The Time of the Feast (1)
Deteros Great Cathedral.
A pure-white marble edifice raised in the Gothic style. One hundred and fifty-five pinnacles crowned the flying buttresses, large and small. Between two belfries, a central spire soared toward the heavens, and upon it stood a statue of the first Second Saintess.
Inside, massive stone columns bore up a lofty ceiling. The nave, vaulted with pointed arches to a height exceeding fifty meters, inspired a sense of wonder. Through the colorful stained glass of the side aisles, the dim light of the setting sun filtered in.
Along the long aisle between the naves thronged with worshippers of the Light, the altar waited at the far end. Sunset pouring through the dandelion-shaped stained glass behind it cast an atmosphere still more solemn and sacred.
And in that holy space, a golden-haired woman was at prayer.
White vestments. A rosary in which golden light radiated outward from within a clear jewel. With her eyes gently closed in prayer, the mere sight of her seemed to settle the heart into peace and reverence, as though one had found rest.
She opened her eyes and looked up at the stained glass admitting the evening light. Even holding the sunset within them, her wall-blue eyes shone with their own distinct color.
"May the Light's protection be with us..."
Her name was Seria Dandelion.
Symbol of Deteros Great Cathedral — and its Second Saintess.
When the service ended, Seria made her way toward her chambers.
"Cardinal."
Walking the cloister, Seria spoke to the cardinal in red vestments who followed behind her — Demian.
"Yes, Saintess."
"How many days has it been since you returned from Wind-bird Forest?"
"Exactly twenty-four days."
"I see."
Seria's measured steps came to an abrupt halt.
"Twenty-four days. No — twenty-four days already."
She turned and looked at Demian.
"It's been twenty-four days. Why hasn't Lowen sent any reply? Hmm?"
A cold unease settled over the face that had been so serene.
"Don't tell me he doesn't remember me? Or did you fail to deliver my letter?"
"Of course not. The letter was delivered without fail, and the moment Lowen saw the seal stamped upon it, he recognized it as a letter from Your Holiness."
Demian soothed Seria as best he could — she who waited for Lowen's reply with desperate longing — but doubt still lingered in her mind.
"Then why? Why is there no answer?"
If the letter had been delivered twenty-four days ago, a reply should have arrived long since.
"He said he would write once his situation was settled, so if you wait just a little longer, a reply is sure to come."
"Cardinal, do you know how many times we've had this conversation this week alone?"
"I couldn't say precisely, but it must be well over a hundred by now."
"Exactly one hundred times, plus twenty-two more."
Indeed. This was already the one hundred and twenty-second time she had asked Demian why Lowen's reply was late.
Even if it takes a while, she'll understand.
That was what he had told Lowen. Unfortunately, Seria found the delay anything but understandable, and she was grilling Demian about it every single day.
"I am protecting Lowen's person. Thoroughly. And still there is no reply as of today — why? I don't know. No matter how carefully I listen for the voice of God, I cannot find the answer. Could something have happened to him?"
Seria's obsession with Lowen only deepened the longer the reply was delayed.
Demian no longer knew what to do. Thanks to Lowen, Seria had become someone spoken of as the next Grand Saintess — yet to Seria herself, Lowen had become a harmful presence. What had once been a fresh, first-love affection, light as foam, had turned thick and clinging as filth, and was now subjecting her to genuine mental strain.
"If it's Lowen we're talking about, Your Holiness knows perfectly well that he would overcome anything that came his way without much trouble."
She did know. Recalling the trials they had weathered together during the year he had served as her escort knight, she knew it very well indeed.
"And he is under Your Holiness's care, and he carries a rosary blessed with Your Holiness's protection. What could possibly happen to him?"
Seria, who had been fixing Demian with a venomous blue stare, smiled with elegant composure.
"You're right. With me watching over him, the idea that anything could befall Lowen is absurd."
She turned smoothly and resumed walking the cloister.
"Come to think of it, it will soon be a month. Will you be going again this time, Cardinal?"
"This time the Cardinal of Evdomos Great Cathedral will go."
"Evdomos Great Cathedral — that would be the cardinal who serves the Seventh Saintess?"
"That is correct."
Seria stopped before the door to her chambers.
"Contact them. Tell them someone else will go instead."
"Someone else, meaning...?"
"Who else? Naturally, I will go myself."
"Saintess..."
Demian, who had been deferential, cleared his throat and spoke with careful formality.
"Even for Your Holiness, I cannot accept such an unreasonable demand."
"Unreasonable? What's unreasonable is a reply that has been silent for days on end."
"In any case, it is not possible. Your Holiness has a duty to remain and guard the Great Cathedral."
Seria tilted her head.
"A duty... Does the Seventh Saintess have no duty to guard her Great Cathedral? Or is she receiving special treatment?"
Ariel's sabbatical at a rural cathedral was not special treatment but a necessary measure. The more she suppressed her desires, the more she wasted away — so she had been sent far away for a time, to soothe her. In fact, when they had last met, her condition had improved considerably. Before that meeting, the reports Demian had heard at the cardinals' council had described Ariel as being on the verge of collapse.
"I cannot explain the full circumstances, but it is by no means special treatment. It was not something the Seventh Saintess requested — it was a decision of the Holy See. What Your Holiness is proposing now, however, is nothing more than an attempt to satisfy a personal emotion, is it not? That is why I must refuse."
Seria shook her head slowly.
"It is not to satisfy my personal emotions, Cardinal."
She clasped her rosary in both hands and looked up at the sky.
"I am a guide who leads those who wander in darkness into the Light. A messenger who conveys the voice of God. A sacrifice who offers her body in love. For one such as I, private feelings are a luxury and a conflict. Ah, O God — do You set this trial before me? Do You test me? But I shall overcome it."
