Why Did the Saintess Give Flower Tea to the Hero?
Clip-clop, clip-clop.
Under the warm sunlight a single horse could be seen galloping busily along a thoroughly dried road. Watching it long enough, one might start to suspect animal abuse. After all, the poor beast was burdened with every sort of baggage plus two people bouncing on its back.
It was Ciela—no, Ciel—and the Saintess, who had set out on the pilgrimage.
Ciel, gripping the reins, grumbled inwardly.
Couldn’t they have just given us a carriage?
On second thought, that would have been just as much of a hassle with upkeep and the rest. Considering versatility, a horse was the better choice. A carriage wasn’t some off-road vehicle; unless the road was reasonably well maintained, it came with all sorts of headaches.
…Still, at least two horses would have been nice.
What could he do? The Saintess couldn’t ride, so this was how it had to be.
Ciel let out a long inner sigh and adjusted his grip on the reins. The body heat seeping from behind felt a little awkward. Even though he had pressed his face against the nuns before, he had rarely had an entire body pressed so close against his own.
Meanwhile, the Saintess….
Seemed to have no particular thoughts at all.
She simply held carefully onto “Ciel’s” body and swayed in time with the hoofbeats. Then her gaze fell on the bluish-silver hair swaying right before her eyes. Beyond that curtain of hair, a nape that looked rather pale for a man came into view.
Anyone else might have swallowed hard without thinking and wondered, Huh… am I…? But to the Saintess it appeared to hold no meaning whatsoever.
If asked whether that was because she disliked Ciel, the Saintess would probably answer “No.”
If asked why, she would answer like this:
Because it had nothing to do with the pilgrimage.
That was simply how it was.
In the Saintess’s mind, nothing existed except the pilgrimage. The cold way she had treated Ciel the other day had not been out of any grudge. She had answered with complete sincerity.
Do you like flowers?
What is your name?
Is there anything you particularly like?
Those things had little relation to the pilgrimage, so there was nothing in particular to say. Strictly speaking, her head contained nothing but the pilgrimage and pure doctrine—not even her own name. Whether she had lost her memories or they had never existed to begin with was unknowable for now. That too was a matter of complete indifference to the Saintess.
Why would a name be necessary for the pilgrimage? As long as she moved as the Saintess, there would be no problem. As long as she could complete the pilgrimage safely, everything else was fine. At least for the present. She would refrain from actions that went against pure doctrine, but every action of hers would connect to the pilgrimage.
Still, the flower teas she had drunk before setting out had not been bad. Sipping them warmed the body, which seemed as though it might help with the pilgrimage. So she had packed a little before departing. The things the brightly smiling nuns had prepared were now bouncing up and down atop the horse.
And if she had to pick one more thing…
….
The Hero who held the reins in her place?
She remembered him coming by whenever he had free time and spouting useless chatter. She had not particularly tried to remember any of it, since it was unnecessary for the pilgrimage, yet strangely it lingered in faint traces. Probably because he was the Hero.
He needs to act a little more carefully.
Leaving memories completely unrelated to the pilgrimage inside his head. He seemed to lack self-awareness as the Hero. This was clearly of no help to the pilgrimage. The Saintess briefly considered whether she ought to point it out sharply.
But as she did, the image of the Hero’s face rose up—how he would come looking for her and smile that foolish, easy smile. A strange face, hard to tell whether male or female; one you had to look up to meet eyes with, yet more silliness than intimidation.
For some reason it felt awkward to deliver a sharp reprimand. The reason was unclear, hazy like fog.
Maybe I’ll watch a little longer.
They had not even reached the first destination yet. If he was still the same then, she would speak sharply. Still… seeing him silently hold the reins for someone who could not ride a horse, he seemed more diligent than expected.
She nodded faintly.
In that case, perhaps she should share a little of the flower tea the nuns had packed. Diligent people ought to be praised. If receiving the flower tea corrected his behavior, it would help the pilgrimage as well.
In the meantime the two of them had already passed people bowing low and land turning golden, and entered a fairly large village. No one dared to stop them from entering.
“…Um, what exactly is this?”
“Flower tea?”
The Saintess’s clear answer made my head spin a little. Judging by her vaguely uncertain expression, even she seemed to feel it was a bit ambiguous.
Well, of course.
How was gathering lukewarm water in your palm and floating dried flower petals on it supposed to make flower tea? With the petite woman holding it out like a flower cup, it was weird even if the corner of your mouth loosened. Even I had to admire the sheer inventiveness of the idea.
It was a fairly large village, so the inn provided lukewarm water. I had first recommended that our Saintess wash up. I left her alone, figuring she would either climb into the wooden tub and scrub or wet a cloth and wipe herself down. Then a voice calling me came from inside.
Was she going to ask me to attend her bath? Somehow it felt as though every desperate effort I had made not to become the Hero had been completely meaningless.
What was waiting for me was the Saintess who had gathered bathwater in her hands and floated flower petals on it. Then she told me to drink.
Hmm.
Is she crazy?
Oops. Even so, I shouldn’t say that.
But with this I felt a certain conviction. Our Saintess is blunt, yet she does not seem to dislike me. The whispers of those mischievous nuns must have been the truth. Otherwise she would never gather water in her palm and tell me to drink it like this.
