In Front of You
Twenty knights supplied by Viscount Cartein.
Twenty Paladin Knights drawn from the cathedral's knight order.
Six priests dispatched from the cathedral in total.
No adventurers.
Forty-six souls altogether.
"Whew."
Ludwig gave a low whistle as he surveyed them all. It was hard to say whether that number was large or not. No one knew what lurked inside the mist now casting its shadow over Evian, so who could judge whether forty-six was too many or too few?
But when Aize saw him looking so glum — as though he were disappointed by the small turnout — she stepped over and offered a gentle word of comfort.
"It can't be helped, you know. An adventurer who moves without pay is, if anything, the kind of person you *can't* trust."
"True enough. If I weren't playing the Hero, even I wouldn't stir unless you promised me a hundred gold or more."
Ludwig smiled easily, as if it were nothing at all.
Listening to this, Vigrind found herself suddenly curious. They said the Hero had been a Gold-Rank adventurer — which meant he was a far stronger adventurer than Yona, of a far higher grade. The fact that he claimed even now he wouldn't join for less than a hundred gold showed he had pride in his own abilities. And that confession about being a coward — surely that had just been a lie to comfort me, Vigrind thought to herself.
Then how much, exactly, was the Hero worth?
If it took a hundred gold coins to move a single Gold-Rank adventurer, just how wealthy was he? — and as she wondered, Vigrind realized with a start that in her entire life, she had never once held more than ten gold coins in her hands.
No. No, no. How can a Saint think like this...
Vigrind shook her head and shook the thought loose. It embarrassed her, deep down, to know that for even a moment she had harbored such a greedy little thought.
"Are you frightened, Lady Saintess?"
"I'm sorry — what?"
A long shadow fell across her face. Looking up along it, she found Ludwig's smiling face gazing down at her. It was, as ever, a bright and easy smile — the kind that seemed to lift the spirits of anyone who saw it.
"F-frightened? Me?"
She hadn't thought any such thing.
But Ludwig, smile undimmed, reached out quietly and stroked her hair. His hand was as large as her whole face — and it moved gently over her head. Her red hair, swept up on either side, swayed softly; that carefully tended hair caught the sunlight and shimmered, dancing and rippling with every pass of his hand.
"Forgive me — your tiara was crooked, Lady Saintess."
Ludwig said it while glancing around, then lowered his posture and whispered at her ear.
"Are you feeling calmer now, Lady Saintess?"
"I... I wasn't—"
I wasn't. I wasn't frightened. I'm not afraid.
That was what Vigrind meant to say.
But her mouth would not open. And as her lips stayed sealed, a different thought crept in ahead of everything else — does it really matter if I don't say it?
"—I suppose I... was, a little."
She lowered her eyes.
A lie. That, too, was a lie.
The realization that she had lied after all left a tight, aching knot gathering in her chest.
"Let's make camp here."
The name of Hero was no light burden to carry, and Ludwig, now leading a force of forty-six, tapped the ground twice with the point of his spear. The mist itself was not yet visible — this was a place they would have to advance further to reach — so the captain of the Paladin Knights and the commander of Cartein's knights both looked at him with puzzlement.
"There's no telling when the fog might spread again, is there? The ground here is flat, which suits a force of nearly fifty, and there's a pond behind us, so water is easy to come by. We'd need a full day of rest before entering the fog regardless, so let us pitch camp here."
"Your reasoning is sound, Sir Hero."
There was logic in Ludwig's words. This was no ten-man party; with numbers pushing fifty, securing food and shelter mattered, and a reckless advance could do more harm than good. Most of those present seemed inclined to agree.
While Scarlet's Paladin Knights and Cartein's knights marked out the ground and readied the tents, Ludwig went looking for Aize. With no cathedral carriage or anything of the sort this time — everyone had traveled in cargo wagons — the delicately raised cathedral priests all wore faces gray with dust. Amid them, Aize alone looked none the worse for wear, busying herself soothing the others until she spotted Ludwig, hopped down from the wagon at once, and came over to him.
"Sir Hero."
"Priestess Aize, how does it feel to you? Do you sense anything?"
"I can feel the miasma growing stronger. It's unmistakably thicker than when I came here before. But what's most curious is—"
Aize glanced around. Not that she truly feared eavesdroppers — the knights were far too busy with the tents, and the priests were so half-dazed they could barely look after themselves, let alone listen in on a conversation.
"The miasma rises remarkably high into the air. It's an entirely different character from before."
"The miasma is... high?"
"Yes."
Ever since the wagons had first rolled to a stop, Aize had been steadily radiating her holy power outward, probing their surroundings. It was a method that only ever pushed energy out without drawing any back — a tremendously inefficient use of power, one most healers never bothered with — but Aize had judged it necessary in their present circumstances.
