Prologue
A spring breeze, heralding winter’s end, brushed lightly against his cheek.
It was still a touch chilly, yet the soft sunlight wrapped around him with a gentle warmth that felt almost tender.
—Clunk!
The cart lurched hard.
“Ugh… ah……”
Lowen, who had been riding in the creaking wagon, slowly opened his eyes.
Sunlight filtered through his hazy gaze, and beyond it stretched a field of pale green, the wind already having passed through.
“We’ll be there soon, so you might as well get up.”
The coachman driving the cart glanced back over his shoulder.
“Still, what brings a fellow like you out to the sticks?”
“I’ve been assigned to look after the cathedral in these parts.”
“Cathedral? You’re a priest, then?”
“Yes. As you can see.”
Lowen held up his rosary for the man to see.
“Haha! And here I took you for some sort of mercenary.”
“Do I really look like one?”
“It’d be stranger if you didn’t.”
Nearly a hundred and ninety centimeters of height. Broad, solid shoulders. The backs of his hands mapped with old scars. Sharp blue eyes like a snow wolf’s, half-hidden behind silver-rimmed glasses. More than anything, the quiet air that rose from the way he held himself put people on edge.
“Ahaha. I suppose it’s because I spent a little time as a knight.”
Lowen gave an easy, good-natured smile.
“Knight to priest—quite the colorful life.”
The coachman wasn’t wrong. It had been a colorful life indeed.
He had told the man “knight to priest,” but the truth was a little different. More precisely, he had gone from a knight who handled the dirty work to a priest.
There had never been a day when the smell of blood left his body. Never a day when the sword left his hand. On orders he had killed, and killed, and killed again. Just before his mind shattered and his humanity crumbled completely, he had fled that merciless routine. The priesthood had been his refuge.
With help from an acquaintance he had managed to take holy orders, and that path had brought him out here to the countryside.
Lowen watched the fields ripple in the wind and smiled faintly. How long had it been since he last looked at nature with any real leisure? It was only an ordinary stretch of meadow, yet to him it looked truly beautiful.
The cart stopped in front of Baram-sae Forest.
“Can’t take the wagon any farther. You’ll have to walk from here.”
“Thank you.”
Lowen climbed down with a bag in each hand. He waited until the cart heading toward the village had completely disappeared, then set his feet toward the trees.
The forest still felt empty; winter had only just left a few days before. Tiny buds were pushing out along the branches. Between the dry, crackling leaves on the path, new life was lifting its head. In another week the woods would be painted the same pale green as the fields he had just passed through.
After walking the quiet forest road for some time, he came upon an old cathedral thick with the marks of years.
“So this is to be my nest……”
It was shabby. Vines had claimed the outer walls. Tiles were missing from the roof and from places all over the building. Living here right away would be difficult; there was no shortage of repairs waiting.
“Better to be doing something than sitting still.”
Lowen set his bags down and drew a key from the inner pocket of his coat—the cathedral key the archbishop had given him before he left.
—Creeeak
The moment he took hold of the doorknob to fit the key, the door groaned and swung open of its own accord.
“I was told it would be locked.”
No matter. He slipped the key back into his pocket and stepped inside.
The sanctuary opened directly before him. Seven long wooden pews stood on either side. In place of a pipe organ, a dust-covered piano sat against one wall. At the far end of the aisle a modest stained-glass window glowed above a simple altar where prayers could be offered.
“The living quarters are supposed to be behind the sanctuary…”
A shaft of afternoon light slipped through a corridor window filmed with dull stains. Tiny motes of dust drifted lazily in the air. Lowen walked through them toward the door tucked in the corner of the sanctuary.
Beyond it lay a hallway. Three rooms opened off it, and at the far end a staircase led upward.
“Hm?”
He had meant to check the upper floor first, but one of the rooms stopped him in his tracks.
“……The confessional.”
He had become a priest, yet he did not believe in God. If his faith could be made visible, it would look like barren earth.
“Still… since I’m going to be living in a cathedral, I ought to at least pay my respects.”
He stepped into the confessional chamber. Inside stood a booth that looked as though three wardrobes had been joined together.
And the instant he entered the room—
“Haaahnn…♡ Haung…♡”
A moan, thick with a bitch’s coquetry, struck Lowen’s ears.
“……”
He froze.
Had the empty cathedral become a place for the village thugs to screw around? What kind of lunatic was making those sounds inside a house of God?
He quietly checked for presence.
—Clunk, clatter
The middle compartment of the confessional was shaking. Only one person. Not fucking someone else—comforting herself alone.
“Hah…”
A hollow laugh was all he could manage.
“Looks like cleaning comes first.”
He would have to remove the sacrilegious thing defiling the cathedral.
Lowen stopped in front of the confessional where the moans were ringing out so sweetly.
“Hauuu…♡ God… I’m s-sorry…♡ Ahn…♡”
Pressing hard at his temples, Lowen flung the confessional door wide open. And the moment it swung free—
“I’m coming…♡ I-I’m cumminggg…♡”
Soft pink petals fluttered open, and a jet of fluid sprayed out with terrifying force—pshuuu—lashing across Lowen’s face.
“…………”
Through glasses half-veiled by the sudden tide, Lowen looked down at the woman still trembling in the aftershocks of climax.
White nun’s habit. White veil. An ornate rosary nestled between full breasts. A faintly glowing stigma on a soft-looking lower belly.
When every detail came together, a single name rose unbidden in Lowen’s mind.
“……Saintess?”
The seventh Saintess of the Credia Empire—Ariel Violet.
“Hwaaah?!”
The instant Lowen spoke, Ariel realized someone was there. She startled violently and clamped her legs shut, frantically yanking her skirt down to hide her sex.
“W-wh-who… who are you…?”
Ariel looked up at him with violet eyes the color of pansies.
Lowen looked down at her with blue eyes full of sheer disbelief.
“……”
“……”
Neither of them could find a word. They simply stared at each other.
And that was how Lowen and Ariel first met.