Never Mind the Heir, I’ll Focus on Healing — Chapter 119
Never Mind the Heir, I’ll Focus on Healing — Chapter 119
“Then we shall proceed with this date.”
“…Yes. Please, we ask for your kind guidance.”
“Have no fear! God’s blessing will ever be with you.”
The priest finished the formalities and courteously escorted the couple and Peter all the way out of the temple.
“Peter. Have you given any thought to where you will stay tonight?”
The lady, Violetta, lowered herself to meet Peter’s eye and asked his thoughts.
“…I’ll sleep at the orphanage again tonight.”
“Haha! You’d be perfectly welcome to come to our house— ow!”
Jab!
Violetta’s finger drove sharply into her husband Ferguson’s side.
Ferguson choked down a cry.
“All right. I’ll escort you there.”
Violetta did not press Peter, who again chose to stay at the orphanage.
She knew too well how heavily a single word from her could weigh on him.
Ferguson, evidently catching on, hurriedly changed course.
“Ah, yes. Being with your friends is a lot more fun! Haha, my lady! Let us be off.”
“Yes.”
“…”
Peter understood their hearts perfectly well.
He knew that these two were altogether different from the so-called parents he had met before.
Perhaps it was because of that. Or perhaps because of what he had heard about the ritual at the temple.
For no clear reason, Peter’s heart grew uneasy.
Until now, he had thought it made no difference whether he was adopted or not.
He had believed without a doubt that even if an adoption fell through, he could simply return as if nothing had happened.
But now.
‘I might end up belonging to the temple?’
If that happened, then where exactly would my home be?
He was confused.
As Peter walked, he quietly slipped his hand into Violetta’s.
“…!”
Violetta’s eyes flew wide open and blinked.
For an instant, tears nearly welled up, but she held back the brimming moisture and slowly closed her hand around Peter’s small one.
Then, as if to say everything was all right, she clasped his hand tightly and headed for the orphanage.
“There, we’ve arrived.”
When they reached the orphanage gate, Peter let go hastily, as if suddenly embarrassed.
Violetta was so thoroughly content with even that small gesture that she beamed as she said goodbye.
Only after Peter’s figure had disappeared inside the orphanage’s old building did Violetta release a deep sigh.
The truth was, though she hid it well, her worries were by no means small.
“My dear… But what if a situation arises? Truly, if the worst should happen?”
“You mean about him possessing holy power?”
“Yes.”
“Do not fret, my lady. It’s not a common occurrence, is it?”
Violetta knew that well herself.
Moreover, if she considered the Saintess and the archbishop candidates, she suspected that a modest amount of holy power could probably be quietly overlooked.
Still, she felt uneasy.
“If it turns out that our own greed has robbed that child even of the home he holds in his heart…”
Violetta gazed down the road they had walked.
At its end stood the temple.
“My lady. It will not be so. Worry not.”
Ferguson wrapped his arm firmly around Violetta’s slender shoulders.
“Does God seem such an uncaring being to you? He must have seen every bit of how ardently we have longed for that child.”
And then…
Her husband pressed his lips tenderly to hers and whispered fondly.
“If, truly, the situation the priest spoke of should come to pass… we will have to listen to Peter’s own wishes. For there, he would live more comfortably, loved and well cared for.”
“…”
“But if Peter does not wish it—then, by any means necessary, let us protect that child ourselves.”
Ferguson chuckled good-naturedly, wrinkling his nose with a playful wink.
“Isn’t that why I’ve been earning plenty of money?”
“My dear…”
“There will be a way, one way or another. And if there truly isn’t, why, we can simply seek exile!”
It sounded like nonsense.
But Violetta understood Ferguson’s heart completely.
He meant that he would find a way to save Peter.
Even if his opponent were the temple… no, even if it were God himself.
The couple clasped hands firmly.
Yes.
If they themselves were this anxious, how much deeper must Peter’s own heart be?
They resolved to fix their eyes solely on Peter.
That was what they had determined from the very first meeting.
Already, Peter was as much their own child as if they had given birth to him in their hearts.
* * *
‘Ah, again.’
The priest Licht had vivid dreams from time to time.
Premonitory dreams, also called divine messages.
In the still-dark dream, Licht murmured to himself alone.
Though he was unmistakably thinking and producing a voice, his mind—devoid of form or lips—remained tranquil and snug.
It did not happen often, but Licht had dreamed such premonitory dreams several times before. He simply endured the quiet of that state, waiting without fear.
For the divine message.
For the scene he was meant to see without fail.
‘But…’
Strangely, today was different.
Ordinarily, a divine message began straight away.
There was a brief stretch of black scenery, and then the premonitory dream would be shown in that form.
Now, however, though a fair amount of time seemed to have passed, the profoundly black scenery persisted.
No definite situation. No sound.
In that case, how was he meant to ascertain anything?
Just as that thought was crossing his mind,
Licht’s field of view opened brightly.
‘…Hoo.’
Licht released his momentarily tensed body.
It seemed his impatient heart had made it feel longer than it was.
Now then, let me see what it is I am meant to know.
Licht slowly looked about.
The last dream he remembered was of the orphanage children sleeping happily.
And this time, the sight was…
‘It’s the same?’
It was exactly the same orphanage as before.
But the feeling was altogether different.
Unlike then, when verdure had abounded, everything now was a dreary ashen gray.
