Two People and Two People
Winter on the Northern Continent was cold, and the nights by Lake Cantasia were damp on top of it, which made them colder still.
With a campfire burning, you could spread a sleeping bag beside it and burrow in to at least endure it — but only endure. That was as far as it went.
She's sleeping like this again.
Apparently finding it uncomfortable to sleep with her hands clasped, Yona was sprawled out with her arms flung wide. Because of that, both her hands had slipped out of the sleeping bag, and Alec carefully gathered them up and tucked them back inside.
But it didn't last long. Something pressed against her for a moment, then — fwump — her hands bounced right back out of the sleeping bag.
Ah.
Yeah, that figures.
Alec understood. Still, hands left hanging outside the sleeping bag were bound to get cold, so he laid Yona flat, arranged her arms at her sides like a soldier at attention, and tucked them in again.
That, too, lasted only a moment. Finding the rigid posture uncomfortable in its own way, Yona groaned, rolled onto her side, and stretched her arms straight out again.
So this is what it's like having a large chest. Inconvenient.
With that thought, Alec retrieved the stones he had buried in the shallow earth around the campfire. Blowing the sand and dirt off the surfaces of the rocks, which radiated the gentle heat they'd soaked up from the fire, he slid one into Yona's sleeping bag.
A chill that the campfire alone couldn't chase away — sleep hugging a warm stone like an egg inside your bag, and it would be reasonably cozy. And sure enough, before long Yona pulled her hands back into the sleeping bag and curled herself up around it.
Warm now, I hope.
So thinking, Alec lifted the lid of the stockpot he'd set over the fire and gave the contents a stir. To keep the leftovers of last night's stew from scorching to the bottom of the pot, it had to be stirred like this every so often — otherwise he'd suffer for it come morning dishes. He poured some water into the broth, which had reduced quite a bit, and set the lid back on.
Propping the ladle upright beside the pot, Alec sat back down by the fire and looked around. The brushwood swayed with the wind, raising waves of its own.
The night wind carried a biting chill, and it seemed winter had truly set in — each gust wormed its way between the plates of his armor and stung like a blade. Alec threw another log onto the fire. Sparks burst up, scattered like ghosts in the flames, and died futilely into the dark.
Church territory...
That's where we're headed, isn't it.
So Alec thought. It was the last place he wanted to go.
True, no one had recognized him when they passed through church territory this time. But the Pope would be another matter. The one who had placed the Geas upon him — that person had been Axell IV, had he not?
He knew the Geas was what had stripped his head bald, but since the one who laid it was Axell IV himself, there was no way the man wouldn't recognize Alec.
I'll have to break the Geas. That's the only way.
Alec pressed his lips into a hard line. With a face as rigid as his clenched mouth, he stirred the campfire and coaxed the embers back to life.
His resolve remained rock-solid, unchanged in the slightest.
A resolve to erase even the thought of Yona ever returning to being a man — to wipe away the very longing for manhood itself, whether or not she had truly been a man once.
The hard vow Alec had made still stood, exactly as before. For Yona's sake—
He wasn't afraid of the price of having already scraped out his holy power, dodging around the Geas. It had been for Yona, so it was fine. If anything, the fact that he had been too weak — that he had failed to push back Berbaria and, in the end, couldn't stop the demon from taking root in Yona — only fanned the flame of his desire to break the Geas.
Alec clenched the glove newly fitted for him at the Wizard's Tower. Compared to the paladin's equipment he'd been issued along with the fame of being the youngest Cathedral Knight in history, it was far inferior, crude gear — but it was serviceable enough for now.
"I have to get stronger."
Alec murmured the words aloud. If anything in this world came for them, he had to be able to stand in its way before Yona and protect her. In his Cathedral Knight days they had called him an iron wall, and shield work was already second nature to him — that skill alone had gotten him this far at Yona's side. But from here on, it wouldn't be enough.
"I have to get stronger."
He murmured it again. Deep in his lower abdomen, his pure holiness coiled in a tight spiral — and yet it could not circulate. The Geas wrapped around the very place where his holiness dwelled, stopping its flow dead. In the past, even the thought of moving it brought agonizing pain, so he'd never dared try. But now was the time to unwind that binding.
Alec's bleary gaze turned toward the east, where dawn was beginning to break. He should have taken over the night watch from Yona, but looking down at her sleeping face, he'd lost track of time entirely.
Hours spent gazing at her flushed cheeks. All that time slipping away while he simply stared, and morning had come in the end.
