Academy Term-End Party (8)

Watching the Dean sweat cold rivers, René felt a pang of guilt. As the First Prince and the kingdom's leading heir to the throne, René had once been just another student at Soul Academy himself, so it was hardly pleasant to realize that he was putting the man who had, in many ways, helped him through those years into such a difficult position. But there was nothing he could do to clear up this predicament. It hadn't been he who created this situation — it was his mother.

That morning, before heading to the academy's term-end party, René had been trying to finish up the day's duties in advance when Kabadi's sudden visit caught him off guard. He had assumed that with the party beginning around evening, they wouldn't set out until at least the afternoon.

'Your Majesty the First Queen. As far as I'm aware, neither your escort nor your entourage is prepared.'

'That's right. But it's no problem. The two of us will be moving separately.'

'...Pardon?'

Instead of answering René's question, Kabadi simply clapped her hands. The door opened, and agents of the intelligence bureau filed in carrying disguises.

'If we move about openly, we'll only be a nuisance to the people enjoying the festival. We must move in secret.'

At words that betrayed not a shred of doubt in her own judgment, René — much like the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Dean was doing right now — posed a thoroughly reasonable question.

"Um, Your Majesty. For someone who is, in effect, the face of the kingdom to travel about without an escort—"

"Dean, what is there to worry about? I have René with me. How many people could possibly threaten the two of us?"

When Kabadi added that everything would be fine as long as Sir Benedict didn't go berserk with madness, neither the Dean nor René could bring themselves to shake their heads. After all, how many individuals could hope to harm a woman who, before becoming the kingdom's First Queen, had been one of the capital's knights' foremost powers?

"It's not as though I'd even need to exert myself. I have full faith in Soul Academy's capabilities."

Faced with this veiled jab — are you telling me you lack even the confidence to prevent an incident before it happens? — the Dean had no choice but to reply that he hoped she enjoyed her stay.

Even a man of his standing — a high-ranking noble and a scholar brilliant enough to become Dean of Soul Academy — remained, before one of the kingdom's most powerful figures, forever the subordinate party.

"It's been decades since I studied here, and yet nothing in this place has changed."

"Is that so?"

"Yes. That building, that statue, and the scholars' prison over there."

As Kabadi appended the explanation that it was a good place — and a place that ought to stay good — she spotted a girl crossing the plaza and followed her with her eyes, visibly intrigued. Crimson hair that scattered with every step. Eyes brimming with mischief. Skin so lily-white it seemed to glow even beneath the sun. A petite figure radiating femininity from every inch. The girl was beautiful enough to command every gaze wherever she went, but that wasn't what held Kabadi's interest. Not the child's exterior, but her interior. A divinity so unique and so mighty that she could hardly believe the girl was an academy student, coupled with a body tempered beyond all reason.

"That's the young lady of House Aln, is it not?"

"...Pardon? Ah. Yes. I believe so."

René's answer carried no conviction. The Lucy Aln he had faced at the Partran festival and the Lucy Aln of today were infinitely alike yet utterly different. What on earth had happened in the months since the festival ended? He had heard she'd changed, but not like this. How had a doll that was merely beautiful come to brim with life? ...No wonder the Apostle of the Art Order didn't stop at lavish praise — he'd gone and composed songs about her.

"Seeing her in person is even more astonishing. I can hardly believe she's the same girl who once insulted you and me."

"She must carry the blood of House Aln, after all."

"To think a first-year at the academy could be this."

Crescenting her eyes into a crescent moon, Kabadi watched until Lucy Aln vanished from view, then made for the exhibition grounds with a notably lighter step.

The dungeon exhibition hall was still packed with people. Everyone from those shoving their faces into every corner, doing their utmost to forge connections and conversational fodder, to those who rarely set foot outside their own territories under normal circumstances. As René surveyed the crowd and nodded along, conceding that this dungeon really was something, the smile at the corner of Kabadi's mouth deepened. And before long, René and Kabadi stepped into the dungeon itself and proceeded at a leisurely pace. What had been fun here, and what she ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠had liked over there — the conversation between René, judged more than qualified to inherit the throne, and Kabadi, who had cleared countless dungeons even before becoming queen, was of such caliber that Lucy would have wept tears of emotion had she overheard it.

