Guardian (1)
“Saintess, goodbye!”
As the sky dyed itself in the colors of sunset, the children who had been noisily playing at the cathedral waved their hands and headed back toward the village.
“Yes, take care on your way home.”
Ariel waved back with an elegant smile.
When they first met, those children had regarded the clergy with wariness and fear. Now they came to the cathedral every day at lunch, chattering and laughing as they played tag and other games.
It was not only the children. The adults of the village often visited as well—to offer prayers, or simply to greet the Saintess.
All of it was thanks to her sincere prayers. Taking each villager’s hand in turn and praying for them with genuine care had melted hearts that had been frozen solid. A fresh spring breeze had begun to blow through a village that had lingered too long in the chill of winter.
“Haaaah… I’m so tired…”
Once everyone had gone and the chapel fell quiet, Ariel—who had been holding her back perfectly straight—flopped onto the floor like a mage who had completely drained her mana.
“Uuu… uuuu…”
As if possessed by a caterpillar, she wriggled about, rubbing her cheek against the floorboards.
“Saintess, aren’t you letting yourself go a little too much the moment the people leave?”
Lowen pulled her upright, insisting she maintain the dignity befitting a Saintess.
“Today’s Saintess has already clocked out.”
The instant he got her on her feet, she melted like soft-serve ice cream and sprawled flat on the floor again.
He genuinely wondered how someone this lazy had ever managed life in a Great Cathedral. The moment he looked away she was loafing; if the breeze was cool and the sun warm she was napping; lately she had grown so indolent she even forgot morning prayers and slept in. He supposed the tension of Great Cathedral life had finally loosened its grip—but this was far too loose.
“Your clothes will get dirty. Get up.”
Even when he spoke a little more sternly, Ariel simply rolled around on the floor.
“Bishop Lowen cleaned this floor so thoroughly it won’t get dirty.”
Even as she said it, black dust already clung to her pure-white habit.
“Haah… it’s already filthy…”
Lowen pressed his fingers hard against his forehead and shook his head. He almost wished Saintess habits came in black. White was hard enough to keep clean on its own; combined with Ariel’s carefree nature, the garments turned grubby every single day.
“Wash it before the dirt sets in. Put it in the laundry basket.”
“It’s only a little dirty…”
“Unless Your Holiness intends to do the laundry yourself, take it off and leave it.”
Faced with Lowen’s fussiness—stricter than any cardinal’s—Ariel puffed out her cheeks and stuck out her lower lip.
“If you want to wash it that badly, Bishop Lowen, you can strip me yourself.”
She flung both arms wide open and looked up at him. It was a tiny show of defiance—a small rebellion aimed at the man who never stopped nagging.
“….”
Lowen pressed his lips tightly together and looked down at the brazen girl, thinking, So she’s not even trying to hide how lewd she is anymore?
Nearly a month had already passed since they began living here. Ariel’s vow to resist the temptations of lust had shattered long ago. She seemed to believe she was being careful enough not to get caught, yet roughly every other night he could hear the wet, squelching sounds of her writhing under the covers, tormenting herself. When he checked the confessional before lunch, it was often thick with perfume, as if she were trying to mask some other scent. On top of that, she left erotic novels half-hidden under the bed where they were just barely visible, and deep in the laundry basket he sometimes found panties soaked through as if they had been caught in the rain.
Even now, to Lowen’s eyes, she looked as though she were deliberately seducing him. Those coyly upturned eyes. The way her outstretched arms framed and emphasized her full breasts. The fluttering hem of her skirt had ridden up just far enough to bare soft white thighs that looked as plush as rice cakes. Those thighs radiated such a wanton aura that he almost imagined them begging him to rush over and sink his teeth into them right then and there.
“Ahem…!”
Lowen cleared his throat and banished the thoughts. Lately, even the mere sight of Ariel’s pale skin left him feeling strange.
It was not that he liked her. It was not that he saw her as a woman he wanted to hold. Above all, Ariel was not his type. He was not particularly interested in women’s bodies, yet as a man he still had an ideal. Long, slender legs and a frame so delicate it might snap if he hugged her too tightly—that was Lowen’s type. Short, soft, and likely to feel pillowy if he pulled her close, Ariel was the opposite of what he preferred.
Yet somehow the bewitching atmosphere she gave off kept trying to rekindle the sexual desire he had long kept extinguished.
“Very well. Do as you please, Saintess. In exchange, tonight’s dessert is confiscated.”
At the words “dessert confiscated,” Ariel’s eyes flashed wide.
“W-wait…!”
She scrambled up and reached out, but Lowen had already walked away.
“B-Bishop Lowen… you’re joking, right…? Bishop Lowen…?”
She called after him again and again, but he strode mercilessly toward the back of the chapel.
