The Saintess of the Harvest
Simon spent the entire day sweeping across Roke Island with Kazhan, but they turned up no further leads on the fanatic.
The odd old man at the food stall had recovered his usual state an hour later. He remembered nothing at all of what had happened to him.
We barely have any clues.
Whether through an ability or an artifact, the fanatic was thoroughly concealing his divinity and moving about under a false identity.
Under these circumstances, the only reliable way to confirm whether someone was a priest was the cooperation of Professor Parahan of Sacred Defense Studies and the handful of teaching assistants under him.
All of them were priests who had defected from the Holy Federation, and they could still wield divinity.
When Kizen operatives detained a suspicious person and brought them in, Parahan and his assistants would use detection-type divine magic to verify whether the individual was a priest carrying divinity.
But there were far too few of them. Reports had come in that they were all worn out from casting detection magic over and over again.
"We'll resume the investigation tomorrow."
Night had fallen by the time Kazhan said it. Simon parted ways with him and returned to campus.
He stopped by the Student Council Room first to handle Dark Festival business, but found it impossible to concentrate.
A fanatic has infiltrated Kizen.
Twirling the quill in his hand, Simon sank deep into thought.
Don't tell me that strange feeling I had back then was...
Just imagining that he might have already crossed paths with the fanatic while making the rounds sent a chill down his spine.
How could they arrest the man before he set his plan in motion? Detaining every "suspicious-looking person" one by one and having Parahan check them had clear limits.
What am I supposed to do?
The work wouldn't stay in his hands.
The Dark Festival was five days long, and tomorrow would be day three. Even thinking optimistically, there wasn't much time left.
"Simon?"
Simon turned his head. Camibarez stood there with an armful of documents, tilting her head.
"Are you okay?"
"Oh, yeah. I'm fine."
Simon pressed a hand to his forehead and smiled weakly.
"I guess I'm just a little tired."
Worry clouded Camibarez's face.
"Would you like to head to the dorm early today? The rest of the work, we can—"
"No, no."
Everyone on the team was equally worn out from competing in events and working besides. Simon downed the teacup beside him in one gulp, then rolled up his sleeves with exaggerated gestures of brimming energy.
"Let's just finish this and get it over with!"
He wrapped up the Student Council work earlier than usual and headed back to the dormitory.
As it happened, the classmates who had just finished their evening training in the courtyard were returning to the dorm in a loud, laughing crowd. Sweat poured down their faces, but peals of laughter kept bursting out—their spirits were clearly at their peak.
Well, they've earned it.
Simon looked up at the wooden board someone had hung on the dormitory. Words had been carved into it with dark magic, glittering even in the darkness.
[Dark Festival Day 1 — Summoning Department, 1st Place!]
[Dark Festival Day 2 — Summoning Department, 1st Place!]
"Hey, President!"
The leader of Group 4, who seemed to be in especially high spirits, gave Simon's arm a friendly thump as he passed.
"You were incredible again today! When you took down the Cursing Department's rep in the train scramble, it felt like all my blocks just got blown clear! Haha! Looking forward to tomorrow too!"
Simon's shoulders flinched, but he forced a smile.
"Yeah."
Every single Summoning Department student who passed him beamed or greeted him warmly. Simon returned the greetings graciously, but somehow couldn't bring himself to smile.
He trudged into the dormitory with a heavy heart. In the lobby, students were giddily trading tales of heroism.
"Agh, seriously! You should have seen the Battle Arts kids' faces when I landed that hit on them!"
"I think the Dark Mechanics Department had some infighting going on."
"Their morale has got to be in absolute shambles."
Simon couldn't help feeling a little envious of his classmates, who could enjoy the Dark Festival purely and without a care for anything else. He was climbing the stairs to his room when—
"Simon. A moment."
Fitzgerald stopped him.
The two of them slipped away from the noisy lobby into a quieter lounge.
"Another outstanding performance today."
Holding a file folder, Fitzgerald raised his glasses with his other hand.
"So then, about tomorrow's schedule—"
"Fitzgerald. There's something I have to tell you."
Simon continued calmly. As he listened, a flicker of unease crossed Fitzgerald's face.
"You're saying it will be difficult for you to compete from tomorrow onward?"
"Yeah. I'm afraid so."
