The Anniversary (5)
I reached out and wiped the tears from Benedict's face as they dripped down one after another.
It wasn't the kind of move a mesugaki would normally make, but nothing blocked my motion. Thanks to returning from the Archipelago, the restrictions on my behavior had loosened somewhat. Or maybe—just maybe—this was an action Lucy herself wished to take.
Watching Benedict's expression go blank, the emotions welling up inside me grew clearer and clearer.
And so I finally understood how Lucy had felt about Benedict—about her own father.
"Lucy."
The child who had suffered under the curse had resented her father. She had hated the man who left her alone in hell. She had tried to pin on Benedict the original sin of failing to save her mother.
But that resentment hadn't lasted. Benedict's devotion had swept it away.
"Lucy..."
Still, Lucy had never been able to convey these feelings to him. Before she could recognize his devotion, the mistakes she'd committed had piled up too high for that to be possible.
How could a little girl, her sincerity stolen away by a curse, ever have known how to admit her faults and bare her true heart?
"Will you forgive this pathetic excuse for a father?"
Having read every last one of those emotions, I was certain Lucy still lingered inside me.
You want me to pass on to Benedict all the words you never managed to say, don't you? Lucy?
If that's your wish, then I'll gladly do it.
"Lucy?"
I didn't answer Benedict's question. I knew the curse of the mesugaki skill, still lodged inside me, would twist any words of forgiveness into something else. So instead, I straightened my knees and walked toward him, meaning to wrap my arms around his waist—
—and failed.
No! I spread both arms as wide as I could, and I can't even manage a hug around the waist?! Seriously, why does this guy have to be so uselessly huge!
Having failed at my original target, I stepped back, looked up at Benedict as he knelt there, and found my next objective.
Wrapping my arms around his waist was out of the question, but that spot was well within reach. I hopped up and clung to his still-frozen neck, and only then did Benedict carefully lift me into his arms.
"So this is your answer, then."
He smiled through his tears. Having understood what I meant, Benedict wept without end.
Still holding me, he sank to the ground and poured out all the tears he'd been holding back for so long.
For a man with such an enormous face, the sheer volume of liquid streaming out of Benedict was honestly disturbing—but I couldn't escape his embrace. I still couldn't beat Benedict in a contest of strength, after all.
Even in the midst of his wailing, the arms around me stayed gentle enough that I never once suffocated. Either way, though, I was trapped in his arms because of Benedict, with no way out.
It was only around the time my clothes were soaked through as if I'd been caught in the rain that Benedict, who had gone on crying for ages, finally recovered his senses.
Once I'd wriggled free of his embrace, I didn't hide even a scrap of my disgust.
The discomfort was far too great to write off with the word "fatherly love."
Noticing my irritation, Benedict—his face so swollen even an orc would have fled in terror—spat out his apologies, but the golden hour had long since passed. If he had any sense, he should have let me go the moment I started voicing my complaints.
"Pervert Papa. Getting off on making your daughter all soggy like this?"
"N-no. That. Lucy. You know it wasn't because I wanted that."
"So you're pleading diminished capacity? Fine, Papa. Understood. I'll hear the full story from behind bars."
"Lucy?!"
"Wouldn't it be so fun if word got around that the hero who saved the kingdom was actually a pervert who lusts after his own daughter? Right?"
"W-wait, just wait a moment, Lucy. This pathetic father did wrong, yes, but surely it's not a crime that warrants social death!"
Benedict waved his arms, desperately making excuses, but his resistance was crushed by a single cold look from me.
It couldn't be helped. Even if his past sins were forgiven, the fact remained that Benedict was hopelessly obsessed with his daughter.
Do I feel no guilt about tormenting a daughter-doting Benedict? But you see—when I've got him wrapped around my finger like this and no feeling stirs in my heart at all, that must mean Lucy thinks this is right too. What reason would I have for guilt?
Tormenting Benedict with Lucy's tacit approval, I only let up once he finally broke and begged, I'll do anything, just please forgive me.
"Really? Anything? You promised, Papa? You're not going to go all worthless on me and say 'not this' or 'not that,' are you?"
"...Ahem. Lucy. I would still prefer we stay within the bounds of common sense."
"Keep being stingy and I'll go tell Mama's grave every single thing you've done wrong, Papa."
"You're right, I was wrong! I was wrong, so please, I beg you—say nothing of this to Mira!"
Bravely slain by my ultimate technique, Benedict agreed to grant whatever I asked, though his unease was plain as day.
Being so used to the old Lucy, I wonder if he isn't imagining some extravagant demand.
Not that the current me had anything in mind. Tormenting Benedict had simply made the words spill out on their own.
Is there actually something I should ask him for? I racked my brain, but nothing in particular came to mind.
...Ah. There it is—a good idea.
The moment we'd returned to the kingdom with Heishan, Karia had whisked her straight off to the Second Queen, so the quest would surely be complete within a few days. Which meant my stat bonus would be paid out.
That would push all four of my stats past 100. Considering the spec boost that would follow, couldn't I land one solid hit on Benedict?
Picturing that scene, I curled my lips into a grin and called out to him.
"Papa."
"Wh-what could you possibly want to ask for, smiling like that?..."
"I'm going to smash your worthless idiot of a father's face in with my mace."
"...I beg your pardon?"
"Did your face turn into a troll's along with your brain? How do you fail to understand something this simple? Haah. Fine. Since I'm such a kind girl, I'll explain nicely for my dim-witted Papa. I'm saying we should spar. A. Sparring. Match."