True to his word, dessert was missing from the evening table. The handmade strawberry tart he had been preparing at lunch was nowhere to be seen. She told herself it had to be a joke—he would bring it out once the meal was finished—but the moment they finished eating, Lowen cleared the table. In the end, Bishop Lowen’s handmade strawberry tart was deliciously enjoyed the next day by the children who came to play.
“Hiiing…”
Ariel watched from afar as the children happily ate the strawberry tart, her face crumpled in a pout.
“Someone from the Holy See will be coming tomorrow, won’t they?”
After morning prayers, while they took a light walk, Lowen asked the question of Ariel walking beside him.
“Yes. They’ll just check that I’m doing well and leave right away. That was the agreement.”
It was the promise made before she came here: once a month, the Holy See would regularly send someone to look in on her. At first they had said once a week, but Ariel had insisted, “I can’t put everyone to so much trouble on my account,” and they had compromised on once a month.
“Do you know who will be coming?”
“One of the cardinals, most likely. Or it could be a Holy Knight. No—perhaps a cardinal will come with Holy Knights escorting him.”
So nothing had been decided for certain. If possible, Lowen hoped the archbishop who oversaw this diocese would be the one to come. He had several matters to settle with the man, and important things he needed to say—chiefly a request to transfer the Saintess to another cathedral, or else to reassign Lowen himself elsewhere.
He did not harbor any great dissatisfaction with their cohabitation, yet there were still inconveniences and irritations. What Lowen had originally wanted was a “solo cathedral life”—quiet convalescence in a remote church with almost no people, a place to find peace of mind. Ariel’s presence made that impossible. Every day was noisy: the laughter of children, the chatter of the village women praising how lovely the Saintess was. And above all, the Saintess herself was the noisiest and most bothersome of all, trailing after him like a puppy following its master and constantly calling, “Bishop Lowen, Bishop Lowen.”
“This kind of life isn’t bad, but…”
This is not the place for me, he thought. It was far too dazzling for a monster to live in. He wanted to shrink into himself, yet the vitality blooming all around kept interfering. He needed deeper darkness, deeper silence, deeper loneliness. Only a place where those three formed a trinity was the home Lowen sought.
“Hm? Bishop Lowen, what did you just say?”
Ariel tilted her head and asked.
“I was merely muttering that the morning sunlight is pleasant.”
“It really is. The way it gently strokes my cheeks feels so nice.”
She smiled bashfully and lifted her face toward the sky. Morning sunlight, still holding the full warmth of spring, caressed both of Ariel’s cheeks. He watched her. She was as graceful and lovely as the first flower to bloom among the new shoots. It was extravagant—far too great a luxury for a life that had spent itself watching blood spurt and entrails spill.
“Saintess, today I will make you the strawberry tart you were unable to eat last time.”
Still gazing at the sky, Ariel’s eyes sparkled at the words “strawberry tart,” and she turned to look at him.
“Really? All of a sudden?”
“My conscience has been bothering me for snatching away something you enjoy so much.”
Tomorrow we part, so this will be a final gift.
“I apologize for acting so spitefully last time.”
Lowen bowed his head politely. Ariel had been the one to provoke him first, yet it was still true that he had been petty.
Ariel curved her eyes into crescent moons and gently lifted the corners of her mouth.
“It’s all right.”
Rising onto her tiptoes, she patted Lowen’s head.
“This Saintess forgives everything.”
The words “forgives everything” made his chest tighten for no reason. Did “everything” include the act of slaughtering people in the most gruesome ways? Lowen shook his head inwardly at the empty thought and forced a thin, artificial smile.
“Thank you.”
Ariel immediately recognized that the smile was false, yet she said nothing. It was hardly the first time Lowen had worn that expression. And she could sense that behind the melancholy smile lay circumstances he could not speak of.
“Shall we head back for breakfast now?”
“Yes!”
They finished their walk and were about to return side by side to the cathedral when—
“Oh? We have a visitor rather early today.”
Far down the forest path, a figure could be seen approaching. A black cloak over a red habit. The gold rosary around the neck glittered. Even from a distance it was clear the person coming toward them was a member of the clergy—and a cardinal at that.
“Out of concern, I have come a day early to see the Saintess.”
The cardinal sent by the Holy See stood straight and offered a formal greeting. The farewell Lowen had expected tomorrow might well come today instead. Well, even if it was today, his feelings remained unchanged. The only slight regret was that he would not get to feed her the strawberry tart one last time.
“It’s been a while. Thank you for coming all this way.”
Ariel greeted the cardinal.
“Not at all. Hardship? This is simply what must be done.”
The cardinal chuckled and faced Ariel, then shot a sidelong glance at Lowen.
“Bishop Lowen—it’s been a long time as well.”
The cardinal extended his hand for a handshake. But Lowen could not readily take it. He only stared at the cardinal with a face gone pale and rigid.
The face was all too familiar. Cardinal Demian Proud was one of the figures entangled in Lowen’s past.