Chapter 414
Chapter 414
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 414
Chapter Title: So, Shall We Date?
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“So, like I was saying.”
The office, where moonlight seeped in through the cracks.
Light brown hair shimmering in the filtered moonlight, half-lidded emerald eyes. Those glossy green eyes were utterly bewitching, and her whispering voice was sweet to boot.
The Saintess, Natida.
Usually, she wandered around with hollow eyes, a cigarette dangling from her lips, her back hunched in a way that didn't draw much attention... but she was still a stunning beauty. The kind who wouldn't be overshadowed even standing next to an elf.
“Shall we date?”
Such a woman confessed in a husky whisper.
With the late night and moonlight adding to the atmosphere, the power of that whisper doubled.
“Let's be lovers.”
Even someone who'd never spared her a glance might turn back for a second look, and even those without feelings for her might find themselves nodding unconsciously. Such a sweet confession...
“...”
Rak's expression, however, as the recipient, was utterly serene. Natida looked down at him from atop the desk, legs crossed. Rak tilted his head up at her and spoke.
“Do you need the holy sword?”
Rak reached out into empty air.
“If you need the holy sword, just say so. Don't play around like this.”
As if this wasn't the first or second time, Rak impassively drew the holy sword. The platinum blade gleamed, driving out the moonlight and shadows filling the room.
“Ugh...”
Natida covered her eyes as if it were too bright and grumbled softly.
“What kind of reaction is that? It's a confession! I set the mood and everything, and your response is 'Do you need the holy sword?' Isn't that a bit much?”
She let out a long sigh. Rak cocked his head at her disappointed expression.
“Weren't you asking for the holy sword?”
“No. You're really clueless.”
“Then...”
“No, don't put it away!”
Natida grabbed Rak's wrist firmly.
In the end, she clutched the drawn holy sword to her chest and began grumbling.
“Sure, the holy sword's like legal drugs, but you think I'd confess just for that? That's too much.”
“This isn't the first time.”
Rak blinked and continued.
“This is already your fifth confession with this trick.”
“...No fluttering in your heart or anything?”
“Not at all. More confused than anything.”
“Wow. That's harsh.”
“What even is dating? I don't know about that stuff.”
It wasn't sarcasm.
He truly seemed to mean he didn't know, as Rak continued in that straightforward tone. He didn't have much contact with women to begin with, and like his master, he had zero interest in romance.
“What... is love?”
What was romance, and what was love?
Holding hands and strolling the streets? Eating together? In that time, Rak would swing his axe once more. His muscle-brained warrior head was filled only with strength, training, and growth.
“I'd rather swing my axe one more time.”
While others dated, Rak split one more Demon King's soldier's skull. No room for distractions.
“Wow...”
Natida wore a fed-up look at his firm reply. She undid her carefully tied hair, letting it cascade as she sighed deeply.
“How is it that in my dreams, you're so...”
“Dreams?”
“Yeah, dreams.”
Natida grumbled as she hopped down from the desk.
“I saw it in a dream.”
“Saw what?”
“You and me dating. In the dream, you were so romantic...”
Hiss, click.
Clutching the holy sword, Natida bit down on a cigarette and lit it deftly with one hand. She exhaled a long plume of gray smoke and continued.
“Lately, I've been having these dreams, and you're in them?”
“Me?”
“Yes. Too vivid to just be dreams.”
Natida chuckled wryly as she smoked.
“Rak, how long have we known each other?”
“A little over three months, so past the hundred-day mark.”
“Hundred days...”
She exhaled another long plume.
“Then just wait 630 more days.”
“...630 days?”
“In the dream, we'd known each other over two years. So if I wait till then...”
What nonsense was this?
Natida spouted cloudy ramblings daily, so Rak chuckled without much thought and stood.
“Where are you going, Rak?”
“Out on patrol.”
As he donned his coat to leave, Rak suddenly extended a hand to Natida. She blinked, then placed her hand atop his with a thud.
“What are you doing?”
“You held out your hand.”
“No, I meant give me the sword.”
“...”
Rak, having reclaimed the holy sword, paused at the door and glanced back. He shot a look at Natida, who was rolling around on his bed grumbling, then muttered.
“What did I do two years from now to make you say that?”
A question about the dream's content.
Natida answered curtly.
“You confessed to me.”
“Must've been a nonsense dream.”
“No, it was real.”
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ 2.
Deep into the night, in the office without Rak.
Natida sat on the edge of Rak's bed, eyes closed. Closing her eyes brought back the dream's scenery.
...Rak probably hadn't noticed.
For a Saintess, dreams held no light meaning. It couldn't be otherwise.
A Saintess's dreams bordered on precognition.
Possible futures that would happen, should have happened, or would come to pass. She glimpsed the future through dreams. But Natida couldn't tell if what she'd seen was the future or mere delusion.
It was too specific for a dream.
Too absurd for prophecy.
...The premise itself was wrong to begin with.
The scenery from the dream.
It was less prophecy and more...
'A completely different future.'
In that future, Natida was still chained to the Church. Moving as the Church's Saintess, sustaining life on drugs. A lonely back room no one visited. Half-dreaming, drugged existence.
