The Person I Don't Want to Meet (5)
Nakrad walked along the trail of Armadi's power, and he was happy.
If trials exist in this world, then what appears once you've overcome one is surely a reward.
Follow Tariki's guidance, do His work, and naturally the things I desire fall into my hands.
Apostle of Armadi. The accursed child who wrecked my plans and kept the will of Tariki from spreading.
So there you were.
There in the darkness, Nakrad found her—arms crossed, wearing an expression of pure insolence.
What could you be waiting for, I wonder?
Perhaps your curiosity was piqued by some rumor the other children spun?
If so, then allow me to grant your heart's desire.
I shall answer whatever it is you wish to know—and in exchange, you will lend me the sound of your weeping.
Crawl across the ground and scream until your voice breaks with tears.
Let me hear that beautiful voice of yours, so lovely that even the deepest, heaviest of nights cannot hide it.
Nakrad, deliberating on just how he would torment the Apostle of Armadi, watched as she turned her face toward him.
Even under a moon veiled by haze, those willful, self-assertive eyes found his face in the dark—and curved into a crescent.
What is this.
Why is she smiling?
Had she truly looked at me, she would have sensed the danger she stood in.
Why?
Has she lost her mind?
Has she simply resigned herself to death, with it staring her in the face?
No.
That girl was far, far too confident for it to be a bluff.
Which meant—
Just as a thought began to crawl up his spine, the Apostle of Armadi moved her lips.
Nakrad, trained in the art of lip-reading, understood at once the words her mouth shaped.
'Beat the crap out of him.'
In that same instant, a presence that had lain hidden behind him until that very moment stirred into motion.
Rolling disgracefully through the dirt, Nakrad barely evaded the ambush, then drew his mana up and studied the figure that had appeared at his back.
Damn it all.
A knight.
And no ordinary knight—a knight of considerable attainment.
He could tell from the man's swordwork alone.
This man is beyond what I can handle as I am now.
So the prey did not wander into my trap of its own accord, after all.
The Apostle of Armadi had used herself as bait to draw me out.
And I—a fool of a fish that snapped at that bait, swept away by the word revenge.
The realization that he'd been played hit Nakrad like a blow, and he exhaled roughly—but even so, no good option presented itself.
There was no way to harm the Apostle of Armadi while fending off that knight.
I retreat first.
That man is a knight, after all.
If I melt into the darkness and flee, he'll have no reliable means of catching me.
I'll treat tonight as a foundation stone, and carve it deep into my heart—
Just as Nakrad was plotting his escape, his instincts flared, and on pure reflex he threw up a barrier of darkness.
But an arrow loosed from far away, wound about with mana, carved through the barrier as though it were nothing.
The arrow buried itself in Nakrad's ankle, and his lips pressed into a hard line.
"My lady, are these arrows expensive?"
"You're an info broker. Like you have any room to talk about that."
"I'd simply like you to appreciate the scale of the investment, is all."
Tch. So there wasn't just one of them.
He'd wondered how that self-assured knight had managed to vanish so completely—and it turned out a thief had been working alongside him.
Nakrad furrowed his brow and merged his ankle into the darkness.
The arrow sank through the shadow and clattered to the ground below.
"Oh. Now that's a neat trick."
Planting his foot back on the ground, Nakrad pressed his lips flat at the sight of the thief drawing her bowstring once more.
If it were only her, dealing with her would be no trouble at all—but the problem was the knight fighting at her side.
This has become troublesome.
Thinking this, Nakrad scattered his mana in a wide ring around himself.
When the apostle of the god who commands darkness gives an order to the dark—
His minions revealed themselves one by one from beneath that darkness.
Perhaps the one blessing of this moment is that it's night.
So many pieces I can play.
They'll surely be unfamiliar with the divine authority I wield—use that well, and—
"Broker. Shoot the darkness with your arrows. That'll do it. Loser. You ignore the darkness and go harass that posturing beanpole over there. Think you can manage?"
"Of course, my lady!"
"Understood. I'll do my utmost."
Having issued her orders to the two of them, the Apostle of Armadi turned her gaze upon Nakrad.
Then, catching the bewilderment staining his face, she burst into laughter and let out that insufferable voice.
"What are you staring at♡, you posturing beanpole♡? Just looking at your face makes my stomach turn♡. So could you close your eyes or something♡? You're disgusting♡"
...You damned little—!
His fury at my taunts was written all over him, but he lacked the ability to break through Carl's and Alsaetin's assault, so all he could do was flounder helplessly—and watching him squirm, I felt something heavy that had been sitting in my chest finally settle.
Kyah. This is what life's about.
So this is why old Lucy used to go around provoking people all the time?
Watching someone you hate squirm with frustration is genuinely fun.
I can understand the feeling now—not completely, but to a fair degree.
"You loser beanpole♡ What're you glaring at me for♡ You can't do anything, you scrub♡ What, am I just too cute for you♡? Pervert♡ Lolicon♡ Gross♡"
"Silence, you damned piece of trash!"
"Puhuhut♡ Are you mad♡? Oh, you're mad, aren't you♡? Sooo scary♡"
Watching him glare daggers at me only to take Carl's blade to the ribs in the process, I couldn't help the laughter spilling out of me.
<Young lady.>
'What?'
<Are you not laying it on a bit too thick? His hatred for you seems to be deepening by the moment.>
'So what? As long as I'm Armadi's apostle, that guy's going to want to kill me forever anyway.'
It's not like anything changes if I rack up a little more of his hatred, right?
And it's not as though he's someone whose enmity will actually become a problem for me, like Cecil's or Arthur's would.