Children were weeping. And beside them stood a couple, stock-still, as if stricken with great distress.
And at their side…
The younger of those siblings he had seen the last time was wandering about as though searching for someone.
‘Sorrow, distress, searching for someone. I see…’
On the whole, it was an ill-omened dream.
‘I shall have to visit the orphanage once more.’
Once he had grasped the situation, Licht gently closed his eyes.
It was nearly time to wake from the dream, after all.
That was what he thought…
But a strange brightness filled his vision.
In that case, was this yet another premonitory dream?
‘It’s quite uncommon.’
A premonitory dream was, by its nature, akin to glimpsing a fragment of the fate overseen by God.
Because this consumed great mental strength—the very foundation of holy power—God hardly ever showed two premonitory dreams at once, and yet…
Licht quelled his puzzlement and opened his eyes once more.
Unexpectedly, the dream pointed to a place not far away.
‘This is… the temple?’
What met his eyes was the very temple prayer room where Licht himself was currently staying.
In the center of the prayer room stood the stone statue of the god Anyatras, majestic, holding the Eternal Flame.
The green flame ceaselessly cast forth a brilliant, sacred light.
‘…No.’
The flame was not the only thing giving off light.
Licht swiftly lowered his gaze to look before the statue.
There… someone stood, motionless, radiating a dazzling light.
A man of slender build, with long ash-blonde hair tied loosely back.
He was dressed in unmistakably noble garments—it called to mind someone he had seen in the past, though he could not be certain.
What mattered was that from that man’s body poured an overwhelming quantity of sacred light, fit for a god.
‘How can such an immense power possibly—!’
Even Licht, who was thought to have been born under God’s favor, nearly fell involuntarily to his knees before that force.
It was an intensity he had never witnessed even from the archbishop.
Licht took one wary step backward and called to the figure.
“Forgive me, but who are you? How have you come to be here?”
Hearing Licht’s voice, the person slowly turned his head.
But— Whoosh!
An intense flame erupted,
swelling in the blink of an eye to alarming size…
and then it swallowed Licht as if devouring him entirely.
“Hurk!”
And so Licht woke from the dream.
Perhaps from the shock received in the dream, his entire body was soaked with cold sweat.
A moment later, Licht’s own flame of holy power flickered briefly and subsided.
“Haah… haah.”
Breathing raggedly, Licht slowly looked around him.
Fortunately, this place was reality.
‘What in the world was that dream just now.’
One ill-omened premonitory dream.
And then, immediately after, something he dared not even presume to handle.
“…I shall have to confirm it.”
Licht slowly rose from his bed, tidied his garments, drew white gloves over his scarred hands, and stepped out of the room.
* * *
Lion was in his room, packing the ‘Asteri-Made Block Set’ with great care.
He had fashioned thick paper into a box-like form and wrapped the little blocks inside by color.
And he had even drawn some example illustrations, the sort of thing that might lend wings to the imagination…!
A gift box far nicer than he had envisioned had come into being.
‘Mm. This is good enough.’
Looking satisfied, Lion tucked the block set away and packed bottles of sikhye into his bag to share with the orphanage children.
“Brother. Please leave the rest to me.”
Rickshel, who had been watching, packed his own large bag full of sikhye and snacks.
Thanks to Rickshel’s help, Lion was able to shoulder his bag much more easily.
Probably because of the liquid inside, it was quite weighty.
“Hoo! Good. We’re ready, right?”
“Of course, Brother.”
“Then let’s head out!”
Lion and Rickshel set off at once.
‘My feelings are newly stirred.’
Rickshel recalled the first time he had taken his brother out with him.
Back then, had he not been sick with anxiety, convinced that his brother might collapse at any moment?
And so, through a rather forced approach, he had sought to open a connection to a priest and get his brother treated.
In truth, the plan had succeeded, though its objective had failed.
‘I thought he was merely an ordinary priest. But that Licht…’
The results that this prestigious mage family had unearthed by piercing the temple’s formidable secrecy were astonishing.
The priest named Licht was a figure of such tremendous ability that the temple was pushing him as a candidate for archbishop.
If that was so, then at least his holy power must have been genuine.
And yet, even Licht had been unable to cure his brother’s illness or even improve it.
‘Because my brother did not recover.’
So Rickshel was remorseful and regretful that his
brother might have overexerted himself on his account.
He could not face him with any shred of dignity.
It was the sort of issue that, frankly, his brother might well have resented him for. His brother was remarkably astute. He might have noticed it all from the very start—even that the mill they had gone to was located far from the mansion.
But his kind-hearted brother had not breathed a single word about it.
Instead…
“The priest seems immensely skilled. My condition has never been better.”
Had he not said exactly that?
‘…Had it not been for the Labyrinth.’
Perhaps, instead of walking beside him now to the orphanage, his brother might have been lying in a sickbed, gazing emptily out the window.
‘It borders on a heaven-sent fortune.’
Rickshel assessed the Labyrinth Incident with cool objectivity.
Though his brother had survived because he possessed tremendous talent and vitality, the fact that he had gained mana and even restored his body was a heaven-sent fortune.
“It really is a bit heavy, isn’t it?”
Noticing that his younger brother’s steps had grown heavy, Lion paused and asked.
“No. I walk this way because I’m glad. And the bag is light too.”
“…Is that so?”
It should definitely be heavy, though?
Was the effect of the hot spring really that good?