“Are you the Saintess?”
Someone came for her.
“I'm Rak van Grace.”
He extended a hand to Natida. Pulled her from the back room and said,
“I need you.” “To stand by His side.”
The many futures that followed.
Futures utterly unlike the present.
“You must escape.”
And...
“This is my stage.”
The most horrific calamity confronted in that future. Trembling faintly at the hazy memories, Natida shuddered.
“...Must've been a nonsense dream, huh.”
Rak's mutter from moments ago.
Chewing on it, Natida let out a wry chuckle.
“I hope it was.”
In that dream, Rak died.
Sacrificing himself to save her from an unknown swordsman. Recalling Rak's final words from the dream, Natida sighed deeply.
“He really confessed, and he says that.”
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ “Come to think of it, Cardi.”
“What, Raniel?”
“I heard something weird from Belnoa once. Well, technically from the god Belnoa serves.”
“The god Belnoa serves? Oh, the Shadow Dragon Lord?”
“Yeah, Him. He told me.”
“What?”
“That He saw the future. Well, the future that should have happened originally, but no matter how you look at it...”
Raniel smiled bitterly.
“It was the Goddess of Ashes' tale.”
“...Didn't that future vanish?”
“It did. It never happened, but because the Goddess of Ashes intervened in the past, it messed up the flow—even stars can't see the future anymore, or so He said.”
The Shadow Dragon Lord had said.
No prophet could glimpse the future anymore. All those with miracles like future sight or prophecy could see was the future the Goddess of Ashes had trod.
“Even a senile lizard like Him says so.”
Well, Raniel said with hands behind their back.
“No one else can see the future anyway, so maybe it doesn't matter. Prophetic miracles aren't that common.”
True enough. For ordinary humans without transcendent divinity, prophecy wasn't an easily granted miracle. Priests who'd wielded it were rare enough to count on one hand over centuries.
“And besides.”
Raniel sighed.
“Prophecies and precognitions only come down in 'those cases.' Always have.”
“True. Prophecies are miracles gods grant their faithful only when the stars sense dire crisis.”
In centuries of history, whenever the stars allowed prophetic miracles, he appeared. The most dreadful calamity. Death incarnate.
Death's Scythe, Ganikalt.
“As long as Ganikalt doesn't emerge, no prophetic miracles will descend. And he won't move until that fated day.”
Raniel nodded at Cardi's words.
“Fair point.”
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ 3.
A few days later, a guest arrived at Krempelia.
Hav ing received prior word, Krempelia's supreme commander Rak and Natida headed to meet them. Hearing the guest awaited in the reception room, Rak flung open the door and...
“...”
Found a man nodding off, head bowed.
An all-too-familiar face.
The man who'd once taught Rak hand-to-hand combat, better known as the Hero's adjutant.
“Lord Kalt?”
The sword's superman, the Guarder.
The Tracker, Kalt, cracked his eyes open.
Bloodshot eyes slowly turned to Rak, then to Natida glued to his side. Natida had her arm linked with Rak's; at the sight, Kalt's face crumpled.
'These damn kids...'
He barely swallowed the words threatening to spill. Say that aloud, and he'd become a nagging old-timer like his 'esteemed' senior.
“It's been... a while. Rak.”
Managing a greeting, Kalt bowed his head deeply.
“Hoo...”
Lately, it felt like all he did was sigh.
With a long sigh, Kalt rummaged in his pocket and pulled something out. A cigarette case, but shaking it upside down yielded only dust.
“Damn...”
As Kalt stared blankly at the empty case, Natida beside Rak let out a sigh.
“Isn't that Taari 200?”
Stepping away from Rak, Natida trotted over to Kalt. Pointing at the empty case, she let out a short oh of admiration.
“Taari 200's great. Harsh, but that harshness wakes you right up. Clean aftertaste too—I like it. Good taste.”
“...You know Taari 200?”
Famous for its brutality.
The harshness was why Kalt chain-smoked it to stay alert; ordinary folks, even heavy smokers, shook their heads at it.
“Of course. I smoke it often too.”
The girl before him claimed to smoke it herself. This kid smokes Taari 200? As Kalt blinked, Natida rummaged in her pocket and pulled out a wooden box. Opening the lid of the space-expanded box, she shook it upside down.
Cigarette cases poured out onto the table in a heap.
Sedatives, Taari 200, and all sorts of notoriously harsh smokes piled up into a mountain.
“...”
Kalt stared at Natida in disbelief. Now that he thought about it, he knew this girl. The one stuck to Rak's side, obsessed with smokes and drugs.
“...Your name wouldn't be.”
“Natida. Nice to meet you, Sir Kalt.”
Natida handed Kalt a Taari 200.
“I've heard a lot about you from the Hero.”
Looking into Kalt's hollow eyes, Natida smiled wryly. Half pity, half empathy in that bitter smile.
“You've had it rough. Really.”
The Hero's as much of a handful as ever, I see.
Take any other smokes you need—no need to hold back. As Natida murmured that, Kalt squinted as if the light hurt his eyes.
“Indeed.”
Kalt took the case and nodded.
“...You really are the Saintess.”
He bit down on the cigarette blessed by the Saintess.