Chapter 48: The First Letter (48)
Chapter 48: The First Letter (48)
The next morning, I visited the temple once again.
By chance, the Saintess was the one on duty this morning. Lately, I seemed to run into her quite often. Before I lost my memory, I thought we were merely acquaintances who barely knew each other's names.
Of course, the reason for this was entirely my fault.
A cleric’s job is to treat the injured. And at least over the past month, there was likely no one who had utilized the temple as frequently as I had. It was only natural that our paths crossed often.
Frequent meetings usually breed rapport—that was a basic tenet of social skills I’d read as a child. Yet, for some reason, the gaze the Saintess fixed on me now was nothing short of frigid.
Her pale pink eyes flickered between my face and my hand, which was caked with dried blood and pus. The moment I read the emotion swirling in those eyes, I immediately bowed my head low.
Excuses flowed naturally from my lips as I kept my neck bent in a submissive posture.
“I am sorry, Saintess. But surely, this too must be part of the plan ordained by Arus…”
“Do not take the Lord’s name in vain.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
My nonsensical rambling was promptly suppressed by her icy voice. I immediately snapped back into a stiff, upright posture, stealing glances at her to gauge her mood.
She let out a deep sigh, shaking her head as if she found me hopeless.
Her ample breasts rose and fell with the breath. It was a sight that commanded attention no matter how many times I saw it. I stared for a moment, momentarily entranced, before snapping out of it and averting my gaze.
No, I can’t. If I kept this up, I might actually be struck by divine retribution. Only the most cherished daughter of the Heavenly God Arus could ascend to the position of Saintess, after all.
She was a being that noble and pure. Even harboring carnal thoughts was preposterous. She was a flower beyond my reach; had I not entered the Academy, she might have lived her entire life without ever knowing I existed. That was how vast the gulf between us was.
Compared to that, how fortunate was my current situation?
That beautiful Saintess was personally worrying over my well-being. She possessed silver hair that held a faint radiance, pale pink eyes in a shade that tickled the heart, and clear, translucent skin paired with delicate features.
She was living proof that even the Heavenly God Arus played favorites. Her appearance achieved a perfect harmony, like a masterpiece of sacred art.
Furthermore, the feminine curves of her body often drew the eyes of many men.
If the Saintess’s beauty served as proof of the Heavenly God Arus’s existence, her physique was enough to make one contemplate the existence of the Evil God Omeros.
The lines extending from her neck down to her thighs possessed both smoothness and elasticity. Of course, the degree of those curves was also quite substantial. It was almost baffling how a Saintess, who was meant to be pure, could be born with such a voluptuous body.
The joke going around was that since her enrollment, the number of repentance prayers from the male students in the Theology Department had skyrocketed.
To have such a woman examining my hand with worried eyes was an honor far beyond my station. To exaggerate slightly, this moment alone made enrolling in the Academy worthwhile.
In some rural villages, there were plenty of people who believed that merely being touched by a Saintess’s hand could cure all sorts of diseases. Even so, few were ever granted the privilege of touching her noble person.
This was only possible because we were at the Academy. Thinking that, I tried my best to soothe my fluttering heart.
It was strange. For reasons I couldn't fathom, I sometimes felt a sense of dread when I looked at the Saintess.
This was despite her being famous for her benevolence. She was renowned for being pure and kind to everyone, regardless of their social standing.
There was no reason for me to feel fear. Yet, whenever I stood before her, I couldn't help but feel like a mouse in front of a cat.
My submissive behavior as I offered her my hand could be understood in that context. The Saintess carefully unraveled the bandages wrapped around my hand, her eyes widening.
It was because the state of my injury was more severe than she had expected. It wasn't just a puncture wound; it was a complex injury complicated by burns. The pain resulting from it had to be excruciating.
“Brother Ian, surely you didn't… wait until now to visit the temple with an injury this severe?”
I rubbed the back of my head awkwardly at her words. Then, I spoke with a hint of pride in my voice.
“Yes. I didn't think it was right to wake the clergy in the middle of the night for personal reasons… Ow, ow!”
Contrary to my expectations, the Saintess’s reaction was not positive. Her palm came down with a sharp thwack against my forearm. The force was stronger than expected, and as the shock traveled to the wound, a cry of pain escaped my lips involuntarily.
I looked at her with aggrieved eyes, but the Saintess only let out another heavy sigh. She asked me with a look of distress.
“A puncture wound and a burn. The wound was seared by heat, which at least minimized the bleeding. But the pain must have been immense…”
“Well, no. It was more bearable than you’d think?”
