Blood of the Martyr (3)
“Say it again…. Say it one more time….”
Lucio Antonelli’s eyes flashed. As his arm rose, his priestly robes slipped down, revealing the thick veins bulging and writhing on his forearm.
“What did you say I did?”
In an instant, Camilla Priest was seized by the collar and slammed hard against the wall, grimacing in pain as his grip tightened around her throat.
In her eyes, she saw Lucio Antonelli’s face, twisted even more savagely than her own. His glasses had flown off somewhere, leaving nothing between his fierce gaze and hers.
Regret filled the look he fixed on Camilla Priest. A parched sorrow, ready to ignite like dry tinder.
And Lucio Antonelli did not hold back. He set fire to his bone-dry emotions. No need for oil, no need for bellows.
His pupils gleamed with something inexpressible. It was rage like unprepared flames, flickering wildly, devouring everything in their path.
“Kkhk, guk…!”
Camilla Priest grabbed Lucio Antonelli’s arm. She pushed with all her might, but it didn’t budge an inch. Desperately thrashing, she cried out.
“L-let go…!”
“What the hell would you know….”
His words carried the weight of a heavy stone. Camilla Priest gritted her teeth and glared at him.
And Lucio Antonelli glared back just as fiercely, his eyes bloodshot, refusing to yield.
“…I get it now. I understand.”
He stared down at the struggling Camilla Priest with piercing intensity, curling his lip in contemptuous disdain.
“You fought in the Great War too, didn’t you?”
He began ruthlessly dredging up her past to strike at her vulnerabilities.
“You were in the Great War. That’s why you’d dare ask me such an absurd question.”
“Kkhk…. L-let… go….”
“You look like some green kid in your mid-twenties at most. So you must’ve been with the Youth Cross relief corps.”
Lucio Antonelli’s fury deepened. His grip on her collar tightened even more.
“Kkuuk…!”
“I know your type well, you little shits. Just a few years younger than us, so you treated the wounded in the rear, reciting pitying prayers to the soldiers calling out for the Lord in their emptiness.”
“W-what the hell….”
“Never realizing that was their way of showing care, you puffed up with your pathetic pride. Drunk on the label of ‘veteran,’ you forgot all those young lives wasting away on the front lines…!”
Camilla Priest began tapping frantically on Lucio Antonelli’s arm. He loosened his iron grip just a fraction, fearing she might pass out.
“Camilla Priest. Do you know? While you were playing house in the rear, Helena and I were crossing the line between life and death.”
“Eek…! I-I…!”
“Shut your mouth. I don’t want to hear your selfish sob stories, dripping with all your fake piety.”
Lucio Antonelli’s eyes welled up. His rage was so intense that angry tears threatened to spill.
“You call yourself a veteran too? Flaunting your mid-level priest title like some playground badge…. If you think you can shove your half-baked judgments at me, don’t even dream of it.”
“Kk…! I-I’m sorry…!”
“…Ha. Haha…!”
Lucio Antonelli laughed bitterly. Camilla Priest muttered through tear-choked sobs.
“I-I made a mistake…! Please, just let go….”
“Saying that now? You, you really….”
To her, Lucio Antonelli whispered this.
“You cowardly bitch….”
You cowardly woman. Acting all high and mighty without knowing your place, and now tucking tail and whimpering like this—it’s pathetic.
He spat words so vulgar, she could never have imagined them from him.
“I don’t know how the likes of you learned Helena’s name.”
Lucio Antonelli ground his teeth audibly.
“Don’t you dare shove your worthless standards at me. Don’t presume to judge my actions.”
Just because you enlisted young, hearing only rumors of the brutal front lines.
While Helena and I dragged the wounded into the trenches with every ounce of strength, healing them amid flying dirt and severed limbs, you sat comfy in the relief station, mumbling your worthless prayers.
“When Helena died without even a scream—you weren’t even there—!”
BAM!
Lucio Antonelli’s free right hand slammed into the wall. The thud echoed through the entire cathedral.
“Don’t shift the blame onto others.”
Wincing briefly, he slowly released his grip on Camilla Priest’s collar. She slid down the wall, gasping for fresh air.
“Kkhok! Kkhok…! Kkheup, haa…!”
Drool spilled from Camilla Priest’s mouth as she gulped down air. Lucio Antonelli let out a heavy sigh.
“Hoo….”
The situation frustrated him. Nothing resolved, just lingering unease between them—it was maddening.
Lucio Antonelli took slow, deep breaths. Gradually, his trembling arm from rage steadied.
“Camilla Priest. I won’t apologize.”
