Adult Business
"Simon, Toto, I thought I heard a girl's voice just now. Would you mind opening the door?"
The dormitory matron—the terror of the entire department, infamous for hurling students before the disciplinary committee without a shred of mercy, strictly by the book—rapped her knuckles against the door with a face carved from stone.
Knock knock knock knock.
"Are you in there?"
She said nothing more. Instead, she pulled a ring of keys from her pocket at once, spun it in her hand, and—by feel alone—fished out the one she wanted and slid it into the keyhole.
With a sharp click, the lock gave way and she stepped inside.
"……"
The dorm room was empty. Bare and hollow, with no one in it.
The window was shut tight, too.
"Did we perhaps mishear something?" the junior caretaker who'd come along murmured.
Without a flicker of hesitation, the matron marched to the window and flung it open. She stretched her arm out and ran her hand along the frame behind it, then peeled off a single bone that had been clinging there.
The junior's eyes went wide.
"You don't mean……"
"Yes. They climbed out the window, then used that Bone Armor technique of his to shut it behind them."
For a matron who had clawed her way up through decades of caretaker service, a trick this crude barely qualified as cute. The junior spoke through gritted teeth.
"I will summon Simon and Toto to the matron's office first thing tomorrow morning!"
"……"
Instead of answering, the matron gazed out through the open window.
Waaaaaaah!
Below, the Summoning Department students were laughing and carrying on in a riot of celebration. Eshu had popped a bottle of champagne and gotten foam sprayed all over her face, and the friends around her were doubled over on the ground, cackling.
The matron watched them for a long moment. Then she closed the window, walked over, set the bone down neatly on Simon's desk, and said,
"One day's grace should be fine, I suppose."
With that, she turned and walked away. The junior stared after her in open disbelief.
D-did the matron just—?
It seemed the sun would be rising in the west tomorrow.
The night the Dark Festival drew to a close, the hour of farewells had arrived.
Simon arrived at Grelion's Cave together with Lethe.
With Ever Kire captured, the mood here had loosened considerably. Everyone was wrung out from back-to-back all-nighters, but every face wore a smile.
"I'm gonna be remembering this one for a long time."
There were some genuinely entertaining sights, too—like a paladin and a necromancer, apparently old friends from who knew when, playing cards atop a stone slab.
Most of the paladins stood firm, guarding their faith with unshakable discipline, but there were always a few who laughed loosely and traded jokes with the necromancers.
Simon found it a good look on them.
And then—
"Haaaaah~"
A familiar figure sat slumped bonelessly in a chair. Simon broke into a wide grin and ran over.
"Saintess!"
The Saintess of the Harvest lazily lifted a hand at the sight of him.
"Long time no see-eh. Student Council President."
"I'm so glad you're safe!"
"Yeeeaaah."
Just then, wheat sprouted up from the ground at Simon's feet and started stroking insistently at his cheeks. Ahaha! he laughed, staggering backward.
"S-stop messing around!"
"Wasn't me-eh."
The Saintess of the Harvest gave a shrug.
"My authority's manifesting all on its own. Seems this power's rather fond of the Student Council President, y'know."
"What's that supposed to mean! Ugh, it tickles!"
Thud.
The Saintess of the Harvest's head turned.
"Ah. Good work out there-eh, Saintess of the Stars."
"Honestly."
Lethe swept her bangs aside with an irritated expression.
"You go and get yourself caught, and I'm the one who had to suffer through hell for it. The name 'Saintess of the Harvest' ought to be weeping with shame, it should."
"Couldn't be helped-eh."
She melted into her chair like slime.
"That zealot dragged me off into some bizarre space and made me fight a fake goddess. Divinity wouldn't work in there, y'see."
So she had faced that same 'false god' Simon and Lethe had fought together. Lethe snorted.
"Fake god, schmake god. If it had been me, I'd have won one way or another."
"You're forgetting you had a mental breakdown back ther— Ow!"
Lethe had pinched Simon's side. He doubled over clutching his ribs, and Lethe promptly whipped her head away.
"It seems the hour to part ways has come, one way or another."
Thud. Thud.
Aleister—the sole Crow agent to have led this investigation—was walking toward them. The necromancer operatives bowed their heads in salute.
