Adaptation (8)
"I apologize. My powers of persuasion were lacking, and I failed to convince the members of the sect."
When the pervert apostle returned to the parlor, he was stiff as a board — a far cry from his usual relaxed, sly self.
It seemed even the pervert himself hadn't expected things to turn out this way.
Frankly, I was just as baffled by the situation.
Those perverted bastards had been throwing themselves at me like lunatics until just days ago, and now they were telling me my word couldn't be trusted!?
Seriously!?
If you can keep business and pleasure this neatly separate, couldn't you at least keep your sanity on the street too!?
Too dumbfounded to even open my mouth, I let Alsaetin step in, carefully posing the question on my behalf.
"Lord Frete. Was it truly a matter of trust? Looking over the materials I provided, anyone ought to find the situation suspicious."
The materials Alsaetin had produced in so short a time were excellent. Anyone who looked at them would sense that something was deeply wrong.
My word alone — that of a mere child from a noble house — might not carry weight, but was there any reason to dismiss the evidence Alsaetin had laid out as well?
At Alsaetin's question, the pervert apostle gave an awkward smile, swept his hair back, and let out a sigh of a voice.
"This is difficult to say with my own mouth, but... the, ah, the Art Sect's members are terribly irrational when it comes to anything involving the evil gods."
"...Ah. I see. So that's the nature of the problem."
Why were they all talking among themselves like only they understood each other? Irritated, I dropped one eyebrow, and noticing my annoyance, the pervert apostle hurriedly added an explanation.
"I doubt you're aware of this, my lady, but our Art Sect hasn't been this large for very long. Until just a few decades ago, we were treated as a place that could vanish at any moment."
The Art Sect the pervert described closely matched the one I knew from the game.
A faction with only modest power.
A place with a few events attached, but no real reason to ever visit.
A zone players ended up avoiding later on because the Crow Goddess was simply too annoying.
That was the Art Sect of the game as I knew it.
But the Art Sect of today was different.
The current sect possessed power enough to stand against the Church of the Main God itself.
"The reason we were able to grow so large wasn't only the efforts of our current leader and priests — it was because we became a haven for those who had nowhere left to go."
Ever since receiving the goddess's choice, the pervert apostle had wandered the continent without rest, going from place to place.
Many assumed this wandering was simply part of his eccentric nature, but the truth was different.
His journeys had almost always been guided by the goddess's hand.
Following her guidance, the pervert apostle had attacked countless places where the evil gods' followers committed atrocities, and in the process, he had saved many lives.
"Most of those who survived hell had lost their homes — people who had forgotten even the reason to live. I could not simply abandon them."
And so the pervert apostle brought the survivors of the evil gods' followers back to the sect.
He gave them a reason to live by showing them his art.
He tucked hope into their arms.
As he repeated this over and over, the Art Sect naturally swelled in power, and before anyone realized it, it had become one of the mightiest churches on the continent.
"Most of those who hold positions in the sect today are survivors of that past. So when anything involving the evil gods comes up, they cannot help but see red."
The pervert apostle shrugged, saying that they, too, had noticed something was off in their heads — they simply refused to accept it.
"Things simply haven't gone smoothly yet. If I keep persuading them, they'll listen eventually. After all, I am an apostle of the Art Sect, unimpressive as that may look."
Having only ever seen the man clinging to me like a lunatic, watching him this earnest made it clear why he had become an apostle.
Before any talk of artistic talent, the pervert apostle was, unmistakably, a man of genuine virtue.
If he'd always acted like this, I wouldn't have recoiled from him the way I do.
Letting out a small chuckle, I rose from my seat instead of answering the pervert apostle as he vowed to somehow set things right.
"Pervert apostle. Where are the Art Sect's disgusting perverted bastards gathered?"
"There's no need for you to go yourself, my lady. I can—"
"Hey. Pervert. Why are you dodging the question and spouting nonsense? Are you doing it on purpose because you want me to stomp on you? If that's the case, why not just bury your face in the ground and beg me to trample you instead? If you get pathetic enough — sooo hideously pathetic it's actually pitiful — I might just grind you down nice and thorough for you."
The pervert apostle stared up at me blankly for a moment, then broke into his usual grin.
"...My apologies. They should still be in the council chamber right now. Not everyone opposed what I had to say."
"Oh? Well, that's convenient. Saves me wasting time on disgusting bastards."
There was no hesitation in my steps. I'd come here prepared for exactly this kind of situation in the first place.
It did bother me a little that I'd have to walk back among those perverts again.
Well. Worst case, I'll just crush someone's skull.
