Praise (1)
Windfield.
The place where every wind of the empire gathers.
A great city rising from vast, open plains.
Aside from the central district ringed by its walls, anyone may come and go freely.
True to a city that prizes free spirits as free as the wind itself, the whole of Windfield is open and welcoming.
“Welcome to Windfield, Saintess.”
An elderly gentleman offered the Saintess a courteous bow.
This rugged, manly old gentleman was the Archbishop of Windfield Great Cathedral—Rigal Windstorm.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Ariel answered with a bright smile.
“I’ve heard of the splendid work you did in Rest Town. Truly remarkable. Under ordinary circumstances we ought to have come to you, so I can only apologize for making you travel all this way.”
Archbishop Windstorm led the Saintess’s party into the cathedral.
A broad, open window let the breeze pour through, carrying the full scent of summer across their faces.
Lowen, trailing behind the group that walked ahead, fixed a hard stare on the back of Windstorm’s head.
This was one of the men who had helped arrange their stay in Wind-bird Forest—and the very man who had foisted the role of the Saintess’s guardian onto Lowen without a single word of warning. Of course Windstorm had only been following orders from the Holy See, but a quiet heads-up would have been nice.
Something more than a letter slipped secretly into a coat pocket.
Sensing that intense gaze, Windstorm—mid-conversation with Chloe—glanced back over his shoulder.
Their eyes met, and Windstorm offered an awkward smile.
A flicker of guilt showed there.
So he does feel bad about not saying a word.
Windstorm brought a hand near his mouth and gave his wrist a little flick.
The signal for “Let’s have a drink later.”
He dumps a responsibility this enormous on me and thinks a few drinks will smooth it over?
Well… that would actually work.
Windstorm was a devoted drinker and kept a cellar full of fine spirits. Whenever Lowen sat down with him, he got to taste expensive, richly flavored liquor. If there was anything Lowen liked more than cigarettes, it was good wine—not so much drinking itself as savoring the rare and costly stuff.
For the record, Lowen, Demian, and Windstorm had occasionally shared a bottle together—usually as a quiet reward after Lowen had completed one of his missions without a hitch.
“Had I known things would turn out this way, it might have been better if His Eminence the Cardinal had simply delivered it himself.”
Windstorm took a small jewel case from the vault.
“I never expected it either.”
They could have sent a Holy Knight to carry the case straight to Wind-bird Forest from the start. The reason they had gone to the trouble of summoning everyone all the way to Windfield was simple: they had wanted Ariel to taste a little travel.
For a girl who had spent her life shut away inside a great cathedral, never properly seeing the world.
No one had imagined she would be swept up in incidents like these.
No one had expected an attack on Wind-bird Forest the moment she arrived, or the monsters that appeared in Night Sky Spring Forest, or the Flame Knight who struck Rest Town. Those matters still needed deeper investigation, but the odds were high that the Demon Cult was behind them—or perhaps some other faction trying to hinder the Grand Saintess Selection.
Either way, the moment they returned to the great cathedral, a full inquiry would begin.
“I’m only saying this because you came through safely, but those incidents have made the seventh Saintess the talk of every circle. The buzz is tremendous.”
Windstorm spread out a stack of newspapers.
The Magician’s Weekly Digest, the Witch Daily, the Imperial Daily—every paper was packed with stories about Ariel, as though each had decided to run a special feature on the seventh Saintess. A short piece covered the monsters she had defeated in Night Sky Spring Forest; most of the ink, however, was devoted to her exploits in Rest Town.
“Huh?”
Ariel, reading one of the papers, tilted her head.
“There’s nothing about Bishop Lowen at all?”
No matter where she looked, Lowen’s name never appeared.
Plenty of people in that plaza had seen the man who had swept the Saintess up in his arms like a princess while pillars of fire erupted around them, yet every mention of him had been completely buried.
“Bishop Lowen worked so much harder than I did…!”
Ariel’s face scrunched up as though she were ready to march straight to the newspaper offices and demand an explanation.
