The Person I Don't Want to Meet (4)

Why is it you alone who hears the voice of God?

Why is it only to you that His word reaches?

Why?

What difference is there between you and me, that it should be so?

I can't understand it.

I don't want to understand it.

That's how it is, isn't it?

I was the one who worked harder to please God.

I was the one who devoted my entire life to being of use to Him.

I was the one who lived carefully, watching every word and every action, living a life devoted to you.

So why does His voice come to you alone?

Why?

"Um, excuse me?"

Phoebe, who had been staring straight ahead in silence, stumbled backward in a panic at the sound of Lucy's voice.

What did I just do?

Idiot.

Fool.

To be envying someone all over again!

"Lady... Um, Saintess?"

"Ah! Th-the curse in this sword! You said you would lift it, didn't you?! Please wait here just a moment! I'll finish it and bring it right back!"

With that cry, Phoebe fled into the church at a run.

Had any priest witnessed it, they might have said something along the lines of Saintess, such behavior is unbecoming of you — but Phoebe had no room in her mind to spare for him.

Because the longer she kept her eyes on Lucy, the larger the black emotions nesting in her heart grew.

She felt that if she didn't run, the darkness would swallow her whole.

By the time she had run a long while and arrived at some unused room, Phoebe realized she was alone, let out a ragged breath, and collapsed onto the floor.

Why am I like this?

It's not as if I've never seen someone who heard the voice of God before.

I know that if I wait, He will answer me someday.

So why is it that every time I look at Lady Aln, I become like this?

Why, of all things?

Ever since the incident on Academy Street, Phoebe had been deliberately avoiding Lucy.

Every time she faced her face, every time she glimpsed the necklace at her throat, every now and then when her eyes fell on the mace clutched in her hand — strange emotions welled up inside her, and she could do nothing about them.

At first, Phoebe had not understood her own feelings.

She was white by nature, painted over yet again in white on top of it.

There had never existed a crack through which a sooty emotion might seep in.

She could not help but be clumsy at dealing with black stains encroaching upon a blank white canvas.

But not anymore.

Phoebe knew all too well what the emotion ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠rising within her heart was.

It was envy.

Envy of the one who monopolized God's love.

As Phoebe saw it, Lucy Aln was, without question, beloved by Armadi.

It was not a proposition that required deliberation or debate.

Lucy heard Armadi's voice — a voice most people would strain their whole lives and never hear even once — every single month.

That being so, who else could claim to have earned Armadi's love, if not Lucy?

And because she thought this way, whenever Phoebe looked at Lucy, the memories of her days in the orphanage surfaced.

From before she had been called a Saintess.

From the days when she doubted whether she could ever be someone whom another person could love.

The orphanage director who ran that place had been a good person, without a doubt.

Despite gaining nothing for herself, she had shown mercy to the orphans.

But she was human, and her love could never be ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠perfect.

With so few hands and so many children to care for, how could that mercy reach them all?

When Phoebe inevitably slipped out from under the director's touch and huddled in a corner, she would sometimes look at the children smiling beneath that care and feel a quiet anxiety.

The thought that perhaps those hands, extended to others, might never come back to her.

But it had been a groundless worry.

The director was a good person, and whenever she saw a place her love had not reached, she came to make it warm.

Even now, Phoebe harbored the very same worry.

What if Armadi loves Lady Aln so dearly,

so blinded by that love,

that He forgets His warmth must be spread far and wide, and pours it upon one person alone?

A groundless worry, to be sure — and Phoebe knew perfectly well where this worry would end.

Armadi was venerable and noble; He could never play favorites with anyone.

And even if it might appear to be favoritism, it was in truth foresight for a greater glory.

As one who believed in the will of God, doubt was not something she was permitted to hold.

Phoebe, who had spent her entire life in the Church receiving the education of a Saintess, naturally knew this.

And yet.

And yet.

In the end, Phoebe too was human.

Even a Saintess, before anything else, was nothing more than a single girl.

She could not keep doubt from taking root.

"Lord Armadi."

Please, take back these black feelings of mine.

Show me that Your love is spread wide across this world.

Grant Your miracle to this doubting, unworthy believer.

Please.

BANG.

Startled by the sound of the door opening, Phoebe, who had been praying with her eyes closed, sprang to her feet.

"Saintess, what are you doing in here?"

"...I was resting for a moment."

Phoebe forced herself to look composed, but she could not hide her disheveled hair and clothes, or the traces of tears at the corners of her eyes.

The priest of the church noticed something was off, but pressed no further.

Instead, as if he had noticed nothing at all, he merely asked about the sword Phoebe was carrying.

"My lady gave a gift to... to a wretch like me?!"

When Phoebe handed over the sword she had purified, Karl took it with both hands trembling.

Then, staring at it with wide, rounded eyes as though he had witnessed some great miracle, he clutched it to his chest and toppled over backward.

It was bare ground with nothing to cushion the fall, so Karl's collapse raised quite a racket — but Karl himself wore an expression of utter serenity, basking in pure bliss.

"What the hell?!"

"Professor Karl, what's wrong with him?!"

"Don't tell me it's another Al—"

"Hey. Watch the volume."

Karl. Are you blind to your surroundings or what?

Thanks to your little scene, the repertoire of rumors about Lady Aln is about to grow even longer!

Why is it that I'm the one who has to suffer, when all I did was give my escort a gift to be nice to him?!

That irritation made me kick Karl in the thigh, but his face remained as tranquil as ever.

It doesn't even hurt at this level?!