As long as nobody dies, they can be healed up. It'll be fine.
"Lady Aln."
Just as I was about to step out of the room, still drafting my rather impulsive plan, the pervert apostle caught me.
"If I... were to bang my head on the floor and beg, would you really trample me?"
...Maybe I should deal with this guy first before I go cracking anyone else's head open.
"You would have us abandon our chance to strike down the evil gods' followers — all on the word of a single girl with no proof!?"
As one of the current bishops of the Art Sect raised his voice, the murmuring in the council chamber swelled. The aftershocks of the report the sect's apostle had just delivered had yet to fade.
"Nothing matters more than avoiding needless sacrifice — not even striking down the evil gods' followers. If there is even a possibility of danger, retreat is the correct course."
"Nonsense! What of those who may be suffering in that place even now!?"
"Would the apostle have spoken of retreat without reason? We should verify the situation further first..."
Those gathered in the chamber stood locked in sharp opposition, yielding not a single inch.
One side shouted that they had to accept some risk, if only to save those who might be suffering in that place just as they once had.
The other raised their voices demanding to know what meaning there could be in innocent casualties caused by a half-baked operation.
Each side believed itself absolutely right, and with no room left for compromise, the debate showed signs of curdling into a raw clash of tempers.
"Everyone, please, calm yourselves."
Amid it all, the leader of the Art Sect, who had been trying to dam the quarrel, found herself praying for the apostle's swift return.
They might snarl at each other like this now, but before the apostle, they would at least go through the motions of courtesy.
Knock, knock.
"Pardon the interruption. I've brought a guest — would it be acceptable to bring her in with me?"
"Of course! Do come in at once!"
Though she tilted her head at the mention of a guest, the sect leader let him in regardless.
Praying, all the while, that he might cool this overheated affair.
The moment the door swung open, the leader of the Art Sect caught sight of the girl standing at the center of the entrance — and for a moment, words failed her.
...When I first heard the reports of the commotion in the streets today, I wondered if they'd all been bewitched by something. But looking at her now, I find I understand their feelings — if only a little.
With a living, breathing work of art standing before their eyes, how could our sect members possibly keep their composure?
Recalling how her sect members — mid-scolding — had peppered her with questions like whether it would be permissible to erect a statue, to make dolls, to paint her portrait, the leader resolved to support them wholeheartedly, should Lucy Aln consent.
The others in the council chamber had frozen at the sight of Lucy just the same.
Those who had dismissed her as a brat moments ago, those who had cried that she couldn't be trusted, those who had thought her merely pretty — every last one of them had been utterly overwhelmed by the sheer presence of Lucy Aln.
And so Lucy, having seized control of the chamber by her entrance alone, stood at its center with a playful smile curling her lips.
"I'll skip the introductions. Didn't seem worth giving my name to a bunch of lunatics looking to throw their lives away."
"...What do you mean by that, Lady Aln?"
When the sect leader — barely recovered — posed the question, Lucy's eyes narrowed to slits.
"How do you know my name when nobody told you? This kind of attention is gross. I hate it."
"How could the head of an organization fail to know the name of her honored guest?"
"You're the sect leader, aunty? Wild. So even someone with your face can make it big in the Art Sect, huh?"
"...More to the point, I would ask for a detailed explanation of what you just said."
Despite the sting of Lucy's remark, the sect leader kept her voice level.
It was true that the insolent tone and the contempt threading through it grated on her — but the sheer impact carried by Lucy's voice smoothed all of it away.
Frankly, what truly tormented the sect leader at that moment wasn't holding back her anger — it was holding back her artistic inspiration.
"Why? Weren't you all the ones dying to throw your lives away? You were sooo determined to crawl in even after I told you it was a trap, so I figured that was the deal. Turns out you were just idiots? Puha-hah! Pathetic."
It was a tone that looked down on every soul in the chamber, yet no one showed any anger at it. Everyone listening to Lucy's tirade was thinking much the same thing as the sect leader.
While everyone else strove to maintain the decorum befitting their high offices, Lucy surveyed the scene — and catching one person's eye, tilted her head.
Not contempt, not pity, not playfulness — pure, unadulterated confusion.
But only for a moment. Before long, her mischief thickening even further than before, she padded over with light little steps and planted herself before the old man holding the office of bishop.
"Um. Excuse me. Grandpa. There's something I'd like to ask you."
"...Yes?"
"If you can't even get it up, why are you looking at me with such gross eyes?"
The old man's face flushed scarlet, and the instant it did, Lucy let out a giggle — her true nature laid bare.