Anomaly
Heading toward the clatter of weapons, they found a truly horrific scene laid bare before them.
Several soldiers and a man who looked to be a knight were fighting for their lives against the undead. The fallen corpses still twitched and writhed, unable to die properly, while the downed soldiers jerked and spasmed on the ground as if they might rise again at any moment.
Surrounded as they were, the living had no hope left. Their faces had gone a deathly gray from the long standoff. They were holding on with everything they had, yet flesh had its limits—clearly they would not last much longer.
That is, if the Saintess and the Hero had never arrived as the unexpected variables they were.
“Let that which defies the natural order be restored to it.”
The Saintess’s small but clear voice rang out, and thin white lines of light erupted from the earth beneath the undead. The suddenly rising cords of radiance seized the corpses like iron chains binding a prisoner.
—Grrrk!
—Guh… guuuh… guuuugh!
The undead touched by the lines shrieked in dull agony and thrashed as though the claim that they felt no pain had been a lie all along. The already weakened ones crumpled to the ground and melted into the mud like wet clay.
Watching it, Ciela let out a fresh murmur of admiration inside her head.
As expected of the Saintess.
She had felt it during the pilgrimage rite as well—when the moment demanded action, the Saintess was sharp and decisive. She might be a little short on common sense and a touch pure-hearted, but as a Saintess she more than measured up.
Ciela tasted something bitter on her tongue for no good reason.
…
Compared to her, did I ever truly deserve to become the Hero? No—why was it me at all?
Of course she had never wanted the role, so there was no one to blame. Still, in her own eyes she fell short of the title. A Hero who could only wield a handful of Holy Power—how could she ever go around announcing that without shame? She was not the type to boast in the first place, yet the unease still gnawed at her.
Even so—
“Hup!”
She drove power into her thighs and charged the horde of undead. Holy Power or no Holy Power, some things simply had to be done. Right now, after the Saintess herself, she was the one best equipped to dispose of the corpses efficiently.
This time she did not even need to wrap her blade in Holy Power. The soldiers who had been surrounded squeezed out their last strength and joined the fight, and the undead were cleared away in short order—as though that were simply the natural order of things.
Before long the last of them had been put down. Ciela approached the man who appeared to lead the soldiers and exchanged names. He was Karl Schmidt, a knight who had been dispatched here alongside Hans.
He looked up at Ciela and the Saintess clinging to her back with a face full of emotion.
“I never dreamed I would receive aid from the Saintess and the Hero. This too must be the Goddess’s care.”
“…Indeed it is.”
Ciela’s mouth felt dry. On the surface she had told herself it did not matter, yet the weight of everything she had piled up while preparing as a Hero candidate was far too heavy for her to truly dismiss it. Still, this was not the moment to show any of that. She possessed at least that much judgment.
“Leave the rest to us and return to recover yourselves.”
“I am ashamed. Yet it is true we have no strength left to stand, so I will not insist.”
Even so, the almost blind faith in his gaze left Ciela feeling as though a thorn had lodged in her throat. She gave Schmidt directions, then spurred the horse onward once more with the Saintess.
Once Schmidt’s party had dwindled into the distance, the Saintess—who had been silently pressed against Ciela’s back—suddenly spoke.
“Hero, are you hurt?”
“What makes you ask that all of a sudden?”
“Just… you looked uncomfortable.”
“Nothing of the sort. I simply put too much strength into my thighs, that’s all. More importantly, where do we go now?”
“Mm, that way. We’re close.”
Cold sweat beaded on Ciela’s skin without her noticing. They were not even face to face—how had the Saintess sensed her unease? Being pressed flush against her back was one thing, but that alone should not let someone read another’s heart.
This is… a little embarrassing.
Her face kept growing hot for one reason or another. Was she really letting her agitation show so plainly? It felt as though she were walking around naked in front of people.
She herself found it strange. She had endured the cartel’s bullying without flinching—so why was her heart this shaken now? It felt as if someone had seized her by the shoulders and was rattling her. They said a woman’s heart was like a reed—was that the influence at work?
Or perhaps it was because she already knew the way to resolve the inferiority complex, the fundamental problem that plagued her.
Along with the fragrance of the flower tea the Saintess had brewed for her, a faintly metallic scent seemed to linger at the tip of her nose. Ciela shook her head hard.
Before long the two of them arrived at the place that must originally have been the pilgrimage site. Yet the atmosphere there was utterly different from the last one they had visited.
The Saintess’s face grew uncommonly hard, and she spoke in a low voice.
“Hero, set me down quickly.”
With Ciela’s help the Saintess hopped lightly to the ground, then strode toward the Trace with her brow furrowed. Ciela hastily tethered the horse and hurried after her. Does this person even know what might come out of that thing, charging ahead so boldly?
“Why would something like this…?”
Even Ciela, who understood little, could tell something was wrong. Simply standing there and staring made her body feel cold, as though she were walking into a swamp. A smell like rotting earth seemed to rise from the ground. Calling this a Trace left by the Goddess felt almost blasphemous even to Ciela.
“What do we do now?”