Ugh, seriously!

"You scrub♡ What are you, a masochist who wants to get trampled by a girl?♡ And you call yourself a knight?♡ Gross♡ Pervert♡ I hope you just drop dead♡"

I hurled the abuse in hopes it would bring him to his senses, but no matter what I said, Karl was too far gone in happiness for any of it to register.

This guy is really the most reliable knight I have.

I'm grateful that you like me, but could you please become a slightly more normal human being?

Haah. Well, he'll get up eventually.

Until then, let me do something else.

There's something I was meaning to check anyway.

The thing I'd tried to look at before, only to be interrupted by Cecil opening his mouth.

The quest.

The Field Trip was an event that took place regularly every semester.

It was a kind of hands-on lesson designed to give students — who normally did nothing but repeat standardized combat drills at the Academy — a taste of real field experience.

Rewards were granted based on results, and each location hosted its own special event, so clearing it yielded bonus loot on top of that.

The first-semester event for first-years was none other than that Lord of the Forest.

The format had you seek out the Lord of the Forest — a being you could not even meet unless you fulfilled certain conditions — and fight it, and the rewards were generous enough that any veteran player was guaranteed to run it before moving on.

I was planning to meet the Lord of the Forest anyway, and now there are rewards on top of it?

Lord Armadi.

I'm truly grateful that you keep acting like this, but honestly?

You're scaring me.

Someone who never used to be like this is suddenly showering me with nothing but benefits, and I can't help wondering what on earth is waiting for me down the line.

And what really accelerates my anxiety is this:

That 'something truly humiliating' listed under On Failure.

What is that supposed to be?

I don't understand why the word 'humiliating' needs to be there, or why it comes with the intensifier 'truly.'

Of course, there's no way I'll actually fail that quest, but 'what if' always exists, doesn't it?

If I did somehow fail, what would happen to me?

What kind of state would I be reduced to?!

I cannot bear not knowing what counts as 'humiliating' in the mind of a masochist, pervert scrub of a Chief God!

Damn it!

I finally had some breathing room lately, and that one word robbed me of the ability to enjoy it!

You cursed, pathetic Chief God!

Grrrgh. So much stress.

I want to blow something up.

I want to torment something.

I need an outlet for this stress — right now!

As I mulled it over, it suddenly occurred to me that there was a being perfectly suited for the job.

Nakrad.

The guy running wild like a rabid dog on the outskirts of Soul Academy.

Apostles of the Evil God are beings that are supposed to be exterminated from the very start, after all.

Given how underprepared I am right now, capturing and crushing him outright might be impossible — but harassing him? That I could absolutely do.

The seals on the Evil Gods were still mostly intact at this stage, so his power would be weak.

If I brought Karl and Alsaetin along, I could definitely reduce him to a sobbing wreck.

The sight of the man who toyed with me on the verge of death, trying to break me, reduced to tears himself?

Kyaa. Auntie!

Bring the rice! Rice!

Just imagining it is already delicious!

Arthur had said, if I remembered right, that Nakrad showed up at night.

Then I just needed to start moving, nice and slow, from now on.

"Hey, pathetic puppy♡ How long do you plan on ignoring your master's words?♡ You want to become a stray?♡"

"No, my lady!"

Watching Karl spring to his feet at that last word, a sigh leaked out of me from the depths of my being.

If you were going to get up, you should have gotten up from the start.

Did you just want to get berated?

Are you trying to become a masochistic pervert on top of that pathetic Chief God, huh?!

If only you weren't so competent, I'd ditch you on the spot.

"Thank you so very much!"

Nakrad smiled as he watched the Academy student bow to him and walk away.

Grateful, are you?

No — it is I who should be thanking you.

After all, this is how, little by little, Lord Tariki's power spreads through the Academy.

When his plan had failed before, Nakrad had despaired.

It had been unthinkable.

That dungeon he had built in some secluded corner that very evening — conquered by someone's hand!

How could such a thing even be possible?!

In the depths of that failure, only one figure had risen in Nakrad's mind.

The accursed Apostle of Armadi.

That wretch must have received one of Armadi's worthless revelations and pulled off something.

Otherwise, the feat was simply impossible.

However the situation had unfolded, the fact remained that Nakrad had failed.

Because of my own carelessness, Lord Tariki's plan was thrown into jeopardy!

Nakrad had been prepared to atone with his very life, but Tariki had been merciful.

He granted me a new chance!

Moved by that compassion, Nakrad had devised a plan to redeem his failure.

And it was this.

To let Tariki's power seep, drop by drop, into the students of the Academy.

They will never know.

They will never know that the moment they begin their bargain with me, the contract is sealed — and with it, Tariki's power soaks into their flesh.

The Tariki he served was the Evil God of Darkness.

Once it seeped in, it boasted a stealth so deep that even that bastard Armadi could never root it out.

Thus, unknown to anyone, the power of the Evil God was steadily spreading through the Academy's halls.

Ahh.

One more ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠soul added today.

Keep going just like this.

Then someday, the moment will come when I can unfold the Evil God's will within the Academy itself.

Smiling at the thought, Nakrad froze mid-stride as he sensed an aura of boundless loathing.

Oh ho. Isn't this the Apostle of Armadi herself?

How careless of you.

To wander here at the very hour when darkness blankets the world.

Did that incompetent Armadi not warn you of the threat?

Excellent. Prey has walked into my jaws of its own two feet — how could I possibly turn away?

Time to work my jaw and savor the flavor.

Apostle of Armadi. You will pay the price for standing in my way.