The Anniversary (7)
Having experienced it with his own body, Benedict was a monster beyond anything my eyes could have shown me.
Every single punch carried enough force to shatter my defenses outright — how was that even supposed to make sense?
Even after acquiring the Superhuman Body skill and raising my stats considerably, I spent the entire time pinned under Benedict's pressure before collapsing flat onto the ground.
There wasn't so much as a sliver of an opening to provoke him. When even breathing was a struggle, how was I supposed to manage moving my lips?
So after I'd exhausted myself to the point where I couldn't move so much as a finger, Frey and Arthur stepped up before Benedict, saying they wanted to experience his strength firsthand.
Watching the two of them, I seriously questioned whether they'd lost their minds. They'd just watched with their own eyes what happened to me, and they could still say that? I half wondered if all that training in the Alrn Knight Order had awakened a masochistic streak in them.
Benedict did not refuse their request. To those who had given him an epiphany, he said, he was happy to help in any way he could.
"Taking you two on one at a time would let me teach you far too little. Come at me all three of you at once."
"...I'm sorry, what? Count Alrn, I wasn't particularly interested in sparring..."
"Understood, Count Alrn. I will give it my all."
"I'll land a hit at least once."
"No, I'm telling you, I have no desire to spar whatsoever?!"
"Haha. Very well. Come at me, then. I hope that spirit of yours carries you to the very end."
"Um, hello?! Can you seriously not hear my voice at all?!"
Needless to say, the three of them got utterly demolished by Benedict.
If I couldn't withstand his attacks, how on earth were three others supposed to?
Partway through, Jackal joined in, making it three turn into four, and once I'd recovered a decent amount of stamina I threw myself in as well, making five — but nothing changed. Benedict was overwhelming, and the rest of us were nothing more than his playthings.
And yet we did not back down. Knowing full well we couldn't win, we threw ourselves at Benedict again and again until we dropped.
Because this kind of sparring was worth willingly hurling yourself into the despair inflicted by physical and mental limits and overwhelming, crushing power.
A powerhouse on the level of the continent's very best, moving his own body to teach us so many things — that carried a value all its own.
And so it went: conditioning drills in the morning, a bout with Benedict at midday, then back to the Knight Order's training regimen until we dropped into bed, day after day.
The blizzard that had swallowed the territory gradually lost its fury, and at last the dark clouds parted and the sun rose into the sky — as if to honor the day Mira, the woman Benedict had loved and would keep loving, Lucy's mother, had died.
"Useless Erin. Tie my hair up with this today."
I woke early in the morning and pulled the accessory the Perverted Apostle had given me out of my Inventory. Erin stared blankly at the ornament resting in my palm for a long while before finally coming back to her senses.
"My lady... what on earth is this?"
"Something the Perverted Apostle made, packed to the brim with his repulsive tastes."
"...I beg your pardon?"
Hearing my explanation, Erin blinked in visible confusion, but I said nothing more.
I knew that no matter how I explained it, I'd only deepen her bewilderment.
Once Erin saw my mouth firmly shut, she asked no further questions. She simply handled the accessory with painstaking care, as if she felt unworthy of touching something that looked so precious.
"I'm sorry, my lady. Compared to the magnificence of this accessory, my skills fall short."
Erin had agonized over the hairstyle for a long while, but her expression was dark. Her explanation was that her abilities were simply inadequate next to the accessory itself — that she couldn't do full justice to its splendor.
I found that hard to understand. The style the Perverted Apostle had made and the one Erin had just crafted looked practically identical to me.
"I should very much like to seek instruction from whoever crafted this. Surely they must be a tremendous artist."
Watching Erin's anguish through the mirror, I found myself debating whether to introduce her to the Perverted Apostle at some point.
He was a rotten pervert, no question about it — but when it came to the field of art, he was an overwhelming presence.
I had no fear that he'd be reluctant to pass on his skills. All it would take was playing along with his depraved tastes once, and he'd be beaming ear to ear as he taught her everything he knew. That much was certain.
"As for the outfit, I prepared a dress — the one the late Madam was said to have loved best."
"...Useless Erin. Is something wrong with your head? You think clothes from back then would fit my body now?"
"There's no need to worry, my lady. Very little has changed."
At Erin's assurance that a few minimal alterations were all it took, I froze solid.
It had been years since Mira passed from this world, and very little has changed? Lucy's body was the same as when she was a little child?!
An unspeakable shock flooded my skull — and yet, at the same time, it made perfect sense.
Of course it did. Lucy's height was something you had to compare to an elementary schooler's. Take her to an amusement park and half the rides would be off-limits.
...More than anything, I'd stood face to face with that young Lucy arranged by the Useless Chief God, and our eyes had been nearly level. That was a plain, undeniable fact — how could I possibly deny it?
