Save the Boss (9)

It happened just as Johann bowed his head in reverence before the Chief God.

The warmth that had filled the cavern abruptly vanished without a trace.

The gentleness was gone; the light that had been driving back the darkness scattered, and shadow flooded in to swallow the cave whole.

Not long after, there came the heavy thud of something collapsing.

"Lucy!"

Benedict's roar split the silence.

Johann's eyes snapped open in confusion, and he found Benedict catching Lucy as she crumpled toward the floor.

"Bishop Johann! Is now the time to stand there gawping!"

"...Ah! Right away, my lord!"

Johann rushed to her side and spread his magic, scraping out every last thread of divinity that remained within his own body.

This was a child who was clearly beloved of the Chief God.

A child chosen by the Lord, who had kept His long, long silence. If the girl who had worked a miracle right before his very eyes were to come to harm, how could he ever forgive himself?

Back in the day, he had traveled through one blighted region after another doing mission work. When it came to diagnosis and the work of healing, there was no one more practiced than he.

It did not take Johann long to finish his examination of Lucy Aln.

After the holy magic faded and he wiped the cold sweat from his brow, the first thing to pass his lips was a sigh of relief.

"She is fine. She simply exhausted herself by drawing on more power than she could bear. There is nothing wrong with her body."

"Truly?! If anything were to happen to my daughter—!"

"Her condition is precious to me as well, Lord Benedict."

Benedict had been raising his voice in his panic over Lucy, but the moment he met Johann's eyes, he fell silent.

Eyes creased with age, and yet all the more intense and unshakable for it. Even before a monster like Benedict, those eyes had not yielded an inch—within them burned an iron resolve.

"I cannot say how long it will take for her to recover her strength. She realized a miracle that a young noblewoman neither could nor should have been able to perform, after all. But she will wake before long. Of that, I am certain."

"...Then I shall choose to believe it."

As Benedict took a step back, silence settled over the cavern once more.

It did not last long, though.

The Count conjured flames with his own magic and lit up the cave.

"You two. By all means, chat away—but haven't you forgotten something rather important?"

"Hm?"

"You mean us?"

Before the two men, who voiced their puzzlement in unison, the Count set down a single enormous ball of thread.

The instant Benedict and Johann saw what was protected within the mana-woven strands, they both let out a gasp of astonishment.

"How are you feeling?"

At her old comrade's question, Karia gave an awkward smile and shrugged.

"Eh, I'm alright. Can't complain, can't complain."

Karia had fallen victim to an evil god's curse and slept through ages upon ages of time, only to be rescued at the very brink—and yet, truth be told, she felt remarkably little about it.

Which made sense. Her consciousness, stolen away by the evil god, had settled into a place deep, deep beyond all reckoning.

She remembered fragments of the days she'd spent wrestling the curse for control of her own body, flickering and disjointed—but that was the extent of it.

To Karia, those long years she had gone missing passed by like a dream that ended in a single night.

And if you asked what was the one thing that remained in her memory, there was only a single answer.

Light.

Light so bright it burned.

Warm and tender, like the sun of her childhood—light that called up old, half-forgotten memories.

And the figure of a beautiful, adorable little girl holding it aloft.

The girl's back, shoulders squared proudly even in the face of an enormous evil.

"Karia?"

Karia, who had been blankly replaying that scene, came back to herself at her comrade's call.

"No, it's nothing. I'm fine, Benedict."

Perhaps because Karia's sleep had stretched on for so very long.

The indomitable knight who had once fought at her side on the front lines had become an old man.

He'd been old enough even in his youth that she'd wondered how much more aging was even left in him. Turns out there was quite a lot of it, apparently.

Wrinkles had carved themselves deep into his face, gray strands had begun creeping in here and there through his hair, and the old scars had only multiplied.

He still wore the same face she remembered, but the years hung all over him.

"But what about you? From where I'm sitting, you don't look to be in particularly good shape."

The process of being ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠freed from the curse had stripped Karia of most of her original power—but the sharpness of her eye remained exactly as it had been.

"Me?"

"Shall I go through it point by point?"

"Go on, then. Give it your best shot."

Benedict, wrapped in a suit straining at the seams with muscle, was deliberately playing at perfect health—but he was never going to fool Karia.

Reading people was her specialty, after all.

"Burn scars beneath your clothes. Gloves on a man who never used to wear them because they irritated him. A brow that tightens for a heartbeat whenever you sit down—from the pain, I'd wager. Shoulders carrying just a touch too much tension. And on top of all that..."

"Enough. That will do."

Ha. The man sleeps for an eternity and wakes, and his eyes haven't changed a bit.

Benedict let out a laugh at that—then frowned, as if something had struck him as wrong.

"You overdid it, didn't you?"

"It was my one chance to show my daughter how splendid her papa could be. I gave it my all for the first time in an age."

Benedict chuckled breezily—penned up on his estate for so long, he'd pushed himself past his limits and now not an inch of him didn't hurt—and finally his shoulders buckled under the pain.

"Your daughter... would that be the girl who used to cause no end of trouble back in the day?"

"The very one."

"And how is she now? Has she matured at all?"

"She changed overnight over this past year. Changed so drastically that she now keeps this papa on his toes every single day—in an entirely different sense than before."

"Changed how, exactly?"

"You want to hear it?"

Karia nodded without much thought.

She wanted to know just how much the child had changed—the girl whose rearing had once wrung lamentations out of the monster the whole kingdom treated as its guardian deity, a man who had caused trouble after trouble since he was a boy himself.