In Night Sky Spring Forest Lowen had indeed borne the brunt of the fighting, but in Rest Town he had only delivered the finishing blow. Of course, he had been the only one present capable of ending it then and there—yet if Ariel had failed to block every one of the Flame Knight’s attacks, Lowen would by now have been reduced to ash mixed among the rubble of the square.
So the credit for saving Rest Town could fairly be laid entirely at Ariel’s feet.
And from Lowen’s point of view, that was perfect.
He was still doing his best to stay hidden from the Imperial Knights. If his face started showing up in the papers, what then?
Those bastards would come swarming in a pack.
To take his head.
Fleeing the Imperial Knights in general was not the real problem. The problem was that he had fled from the Night Crow Knights—the empire’s darkest covert order. They knew every filthy secret the empire possessed, which made them a double-edged sword the empire could never afford to lose. When one of their own slipped the leash and tasted freedom, they hunted him with bloodshot eyes, terrified of what he might say.
Even now, somewhere out there, they’re still looking.
Only the sturdy shield of the Holy See kept him safely hidden. Without it he would already have been dragged back—or every single day would have been a blood-soaked running battle.
“No, Saintess. In Rest Town the true protagonist was you.”
Lowen soothed the fuming Ariel.
“But still…!”
“I have no need for anyone else’s recognition.”
Truly.
He had never once desired honor.
“Knowing that you acknowledge me is more than enough.”
Lowen smiled gently.
“Bishop Lowen…”
Whatever she made of those words, Ariel ducked her head and averted her eyes, trying to hide the blush rising in her cheeks.
“In any case, let’s leave that topic there. What exactly did you summon us all the way to Windfield to give us?”
Windstorm opened the jewel case he held.
“This.”
Inside lay a bracelet.
We came all the way from Wind-bird Forest to Windfield just for a single bracelet?
“This is a sacred artifact bearing the Blessing of Protection.”
Chloe lifted the bracelet free.
A silver chain set with a lovely violet bead the same color as Ariel’s eyes.
“Blessing of Protection?”
“One of the Holy See’s artifacts. While you wear it, it will protect your body no matter the situation. An arrow flying at you—the bracelet will stop it. A monster’s ambush—the same. Even if you lose consciousness and become completely helpless, the bracelet will still shield you. It is a holy tool of protection.”
Chloe fastened the bracelet around Ariel’s wrist.
“It’s an extraordinary piece, but it cannot block every attack. If it receives a blow beyond its limit, it will endure once and then shatter.”
The important part was that it could endure once.
Even a direct hit from a life-threatening strike would be stopped by the bracelet.
“But an attack of that magnitude would have to be magic from an Archmage of the twentieth rank or higher.”
In short, it was an absurdly powerful piece of armor.
It was a sacred artifact normally issued only to the Grand Saintess, yet upon hearing that monsters had attacked the place where the seventh Saintess was staying, the Grand Saintess had willingly lent it.
“To be precise, the Grand Saintess has loaned it to you. No one knows what might happen while you rest in Wind-bird Forest.”
It would have to be returned once they went back to the great cathedral.
Still, possessing the finest possible defense for an entire year would be an enormous help while living out in the provinces.
“Saintess, you must wear this at all times.”
“Yes.”
Chloe looked at Lowen.
“And you, junior—make sure the Saintess keeps the bracelet on properly.”
“Understood.”
Even without such a bracelet, the Saintess’s knight would protect her.
But he could not remain glued to her side every second of every day.
Having insurance like this would put Lowen’s mind at ease as well.
“And one more thing.”
Chloe fixed Lowen with a direct stare.
“If you have chosen to become the Saintess’s guardian, then you must protect her no matter what happens. Bear in mind that even if the situation places your own life in direct danger, you must be prepared to throw that life away without hesitation.”
His life, was it?
His soul was already corrupted beyond saving.
If he could spend that life for someone else’s sake, he would do so gladly.
And from the moment he had sworn to become the knight who protected Ariel, he had already resolved to die for her if necessary.
There were knights who served only for a living.
But knights like Lowen—those who held a knight’s oath sacred—were different.