The two, advancing without the slightest hitch, finally came to a stop around the corridor leading down to Floor 0. The moment they reached the fourth room, René's neck flew off at Kabadi's hand. Frowning, he rose while rubbing at the place where his head had been severed. There's magic woven into this place. A sound-blocking variety, too. It wasn't part of the dungeon's original design — Her Majesty's handiwork, I suppose.

"René."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

"What are your thoughts on a betrothal to the Lady of House Aln?"

"...Do you speak in earnest?"

René couldn't bring himself to dismiss it as a joke. Setting aside her personality, Lucy Aln had no disqualifying flaws whatsoever. Though the problem with that personality was rather enormous.

As René agonized over what one was supposed to do when the First Queen got an idea into her head, Kabadi let out a laugh.

"Judging by your expression, you must truly hate the idea. It was a joke. The Lady of Aln has far too many problems to ever become queen."

"Then—"

"But she is a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠talent we must keep within our grasp."

"..."

"And simultaneously, someone we must keep a close watch on."

Helping René to his feet, she idly toyed with her own magic as she went on.

"My workload has grown. So much to investigate, so many separate preparations to make, so much more to think about."

"...Is there anything I might do to help?"

"No. Just carry on as usual. This is something I must handle personally."

With that, Kabadi concluded the conversation and walked alone down the corridor, withdrawing her magic as she went. Her footsteps, unlike when she had entered the dungeon, had slowed ever so slightly.

- Ring.

The pervert apostle, who had been fussing with my hair, asked cautiously when I flinched at the chime that had suddenly come flying in.

"Lady Aln... did I perhaps make some mistake?"

'No, it's fine.'

"It's just that your revolting handiwork gave me the creeps. Don't worry about it. Your mere existence making me want to puke is hardly a new development."

"Haha. How embarrassing. I shall be more careful."

Once I'd confirmed the pervert apostle was still working his hands, I turned my attention to the message. It was quiet even when the penalty ended, so why is this window popping up now? There'd been no reaction at all, so I'd assumed something would come flying in once break started. Wait. Come to think of it, doesn't the Loser Chief God only hand out quests this out of the blue when something urgent has come up? It was like that with Adri. And with Phoebe. Another problem's cropped up, hasn't it?!

Reading the quest text, I checked the eyes in the mirror beyond the blue window — eyes salted over with exhaustion — and let out a sigh. So that's what this is. You just wanted to show off, huh. My apostle is just this cute and pretty! That's what you wanted to brag about, isn't it? Seriously, have some dignity befitting an actual Chief God. The god you serve should be presentable, or what's the point of living as their apostle? Just look at the pervert apostle behind me. This guy doesn't harbor a single sliver of doubt about the god he believes in. And you know why? Because for all that the pervert crow is a degenerate even by human standards, she puts on a properly dignified front for the people who believe in her! If the Chief God is worse than the people beneath her, what's the world supposed to come to?!

And another thing. Isn't the quest condition way too vague? "Showcase how noble you are" — what does that even mean? How am I supposed to do that? Worst case, the moment you decide I've failed, you could just slap a penalty right on— Huh? Why isn't there a failure penalty? Is something glitched? No. I checked the quest window and the Log Function, and there's no penalty listed anywhere. What is this? The Loser Chief God has never done this before? No matter how dangerous or how playful something looked, she always stuck a penalty in there somewhere — so why has she put nothing in this time? I could write it off as the Loser Chief God's goodwill, but I couldn't quite bring myself to. Because the Loser Chief God engraved in my memory is not a being who extends goodwill for free. If I had to make a Loser-ish guess, it'd be something like, "No one will dare call my apostle anything less than noble!" Or maybe she left ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠something behind to stab me in the back after I fail the quest. Judging by the penalty she gave out last time, the Loser Chief God isn't purely out to torment me, though. Aaah. Whatever. Forget it. It'll work out somehow. No point agonizing over something that won't yield an answer — let's just look at the reward. The Hero's Soul — that's the new function, right? The one I got as a reward but couldn't even inspect because I had no idea what it was. I tested it every way I could think of and got nothing, so I'd shelved it as something I'd figure out eventually — and now she's handing me a clue about it? Should I say she's being awfully prompt about it? Or should I say thank you for finally getting around to it? If I were a devout believer, I'd choose the latter, but I'm not Phoebe.