Before long, however, she came to regret that decision.

"Well, first of all—yes. I suppose I should start with just how extraordinary our daughter is."

The girl had received the blessing of God.

She had taken first place in the Soul Academy entrance examination.

She had emerged victorious against the veritable army of geniuses gathered there, in what could only be called a new miracle of divinity.

The child who had once been anxious whether she could even make friends had grown close to any number of people.

All of that was fine.

That knight who had once been a demon on the battlefield had simply become a hopelessly doting father. Karia, who'd had her own similar experiences, could look on with a fond, indulgent smile.

The problem was what came after.

"And just recently, you know—she called this old father 'Papa' again! Papa! Ah, what a sweet, adorable little sound that is!"

How cute his daughter was, how lovable. How wonderfully she treated her dear old father. Watching him explain it all was frankly more than any sane person could bear.

I don't know if I'm allowed to say this, but it was honestly a little gross.

Lucy. Good job not going even further off the rails. Growing up with this idiot for a father must have been miserable. Magnificent. Truly magnificent.

"Oh dear. Was I being too shameless?"

"You already said everything there was to say, you idiot."

"Hahaha. My apologies. There are people waiting for me, so I ought to be going."

"Wait—not yet. There's something I want to ask."

"Hm?"

What came out of Karia's mouth was the image of the little girl holding up the sun.

Had it simply been a hallucination she'd seen? And if what her eyes had truly witnessed was real, then who—or what—was that girl? Could she meet her?

Benedict, who had patiently listened to every one of the things Karia had been holding back all this while, curled the corners of his mouth upward and rose from his seat.

"Don't you worry. You'll meet her before long."

"...So it wasn't a dream."

"No. And one more thing. It was she who found you, saved you, and purified you. When you meet her, be sure to give her your thanks."

"Why would you worry about that? Do you take me for someone who'd forget a debt?"

"No. I know you wouldn't."

"And Benedict. Thank you."

Karia offered her gratitude, but Benedict gave no reply. He simply waved a hand in lazy farewell and walked out.

And then, crossing paths with him as he entered, came the face of a man who looked to be in his mid-twenties.

The moment he stepped inside and laid eyes on Karia, he froze solid.

Who is this? He's desperately fighting back tears, so we must be closer than your average acquaintances...

Karia studied his face up and down, and a name suddenly surfaced in her mind—only for her to shake her head.

That little idiot was never this well-mannered.

"Master."

But that denial scattered the instant the man choked out his words.

"...Alsaetin. Is that you?"

"Yes. Your foolish disciple, at your service."

"Really?"

Unable to believe it, Karia asked again—and Alsaetin answered her not with words, but with a gesture of his hands.

It was a cipher that only the two of them knew.

It was really him.

The snot-nosed brat who had bawled his eyes out begging her not to leave had grown into a proper adult and was standing here before her.

Time truly is a terrifying thing. To think that insolent little brat who used to snap at me without even knowing who I was has grown ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠up into this.

"So you do grow up eventually, hm? You even know how to speak politely now."

"I could hardly live the rest of my days as a back-alley thug, could I?"

"Save it. Stop chattering and come here."

Rather than saying more, Karia simply pulled Alsaetin into her arms.

Ha. Look at him. The brat's grown disgustingly big.

"And, you know... the way you talk all formal now? It's so weird I think I might actually lose my mind."

"But, Master—"

"Shut it and talk like you used to."

"...Fine. You decrepit old bat."

"There we go. That's my rotten little brat."

It didn't take long for the sound of the two of them snickering and slinging profanity back and forth to be drowned out entirely by the tears spilling from their eyes.

The very first thing I checked when I woke up was, of course, my reward.

No matter how much of a shameless pedophile pervert the loser Chief God might be, He always paid out properly in the end.

Since I'd suffered through all of this because of His screw-up this time, I'd been hoping He'd press something good into my hands—but all that greeted me was a single line: Settlement in progress.

Excuse me. Dear loser Chief God.

According to Grandpa, a whole day has passed since I collapsed. So why on earth is the settlement still "in progress"?

What exactly have you been doing all this time?!

Work!

Your Apostle has clawed her way past death's door how many times because of you, and you think it's acceptable to laze around like some unemployed deadbeat?!

As I screamed inwardly, a wave of dizziness washed over me and I pitched forward face-first.

"How many times must I tell you to rest? You have pushed a body that was already in poor condition all the way past its limits—your state right now is the worst it could possibly be. You need rest, I say."

'I know that already, you know...'

"Quiet, you face-obsessed fox. If even a scum-tier pervert like you knows it, did you really think I wouldn't?"

My body's condition was an absolute ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠disaster.

It had already been weakened from the face-obsessed fox siphoning off my life force—and on top of that, I had performed a miracle that should never have been possible.

Either one alone would have demanded a good long rest from here on out. I had done both at once.

The face-obsessed fox said that surviving this much at all was a miracle in its own right.

Which meant that, for the foreseeable future, I was doomed to live as the frail, sickly mesugaki maiden I'd only ever ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠joked about becoming.

This was a serious problem.

Do you have any idea how much I have to do over this vacation?! In this state, I can't manage a single proper training session!

Uuurgh. I'm not about to waste the entire two months that are left, am I? That would sting so, so badly.

Just as I was racking my brain over whether there wasn't some way to recover my condition quickly, a new message appeared.

...Huh?

I beg your pardon?

Lord Armadi?