Mistake (2)
Purifies every wicked being in the world and buries their sins.
“Haha! To think I’d actually get to witness the Purification Blessing!”
Demian laughed heartily, slapping his knees.
“Something only a Grand Saintess is supposed to be able to use—and the Seventh Saintess pulled it off.”
As the man who needed to push the Second Saintess, Seria, toward the next Grand Saintess seat, Demian still couldn’t help seeing Ariel’s use of the Purification Blessing as excellent news from the Holy See’s public standpoint.
“I really did well entrusting her to you.”
Demian looked across the sofa at Lowen.
“I didn’t do anything.”
Lowen was staring down at his own right arm. The arm whose bones had been completely shattered was now healed so cleanly it was as if nothing had ever happened—healing magic that could only be called a miracle.
“The Saintess opened her eyes on her own.”
“Still, it’s hard to say you had no influence at all.”
No one yet knew why Ariel had detonated her divine power. Even Lowen, who had been the trigger for it, didn’t know. What was certain was that Ariel had grown tremendously as a Saintess.
“So why did the monsters suddenly attack the cathedral?”
Demian pulled a cigarette from his pocket and stuck it between his lips.
“We found the corpse of a black unicorn rabbit a little ways from here.”
“A black unicorn rabbit?”
The unicorn rabbit they had caught in Baram-shimteo Village a few days earlier came to mind. That one had been black as well.
“Wait…”
Lowen realized something was off.
“Isn’t the Purification Blessing supposed to reduce any monster—living or dead—to dust?”
Demian took a long drag on the cigarette between his lips and tapped ash into a personal tray.
“You’re right. The Purification Blessing purifies every last monster without leaving even a corpse behind. But we found the body of a black unicorn rabbit—one that hadn’t been affected by the Seventh Saintess’s divine power at all.”
Demian quietly smoked, waiting to see what conclusion Lowen would reach.
“There was something protecting it from divine power.”
“Exactly.”
When they examined the black unicorn rabbit’s corpse, they found traces of magic circles in its organs. Two confirmed circles: one a summoning spell that called the monsters, the other a defensive spell that shielded against divine power.
“The Demon Cult’s work?”
The Demon Cult—believers in the Demon King sealed long ago by a Grand Saintess, dreamers of his resurrection. A group that used monsters to assault cathedrals or staged incidents whose purpose remained unclear.
Demian regarded Lowen for a moment, then spoke quietly.
“The method is one the Demon Cult often uses… but the magic circles were drawn with divine power.”
A defensive magic circle drawn in divine power. Lowen understood at once what that meant.
“An insider, then.”
Demian answered with silence that was as good as agreement.
“Only a possibility, of course. It could be someone who once served the God of Light and then fell to the Demon Cult. Or…”
Demian bit down on the cigarette. The tip glowed red and burned faster.
“Hah… It could also be something another Great Cathedral cooked up to target the Saintesses.”
Dangerous words. Another Great Cathedral using monsters to go after two Saintesses. Yet Lowen nodded.
“I’ve heard that sort of thing happened in the past as well.”
Lumina Religion, the faith that served the God of Light, looked like a single whole—but in truth it was divided into seven factions. Seven Great Cathedrals. Seven Saintesses. The Holy See appeared to govern Lumina Religion as one authority, yet more precisely the seven factions maintained a balance and managed the faith through the Holy See.
Among those seven, some—like Demian—were idealists who spoke only of faith. Others were realists who valued status and power just as highly as devotion. The problem was the latter: the realists who prized prestige and authority.
In the days when the Grand Saintess seat stood empty, the seven Great Cathedrals had fought fiercely to place their own Saintess in that position. The idealists wanted a Saintess of deep faith worthy of the title; the realists wanted one with the leadership to guide the faithful and the confidence to raise her voice against the Empire itself. In the process of choosing a Grand Saintess, certain realist factions had gone so far as to attack rival Saintesses—summoning monsters or colluding with the Demon Cult—all for the sake of elevating their own.
They wanted the seat that badly because the cathedral that produced a Grand Saintess grew stronger, and because the next Pope was, more often than not, appointed from that same cathedral. Exceptions existed, but history had mostly followed that pattern.
“We’ll need more investigation to be sure, but it could well be their work.”
“And if it’s a Demon Cult trap?”
“We’ll have to consider that too. The important thing is that a magic circle drawn with divine power appeared.”
From here on it was Demian’s affair. Lowen—neither a member of the Holy See nor a true cleric—had no need to worry about it.
“Elder, while we’re on the subject, may I ask one thing?”
“Go ahead.”
“Do you know what happened in Baram-shimteo Village?”
The atrocities of a corrupt bishop. An incident the Empire had ignored and the Holy See had cast aside.
“It wasn’t our jurisdiction, so I don’t know the details, but I’ve heard of it. I seem to recall the man I once asked you to deal with had been the bishop of Baram-shimteo Village.”
Demian stroked his chin.
“And they called it a heretic village. Not after you arrived, of course.”
“A heretic village?”
“Yes. Even when the Holy See sent new bishops, the villagers kept driving them out.”
Listening, Lowen passed along one crucial fact.
“I’ve only heard this secondhand, but at the time there was someone in the Holy See covering for that bishop.”
“What?”
“I didn’t hear it from every single villager.”