Alec pushed another log into the fire and opened the lid of the stew pot. Steam billowed up; a rich red stew simmered thickly inside. It was time to prepare for departure.
Looking down at Yona's sleeping face once more, Alec stroked her cheek. Only after feeling the softness of her skin several times over did he gently pat her cheeks.
"Yona, wake up. It's morning."
"Mmh... ah... mmh..."
She must have been exhausted, because sleep clung to her stubbornly. Only after answering did she manage, after several laborious attempts, to push her eyelids up, and Yona's golden eyes slowly emerged. Still hazy with sleep, her gaze drifted toward Alec — then settled into a smile.
"Aleeeec... did you sleeeep well...?"
At that, Alec briefly forgot what he'd been about to say. It wasn't anything like Up and at 'em, did you sleep okay? — it was that single sleep-drunk gesture, calling his name herself and smiling at him, that seemed to shake his heart to its core.
"Get up, you lunatic."
"What'd you say... why are you picking a fight first thing in the morning..."
She pulls this and still claims she used to be a man. Who's going to believe that? You're just a lunatic, plain and simple.
Alec argued back only in his head. It wasn't something he could bring himself to say to her face.
"Welcome."
Rumor had finally spread that the Hero and the Saint had arrived in Evian — and the rumor had proven true when a carriage cut across the city's plaza in a show of grandeur just yesterday.
Mary watched Ludwig push open the doors of the Adventurer's Guild and forced an awkward smile. She did the same for the Saintess, Vigrind, who followed him in.
Two people who couldn't have suited this shabby building less — the Hero and the Saintess. And there could only be one reason they would go out of their way to visit a place like this.
"It's been quite a while, Miss Mary. Have you been well?"
Mary simply nodded. The man had always styled himself the Hero, sure, but now that he'd been formally ordained, he seemed to radiate some indefinable authority. And not just him — the Saintess Vigrind standing at his side as well.
"Please head upstairs. The Guildmaster is waiting for you as well."
"I see. Then that's what we'll do."
The adventurers who had crowded around kept their silence. They say adventurers never back down from a war of words no matter who the opponent is — but they knew the worth of their own necks.
Ludwig had already proven he wasn't a Hero in name only, and on top of that he was a former Gold-Rank adventurer, a veteran who had been through it all. The adventurers all knew that if they ran their mouths carelessly, a spear would end up planted in those precious mouths of theirs, so they couldn't bring themselves to make a peep.
Only after Mary, Ludwig, and Vigrind vanished up the stairs toward the second floor did the taut tension begin to loosen, little by little.
"Whoa, that Hero guy is no joke."
"Told you he didn't become Hero for nothing."
"They say he jammed a spear right through that demon's skull and killed it."
"Stepped on its arm and went tok-tok-tok, ran right up it like that, then rammed the spear straight in. Saw it with my own eyes."
"Emerson, you bastard, always talking like you were there. Did you see it? Did you or didn't you, you punk?"
"I saw it, you punk. I was there, I tell you. I watched it happen with these two eyes."
There were more than one or two who'd witnessed it, so nobody could dismiss it as idle rumor.
"...That man is indeed the Hero. Do not speak of him carelessly."
Every adventurer's gaze snapped to the guild entrance at once. A massive figure in silver armor had appeared out of who knew when, leaning against the doorframe and sweeping his eyes over the room.
An imposing bulk obvious at a glance, clad in expensive-looking armor, surveying them all — the tension began to simmer again.
"Wh-who might you be? You've the look of a Cathedral Knight about you."
When the warrior at the central table finally worked up the nerve to ask, the giant in silver armor — Scarlet — turned his head slightly toward him.
"I am called Scarlet. Of the Thirteenth Crusade Special Task Force of the Infula Holy See. Will that suffice?"
The adventurers had no way of knowing what a Crusade Special Task Force was or wasn't, but Scarlet couldn't have cared less. Whether they knew or not — such things didn't matter. These were people among whom the logic of force ruled, and as far as he could see, no one here could beat him.
"From this moment on, any who speak recklessly of the Hero or the Saintess will not be suffered to remain. And if you ask how you will not be suffered — let this answer in my stead."
Scarlet raised the mace hanging at his hip. The instant it settled into his grip and holiness flooded into it, sharp spikes burst from the head of the mace with a crackling rasp. In the blink of an eye the mace had become a bristling morningstar, and an even deeper silence settled over the adventurers.
Such was the oppressive weight a morningstar could command.