source of the sound. There, a man in shabby clothes was hurrying down the temple corridor.
His beard and hair were unkempt, and he looked far from tidy. He carried only a simple bundle slung over his shoulder.
Having quickly guessed his identity, Reto and I bolted upright. The man, whose hair was beginning to show streaks of gray, collapsed in front of the concentrated healing room.
His face was filled with uncertainty, as if he didn't dare to even step inside. I cautiously approached his side.
“Excuse me… are you perhaps Emma’s father?”
“…Eh? Do you know my daughter?”
It was certain. Confirming that he was Emma’s father, Reto and I immediately bowed our heads. it was the proper etiquette to show to a friend’s parent.
“I am Ian Percus, a friend of Emma’s.”
“I am Reto Einstein, also Emma’s classmate.”
At our introductions, Emma’s father’s eyes widened as he looked back and forth between Reto and me. He blinked and remained silent for a long time.
The reaction Emma’s father showed in the next moment was—
“Pe-Percus? Einstein…? No-Nobles! Oh, I-I’m sorry! This lowly countryman has little learning and failed to recognize the young masters…!”
He threw himself flat on the floor and began to beg for our forgiveness.
Reto looked at me with a troubled expression, and I looked down at the man with pity and sorrow.
The problems of life were this cruel.
Cruel enough that even facing his daughter’s death, he had to beg for forgiveness for failing to recognize nobility.
That was truly difficult to endure.