"...Hmm. I hadn't accounted for a variable like this."
Just as Fitzgerald was puzzling over the schedule—
Thud. Thud.
Footsteps sounded from the darkness at the back of the lounge. Then, thump!—a large, thick hand pressed against the wall came into view.
"That right there."
And then Hector's viciously twisted face emerged from the shadows.
"What the hell are you two talking about?"
Hector Moore, the Department Representative of the second year.
Of all people, the one who most needed not to know the truth.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
Hector walked forward with his heavy, weighty stride and planted himself directly in front of Simon. Every time they faced each other like this, it felt as if a great hill had risen up to block his path.
"Explain. Clearly. Simon Polentia."
"...It's just as I said."
But Simon couldn't tell Hector the truth—that a fanatic posing a terror threat was roaming the Dark Festival grounds.
"Not a word to anyone outside. Not to Student Council members, not to professors, the Crows, or even Kizen Headquarters personnel."
"That's the weakness of the Dark Alliance's system. Anyone could be a spy leaking information."
Here, he had no choice but to keep things vague.
"Because of school business, I won't be able to participate in the Dark Festival for a while."
A vein bulged instantly on Hector's forehead.
"And you think a one-sided notice the day before is acceptable?"
"I'm sorry, Hector. And you too, Fitzgerald. I'll tell our seniors that I—"
CRASH!
Unable to contain his fury, Hector smashed his fist into the lounge wall. Cracks spidered across it in a rain of debris.
"Speak plainly."
Hector drew breath like a beast growling low in its throat.
"It's not school business. It's Student Council business. Isn't it."
"Hector."
"If you drop out now, the entire plan falls apart. You know that, don't you? Like how you entered the Raid event solo—the core of the plan was that you'd carry one event entirely on your own so the rest of us could pour our strength into the disadvantageous ones. You agreed to it. It was your own proposal!"
"......."
Simon bit his lip hard.
"We built our schedule and strategy around that proposal. If you're gone, some unprepared someone has to plug that hole, and everything falls out of alignment!"
"...I suppose so."
"We have the department championship within our grasp! So tell me—what could possibly be so important that you'd deal this much damage to your own department?"
Simon's mouth had gone dry.
"I can't say. It's classified."
"Ah. Of course it is."
Hector let out a twisted smile.
It was pure contempt.
"I've been sick of it for a long time—playing at Student Council President while the department came second, hanging around that side of yours every chance you got. You're not even official. You're just a provisional president, keeping the seat warm until Eisel returns. A few successful jobs and suddenly the department's business looked like a joke to you?"
"I never treated it like a joke."
Simon, who had been listening quietly, felt anger slowly welling up inside him.
"Then what do you call it—dragging the department down into the pit over Student Council business? If that isn't treating your own department like a joke, what is?"
"I'm furious about how this turned out too, Hector."
"Then choose."
Hector's eyes flashed.
"That glorified playhouse of a provisional Student Council. Or the depart—"
"Stop trying to force that on me!"
Simon shouted.
As the two boys' fight erupted, Fitzgerald's face went white as he tried to intervene.
"I have no intention of giving up either one! I've never taken either of them lightly! I've always given everything I have to whatever responsibility I've taken on! But this time I can't help it! I can't! The school is—!"
Dangerous.
He couldn't say those words, and because he couldn't, he couldn't persuade Hector either.
Which meant it could only become a fight of emotions.
Which meant the conversation would run forever on parallel tracks.
The moment Simon realized this, his arms fell limply to his sides.
"......."
Hector, too, said nothing, his expression twisted. The two boys simply held their silence.
"...Damn it all."
In the end, Hector turned his back and stalked away, his footsteps booming thud! thud! against the floor.
Haah.
Simon covered his face with his palm.
As Hector marched into the lobby, the sound of classmates scrambling away came from every direction. Then came Hector's roar.
"Enjoying the show? Get lost. Before I kill every last one of you!"
The festive atmosphere of the dormitory froze solid in an instant, and the sound of Hector's boots on the stairs rang out.
Simon flopped into a lounge chair and tilted his head back.
His heart was still pounding. His gaze drifted to the wall Hector had pulverized with his fist.
"Are you all right?"
Fitzgerald approached gingerly. Simon answered with a silent nod.