Frankly, does he have anything he can even claim as a grievance?
He's a scrub who skulks around far from the Academy pulling his sleazy little schemes because he's scared of being hunted down.
Maybe once the evil gods recover some real measure of their power it'll matter, but right now? There is not a single thing about him to be afraid of.
'Besides, I'm not taunting him mindlessly, you know.'
<Hm?>
'Look, Grandpa. He's so pissed off at me that he keeps leaving himself wide open to attacks.'
The fight was already an uphill battle where he needed every ounce of focus, and yet he keeps getting distracted by my provocations.
I'd wager that more than half of the wounds Nakrad's taken so far had my involvement in them.
<So you're calling this tactical provocation?>
'Yes!'
The Mesugaki skill's taunting capability is, without exaggeration, the best in the setting!
It'd be a waste not to use a high-performance taunt skill like this, wouldn't it?
I was taught that in combat, you use every tool at your disposal when the situation demands it—so I'm simply carrying out that lesson faithfully.
<Truly?>
'That's my story and I'm sticking to it?'
<Are you certain there is none of your own pettiness mixed in?>
'...A little might be mixed in.'
'Fine! A LOT is mixed in! So what of it?!'
Is it so wrong of me to hold a grudge against the bastard who set off bombs right next to people and flattened them,
punched dozens upon dozens of holes through someone's body,
and on top of all that, tried to take her life?!
It's not! Not wrong at all!
<No, I understand your feelings well enough. I merely worry that you are indulging too deeply in your blessing. Was that not the very thing you always kept vigil over?>
'I decided not to worry about any of that today.'
Any other day, sure—maybe. But today I came here to blow off steam.
Rather than wasting time on trivial worries like that, I'll be spending it figuring out new ways to make Nakrad's blood boil even harder.
Understood, Grandpa?
So quit spouting nonsense and sit tight.
"What's the matter♡, you cowardly posturing beanpole♡? Running away♡? You get all worked up, accomplish absolutely nothing, and just leave♡? Useless♡ Pathetic♡"
"I told you to shut your mouth!"
"Saintess."
O Armadi, please look upon this lamb so laden with sin and—
"Saintess!"
"Hwahk!"
Jolted awake by the man's booming voice ringing in her ears, Phoebe flushed red and coughed awkwardly.
"Forgive me, Father. I didn't mean to disturb your prayers."
"No, it's quite all right. So—what brings you here, Father?"
"It is nearly time for you to return to the dormitory."
"Already?"
Barely any time had passed since she began her prayers—there was no way it was already that late.
But just as she moved to voice her doubt, Phoebe looked out the window at the glittering procession of stars and her mouth fell open.
The sky, painted pitch black, was announcing that night had long since fallen.
"Thank you, Father. I nearly got an earful from the dorm supervisor."
"Not at all. It was nothing. Get home safely."
After offering her thanks, Phoebe scurried out of the church at a quick trot.
Ever since she had purified Lady Lucy Aln's sword and returned it earlier that day, Phoebe had prayed to Armadi without pause.
Begging, please, to erase the envy and jealousy that had taken root in her heart.
But the harder one tries to forget something, the deeper it engraves itself into the mind—and so it was difficult to say that Phoebe's prayers and penance had borne any fruit.
Ah, if only I knew for certain that Armadi would one day speak to me—if only I could be sure that He loves not Lady Aln alone, but the whole world equally, just as I told the Saintess—then I wouldn't be agonizing like this at all.
Phoebe knew full well how irreverent her thoughts were, and yet she could not stop the dark little doubts from seeping out again and again.
And each time, Phoebe silently offered her apologies to everyone else.
I'm sorry.
I suppose I was never the one who was meant to become a saint.
You've all praised me for so long, and I tried so hard to become someone worthy of it, but I must simply have been inadequate.
I'm sorry.
I'm sorry.
I'm sorr—
Making her way toward the dormitory with her shoulders drooping lower and lower, Phoebe caught the scent of blood drifting past her nose and stopped in her tracks.
This is definitely the smell of human blood.
Was there an accident somewhere?
The instant that thought crossed her mind, Phoebe's feet were already moving of their own accord, following the scent of blood.
She didn't stop to debate whether it was her business or not.
If someone was injured, they had to be treated.
To Phoebe, that was simply common sense.
At the end of that trail, what Phoebe found was a man sprawled in an alley.
Wounded all across his body, breathing in ragged, labored gasps.
Under any other circumstances, Phoebe would have rushed straight to his side—so it was the aura of darkness seeping from his body that made her hesitate, if only for a moment.
This, unmistakably—
the aura of an evil god. An enemy of the Church.
I need to fetch the priests first—
"Hey."
Phoebe's shoulders jumped at the voice drifting out of the darkness.
"You there, priest. Heal me."
"I can't do th—"
"Then allow me to resolve the questions lodged in your heart."
At those words, what surfaced in Phoebe's mind was the rumor that had been circulating through the Academy as of late.
Wander the night streets, and a man dressed in black will appear.
Pay him an appropriate price, and he will answer any question whatsoever.
Others had said his accuracy was one hundred percent.
...Then, if.
If—
if, just perhaps—
I brought out the question hiding in my heart—
would that, too, be answered?
"I can see it. The doubt held within your heart. Do you not wish to be rid of it?"
The voice—
"Fear nothing. I swear upon the name of the god I serve—I will do you no harm."
The voice flowing from the darkness wound itself around Phoebe like a rope, binding her—
"A trade, then. You heal me, and I answer what you wish to know."
Without realizing it, Phoebe took a single step into the darkness.
"Now, speak. What is it you wish to know?"
"What I want to know is..."