After the Storm Passes (3)
There is a superstition that lives at the Rest Town Cathedral.
If, during morning worship, the sunlight glancing off the altar stings your eyes, your commercial fortune will be bathed in light. That is the tale.
It began with a single merchant’s anecdote.
In those days alchemy had advanced far enough that mana-coal was falling out of favor. One merchant still owned a mana-coal mine, and every day the red ink of his ledgers only deepened. Hoping to ease even a fraction of his worry, he attended morning worship at the Rest Town Cathedral. Eyes closed, deep in prayer, he suddenly felt a prick of light against his eyelids and opened them.
And he saw it—a golden radiance glittering upon the altar.
The light vanished in the space of a breath, yet it remained etched with perfect clarity upon his clouded eyes. Strange. Mystical. Looking back, the merchant would later claim an angel must have come to deliver that light.
The very next day a great wind of change swept over him. Magical engineering rose as a new discipline, and demand for mana-coal exploded overnight. Scholars flocked to his mine; almost at once he found himself sitting on a mountain of gold. From the mana-stone lamps that now line every street to the waterworks that serve kitchens and baths, mana-coal has become the indispensable gold of every field touched by magical engineering.
Once the anecdote spread, the Rest Town Cathedral became a mandatory pilgrimage for merchants. Whether the superstition is true hardly matters. What matters is that the superstition exists—and that results follow. So the merchants treat it as gospel and keep coming.
Every day the cathedral bustles. Today, however, the throng was of an entirely different order. Inside, there was scarcely room to set a foot. The plaza before the cathedral was likewise packed with people who had come for morning worship—not only merchants, but citizens of Rest Town and travelers as well. All of them had gathered for one woman.
A silver-haired young woman seated properly before the altar, hands folded. The hero who had regarded self-sacrifice as only natural while she shielded others inside a pillar of fierce flame. A tidal wave of humanity had surged here simply to behold the Seventh Saintess, Ariel Violet.
How often, after all, does one get to look upon a Saintess’s face in the flesh? To see one, a person must travel to a Great Cathedral—and even then, entry is not guaranteed. The baseline requirement is usually to be clergy. Ordinary folk therefore have vanishingly few chances to meet a Saintess face-to-face.
“……I pray.”
At the Saintess’s mysterious, resonant voice, every pair of hands joined and every pair of eyes closed. The real thing was different, after all. A sacred light shimmered around her. Seated with eyes shut in quiet prayer, she looked like a painting come to life. And above all—her beauty. That delicate face made people wonder whether she had simply descended from the heavens.
While everyone else found peace of heart through the Saintess, Ariel herself was drowning in worry.
Aaaah, waaaah…!
She had only meant to offer a light worship service; somehow the scale had ballooned beyond recognition. Back at the Great Cathedral this had been daily life—no, she had stood before far larger crowds and prayed with perfect composure. But stress had eventually given birth to a mild case of social anxiety. It never interfered with ordinary living, yet standing before dozens or hundreds of people still sent fear sliding down her spine. Life in Wind-bird Forest had been slowly healing her, but suddenly receiving hundreds of stares all at once made her head spin.
Bishop Lowen! Where is Bishop Lowen?!
Inside her mind, General Ariel frantically searched for him.
Bishop Lowen… sniff… Bishop Lowen… hic…
Crybaby Ariel sobbed and hunted for him too.
I want the strawberry cake Bishop Lowen made for me~
Glutton Ariel rubbed her stomach, craving his homemade cake.
Aaahn, Bishop Lowen’s white cream is still swirling around inside my belly! At this rate my insides are going to melt!
Pervert Ariel gently stroked her own rear and let out a lewd little breath.
Ufufu, being pierced by Bishop Lowen’s magnificent manhood was truly a rapturous experience.
Saintess Ariel smiled benevolently while recalling how she had offered him her hips the night before.
Different emotional selves, yet every one of them was thinking of Lowen. He was the person who soothed Ariel’s heart more than anyone else. Only two months had passed, yet she already leaned on him heavily. She felt a little sorry toward Cleo, but right now Lowen felt far more reliable than the Cardinal.
Still… what on earth were those two talking about?
Recalling the last expression she had seen on Cleo’s face, Ariel muttered inwardly.
Cardinal Cleo looked so serious…
Her brow twitched. She worried the two people she cherished might be quarreling.
—Murmur, murmur—
People who had been stealing glances at the Saintess noticed the shadow of worry that had fallen across her previously serene face and began to whisper. What could be troubling the Saintess so? Was she fretting over the injured knights? Was she engaged in some profound dialogue with the divine? Speculations flew back and forth. One thing was certain: the Seventh Saintess’s reputation had risen even higher.
I just hope the two of them get along…
Cleo was a person of transparent emotion. If something displeased her she showed it; if something pleased her she said so. Judging by the expression Ariel had last seen, Cleo clearly regarded Lowen as an unpleasant human being. The thought that Cleo found Lowen distasteful drew a thin sigh from Ariel’s lips.
“Haa…”
The Saintess’s sigh only swelled the cathedral’s murmuring. To sigh and clutch her chest as though her heart ached—ah, Saintess! Every single gesture of hers was freighted with deep meaning by the crowd. By the time worship ended, the Seventh Saintess’s standing had climbed still higher.
The moment morning worship finished, Ariel’s steps grew urgent.
