Possessiveness (2)
The cathedral's reception room.
"Elder, what is the meaning of this?"
With a dissatisfied look on his face, Lowen interrogated Demian, who sat across from him.
"Why is Lady Seria here?"
Demian, cigarette dangling from his lips, exhaled a long plume of smoke as he answered.
"You should have written back sooner."
"Pardon?"
Demian took another deep drag and explained how Seria had been waiting for Lowen's reply with desperate, unwavering hope. He went on to describe how that waiting had gradually twisted into something close to hysterical obsession—and that the entire reason she had come here was to completely cast off the attachment that was clouding her heart.
"So I need you to cooperate a little."
"Cooperate?"
"As you already know, the Saintess harbors romantic feelings for you. And as I just said, she came here to free herself of those feelings. What I'm asking is that you soothe her properly so she can discard the heart that interferes with her faith."
Lowen tapped the table with his fingertips, replaying Seria's reaction from moments earlier.
Was that really the behavior of someone trying to cast off her feelings?
He carefully recalled every detail of her expression and tone, yet nothing about it looked like the demeanor of a woman determined to let go.
"Haa..."
Stress stabbed at his temples.
Raising even one Saintess—the seventh—was already more than enough of a handful.
"There's no need to settle everything this time. The human heart isn't something you can simply erase because you want to, and there's no law saying you can't pick it back up after throwing it away."
In other words, take it slow and carefully unravel the relationship.
"How long does she plan to stay?"
"The Holy See has granted permission for four days."
"Longer than I expected."
Lowen let out a heavy sigh in place of cigarette smoke.
"I was hoping she'd head back tomorrow like last time..."
"Careful—your true feelings are showing."
"I said it for you to hear, Elder."
Demian gave an awkward little chuckle.
"I feel bad putting this on you, but you have to take responsibility too. Why go around charming a Saintess with that handsome, wild-beast face of yours? If you weren't an old friend of mine, I'd have brought the iron hammer down on you long ago."
He spoke as if joking, yet Demian was more than capable of doing exactly that.
"I never charmed her."
Seria was truly a beautiful woman, but he had never harbored impure intentions or tried to seduce her.
All Lowen had done was protect her for a year and occasionally keep her company, telling her various stories from his experiences like fairy tales.
From his perspective, nothing had happened that could have sparked love.
But Lowen, who had never fallen for anyone himself, did not know.
That love was a flower wind that could blow in at any time, from any place.
That love was a single wildflower that suddenly sprouted and suddenly bloomed in full.
A man who knew only artificial physical relations could never understand something so instinctive.
"Anyway, I understand. I'll speak with Lady Seria carefully."
"I'd appreciate that."
Lowen pressed down hard on his irritated expression and scrubbed his dry face with both hands.
"If you handle this well, I'll give you a special gift."
Demian smiled slyly.
But Lowen had little interest in material things, so the mention of a gift left him completely unmoved.
Early the next morning, Lowen was taking a light walk through the forest.
Gazing at the green leaves, he sank into thought.
Lowen had completed every mission that had ever seemed impossible.
Once he set his sights on a target, he always sank his teeth into it.
But this was the first time he had ever been ordered to kill a loving heart.
What made it even more awkward was that he had already rejected Seria's feelings once before.
On the final day of his escort duty, she had come to his bedroom and asked him to stay by her side for the rest of her life.
Lowen had politely refused and even promised they would remain "good friends."
Does this call for a hard-line approach?
While he was searching for a way to make Seria let go of her feelings, a chattering voice reached him from the side.
"I was really surprised. I never imagined you'd become a priest, Lowen."
"Shut up."
Lowen brushed away the clouds of thought and looked at Edil, who was walking beside him.
"Why are you following me?"
"A disciple must always follow his master!"
"I've never considered you my disciple."
"Well, I consider you my master!"
Lowen let out a hollow laugh of sheer disbelief.
"Isn't your master that Holy Knight on the right?"
"He's like a father to me. My swordsmanship master is you, Lowen."
"I can hear your father wailing in grief."
After chattering away for a while, Edil finally asked the question that had been on his mind.
"By the way, why did you really become a priest? I heard that after finishing your escort of the Saintess, you became a wandering knight and set off on a journey."
For the record, Edil knew nothing of Lowen's past.
"Edil."
"Yes!"
"Don't go around telling people I used to be a knight."
He had already blabbed to the other Holy Knights about how incredible Lowen was, but Edil blinked curiously and asked, "Why?"
"Because it's a shameful past."
That only made less sense.
The Lowen Edil knew was not a knight who had any reason to feel ashamed of himself.
If anything, he had been a knight of such skill and courtesy that he could have proudly flaunted the title.
"You wouldn't understand. How pathetic and foolish the sword I held really was..."
Lowen spoke in a low voice.
Edil could not comprehend what part of it had been shameful, what part pathetic, or what part foolish.
"The reason I became a priest..."
He hadn't needed to become a priest just to live in hiding.
Other options had certainly existed.
So why, then, had Lowen chosen the priesthood?
"Perhaps... I wanted to atone. Wanted forgiveness I had no right to ask for, I suppose."
Edil looked at the self-reproaching Lowen with clear disapproval.