And it had not been without effect. The miasma was thicker than when the fog had first appeared, that much was certain. Its source lay somewhere very deep. And contrary to all expectation, that source might well be on the surface itself.
And it was reaching — soaring — to a tremendous height.
"It keeps growing stronger. I'm certain of it. The wider the fog spreads, the stronger the miasma becomes — there's no doubt in my mind."
Aize's expression hardened. And in proportion to it, so did Ludwig's.
"Then you're telling me we have little time."
"Yes."
Ludwig lifted his head and looked at the sky. It hung heavy with clouds, overcast and dreary — veiled from end to end, like that distant fog, without so much as a sliver of sunlight to be seen.
"...Mm. Understood."
Ludwig nodded, then turned on his heel and went to find Vigrind.
She had been dozing upright against the corner of a cargo wagon, nodding off in fits like a sick little hen, and stirred awake at the sound of Ludwig sitting down across from her. Her face was so utterly forlorn that he couldn't help a wry smile.
"Are you all right, Lady Saintess?"
"Ah... Sir Hero. You've seen me at my worst. I apologize."
"Think nothing of it. It was a hard march."
Ludwig's gaze drifted to the pure white robe she wore. That robe, whatever its sanctity, was at heart nothing more than winter gear — it had no particular power of its own. It was meant to shield against the cold, and it had blocked the sunlight besides — and she had worn it the entire journey here. Which meant that all this while, Vigrind had barely been touched by the sun's light at all.
"And your holy power — is it full?"
"Yes. Quite full."
"I beg your pardon?"
Ludwig's eyes widened. As he remembered it, Vigrind had worn that robe the entire time — on the ship to Evian, after arriving in Evian, right up until this very moment. She could not have had the leisure to bask in the sunlight for any length of time. And yet her holy power was full? It puzzled him.
Holy power did replenish with the passage of time, but only up to a certain limit. Every cleric's capacity differed, and so the time it took each to refill differed as well. Vigrind was the same — her holy power refilled over time like anyone else's — but upon becoming a Saintess, she had gained something beyond that capacity: a holy power of an entirely different nature from that of ordinary priests.
And the means by which that power was replenished was sunlight. The longer and more fully she basked in the sun, the more her holy power would fill. It was precisely why the Saintess vestments were so scandalously revealing.
"Whenever I was alone, I... took the robe off."
"Ah. Ahh."
Only then did Ludwig nod in understanding. Now and then, Vigrind would dismiss even her attendants and spend time entirely alone in her chambers — and it seemed that had been when she'd been replenishing her holy power all along.
"You truly are remarkable, Lady Saintess. You keep yourself prepared at all times for exactly the things I worry over."
"No — no, it's only natural. You flatter me."
Vigrind flushed and lowered her head.
"...There may be a demon out there. Are you not afraid, Lady Saintess?"
Vigrind lifted her bowed head and looked up at him. The smile that had always lived on his face was gone somewhere, and what remained was an expression gone quite stiff.
How could she not be afraid? When Berbaria had stood before her, fear had frozen her body solid. At the mere sight of that horrific thing, any human being would be crushed underfoot.
"I am afraid, Lady Saintess."
Ludwig's smile came crumbling down. That self-mocking laugh carried a strange, unreadable ambiguity within it.
"Facing a demon is nothing like facing mere monsters, is it? I could not overcome it even though it was but a shard of the whole — and this time it may be a true demon besides. When I think that, I am afraid. Because I might die."
The point of his spear prodded at the wagon floor. It danced before Vigrind's tiny shoes, tapping here, tapping there, moving as though in time to some tune only it could hear.
"And so I am afraid. What of you, Lady Saintess?"
Did he want to be the Hero?
Vigrind found herself thinking it as she studied Ludwig's face. Had he truly wanted to become the Hero? Ludwig, a Gold-Rank adventurer who commanded a hundred gold a commission — had he truly wished for it?
But she could not ask him that now. Ludwig's face looked ready to spill into tears at any moment; he seemed far too worn down for questions like that.
"...The Heavenly God does not bestow trials we cannot overcome."
It was a platitude. Words like those would help not at all. But she had no idea what else she ought to say.
"Lady Saintess... could it be that these so-called trials only seem unconquerable because everyone who failed at them died, and only the ones who survived are left to tell the tale?"
"Ah..."
He might be right.
Vigrind fell silent. What was she supposed to say? Be strong? We'll win — after all, I'm here with you...?
None of it felt like the right words.
"...It seems that in front of you, Lady Saintess, I can't hold my tongue — things I should say and things I shouldn't, all of it just spills out. Honestly. Showing you such an unseemly sight yet again — I'm beyond embarrassed."
To Ludwig's awkward attempt at a smile, Vigrind could say nothing at all.
She was unable to.