[Saintess! The Cardinal and the Bishop are having an argument!]
That was the news she received the instant the service ended. The very thing she had fretted over throughout the entire worship had finally come to pass. Whatever the reason, the two of them were quarreling—she had to go stop them.
Clergy were already fidgeting outside the First Reception Room.
“Excuse me for a moment, everyone.”
At the sight of Ariel the priests parted. She asked the high-ranking cleric standing by the door for an explanation.
“What is going on here?”
“I truly do not know, Saintess. Their voices suddenly rose, and the two of them began to argue.”
A loud voice carried through the door—Cleo’s, thick with fury. Lowen’s voice was nowhere to be heard; it seemed Cleo was the only one raging.
“I apologize on their behalf for the disturbance.”
Ariel bowed politely to the clergy gathered outside.
“I will ask what the matter is myself, so please do not worry and return to your duties.”
The priests clasped their hands, offered her a respectful greeting, and withdrew.
“Haaah……”
Ariel knocked. The conversation inside was so heated that the knock went ignored. Etiquette be damned—she opened the door and stepped into the reception room.
“Enough! Just enough already!”
As if the argument were finally ending, Cleo shot to her feet.
“Saintess!”
Spotting Ariel in the doorway, Cleo strode straight toward her.
“Cardinal Cleo, what on earth is the matter?”
“Saintess, that man is utterly impossible to deal with.”
“Pardon?”
Ariel blinked up at her.
“On Cardinal Demian’s strong recommendation I appointed that man as your guardian, but now I see he is completely unsuitable.”
Cleo huffed and puffed. Completely lost, Ariel tilted her head and looked toward Lowen. He wore his usual gentle smile, yet a chilling cold radiated behind it.
“Cardinal Cleo, Bishop Lowen has been doing an excellent job as my guardian.”
She still had no idea what was happening, but Ariel denied Cleo’s claim at once. Because it was true.
“Indeed.”
Lowen, who had been sitting quietly, rose from his seat.
“As the Saintess’s guardian I am performing more than adequately.”
He did not feel particularly honored by the role. He simply disliked having his competence dismissed. Having lived in a society that prized ability above all else, Lowen took umbrage at anyone undervaluing his skills. If the criticism were truly harsh he would accept it; mere personal dislike, however, he answered with sharp sensitivity.
“Just as the Saintess herself has said.”
Lowen stressed the words “the Saintess herself” while fixing Cleo with his gaze.
“Hah! How could our kind-hearted Saintess ever speak ill of another’s shortcomings?”
Lowen nodded.
“Which is precisely why the two of you were able to spend ten years together.”
“What did you just say?”
Cleo openly displayed her displeasure and growled.
“In the short time she has actually lived with me, the Saintess has achieved tremendous growth. Both the Purification Blessing she unleashed and the defense of Rest Town this time occurred while I was at her side.”
It was not entirely his personal achievement, yet it was fact that Ariel’s growth as a Saintess had accelerated under his guardianship.
“Heh!”
Cleo snorted and shook her head.
“You talk as if it were all your own merit, but that was purely the Saintess’s own talent at work. Had I been standing beside her in the same situations, the results would have been identical.”
Ariel could not bring herself to say, “That isn’t true.” She had been able to use the Purification Blessing because Lowen was there; she had been able to protect Rest Town because Lowen was there. Even if the final outcome with Cleo present might have looked the same, the process would certainly have been different.
“Right?”
Cleo pulled Ariel into an embrace.
“Y-yes…”
A white lie. If she answered otherwise, Cleo would burst into tears.
“See! Even the Saintess agrees.”
Lowen regarded the benevolently smiling Ariel. Two months of living together had taught him something: when Ariel lied, she wore that gentle smile.
“How could the Saintess possibly speak a harsh truth?”
“Are you claiming the Saintess just lied?”
“Who can say.”
Behind his glasses, Lowen’s beast-like eyes locked straight onto Cleo.
“There are times in this world when a lie is the more correct choice than the truth.”
Cleo hugged the girl in her arms even tighter.
“Aungh!”
The squeeze was so fierce that Ariel’s cheeks squashed into fish-lips.
“The Saintess is not the sort of person who would lie, even out of kindness.”
Poke!
“The Saintess always speaks only the truth.”
Poke!
Every word from Cleo flew like a dagger and buried itself in Ariel’s chest. She was hiding far too many things. She had papered over more than a few of them with lies.
“Forget it. I thought you might make a decent junior, but that was my mistake. You really are the worst.”
At Cleo’s cutting remark Lowen fired back.
“And you, Cardinal, are the worst guardian who wasted ten years of the Saintess’s time.”
Lowen and Cleo glared at each other with ferocious intensity. So fierce were the emotions colliding between them that even without any use of Authority one could almost see red and violet flames roaring upward.
“W-wait, wait! Both of you, calm down first.”
Extracting herself from Cleo’s arms, Ariel planted herself between them.
“What in the world are you two even fighting about? Hmm?”
She looked back and forth between Lowen and Cleo as if demanding an explanation.
“The Cardinal—!”
“The Bishop—!”
They spoke at the same time.
“Does the Saintess not look best with long hair?”
“Does the Saintess not look just as lovely with short hair?”
Hearing the childish cause of the entire quarrel, Ariel could only stare.
“……Huh?”
The sheer absurdity dragged a blank, foolish sound from her throat.