A sharp glare from those pale pink eyes shot toward me. I shut my mouth instantly. As a patient, adding commentary to a cleric’s words would only interfere with the treatment.
It definitely wasn't because I was scared of her. Once I fell silent, the Saintess began to scold me in earnest.
“Brother Ian, didn't you say not long ago that you would cherish your life?”
“I—I did. But as I live, various situations just…”
“Situations enough to bring you back to the temple in less than two days? And this injury… this isn't the kind of thing you get from a mere mistake. Who did you fight this time?”
I could only flounder under the Saintess’s relentless, soft-spoken nagging.
Eloquence had never been my forte to begin with, and I felt guilty for showing up less than two days after grandly promising to take care of myself.
Even while she scolded me, the Saintess diligently tended to my wound. Befitting the title of 'Saintess,' her divine power was exceptional in both quantity and quality.
New flesh began to sprout slowly over the raw wound. It was a fascinating sight no matter how many times I saw it. While mages also learned spells to accelerate healing, those only sped up natural recovery.
Only priests with divine power could heal severe burns or regenerate severed limbs. That was likely why it was called the 'Power of God.'
By the time the Saintess’s lecture finally wound down, my hand had become so clean that not a trace of the injury remained. Only a slight, dull ache lingered.
“…So, please cherish your body from now on. Your life does not belong to you alone, Brother Ian. It belongs to everyone who relies on you and everyone you rely on.”
As usual, I let the Saintess’s ongoing sermon go in one ear and out the other, nodding occasionally. Whenever I felt I was being too quiet, I only had to utter one word.
“Immanuel.”
“As expected of Brother Ian, you understand the core of this story well. That is correct. When the Heavenly God Arus first created mankind in the beginning, He promised infinite life and glory…”
Once she continued in an excited tone, there was no easier task in the world, provided I could endure the boredom. Besides, she looked rather cute when she was excited.
This was a temple, and there were always patients. Even the Saintess couldn't spend all her time on me. In other words, her long-winded sermon would eventually have to end.
After lecturing me for quite a while, the Saintess suddenly seemed to snap back to reality and checked the clock. She flinched, seemingly startled. Her eyes went wide.
“H-has it already been this long…?”
“Um, Saintess. While I find the time spent with you very enjoyable, I wonder if there aren't other patients waiting…”
At my words, the Saintess’s face turned pale. She stammered, a rare occurrence for her.
“Y-you’re right… Then I shall see you again, Brother Ian. Immanuel.”
Finally, freedom. Feeling a sense of relief, I stood up and prepared to leave the temple without hesitation.
If not for the Saintess’s final question that caught my footsteps.
“…By the way, Brother.”
My steps toward the exit came to a dead halt. I glanced back with a questioning look, only to find her gazing at me with calm, steady eyes.
As if her flustered, stammering self from moments ago had been a lie, she asked in a suggestive voice.
“What happened last night?”
I remained silent for a moment. Last night.
The blood, the pain that felt like it was burning my brain, and despite all that, the thrill I felt at the very end.
I recalled the crimson eyes that had stared blankly at me, and the silver line that had struck down in a straight path.
As I stood there dazed, the Saintess wore a bitter smile as if she had expected as much.
“…It is a secret, I see.”
“I heard that having many secrets makes one popular these days.”
Calling it 'mystique' or something like that, I left the temple with that trivial joke.
The dawn had passed, and the sun was now casting warm light across the sky. It was morning. The bustling crowds signaled the start of another day at the Academy.
The students passing in front of the temple seemed startled the moment they saw me. Their footsteps halted simultaneously, and their gazes fixed on me as if pinned.
But that only lasted for a fleeting moment. They resumed their way, and the Academy returned to its usual routine.
Except for one thing—the sound of their whispering.
“That’s him, that’s the guy. The ‘Hand Axe Young Master’… Last night, with Senior Delphine…”
“No way, did he really jump Delphine Yurdina—gasp!”
As my golden eyes swept over each of the whisperers, the noisy surroundings fell abruptly silent. I could only let out a deep sigh.
As expected, the speed at which rumors spread in the Academy was something else.
* * *
Delphine Yurdina recalled the memory of that night.
It had been a decisive strike. Impossible to dodge. At least, that was what she had thought. In her vision, which had been filled with the certainty of another victory, blood suddenly sprayed.
It was the man’s hand. Her dagger could go no further, blocked by that hand. But the blade held in the man’s other hand was different.
It was the memory of the day the hand axe came rushing in.