"I'm sorry again, Fitzgerald."
"You must have your reasons."
Fitzgerald straightened his glasses with a small cough.
"...On that note, may I make a rather careful suggestion?"
"Hm?"
The next morning.
Simon left the dormitory early. Kazhan was waiting with a carriage, as it happened.
"Kazhan!"
"Good morning."
Simon climbed straight into the carriage and explained the situation.
He would still participate in one event per day, given how much the team relied on him. Kazhan accepted it without fuss.
"We're the ones who pulled you in when you were already doing so well. We should be thanking you for helping at all."
"I'm sorry. So—where are we going?"
Kazhan closed his eyes and reactivated every soundproofing ward on the carriage.
"The scale of this incident keeps growing."
"What do you mean?"
"The Holy Federation has proposed cooperation."
Simon's eyes went round.
Did I hear that right?
"The Holy Federation?"
He'd assumed they would draw a firm line—declaring the incident had nothing whatsoever to do with them—while quietly hoping disaster would strike Roke Island.
"There are people on their side who believe that, above all else, war must be prevented."
At those words, one name immediately sprang to Simon's mind: Israfil.
The Saintess of the Holy Sea—ally of his mother Anna, a former priestess, and Simon's own aunt. He'd heard that the wars and tragedies she had averted over the years were beyond counting.
"They apologized for failing to manage their own faithful properly, and offered to send priests to help detect the fanatic. Lady Nephthys accepted graciously."
Simon sat up with a jolt at that. They were actually dispatching priests!
"That's great news!"
"It is not an official proposal from the Holy Federation, mind you. Within the Dark Alliance, only Lady Nephthys and her closest circle know of it."
Just as Kazhan said, this was no deal between the Holy Federation and the Dark Alliance.
It was a deal between two factions opposed to war—between Israfil and Nephthys.
Beneath the surface of the Dark Festival, enormous things were in motion.
"And right now, we're on our way to meet the priest who came over from the Holy Federation."
"Wait—they're already here?"
Simon practically bounced out of his seat.
Just how is this Dark Festival going to unfold?
Before long, the place where Simon and Kazhan arrived was the cave that served as the stronghold of Grelion, Professor of Summoning Materials Studies.
Professor Grelion and his assistants were on leave for the duration of the Dark Festival, and Kazhan explained that permission had been obtained, so they were free to use the place as they pleased.
If this is the spot, it should work well.
If a priest was going to slip across the border, teleporting into the depths of a cave would be the best way to keep their identity hidden.
Simon and Kazhan rode a mine cart deep into the cave.
Thirty minutes later, after passing through layer upon layer of rigorous security wards, Simon stepped inside.
"...What is this?"
Shhhhhhh—
Right in the heart of the cave, a lush wheat field had sprung up out of nowhere. The stalks stood as tall as a person's chest, heavy with plump, golden grains.
He'd visited the cave a few times for Summoning Materials classes, but he had never once seen a sight like this. No—wheat shouldn't have been able to grow here at all.
Shff, shff—
Simon and Kazhan waded through the wheat.
And at the very center of the field—
A woman sat at a table beneath a parasol, raising a teacup as if posing for a painting. Her mere presence seemed to cast light into the dark cave and set the wheat field swaying in a wind.
Sssshhhh—
She wore the white holy robe, the Saintess's dress-like garment, a long straw hat pulled low enough to shadow her face, and across her back she carried a scythe and a rake crossed together.
She turned her head and looked at the two of them.
Who... is this person?
The air grew heavy.
Simon understood at once that this was no ordinary figure.
Click.
She caught the brim of her straw hat and lifted it. Wheat-gold hair swirled loose, and beneath it her face came into view.
Her bare face was different from anything Simon had imagined.
Her eyes, slitted horizontally as if torn open, were sewn shut with coarse stitching, and X-shaped scars—like brands pressed in by heated iron—marked both of them. On one side of her face was what looked like a burn, a horrific scar that ran down to her mouth and gave her speech a strangely airy, wheezing quality, as if air were leaking out with every word.
"...So yew're the Student Council Presadent, then."
"Wh-who are you?"
Crumpling the muscles of her face into a bleak smile, she answered.
"The Saintess of the Harvest. Pleased ta meetcha."