Demian looked straight into Lowen’s eyes. This was not a man who would lie about such a thing. Even if he did, there was nothing to gain.
“The jurisdiction has changed now, but the one who handled the case back then was an archbishop of the Fourth Great Cathedral. Under his judgment Baram-shimteo Village was branded a heretic village, and both the Holy See and the Empire more or less abandoned it…”
Demian tapped the table and clicked his tongue.
“Something reeks about this…”
The Fourth Great Cathedral was already obsessed with seizing the next Grand Saintess seat.
“Anyway, I understand. We’ll look into the details on our end. And we’ll apologize to Baram-shimteo Village and make reparations as soon as possible. If you can, Lowen, please speak kindly to the villagers—tell them there was a misunderstanding at the Holy See and that we’ll be visiting again.”
Lowen nodded and smiled faintly.
“You needn’t worry too much.”
He pointed at the ceiling with one finger. Directly above the reception room was Ariel’s bedroom.
“Thanks to the Saintess embracing the villagers so well, we were able to soothe their anger. As you’ve seen yourself, every villager who comes to the cathedral for worship is grateful to her and fond of her.”
In the three days he had spent here, he had seen it clearly: the Seventh Saintess he had once fretted over was diligently treating the villagers as a true Saintess should.
Demian snorted a laugh.
“Cardinal Cleo would be green with envy if she saw this.”
Cardinal Cleo of Evdomos Great Cathedral—the one originally charged with looking after the Seventh Saintess, and the one who had been scheduled to visit this very month.
“She talked as if you wouldn’t manage, yet you’re doing fine.”
Demian grinned. Watching Lowen gradually take on the shape of a proper cleric left him both wistful and proud.
“And what about Lady Seria?”
“She asked me to become her escort knight. I refused at once.”
Demian gave a hollow little laugh. She had claimed she would cast off her feelings for Lowen—yet she had still asked him to be her knight.
“How did she react when you refused?”
“No particular reaction. She was rather calm, actually.”
A relief. He had worried she might throw a fit at being turned down.
“You never disappoint me, do you.”
Demian drew a long paper box from his bag.
“Take it. That special gift I mentioned last time.”
Lowen accepted the box.
“Open it.”
Lowen opened it. Inside the long box lay a bottle of red wine.
“Wine purchased from the Robarara Merchant Guild. Made from grapes grown in the Spirit Forest and aged for decades.”
Lowen, who had worn an almost expressionless face until now, smiled brightly for the first time.
“Thank you.”
“You can’t hold your liquor, yet you love the stuff.”
He liked the taste of alcohol, yes—but more than that, he liked getting drunk. Those brief moments when he could forget the darkness brought a little peace to his heart. Just like smoking a cigarette.
Four days passed, and the time came to return to the Great Cathedral as promised.
“Lowen.”
Before climbing into the carriage, Seria looked at him.
“Please reconsider my request.”
“I’m sorry. Even if I think it over again, my answer remains the same as before.”
At Lowen’s firm refusal, Seria bit the inside of her cheek. She knew how he saw her. This was the second time she had been rejected. The first time she had asked him to stay by her side for life, he had refused in just the same way, shaking his head with the excuse, “Lady Seria is far too good for someone like me.”
Remembering what she had seen that morning only confirmed it was a hopeless love: Lowen and Ariel sleeping in each other’s arms. Every time the image rose, an unsettling seed twisted in her chest. Something inside felt as if it were snapping. Anger, sorrow, and the urge to laugh all rose at once.
But could she give up?
Seria shook her head.
“Lowen, I’m a selfish person. And a persistent one.”
She took hold of Lowen’s rosary—the rosary that carried her blessing, meant to watch over him.
“I won’t give up.”
Lowen smiled gently and covered the hand that held the rosary with his own.
“To grow into a Saintess who doesn’t know how to quit—how admirable.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Grow even further and become the Grand Saintess.”
Then he gently drew her hand away from the rosary.
“If I become Grand Saintess… will you grant me one request?”
Lowen nodded as if it were the easiest thing in the world.
“I will grant you one request without fail.”
By the time the Grand Saintess Selection began, Lowen would already be buried in some shadow no one could reach—but still.
“You must keep that promise.”
“I swear it.”
Seria stared at him a long while, then spun around and climbed into the carriage.
“Lowen, I’ll come again.”
Lowen closed his eyes and inclined his head slightly.
After Seria’s party departed, the empty cathedral was quiet to the point of awkwardness.
“What is the Saintess doing?”
After unleashing the Purification Blessing and over-exerting her divine power, Ariel had collapsed. Ten hours had already passed, yet there was still no sign of her.
“Is she still asleep?”
Lowen went upstairs.
“Mm… better to let her rest properly today.”
He had meant to check on her, but he withdrew his hand from the doorknob of her bedroom and stepped back. No point in going in only to disturb her sleep. Lowen decided he, too, would rest thoroughly today and headed for his own room.
He opened the door and stepped inside. Sunset light streaming through the window dazzled his eyes.
And then—
His body went rigid at the silhouette standing in that glow.
“L-Lowen Bishop… I-I’m so sorry…!”
Ariel bit her tongue hard as she apologized. She was sprawled flat on the floor, her white nun’s habit and mint-colored underthings neatly folded by her head…