They were men ready to lay down their lives to protect their liege.
That was what a knight was.
Lowen shot a sidelong glance at Windstorm.
The archbishop’s expression silently urged him to play along with the Cardinal’s words.
Lowen gave a short, dry laugh.
“Don’t worry. I finished making that resolve a long time ago.”
After receiving the bracelet, Lowen and Ariel stepped out into the streets.
They still had time before the evening service to see a little of Windfield.
It had been Chloe’s request.
She had asked Lowen to show Ariel around the city, since the girl had not been able to enjoy Rest Town properly.
Only the two of them went out.
Chloe had offered to assign Holy Knights as escorts, but Ariel had firmly refused—“You’ve all come so far and worked so hard; the Holy Knights need rest too”—and so they were able to leave alone. Chloe, for her part, had entrusted Ariel’s entire outing to Lowen, telling him to use the time to learn more about the Saintess… while shedding tears of blood, of course.
They had free time, yet it was not entirely free.
As they walked the streets, every eye turned toward Ariel.
That was only natural.
As she herself had said in Rest Town, catching even a glimpse of a living Saintess was an exceedingly rare event.
And because she was the seventh Saintess whose renown had lately been climbing so dramatically, the attention was even more intense.
Fortunately, the free-spirited citizens of Windfield kept a respectful distance so that the Saintess could shop in peace.
Or rather, the Holy Knights are making sure of it.
Walking side by side with Ariel, Lowen cast a discreet glance around them.
Holy Knights disguised as ordinary townsfolk were quietly steering curious citizens away from the Saintess.
Chloe had almost certainly ordered it, yet every one of them was carrying out the duty of their own free will.
In any case, on the surface they were free to stroll and sightsee.
“Bishop Lowen! Bishop Lowen!”
Ariel, bubbling with excitement, tugged repeatedly at his sleeve.
“Yes, Saintess?”
“Let’s go buy animal pajamas first! Animal pajamas!”
Come to think of it, on the carriage ride to Windfield she had declared she was going to buy cute animal pajamas.
Her eyes sparkled with pure, childlike anticipation; she must have been looking forward to this for a long time.
Had she really wanted animal pajamas that badly?
Well, it didn’t matter. Today was Ariel’s day.
“Shall we start with a pajama shop, then?”
“Yeees!”
Ariel nodded so hard her head bobbed like a spring.
After asking a few locals for directions, they found the shop.
“Huh? There’s a fancy carriage parked out front.”
A large, luxurious carriage stood before the pajama shop labeled Mercante Apparel.
Built of walnut wood and painted a deep black-green, its edges were traced with elaborate golden patterns. On the door was a crest: a broom piercing a large pointed hat.
A mark Lowen knew well.
The same emblem that appeared on the brand of cigarettes he favored.
The mark of the great witch merchant guild—the Robarara Merchant Guild.
—Ting-a-ling
A clear little bell chimed as they stepped inside—a magical chime hanging from the door handle.
The shop was filled with clothes of every color and style.
They had been told it was a pajama shop, yet it sold far more than sleepwear. Pajamas formed the main stock, but elegant formal dresses and suits that looked fit for high society hung alongside them—dresses themed around flowers, tailored coats that whispered of wealth and rank.
“Wooow…”
Among the waiting garments, one dress seized Ariel’s gaze completely.
The most magnificent pure-white gown in the entire shop.
A wedding dress.
While Ariel stood entranced by the wedding dress, someone casually rested an arm across her shoulders.
“The magical dress every girl dreams of wearing at least once.”
A seductive woman’s voice tickled her ear, and Ariel jumped.
“Eek!”
She whipped her head around and found a woman with long, wavy pink hair smiling radiantly at her.
“Wh-what…?”
Still clutching her startled chest with both hands, Ariel’s eyes went round.
“It’s been a while, Saintess.”
The woman greeted her warmly.
Standing there was Clea Mercante, Vice-Master of the Robarara Merchant Guild—the very witch who had once caused such a stir with the Absorbing Spirit Cat.
Please take a look at the newly drawn Ariel cover!