At Seria's prayer, Demian too folded his hands and assumed a reverent posture.
"May the Light's protection be with us..."
When the sudden prayer ended, Seria looked Demian straight in the eye.
"You understand what I mean, don't you? My going to see Lowen is not for the sake of personal feelings. Of course not — not at all. It is entirely for my faith. To overcome a trial set before me so that I may realize the virtues of a Saintess. To cast off this emotion that is throwing my heart into disarray. Do you understand?"
Eyes still moist with the rapture of prayer. Speech that carried the weight of sincerity. A voice that struck a resonant chord at the center of the heart. If all of it were false, the speaker would be a fraud of historic proportions.
"I failed to grasp the depth of Your Holiness's intent."
Demian, hands still joined, bowed with formal respect.
"I failed to recognize Your Holiness's faith and only cast doubt. Very well. I cannot say whether it will be possible, but I shall inquire with the Holy See."
Seria smiled with gentle benevolence.
"Thank you for understanding. May the Light be with you."
She took her leave of Demian and entered her chambers.
"......"
The kindly smile that had spread across her face melted away, leaving her expression blank.
"Haa..."
Seria pressed a hand to her chest and let out a long breath. As she exhaled, the divine power that had been blazing in her heart like a flame dwindled and went out. And when the divine power was fully extinguished, an emotion thicker and deeper than the swamps of the Marauder's Forest began to seep through.
If the power granted to the Seventh Saintess was the ability to read emotions, the power granted to the Second Saintess was the ability to create them. In other words, a mask that could conceal true feelings — the power to fabricate false ones.
Seria removed the mask.
Casting off the emotions of a sacred Saintess, feelings of a pressure greater than the atmosphere itself settled over the chamber.
"Ah... Lowen... my knight..."
Obsession.
The fixation on Lowen she had displayed before Demian was only the tip of the iceberg. The true obsession Seria kept hidden was so intense it raised goosebumps — the sensation of a scorpion crawling across bare skin.
She drew a handkerchief from the pocket of her vestments. A handkerchief stained with dark blotches. It was the one she had used to wipe the monster's blood from Lowen after a monster subjugation.
Seria clutched the handkerchief tightly and collapsed onto the bed.
"Lowen... for your sake, I would do anything... even if it meant lying before God itself..."
She murmured his name over and over.
"Lowen... my knight... Lowen... my everything... Lowen... the first one who ever saw through my lies..."
Seria's dark, clinging voice filled the chamber with gloom.
Monsters.
Servants of the sealed Demon King. Residual fragments that sowed discord and disharmony upon the world. They nested in deep forests, caves, and mountain ranges, and from time to time left their habitats to raid villages.
Their targets varied by danger level, but what they usually sought was food. From the relatively harmless sort that stole fruit and meat from storehouses and fled, to the cruel ones that hunted villagers for human flesh — their danger levels were graded accordingly.
But those grades were only objective classifications. Even a creature whose entire repertoire consisted of pilfering fruit could still pose a genuine threat to someone. Or, depending on circumstances, creatures judged safe could turn suddenly and attack people.
In short, a danger rating was only a danger rating — and it was always wise to be cautious of monsters.
"Saintess, please keep yourself safe."
Lowen finished preparing to leave. A monster called a one-horned rabbit had appeared in the village and was causing trouble, and the villagers had come to the cathedral for help. Ordinarily, when monsters appeared, one either commissioned the Adventurers' Guild or left the matter to the cathedral — which was why Lowen was going to deal with these one-horned rabbits himself.
"But... are you sure I don't need to come with you?"
Ariel tilted her head, watching Lowen as he stepped out of the cathedral.
"One-horned rabbits aren't dangerous monsters, and they don't particularly require divine power, so I am more than enough on my own. And the sun will be setting soon, so please take a bath and rest comfortably, Saintess. Or would you rather come along after all?"
Ariel thought for a moment, then shook her head lightly.
"No. I'll stay and guard the cathedral. Someone wandering the forest might see the lights and come seeking shelter."
"Even so, lock the cathedral doors as much as possible."
"Yes, I will."
Lowen, about to leave, turned back once more and asked her.
"Are you certain you won't come along?"
Ever since their trip to the dandelion fields, he had searched the forest thoroughly and knew there was nothing in the vicinity that posed a real threat to Ariel — and yet leaving her alone still made him uneasy.
"I should be the one to protect my own sanctuary. Or is Bishop Lowen anxious about me being alone?"
"Yes. I am anxious."
The answer came without hesitation.
"You might carelessly use fire and burn the whole cathedral down, or knock over a candlestick and set the carpet ablaze. Or else..."
Lowen listed every possible hazard that could arise.
"Oh, come on! Do you really trust me that little?"
Ariel puffed out one cheek and looked up at him.
"I'll take a bath and roll around in my room, so stop fretting and go."
It was a thoroughly honest statement.
"I won't do anything dangerous, so hurry up and leave. And if you keep standing here like this, you're being rude to the person waiting outside."
She gave Lowen a series of firm little pushes.
"Understood. I'll be back soon, so go to bed first."
Lowen followed the villager waiting outside and headed for the village.
"......Is he gone?"
Ariel poked her head out the window and watched Lowen's figure disappear.
"Heh... heheh... At last, this day has come."
Laughing like a villain nursing a scheme, she hopped and skipped off to her bedroom.
Ariel pulled out the books she had hidden under the bed and selected, from among them, a clean volume with a red cover.
The book Cleo had given her as a gift.
The second volume of The Saintess Who Cannot Sleep.
A lewd, vulgar, thoroughly filthy piece of erotica about training a Saintess into a breeding sow.
"Eheheh... Shall I enjoy the time of the feast?"
Ariel hugged the thick book tightly to her chest.