"My lady."

Pulled out of my daydream by the somewhat giddy voice of the pervert apostle, I signaled with a glance that I was listening.

"I would, at last, impart the Goddess's blessing upon you. May I have your permission?"

The crow goddess's blessing mostly tied into the Charm stat, right? Then there's no reason to refuse. I'm in a situation where the higher my Charm, the better.

'Very well. Go ahead.'

"Do as you like. I doubt that crow could make me any prettier than I already am, but."

Excuse me?! When it's the Loser Chief God, you address her properly as the Chief God every single time, but the crow goddess doesn't even get treated as a goddess?!

Having inadvertently insulted the man's god right in front of him, I studied the pervert apostle's expression through the mirror. Completely frozen. Guess even you couldn't smooth this one over, huh.

"...Th-then, I shall begin at once."

Was it so blasphemous that he's just pretending he didn't hear it? Is that even allowed? Shouldn't your goddess be mad that I called her sacrilegious? That pervert crow has a ferocious temper, doesn't she? What if this "blessing" is actually some bizarre divine punishment in disguise? Receiving the blessing of a petty, small-minded crow suddenly felt very worrying — but before I could talk him out of it, the pervert apostle had already begun his prayer. Haaah. It'll be fine. Probably. However foul her mood, she wouldn't do something strange to the apostle of the Chief God... right?

"O Goddess."

I surveyed the divinity spreading through the air around the pervert apostle. Not the solar warmth carried by mine or Phoebe's divinity, but a divinity laced with the crisp freshness of spring — it drifted close and tickled my skin. Perhaps because I'd grown accustomed to handling divinity, I caught its meaning right away. It's asking me to open a path and let it in. Don't try anything funny. Pull any nonsense and I'll burn you to ash.

When I opened a channel through the divinity flowing within my body, the crow goddess's divinity poured in from that opening. I closed my eyes and felt its crispness spread through me.

- "A crow! What an adorable nickname! I'll treasure it in my heart! You're just too, too, too pretty!"

The moment the divinity engraved in my body manifested its will, a voice rang through my mind. This voice. It couldn't be. Bubbly, vivid, and innocently bright — an unforgettable, striking voice, and there was no difficulty at all in guessing its owner. There's only one being I've called a crow. ...Lady Armadi. I take back what I said about learning from example. Just please stay exactly as you are. You're better than that pervert crow. That's an improvement, isn't it? It must be an improvement. It'll be better. Yeah. It has to be.

At the sound of a body hitting the floor, I opened my eyes and sighed at the sight of the pervert apostle, who had once again passed out from sheer bliss. It's not as though we've only seen each other once or twice. Shouldn't he have built up some resistance by now? Well, nothing's changed either way. What's reflected in the mirror is just me.

'Grandfather, did anything change?'

I called for Gramps because I couldn't spot any difference myself, but no answer came back. Why is this old man ignoring me again? At this rate I can't even get an objective assessment. Knock, knock.

"Lucy Aln. May I come in? There's something I need to say before the party starts."

Oh. Arthur. Perfect timing. I was just in need of someone to evaluate my current appearance.

'Come in.'

"You may come in, but brace yourself. The fragile, gutless Pitiful Prince won't be able to endure it."

"What kind of nonsense is that supposed to—"

The moment I saw Arthur freeze solid mid-way through opening the door, I let out a sigh, loud and unabashed. There's no hope of getting an evaluation out of this one either. Why is every single man in this town such a loser?