Saving Lives #1
"Wait here."
The silver-armored knight Loras led me to a place that looked like a rundown barn. Quite a few people had already claimed spots and settled in, their appearances and conditions as varied as could be.
They glanced at me once, then went right back to whatever they were doing. Of course, there was one who took an interest and came over.
A man with his face painted white and something red smeared across his lips. He looked old and young at the same time — a thoroughly messy sort of face.
Of all people, it had to be the clown I least wanted to deal with who took an interest in me.
"I am Sinclair, a wandering minstrel! You're a tall one, aren't you! About six feet?"
Six feet — a hundred and eighty-three centimeters.
What a miserable unit of measurement.
Apparently the king who conquered every corner of the continent and founded the Allied Kingdom had set the standard of measure by the size of his own foot. I'd gotten used to it by now, but it was still a thoroughly primitive, unergonomic unit.
"Six-foot brother of the Midbar. Since we've met like this, how about we introduce ourselves properly?"
While the minstrel was busy cozying up to me, a man with a leopard skin draped over his head let out a short snort of laughter.
He rummaged through his medicine bag and spoke with a sneer.
"Introductions? Please. Everyone here is just a pack of mongrel strays who came hoping for one look at Lady Psyche's face. I'm different, of course…!"
What the leopard hunter pulled from his medicine bag was a root of impressive thickness. It looked something like ginseng or bellflower, though I couldn't identify the exact variety.
Judging by the way a few of the others murmured "Oh-ho" and "Well now," it was clearly a precious medicinal herb.
"Nearly three-hundred-year-old ginseng. With this, I'll cure the young lady and become the count family's fiancé. Why don't the rest of you spare yourselves the wasted trip and head home now?"
Become her fiancé?
What was he talking about?
I turned to Sinclair the minstrel, who looked like the type with a loose tongue.
"Brother minstrel, what is that man saying? Cure her illness and become her fiancé? Is there such a story?"
"Ah? Lady Psyche is of marriageable age, is she not? Though her looks are said to have suffered greatly from the illness, she was once called one of the Three Flowers of the Kingdom for her beauty…"
Apparently the rumor circulating among the people was this: anyone who cured the young lady's illness could enter into a marriage contract with her.
"Two years ago, before she fell ill, marriage proposals never stopped coming, they say. I'd love to see for myself just how beautiful she must be."
"They say there was even talk of a match with the second son of Archbishop Archibold…"
While the others were busy imagining Psyche's appearance, I sank into thoughts of my own.
To become a pastor, a wife is essential.
In the churches of the twenty-first century, there was a rule that anyone seeking to become a pastor had to take a spouse. Only a married man could receive a true pastoral ordination and be recognized as clergy.
A single guy can't even become a pastor.
…And for a woman to become a pastor's wife — the church's first lady — there are a few conditions more important than anything else. Purity and chastity. Wisdom. And bold courage paired with humility.
Women who possessed all of those virtues were hard to find even in the enlightened twenty-first century.
Even in the church youth group, finding the most basic thing — a pure woman — was difficult, you know?
Hell, even my male classmates at seminary would say, when it was just the guys, in slightly self-deprecating voices, "Where are you going to find a virgin these days?"
Holy moly!
It was enough to make your insides turn over with pure lamentation!
Every woman in the world is born a virgin without exception — so why, for what reason, are there no pure virgins in the church?!
But!
In this dark age of a world, there were surprisingly virgins to be found.
Psyche Agarpe was, among all the women I knew, purity and steadfast virginity itself! After all, the Church had officially recognized her nickname as the Battle Virgin!
Brave as a lion, pure as a dove — a woman who never stopped fighting evil, even to the final moment when the royal capital fell to the locust-like cultists!
She was the very image of the ideal spouse I had always dreamed of!
Having wandered the world only to come meet her — how could I not feel a calling and a revelation?
If things go well, I might even get engaged to Psyche?
I was chuckling to myself over that thought when Loras, who had been leaning against the barn wall listening to everything, snorted.
"An engagement is impossible. The young lady already has a betrothed. Still, anyone who cures her illness will certainly receive a great reward."
With that, Loras left the barn.
When morning came, the maidservants of House Agarpe arrived at the barn carrying baskets piled high with food.
Bread, wine, roasted fish — nothing but appetizing fare — so for once I was able to eat my fill.
Once my stomach was full, a question suddenly rose up.
They're treating their guests awfully well.
How many guests has the count's household entertained by now? No matter how powerful House Agarpe might be, feeding and watering visitors every single time couldn't be easy.
As I was thinking that, a man who looked like an elderly servant appeared and led us into the mansion.
"This way, if you please."
The stone-built manor had a gloomy, castle-like quality, but so many maids and servants had been busily sweeping and polishing that not a speck of dust had been allowed to settle anywhere.
Upon arriving at the reception hall, I received a wooden identification plaque, just as Midnar had described.
My waiting number was twelve.
I couldn't tell whether that was high or low.
Figuring it would be a while before my turn, I decided to look around the estate. The grounds were vast, and there was even a place where the private soldiers trained.
Clang! Clash-clang!
In a small drill yard, Knight Loras held a sword and was sparring with the soldiers, facing five of them at once while smiling with complete ease.