"Even if you think that way, Lowen, I still believe you were an amazing and cool knight."
Lowen gave a short snort of laughter.
"Fine. Think whatever you like."
He walked deeper into the forest.
"How long are you planning to follow me?"
A Holy Knight who had come to protect the Saintess ought to be at the cathedral, yet he kept tagging along.
"The Saintess asked me to deliver a message."
The moment those words left Edil's mouth, Lowen's legs stopped dead. He turned his head and glared at the younger man.
"Isn't that the kind of thing you're supposed to say first?"
"You were so deep in thought I couldn't bring myself to interrupt."
"That's rich coming from the guy who was chattering nonstop."
"Haha, you were just responding to my monologue."
Irritation had already been building; Lowen decided this was perfect.
"Edil, how about a spar for old times' sake?"
"Sounds good!"
Lowen and Edil each picked up nearby branches to use as wooden swords and began their duel.
"Here I go...!"
Even though it was only a spar, Edil poured divine power into the branch and charged at Lowen with complete seriousness. He sliced through the air, faster than the wind, aiming straight for Lowen's solar plexus.
"You've gotten faster."
Lowen dropped low, dodged lightly, and hooked Edil's leg, sending him tumbling.
"But still too slow."
As Edil staggered and tried to land, Lowen cracked the branch into his side with a solid thud. The strike was so swift that the branch made no sound as it cut through the air.
Edil endured the deep, hollow pain in his ribs.
He knew that the moment he showed weakness, Lowen's attacks would rain down like a storm, so he spun quickly and launched another assault. But Lowen read every single move, dodged them all, and counterattacked without mercy.
Several exchanges followed in rapid succession. Moments later, Edil's screams echoed through the forest.
"Aaagh! Lowen! Ack! Wait—!"
Thud! Thud! Thud!
"Ugh! Eugh! Ghk!"
Thud! Thud! Thud!
"I yield! Ugh! I—I yield, I said!"
Thud! Thud! Thud!
After about ten minutes, the echoing screams finally died down.
"Hoo... You've grown since last time."
Lowen wiped the refreshing sweat from his brow and tossed the branch into the underbrush.
"Ha... haha... Y-you've gotten even stronger, Lowen."
When the mind was tangled, nothing beat moving the body and working up a sweat.
Beating on his sandbag (Edil) had finally let him organize his thoughts.
No more half-measures with Seria. He would speak clearly and settle things cleanly.
"So what was the message Lady Seria wanted you to deliver?"
Lowen looked at Edil, who was still wobbling to his feet.
"Ah... The Saintess said she'd be preparing breakfast, so I should bring you."
Before heading to the kitchen where the clatter of dishes could already be heard, Lowen went to wake Ariel.
Knock knock.
As always, he knocked and waited for a reply. And as always, there was none—Ariel was still asleep.
Just as he was about to open the door to her bedroom—
"Bishop Lowen, what are you doing in front of my room?"
The Ariel who should have been snoring away with her belly exposed was wide awake.
Not only that—she was neatly dressed in her nun's habit, her hair even tied up tidily.
Lowen immediately pressed a hand to her forehead.
"Uung?"
Ariel tilted her head at his inexplicable action.
"No fever... And the sun hasn't risen in the west..."
He could hardly believe that lazy Ariel had not only gotten up early but had even changed clothes.
Since this life together began, the only times Ariel had woken before being called were the first few days. After that, Lowen had shaken her awake every single morning.
"Bishop Lowen?"
Wondering if the Ariel looking up at him might be a fake, he pinched both of her cheeks.
"Doesn't seem like a fake..."
The moment he started pinching, Ariel rose onto her tiptoes and gave his cheeks the exact same squishy treatment.
"Bishop Lowen doesn't seem like a fake either."
Somehow they had ended up in the strange situation of pinching each other's cheeks.
"What are the two of you doing?"
A voice came from the side. Turning, they saw Seria standing at the top of the stairs.
Like a maidservant caught in a secret rendezvous with the master of the house by the lady herself, Ariel jumped in fright and hastily gathered the hands that had been fondling Lowen's cheeks neatly against her skirt.
Seria, spatula still in hand, smiled kindly.
The voice they had heard had been as cold as the dawn air, yet her expression was warm.
Fake.
That expression was a mask meant to hide the real one.
Ariel, who had recognized the falseness at once, sneaked a glance at Lowen to see what he thought.
Judging by the way he was smiling and offering a morning greeting, he had no idea.
"Lady Seria, good morning."
Lowen released Ariel's soft cheeks and approached Seria.
"Lowen, a delicious meal is waiting. What were you doing in a place like this?"
"I came to wake the Saintess."
"Me?"
"I came to wake the seventh Saintess."
Seria looked past him at Ariel.
A chilling aura stabbed into her.
Ariel let out a tiny "Uuuu..." and shivered.
"Does Bishop Lowen wake Saintess Violet every morning?"
Lowen thought for a moment before answering.
"I come to wake her every day, but she is always already up like this. The Saintess is a diligent person, after all."
In his own way, he was protecting Ariel's dignity while also slyly shaming her into becoming a "diligent Saintess."
"Hmm~ Is that so."
But after seeing Ariel inside the confessional the night before, Seria had no dignity left for Ariel that needed protecting.