The Archipelago (10)
'Silly Papa. I'm going out into high society.'
Lucy, who had once been so afraid of leaving her parents' embrace, suddenly declared to Benedict that she would enter society. If this were a tale from a heroic saga, one might imagine the picture of a child who had lost the tooth that kept her safe, cracking her shell and stepping forward. Reality was nothing of the sort.
The child whose rotted, festering heart was carved into her eyes wanted nothing more than to bare her hatred to the world. To inflict the very same pain upon the world that had given her nothing but suffering.
If—just if—Benedict had noticed his daughter's anguish, the story would have turned out differently. If he had sought to protect her as he always had, Lucy would never have thrown herself away.
But Benedict, sunk in the despair of having lost his wife, struggling even to breathe, never once looked at Lucy.
'Do as you please.'
'Yes... silly Father.'
And so, the child gave up on salvation.
The moment the illusion crumbled, the despair Lucy had carried was etched itself back into her mind. It was a darkness even an adult weathered by society would struggle to bear, and it pressed down on her heart.
I had been clenching my teeth to endure it, and only after a long while did I wipe a face drenched in cold sweat.
"...So you saw the old memories again this time as well?"
"Yes."
"It looks terribly hard on you. Why not rest a while before we continue?"
"I'm fine. This much is nothing."
After answering Grandpa so breezily, I tried to force myself upright and staggered forward instead, face-planting. I fell with a resounding clatter, then lifted my head with a wince.
"Nothing, you say?"
"...Shut up."
I could see the shield I'd dropped lying far away. With a sigh, I reached to pick it up—and saw my own face reflected in the pristine white surface.
Anyone who saw the haggard face of that child would know at a glance that something was deeply wrong.
If I walk out looking like this, Carl is going to scream his head off. Karia would pretend not to care and worry herself sick anyway.
Haa. Best to stay here until I can at least put on my usual expression.
With one long sigh, I sat down on the ground and stared up at the dark ceiling.
Why does that pathetic Chief God keep showing me these things?
If his goal were simply to save the world by opposing the Evil Gods, none of this would be necessary. It'd actually be a hindrance—if I got thrown into confusion, who knows what kind of variables that would create.
It can't be to comfort the Lucy who vanished from this world, either. The one who bestowed the Mesugaki blessing in this world was the Chief God himself.
A god who understands his own mistakes and knows how to be ashamed of them would never commit such hypocrisy.
Then what is it? What does the pathetic Chief God want? I was mulling that over blankly when I realized that Mira's memorial day was drawing near.
Somehow, the moment it settled in my chest, my heart grew heavier still, and I wrapped my arms around my knees.
"It appears this incident was Rasha's doing—a means of protecting Lady Alrn."
With the Church of the Main God's ceremony approaching, Johann had visited the Holy Land, and he relayed what he'd uncovered over his tea.
"Lady Alrn?"
"Yes. That woman loves saplings with the potential to grow strong. She was surely taking care so they wouldn't be snapped before they could bloom."
"Um. Even so, how can you be so certain it relates to Lady Alrn? The Empire's arena has plenty of other strong ones, doesn't it?"
"There are several reasons, but what convinced me was this: everyone Rasha slaughtered had marked Lady Alrn's peculiarities for themselves."
Phoebe understood why only black magic practitioners and priests had been killed.
The black mages would have seen the Chief God's Apostle as nothing more than a splendid sacrifice, and so she killed them. The priests of the Church of the Main God would have refused to acknowledge the very existence of the Chief God's Apostle, and so she killed them too.
Which meant—
"Has Lady Rasha... perceived the young lady's truth, then?"
"It would seem so. She is the Apostle of the Evil God of Destruction, after all."
"...I beg your pardon?"
"You didn't know? Everyone who is anyone knows this."
At Johann's offhand remark, Phoebe's eyes went wide.
"Lady Rasha serves an Evil God?"
"'Serves' is an imprecise word. The woman has no faith at all."
When the Church discovered Rasha's connection to the Evil God of Destruction, it had moved to subjugate her.
Rasha, who hid nothing of her deeds, had met the subjugation force with a savage grin and felled every last one of them—shouting that if they wanted her dead, they should bring someone stronger.
But Rasha's wish was never granted.
"His Holiness the Pope declared at the time that an unbeliever holding the seat of Apostle was, in fact, good news for the Church, and that there was no need for further sacrifice."
"How very like His Holiness. He is an exceedingly pragmatic man."
"Rasha herself threw a fit, of course, but what could she do? Since then, the Church of the Main God has merely watched Rasha's movements without ever intervening."
It would be the same this time. Because Johann would make it so.
Rasha has provoked the Church once more in pursuit of her own desires—and therefore must simply be ignored.
Having conversed with those who had noticed Phoebe's transformation and built a faction of his own, Johann was confident he could steer the Church's opinion.
"I shall need to pray for a long while today."
Phoebe gazed sadly into the middle of her teacup. Johann was certain that today, Phoebe's prayers would carry mourning for the dead.
After roughly a minute of silence, just as Johann was about to raise another topic, someone knocked at the door.
"It is Kiren. Might I have a moment?"
"What is it?"
"I bring a letter from His Holiness the Pope, addressed to the Saintess."
What could have him moving about so busily—the man who so rarely even contacts the Church—sending a letter to the Saintess?
Johann harbored his doubts, but the seal pressed into the wax of the letter the priest delivered was unmistakably the Pope's own.