His rough tone had returned to normal, though icy cold.
“From now on, don’t you dare speak ill of Priestess Helena in front of me.”
Camilla Priest, who had listened silently, staggered to her feet and snapped back defiantly.
“When did I ever disparage Priestess Helena…!”
“The very act of bringing up Helena is an insult to her—and a belittling of her death.”
Camilla Priest fell silent, tears welling in her eyes. Not wanting to show them to Lucio Antonelli, she glared fiercely instead.
Watching her, he sighed softly.
“…Maybe I shouldn’t have been the one to receive you.”
“……”
“Report this to Priest Peter or even the Papal Court if you like. And….”
Lucio Antonelli glanced at her disheveled priestly robes. She needed a change of clothes urgently.
“I’ll ask Deaconess Sophia to guide you to the faculty dorms. Get that finger treated as soon as possible.”
Without waiting for her reply, Lucio Antonelli turned and walked away.
A cold, heavy declaration that he wanted no more conversation.
* * * * *
“Hoo….”
I sank into the sofa in the chief priest’s office. My body, screaming for rest, melted into the soft cushions, tension easing away.
Sophia the deaconess and Priest Peter were already gone. I stared blankly into space for a moment.
“Idiot.”
I felt like such a fool I could hardly bear it. Too pathetic even for a sigh.
Did I really have to lose my temper? Couldn’t I have just listened to her?
Even as those thoughts swirled, another part of me inside rejected them.
Good job. Hell, it’s impressive you didn’t use your fist.
That dual nature of mine was so revolting I could barely stand it….
“……”
I recalled myself lifting her by the collar, berating her. Handing control of my body to raw anger.
Camilla Priest’s eyes, flushed red and choking, staring at me—furious yet terrified.
A thick, dark loathing toward myself crept up like sticky mire. Goosebumps prickled my skin as if bugs crawled over it; I brushed my arm unconsciously.
What made me so different from Camilla Priest? Killing more people, healing more amputees—what was there to brag about?
Self-mocking, I pulled a cigarette from my pocket. Biting the filter, lighting it with a match—it flowed naturally.
The fresh mint cleared some of the stuffiness deep in my lungs. I exhaled thick smoke into the air.
My overheated head cooled a bit. I welcomed the return of rational thought.
First, apologize to Priest Peter. Storming out mid-conversation was rude.
If it were a personal meeting I arranged, fine—but I was representing the academy. I needed to be more careful….
“Jesus….”
An absurd chuckle escaped me. After what I did to Camilla Priest, worrying about this was laughable. I stubbed out the butt in the ashtray and lit another.
As I chain-smoked, the pile of butts grew. Conversely, the weight in my chest lightened bit by bit.
How long had I sat there smoking blankly?
Bang.
“Chief Priest. Just now…. Kkhok! Kkhok!”
Sophia the deaconess entered the office, wrinkling her nose at the thick smoke and coughing. I hurriedly opened the windows to air it out.
“Sorry about that, Deaconess Sophia.”
“Kkhok! Kkhok! You have to ventilate before smoking…. Kkhok!”
“…Really sorry.”
I loathed myself. Always being a nuisance to those around me—it was pathetic.
Suppressing the thick self-hatred, I tossed the empty pack into the trash. As the smoke cleared, Sophia the deaconess stepped inside slowly.
“Seriously, it’s like a raccoon den…. Ventilate from now on, okay?”
“I will.”
“I escorted both of them to the dorms.”
“Thanks for your trouble, Deaconess Sophia.”
She stood hesitantly for a moment, then cautiously sat on the sofa beside me. Her eyes drifted to the table.
“The black tea’s gone cold….”
“……”
Priest Peter and Camilla Priest’s cups were half-empty, while the black tea in front of me had barely been touched, now stone-cold.
I sipped the cold tea and spoke.
“Deaconess Sophia. Were you startled?”
“By what now?”
“When I stormed out earlier.”
Sophia the deaconess’s face twisted into a bizarre expression at my words—on the verge of tears, yet holding back laughter. It was oddly captivating.
She stared at my face for a moment, then sighed deeply.
“Haa…. It’s fine. I’m more worried about you, Chief Priest.”
“I’m fine.”
“Ahaha…. Fine…. You’re always like that….”
Her expression looked somehow sad. Seeing it unsettled me for no reason.
“Chief Priest. I believe in you.”
“Thank you.”
“So, I wish you’d believe in me too.”
“……”
With that, our conversation ended. We sat in silence, sipping cold black tea.
It was more bitter than I expected.