“The work itself is the same. Only, something has to be done first.”
“I see.”
“Mm. While I do that, the Hero has to protect me.”
Before Ciela could even answer, the Saintess dropped to her knees on the ground and closed her eyes.
“Nnngh.”
Ciela drew her sword at once and took her place at the Saintess’s side. Meanwhile the Saintess clasped her hands and began to recite a blessing different from the last one.
“May order settle upon all things that reverse the natural course—”
Listening to the Saintess’s voice, Ciela’s heart was a tangle of contradictions. She herself believed she was lacking, yet the Saintess seemed to place far too much trust in her. It was as if the idea that Ciela the Hero might fail to protect her had never even crossed the Saintess’s mind—even though the dead had already risen from the earth, so the same thing happening here would not be strange at all.
It was a heavy faith.
She had stood firm against the malice once directed at her, but she had no idea how to respond to faith born of goodwill like this. Did she even need to respond? What if that excessive trust got the Saintess hurt? The thought was enough to make fear spike through her.
That fear seemed to seep upward through Ciela’s chest. She tightened her grip on the sword.
Personal feelings had to be set aside for now. If anything happened to the Saintess here, catastrophe would follow in the most literal sense. No one had ever told her the pilgrimage carried threats like this, but what choice did she have? For the moment she was the Hero, so the duties that came with it had to be done.
Ciela kept her tension high and stood guard at the Saintess’s side. Soft light began to pour from the Saintess’s body and soak into the reeking earth.
In that instant Ciela sensed something flying toward the Saintess and thrust her blade out. The acrid stench gushing from the ground rushed closer; instinct made her drag up Holy Power and wrap it around the sword. She did not know what it was, only that she had to do it.
And that instinct was right.
Whatever had been hurtling toward the Saintess collided with Ciela’s Holy Power and began to produce an eerie noise. Kagagak! A sound like something being ground to powder filled the air.
The ominous sensation drove Ciela to wring out every scrap of Holy Power and step forward. If it came to it she was ready to take the unknown force on her own body. Failure would surely bring disaster, and she could not allow the Saintess—who trusted her enough to keep her eyes closed and concentrate—to come to harm.
As a holy knight, as the Hero… as a man, she could not allow it.
Yet for all that resolve, the strain was growing. The thing that had flown at the Saintess still blazed with power, while Ciela’s Holy Power steadily lost its light. The only reason she was still holding on was her exceptional control. Sadly, even that skill looked ready to buckle under the sheer volume of force.
“…Kh.”
Ciela felt as though the skin of her palm would split. The unknown, acrid power was clearly shoving her back. She could not let a sound of pain escape. She could not give ground. The moment she did, the Saintess would be in danger. She would disappoint the one who believed in her.
Before she knew it the force that had been pushing her Holy Power back had reached the tip of her nose. The radiance sheathed around her blade flickered like a candle in the wind. The unknown power felt ready to cleave Ciela in two, sword and all. She could feel the cold edge of her own blade against her face.
Ciela bit down on her lip as her Holy Power hit bottom—
Kuuuung!
The quiet earth shuddered, and the force that had come within a hair’s breadth of her was flung away. It reeled backward as though a film were being rewound and was driven once more into the ground.
Only then did the Saintess open her eyes and speak in a bright voice.
“Mm, good. It’s done.”
“…Thank goodness.”
The Saintess turned to look at Ciela. Sensing that gaze, Ciela immediately moved her hand and sheathed the sword that had come so close to her own nose. A hot sensation lingered at the tip of her face; she wiped it away with her palm and met the Saintess’s eyes.
“From here it’s the same as last time.”
“Understood.”
Right after that, the Saintess and the Hero performed the same rite they had carried out at the previous pilgrimage site. The sensation of having stepped into a sticky swamp lifted away. Ciela, who had wrung her Holy Power to its absolute limit, felt the strength drain from her limbs as she surveyed the surroundings.
“It seems to be over.”
“Mm. But still… something feels wrong.”
The Saintess scanned the area with a puzzled look, tilting her head as though she could not make sense of it. The way she toddled about was so compact and neat that it was frankly adorable. Ciela shook her head to banish the irreverent thought and spoke again.
“Mmm, I doubt I’ll be of any help.”
“Nnh, no. The Hero already helped.”
“…Is that so?”
“Mm.”
…I almost ruined everything.
If she had not drunk the Saintess’s flower tea and gained that extra Holy Power, it might truly have ended that way.
I should… call it luck, I guess.
If she had been lucky, none of this would have happened in the first place.
“Eut!?”
“What’s wrong?”
Ciela’s face hardened. The body that had begun to relax at the thought of being finished went rigid again. She hurried over to the Saintess. The Saintess bent forward at the waist like someone in discomfort and muttered,
“H-Hero, here… it feels strange.”
“…Don’t tell me.”
Apparently the thing she had tried so hard to forget had risen once more. That awkward, half-crouched posture belonged to someone with a sudden erection—Ciela knew it all too well.
…I’m going to lose my mind.
Ciela let out a silent sigh. Why here, of all places? Why now? Her head spun.