*
Having finished every one of her duties at the church, Phoebe was alone in her room preparing her morning prayer when she stared blankly at a blank sheet of paper, then finally dropped her forehead onto the desk with a thud.
"What am I supposed to do? My mind is a total blank."
Phoebe had never once agonized over the content of her morning prayers. Back when she was still unpracticed in the role of Saintess, she had struggled in every way imaginable, but now, after years of repeating the same routine, she could have all her preparations done in about thirty minutes.
The reason she was wracked with such anguish now was that her head—where the morning prayer was supposed to take shape—was filled to the brim with one person's face.
"If I'd known this would happen, I should have finished every last one of my duties first and then contacted the Lady Lyyyyyyyne."
Phoebe had spoken with Lucy through a crystal orb just moments ago.
The content of the conversation itself had been nothing out of the ordinary, yet even now, minutes later, Phoebe could not get the sight of it out of her head.
It couldn't be helped. Lucy—who always wore a mischievous, haughty smirk. Lucy, who seemed incapable of showing a genuine emotion. For the first time, she had smiled—bright and innocent, the smile of a girl her age.
A heartfelt smile from someone already so beautiful and divine carried more than enough force to shoot down the Saintess of the Church of the Main God where she stood.
"Hnnngh. It's so unfair, it makes me want to scream. I want. I want to see the Lady's smile with my own two eyes. I want to laugh while talking with heeeeeeer."
Safe within a room where no one could see her, Phoebe flailed her arms and legs in a full-blown tantrum before collapsing across the desk and letting out a long, long sigh.
There was still so much work left to do at the church.
Once the new year arrived and all the official events were concluded, she could finally leave the Holy Land—but realistically speaking, that was a pipe dream. A woman bearing the title of Saintess had far more than one or two obligations within the church.
Going by past experience, she probably wouldn't get to see the Lady again until the Academy reopened after the new year.
She had come to know a warmth brighter than the sun itself, only to be told she could not stand beside it—and Phoebe spent a long while in quiet despair over that fact, until a knock at her door startled her into lifting her head.
"Saintess. Might I ask you to step out for a moment?"
The voice beyond the door was endlessly familiar to her.
The current head of the Church of the Main God. A wielder of church power whom no one could easily approach. An iron-willed man whose discipline remained unbroken even in his old age. A man who had surely played some part in making Phoebe into a false Saintess. And therefore, the person Phoebe least wanted to meet.
The Pope.
"I'll be right out, Your Holiness."
"It is nothing urgent. Take your time."
Phoebe swiftly straightened her clothing and studied herself in the mirror.
The girl who had been throwing a tantrum mere moments ago was gone. The Phoebe reflected in the glass carried herself with such serene grace that anyone who looked upon her would call her, without question, a saint.
She steadied her heart with a deep breath and carefully opened the door, and the Pope's kindly smile greeted her.
"It has been some time, Saintess."
"...Indeed it has, Your Holiness."
Bowing politely, Phoebe thought back to what she had glimpsed around the Pope.
Why can I see nothing around Your Holiness? No warmth. No cold. Nothing at all—why does nothing reflect off of him?
The divinity dwelling within that man should have been vaster than anyone else's, beyond all comparison. So why?
"It seems your time at the Academy has brought you some enlightenment."
Phoebe's thoughts were severed by the Pope's words. He noticed my change the instant he saw me. Of course deceiving the Pope is impossible, it seems.
"Yes. It is thanks to the wonderful people I met there."
"And that too must be the Chief God's guidance. A truly wonderful thing."
The Pope's gaze upon Phoebe was endlessly gentle. So gentle it was hard to believe he was the one who had chosen her to be a false Saintess.
"Saintess."
"Yes, Your Holiness."
"Will you be taking a brief vacation?"
"A... vacation?"
"After the events leading up to the new year conclude. You have worked hard for so long, Saintess—it is only right that you receive your due reward."
While Phoebe stood frozen at this utterly unexpected proposal, the Pope told her the details would arrive separately in writing and took his leave.
Left alone, Phoebe stared blankly at the spot where he had stood, then tilted her head.
What in the world is His Holiness thinking?
*
Two days had passed since Benedict had sobbed like he was about to dig a well with his tears. On the morning of the day the blizzard finally died and the sunlight returned after so long, I stood facing Benedict with my shield and mace raised.
Benedict stood opposite me without a single piece of armament, but not one soul moved to call him out on it.
Benedict's body itself was a weapon—a monster whose flesh was no different from a blade.
"Lucy. Are you truly set on sparring?"
Despite the crushing pressure that radiated from him naturally, Benedict's face was full of anxiety. He was worried, no doubt, that some careless mistake of his would hurt me.
"Is Papa too worthless to even trust himself to control his strength?"
I understood his heart perfectly well, but I didn't back down. Part of me wanted to feel with my own body just how strong the man called the strongest on the continent truly was.
"That's not it, but still. Just in case."
"Then all you have to do is stand there like a good little wooorthless Papa and take it ♡ How perfect ♡ A worthless, idiotic Papa like you has nothing going for him but that big body of his! ♡ You're made to be a punching bag! ♡"
Besides, I wanted to show Benedict just how much power the current me possessed.
Even though I'd provoked him with all my heart, Benedict only fidgeted and hesitated, and I snorted, tightening my grip on the mace.
There was just one objective.
Landing one solid hit on Benedict.