"Lady Nephthys has asked me to convey her gratitude once more to you both, Saintesses. We shall never forget the aid you have rendered us."
"Spare me the shiny words between enemies-eh."
The Saintess of the Harvest gave a lazy wave of her hand.
"You did prepare what I asked for, didn't you?"
"Naturally. See for yourself."
Aleister drew a single box out of subspace and held it out. The Saintess opened it and nodded with satisfaction.
Inside was a human hand—perfectly preserved, untouched by decay.
"The great holy relic, the High Priest's Right Hand. Confirmed and received-eh."
Lethe's eyes went round as she stared at her.
"H-hold on just a second! We were promised compensation for this?!"
"What, only now you ask? It's obvious, isn't it."
The Saintess of the Harvest scratched at the stitched seam of her eyelid. Lethe's face flushed red.
"I-I never heard a word of this from Lady Israfil!"
"So you really came out of pure devotion to the mission of preventing war? How young you are. This, my dear, is called adult business."
Simon, watching from the sidelines, smiled bitterly.
Aunt Israfil—a self-proclaimed idealist who nevertheless quietly pocketed every practical benefit she could get her hands on.
"And things like this relic are exactly the kind of payment you must extract from the Dark Alliance—"
The Saintess of the Harvest closed the relic box, the corner of her mouth curling upward.
"—so that if word ever gets out that we were here, we'll have a little 'leverage' in hand. Remember that."
"Ah……"
From a distance, Kazhan scratched at the scar beneath his eye and muttered.
"The High Priest's Right Hand, is it. A larger expenditure than I anticipated."
Aleister picked up where he left off.
"Lady Nephthys' resolve to prevent the war ran very deep."
Just then, a communication crystal chimed in Aleister's pocket. He listened to the report, then spoke.
"The teleportation circle is ready. Moving out."
Soon everyone was gathered at the teleportation circle.
People were exchanging their goodbyes—those who'd grown close over the past few days parting with warm farewells.
Aleister chatted with the Saintess of the Harvest, and Kazhan was trading information with one of the paladins.
"Shame I'm leaving without getting a taste of that foxy older sister."
So said the blond paladin with a greasy wink. A female necromancer operative burst out laughing and flipped him the middle finger.
"You're insane. Doesn't your goddess beat the crap out of your ass for that?"
"Procreation is sacred. Even the goddess would forgive it."
Apparently some people had grown that close, exchanging jokes like these.
Amid all the bustle—
"Lethe."
Simon seized the moment amid the commotion and stepped up to her. He caught her smoothing her hair back with an awkward little hm.
"I was glad you came all the way here to help my school. Get home safe, alright? And give my regards to Aunt Israfil."
She laughed playfully.
"You know it's your turn to visit Efnel next, right?"
"I'd fit in way too well. That's the problem."
The two of them stifled their laughter, then looked into each other's eyes.
"……"
"……"
There was a mountain of things they wanted to say, yet somehow, with the moment of parting actually upon them, the words wouldn't come.
Then Lethe swept her gaze once over the noisy surroundings, drew in a deep breath, and strode forward.
Simon felt something like a faint mist spreading around them.
And then—
"!!"
White hair brushed against him, and the scent of lilies drifted through the air. A warm, soft embrace.
Lethe was hugging him.
Caught completely off guard, Simon's face went scarlet. And then he saw something slip into his pocket.
What's this?
She pulled away quickly, cheeks faintly flushed, and turned her head aside.
"W-well then, we'll be off."
And with that, she scurried off toward the teleportation circle like she was fleeing the scene of a crime.
The Saintess of the Harvest took the first teleport, and next came Lethe's turn.
"Goodbye, Saintess!"
"Go easy on us if we meet on a battlefield!"
Simon waved too.
Take care, Lethe.
She smiled and waved back. A swirl of blue light enveloped her.
With Lethe and the Holy Federation delegation sent on their way, the ad hoc investigation team assembled to capture Ever Kire was disbanded as well. Simon parted from Kazhan and Aleister and returned to his dorm room.
Toto had apparently polished off plenty of wine at the party—he was dead to the world, fast asleep.
Beep! Beep! Beep!