Once the priest had withdrawn, Phoebe unfolded the letter.
"...Bishop Johann. His Holiness has always been pragmatic, but he was never a cold man, was he?"
"Indeed. The Church retains its form today in large part thanks to him. But why bring that up now, all of a sudden?"
"His Holiness says he will warn Lady Rasha himself."
"His Holiness, you say?"
Shock rang in Johann's voice. So he had regarded this affair with such gravity?
...Wait. According to the intelligence I received recently, Rasha is currently heading toward the Archipelago.
Which means there is a strong possibility that His Holiness the Pope, moving separately as he is, is also bound for the Archipelago.
And according to what Karia's people reported not long ago, Lady Alrn is most certainly in the Archipelago right now as well.
His Holiness is a good man—but he is not merely good. He is a man who, by pure reason, will cut down anything without mercy.
What judgment would he render, if he laid eyes on Lady Alrn as she is now?
Having thought that far, Johann furrowed his brow and rose from his seat.
"Bishop Johann?"
"I must step away for a time. Some rather urgent business has come up."
It is not yet time.
"I shall return within the week."
It is far too early, still.
Far too early.
Yesterday's dungeon vision had shown me Lucy's declaration that she would enter high society.
Which meant what I'd see today would be even darker. No dinner for me tonight. The moment I faced that illusion, I'd be retching for certain.
"Lucy Alrn!"
Arthur's shout snapped me back to my senses just in time to see a carapace claw flying straight at me.
Too late to dodge. And the situation wasn't good enough for a clean block, either.
So what does one do in that case?
Smash it.
Raising my mace instead of my shield, I brought it down dead center of the claw. The pincer that hadn't borne so much as a scratch under countless blows shattered outright, spraying shards everywhere.
Watching the dungeon boss thrash in agony, I realized I'd made a mistake.
Oops. I was planning to just play tank up front and take it slow—but at this rate the run's pacing is going way too fast.
What do I do? Should I secretly heal it or something?
It feels too cheap and underhanded, honestly, but it beats losing the bet.
"Don't worry. The time limit for the bet has already passed, after all."
"Really? Phew. Thank goodness."
"Besides, you won't have the time to heal that carapace thing anyway."
"Huh? What do you—"
My question never made it to the end. Before it could, an enormous surge of mana erupted behind me.
"Yes! My lady! You left me an opening!"
Following the flow of mana, I turned my head to see a magic circle shimmering to life behind Joy.
It was an immense array woven together from several layered circles—something so intricate that the current me couldn't hope to decipher it—and yet somehow, I could feel what spell was about to manifest.
Because an endless cold was pouring out of the magic circle.
"Freeze!"
CRACK! The massive carapace, like some tiny ornamental garden, was sealed inside a block of ice in an instant, and the entire cavern filled with frost.
Joy shivered violently, having spent every last drop of her mana and left with nothing even to warm herself, but her face was bright.
"It worked! I wasn't sure it would, but it worked!"
Whatever eccentric madness was unique to mages had taken hold of her—apparently expressing her joy mattered more to her than observing proper noble etiquette.
I stared at the sight in exasperation, then wrapped her in divinity. Joy's shivering stopped at once.
"Ah, my lady, thank you so much—"
"Hey, scatterbrain. This is a hypothetical question, but do you know the term 'confirming the kill'?"
"...Huh?"
"You seriously don't? And here I thought you at least had a decent head under all that flakiness. I'm a little—okay, a lot—disappointed."
"No! I know that word perfectly well! But that was definitely—"
KRAK! The sound of ice splitting echoed through the cavern. Even frozen solid in the ice that had sealed it in a heartbeat, the carapace was still clinging to its life.
"...Eh?"
Watching Joy's eyes blink in disbelief, I couldn't hold back a sigh. That incurable scatterbrained-ness of hers—when would it ever go away.
"Joy! Lucy Alrn! This is no time for this! That thing is about to revive any moment!"
"It's fine."
With Frey's flat voice, her sword swung.
A slash that seemed a blur of colorless shades—able to become anything and yet nothing—split the carapace through the ice, halves and all, snuffing out its life for good.
With a heavy THOOM, the creature's head dropped away, and the exit leading out of the dungeon revealed itself.
"That's that."
Frey sheathed her sword as if it were nothing at all—but the rest of us, myself included, were not so composed.
Ha. That girl. She's really going to manifest Color before her second year even starts.
Talent has degrees, you know. Degrees.
Keep this up and by the end of her second year she'll be demanding a duel with Benedict.
"Your Highness. Your Highness. No time for this. Time."
"Ah! Time! Right!"
Snapped back to his senses by Frey's urging, Arthur led Joy out of the dungeon—off to have their clear time verified by the people measuring it outside.
Having already heard the results from Grandpa, I trailed after them at my leisure, wondering what I'd use to scare them with today.
Just as predicted, the three of them were wallowing in despair over losing the bet.
"You scatterbrain! If only you hadn't screwed up—!"
"Your Highness, you're the one who said that was the right call back then! This isn't just my fault—!"
I was snickering at their bickering when Karia, still in disguise, came up to me.
"Lady Alrn. It seems we need to get out of the Archipelago. Immediately."
"Why? Did someone step on your toes? What poor sucker got caught by you this time?"
"...Word is the Pope is coming here. The intel came straight from Bishop Johann himself—it cannot be wrong."