"What are you waiting for? Come at me!"
"Sir Loras! Then we're really going for it!"
"All at once!"
"Waaaaah!"
Clang! Clash-clang!
Knight Loras showed not the slightest sign of fatigue while handling five well-trained soldiers. He even pressed them hard enough to knock them all down.
I was thinking his skill was truly remarkable when a boy servant sweeping willow leaves beside me spoke up.
"Isn't Sir Loras cool? When I get a little bigger, I'm going to train under him and become a soldier of Agarpe. Then I'll earn merit and someday become a faithful, perfect knight just like Sir Loras!"
The dream-soaked boy's words stabbed at my ears. He couldn't even use formal speech with a stranger — clearly an uneducated little brat who knew nothing of learning.
Can you even put the words "faithful and perfect" in front of a person's name?
I've never seen anyone those words fit besides myself.
I spoke to the boy.
"Little one. How about becoming a monk instead of a knight? Training in faithful devotion and going to heaven is far more splendid than grabbing a sword and being good at fighting."
The servant boy scrunched up his face.
Figuring a little more pressure would convert him, I drove home the finishing nail.
"I'm Hyde, the priest who will soon take charge of the church at Agarpe Manor. If you ever want to receive teaching about salvation, knock on the church door anytime. Learning to save people is far better than learning to kill them."
The first thing the Lord did when He began His public ministry was make disciples. This boy might look a bit dim, but he seemed more than adequate to become my disciple.
Peter, the Lord's first disciple, was an ignorant fisherman too, after all.
But the boy flushed red and shouted at me.
"D-don't insult knights! Sir Loras is a hundred times cooler and greater than priests who just pray and do nothing!"
It was a voice loud enough to make my eardrums drop off.
While I stood there slightly stunned, the soldiers and Knight Loras approached us. They put a hand on the little brat's head and asked, "Paulo, what's wrong?" — and the kid started growling furiously.
"This pathetic monk mocked martial arts as the work of killing people!"
His voice boomed out, and every soldier who had been sweating through sword drills stopped and looked our way.
Their expressions were all ugly, and some of them were spitting curses. Just as I was thinking the atmosphere was turning nasty, Knight Loras crossed his arms and addressed me.
"Monk Hyde, that's an amusing story. A fellow who'd last less than an hour if thrown into a nest of heretics — who'd be sniveling and crying for knights and soldiers —"
Clank.
A gauntleted finger jabbed into my chest.
"What do the likes of you, who only read books and pray, know about anything? While you stand on your warm, safe pulpits delivering your smug sermons, we shed blood protecting people."
Soon soldiers all around were laughing — "Sir Loras, stop, he might wet himself" — and "Look at that guy, too scared to say a word! He's shaking!"
They were right. I was trembling.
From rage at their sheer gall!
"So… have any of you ever actually rescued someone from a heretics' den? When people offered up as sacrifices wailed every night in injustice and grief — where were you?"
"What? What did you just say?"
I hated knights.
Because the knights, for all the five years they had, never came to save me.
If the knights had been just a little more competent and reliable — instead of overestimating their own skill — I never would have had to destroy my own soul under the infamous name of Rust the Living Devil!
Therefore, a considerable share of the blame for my becoming a heretic could be laid at the feet of this arrogant Knight Loras and these incompetent soldiers!
"Guilty."
"Guilty of what?"
I left the frowning Loras behind and spun on my heel.
My turn should be coming up soon.
After I cure Lady Psyche's illness, I'll have to cure the "disease of incompetence" that plagues Agarpe Manor as well.
With that thought, I headed for the reception hall where the waiting visitors stayed.
The old servant clapped my shoulder. "Number twelve, Monk Hyde! We've been looking for you!"
I followed the old servant into a certain room.
There was a bed with curtains drawn around it, and before it the maidservants stood in a neat line with solemn expressions. Presently the old servant spoke to me.
"According to the teachings of Scripture, men and women must maintain pious separation. Please refrain from touching the young lady's skin for examination. She is the daughter of a count's house."
Don't lay hands on her while examining her?
It was an awkward request in many ways — but.
"Very well."
It was no problem for me.
One must not lay hands carelessly on a woman's body! And if that body belongs to a pure and pious woman like Psyche, one must be all the more careful!
The maidservants rose from their places and drew back the curtains hanging over the bed.
There sat a woman on the bed, her hair wild and tangled like a beast's.
"…Ah… ah…"
The gaze visible through her fiery red hair was hazy, and drool dripped from her half-open mouth. She was wearing a long white nightgown, which only made her look all the more like a virgin ghost.
"Poor young lady…"
"She used to be so lovely…"
While the servants and maids turned their heads in pity or dabbed at their tears with their aprons, the old servant asked me as if grasping at straws.
"Monk Hyde, can you cure the young lady's illness?"
I had only one answer.
"I shall attempt to cure it before this day is out. Before that, would you fetch me some olive oil and willow ash?"
The moment I entered Psyche's room, I had already discerned exactly what illness she was suffering from.
In truth, curing that illness wouldn't take ten minutes.
The illness Lady Psyche was suffering from.
It was a disease no one could cure — and yet anyone could cure.
It was faking it.