On top of that…
…I felt conviction that our Saintess’s brain is quite pure. She cannot ride a horse, does not understand why we have to share a room, and when told to wash she starts making flower tea in her palm. If I were a vigorous young man, the Saintess might already no longer be a virgin. Other devout people might not, but those vulgar bastards in the cartel definitely would have.
Is our Saintess special? Or were other Saintesses like this too?
Looking at the records, there did not seem to be any such circumstances. Maybe I simply failed to check properly. Well, even if such things had happened, there would be no reason to record them.
…If every Saintess had been like this, they probably would not have sent me off so willingly.
Anyway.
The Saintess showed a vaguely displeased expression.
“You don’t like tea? We drank it together before.”
“It’s not that kind of problem….”
“?”
What on earth did the nuns teach her? Seeing a brain this pure, she clearly was not of the same “origin” as me. If she were of the same origin, even at that age—no matter how lacking—she would know not to use her palm as a cup.
“…You’re not drinking?”
The petite woman was offering me lukewarm water gathered in her palm, petals floating so I would not choke while drinking. Still a face that had no idea what was wrong. The atmosphere seemed as though she would be disappointed if I refused, so I had no choice but to lower myself for now.
Feeling the fragrant petals brush my lips, I sucked up the lukewarm water.
No ulterior motives.
“Slurp….”
Water steeped from the Saintess’s palm—should I call it holy water? I drank while mocking myself like that, intending to scold her sharply afterward that she must not do this. I am not a pervert; there is no way I would enjoy something like this. Still, since the water had been boiled once, I could endure it. I had no idea why she was giving me palm flower tea… but wrong is wrong.
I was definitely thinking that.
…Huh?
A strange sensation washed over me. Not the ordinary warmth of drinking warm water, but a familiar yet faint sense of fullness wrapping around my body. I realized it instinctively. The holy power deficiency that had been tormenting me was filled—if only by an ant’s eye-goop amount.
Someone who usually overflowed with holy power might not notice the change. But since I had always been lacking and struggling, the shift came through with perfect clarity. The water steeped by the Saintess had increased my holy power capacity.
How much had I suffered because of this? Even the old man always said everything was fine except this one regrettable part. The cartel bastards had darkly mocked that with holy power the size of dog shit, what kind of Hero was I supposed to be.
….
Even though I carried memories of a past life, it was not as though they became some enormous asset. Mentally I might have a bit more leeway, but far too much had already piled up. It was not the life I had wanted in the first place. I had endured thanks to the old man.
But now, right in front of me, a means that might fill that lack had appeared. I did not know whether this was normal. People said holy power was innate and did not change after birth. That was exactly why I had suffered. If there had been a way to increase it like this, I never would have gone through all that.
Was the Hero’s holy power postpaid? Or maybe simply staying close to the Saintess for a long time had increased it, and I only happened to notice the moment I drank the holy water.
I don’t know.
It was confusing. Had the Saintess known this would happen and offered me the palm tea? Why had the Saintess given me tea at all?
I carefully studied her face, but I could not read any emotion. She had already withdrawn her hand and was staring blankly at me. After some deliberation I carefully opened my mouth.
“Um, Saintess.”
“?”
“…You mustn’t give tea to other people in this manner.”
“Why?”
From that answer it was clear she had not given it knowing anything special; she simply had a pure brain. That had to be it.
“The nuns put the tea in cups, didn’t they?”
“There’s no cup here.”
Oh. Logical.
“Then you could just ask me to get one.”
Only then did the Saintess nod as if she understood. With a strangely satisfied expression she turned, scooped more lukewarm water from the tub, and held it out to me. The flower still floating on her palm was impressively skilled.
“The Hero is okay, right?”
“…Yes. Please don’t do it to other people.”
“I’ll remember.”
Yeah. That would do.
I carefully drank the holy water pooled in the Saintess’s palm. Since it increased holy power, this was holy water—what else could holy water be? Guilt washed over me thickly, but every emotion I had suppressed until now suppressed that guilt right back.
…Hmph. It was not as though I was doing something perverted. I was simply receiving and drinking water. If my holy power increased this way—even if still only slightly—it would help the pilgrimage, so wasn’t it ultimately the right thing? Compared to the pilgrimage, shutting the mouths of those who had ignored me was nothing more than a minor bonus.
As I was convincing myself inwardly, the Saintess’s voice reached me.
“Now, help me wash.”
“…Yes?”
“The nuns helped. There’s none here. The Hero has to help.”
“…Saintess, I may be the Hero, but I am clearly a man. I cannot do that. Even staying in the same room is originally not allowed.”
“The water’s getting cold.”
“Even so, what’s not allowed is not allowed.”
Our Saintess looked at me with a face that said, So what then? What do you mean what—wash by yourself. Still, our Saintess was not a complete idiot; after I roughly explained, she somehow washed and came out. Water dripping steadily from her head, I would have believed she was a water ghost rather than the Saintess. I did not know whether she would catch a cold, but that would be disastrous, so I roughly dried her off. Then I too entered the separated space to wash.
Worried the Saintess might suddenly walk in, I firmly secured the door and then examined the interior. Traces of the Saintess who had washed here moments ago filled the place—meaning the floor was soaked with water. In the center sat a wooden tub that had completely cooled, no steam rising from it at all.
….
No. As a human being, this is a bit much.
Just… just lightly touch it with my tongue? If you pour water over your head it inevitably gets in your mouth, right?
Absolutely no ulterior motives in doing this.