The dress Erin brought me was a white one, similar to what I'd worn at the Semester-End Party.
A garment that let the wearer's own beauty shine by keeping its embellishments simple.
'Oh my goodness! Lucy! You look so beautiful!'
'What if someone mistakes you for an angel and whisks you up to heaven?! Mommy is just so, so worried!'
The moment I saw her in the mirror, a flicker of the past Lucy's memories brushed across my mind.
Ahaha. Damn. Now I understood why Lucy had insisted on those pointless, gaudy outfits. If she didn't wear them, the memory of her mother's face would surface — and she simply couldn't bear it.
"My lady? Are you all right?"
Hearing Erin's voice, I belatedly came back to myself and wiped the tears clinging to the corners of my eyes with both hands. I was slowly getting used to these sudden waves of grief, too.
Once I'd finished preparing and stepped outside the manor, Benedict was there waiting, and he came to greet me.
He'd tried to smile the way he always did, but the moment he saw me he stiffened, bit his lip, hurriedly turned his head away — and only after a long while did he face me again.
He was forcing a smile, but the moisture welling in Benedict's eyes told me exactly who he was thinking of right now.
"It's been so long since I've seen you in that dress."
"It just makes an already pretty me look even prettier, right? I'd rather die than have disgusting perverted creeps swarming around me."
"Haha. I suppose that's true. Even now, rumors of your beauty are the talk of high society."
With that, Benedict held out his hand to me.
So large that even spreading my palm wide, he could barely grip it with two fingers — yet rather than frightening, it felt dependable.
Without a moment's hesitation, I took Benedict's hand and walked with him through the snow.
As we walked, Benedict spoke at length about the Mira he remembered.
A chance encounter born in the thick of war. His desperate courtship. His family's fierce opposition to marrying a common-born woman. Benedict forcing the marriage through anyway.
As I committed every one of those stories to memory, I realized that the Benedict of today had become remarkably gentle.
The man of the past had been willful, moody, and possessed of both the power and the capability to act on whatever he desired — a troll through and through. Though, granted, his fundamentally good heart set him apart from Lucy.
Listening to his stories as my feet carried me onward, I eventually found the Alrn family graveyard coming into view.
It was early even by medieval standards, yet a great many people had gathered near the cemetery.
The strange thing was that they lingered only outside its gates, never stepping within. As if waiting for someone.
"Everyone. The Lord of the territory has arrived."
The moment one of them raised his voice, the crowd parted in flawless unison to open a path.
A path carved not from fear, but from respect.
I'm envious. I wonder if I'll ever get to see a sight like that myself, someday?
"It has been a while, my lord."
The man in charge of tending the graves bowed respectfully to Benedict, then caught sight of me and shot his eyebrows straight up. Was it really so astonishing that I, who hadn't come last year, had returned?
"...My lady."
"People do grow up, you know."
"Lady Mira would surely be overjoyed as well."
"I imagine so."
"Please, go on in. I shall keep watch over the cemetery from here."
After walking deep into the grounds, a marble building came into view.
The Alrn family crest was set into its face — it seemed to be the resting place for members of the bloodline.
Benedict walked me up to it, then took a single step back.
"Go in first and have your time with her. This old father barges in here at all hours to whine and grumble, so I haven't much left to say."
I didn't refuse Benedict's consideration. The feelings pressing down heavy on my chest were certain to come crashing down the moment I laid eyes on Mira's grave.
"...Hk."
My prediction wasn't wrong. The instant I stepped inside and saw the cross bearing Mira's name, the rims of my eyes went red.
"...Hkk."
It was a feeling entirely different from the time when terror had surged up and broken my heart. When I'd been swallowed by fear, it felt like something I could barely endure — like a dam collapsing under the strain. Now, it felt as if the floodgates of that dam had simply been opened, gently and naturally.
"Huaaaaang!"
And so I sank to the floor and wept. I poured out tears for a long, long time.
Until they dried up and would come no more.
Again.
And again.
And again.
I cried until my throat was so raw I couldn't produce a proper sound, then barely clamped down on my spiraling mind and staggered to my feet.
The moment I engraved Mira's name into my eyes once more, the tears threatened to burst free all over again, but I forced the feeling down. If I broke into sobs again, I was truly going to cry myself unconscious.
With my lips pressed tight until the grief subsided, I gazed at Mira's name — and then hung a single necklace around my own neck.
The necklace Lucy had so desperately sought.
An accessory that had once held a miracle within it, but now retained no power at all.
Unlike what the Lucy of the past had favored, something plain and modest on the surface.
In Lucy's place, I laid that necklace upon the grave.
The instant it left my hand, Divinity settled into it.
Not the divinity used by ordinary priests — but the Divinity of the Chief God, carrying His warmth exactly as it was.