The messenger bird that had delivered the letter still hadn't left, hopping about and nesting stubbornly in the dorm. Clearly it had no intention of departing until a reply was tied to its leg.
Simon got the bird some water and a bit of food.
"There we go."
He changed into his pajamas, flopped spread-eagled onto his bed, and pulled out Lethe's letter. With a soft rustle, he broke it open.
When the bird had first delivered it, the seal had been perfectly intact—but now it was torn, as if Lethe had opened it herself to sneak a peek.
Simon slid out the letter and began to read.
To Simon,
I received a letter from Anna. She's apparently found a way to send mail straight to Sky Island, so that's what this is for. The little one running the errand is apparently a type of divine beast. Write your reply and tie it to her ankle, and she'll fly the great distance on her own and pass through the gate at Sky Island without a hitch.
It'd feel too stiff to leave it at just telling you how to send mail, so I suppose I'll jot down a bit of how I've been doing. I'm still attending Efnel, taking my saintess lessons. There's so much we're ordered to do, and so much we're expected to know. Being here means meeting every brand of human garbage imaginable.
She went on and on about her life as a saintess and the gallery of human characters she'd encountered there. Simon lost himself in her stories, utterly unaware of the passing time.
And I thought being Kizen's Student Council President was rough.
Lessons on the path from human to demigod—of course they were brutal and perilous. Reading on, Simon found himself newly grateful for his own lot in life.
I've done nothing but whine, I see. Are you doing well at Kizen? I heard you made Student Council President. Picturing you strutting around with your chest puffed out and your spine ramrod straight puts me in a foul mood. If I catch you, I'll fold your back the other way.
Terrifying.
Simon absently rubbed his back, checking his spine was still where it belonged, and turned the page.
Remember? We promised that next vacation, I'd be the one crossing over to the Dark Alliance. I'll try, because I want to see Anna, but my saintess lessons might pile up and keep me from making it. Even so, you are to stand by and wait in Leshill. That's an order. I want to see the divine beast children you've been raising. And I need to inspect just how much your holy magic has improved, too.
Truthfully, the mood at Efnel is anything but normal. I worry war could break out at any moment, that the borders could close. But if we do manage to meet again over the break, I definitely—!@!%!^!^@%!
There, Simon could see where she had furiously scribbled over the rest with a quill.
The ink was barely dry—this was Lethe's doing, no doubt about it. In those frantic strokes he could practically see her flustered, blushing face.
A chuckle escaped him.
"Aw, and now I'll never know what it said."
He buried his face in the letter, arms spread wide.
The bird fluttered over, chirping, and jabbed him in the arm with its beak again and again, as if demanding he write his reply.
Roke Island.
Kizen Headquarters—the Principal's office.
"Ooh, we're connected!"
Nephthys announced.
Static crackled and hissed intermittently from the crystal orb, mingled with the howl of whipping wind.
"Hello-o! Grand Duke! Busy?"
Zzt!
Zzzzzt!
The connection wasn't in great shape.
After a moment, a voice came through.
—Are you not occupied, Madam Chancellor?
A composed, impeccably formal voice.
Nephthys bounced onto her own chair in a single hop and let out a whine.
"Hmph! How cruel! Do you have any idea how many times I've tried calling the North? Over a hundred attempts before I finally caught a signal!"
—I'm busy. I'm hanging up.
"Wait! Waaait! Just hear me out!"
She flashed a sly grin and raised her quill.
"Grand Duke! Have you heard anything about the 7th Legion, by any chance?"
—……Yes.
"Wow, news travels even to a place that dangerous! So things really have gone up in flames, haven't they!"
—As for the identity of the 7th Legion Commander, I am as much in the dark as anyone.
Nephthys waved a hand dismissively.
"You think I called the Grand Duke to ask about that?"
—……So you already know who they are.
"Mm-hm. But it's still far too early to reveal them to the world. As a Legion Commander they've got far too many holes, and it's simply too dangerous. So—"
The corners of Nephthys' mouth curled upward in a fearsome smile.
"I happen to believe the best person to teach a Legion Commander is another Legion Commander."
Silence fell over the line.
Then—
Beeeeep— beeeep—
"Wait! Grand Duke! Grand Duuuuke!"