Blood of the Martyr (5)

"……."

Camilla Priest tossed and turned in her bed. The stiff blanket crumpled under her movements.

Sleep wouldn't come. Not even a little.

It wasn't because she'd returned to the academy after so long and was getting sentimental. There were no disturbances to keep her awake, and the soft bed was far from uncomfortable.

Tonight, the insomnia was vicious. Even with her eyes closed, her mind stayed sharp as a blade—no hope of drifting off.

"Haa…."

She bolted upright. Outside, darkness had swallowed everything. In the gloom, she shuffled toward the kitchen.

Ever since Lucio Antonelli ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠had grabbed her by the collar, a vivid red mark had bloomed on her throat. It itched and scratched at her relentlessly.

In the kitchen, she filled a cup to the brim with water and washed down a sleeping pill prescribed by the doctor. The cool liquid chased the pill down her throat, soothing her.

Now I can sleep.

She crawled back into bed and shut her eyes. Silence settled over the room for a while.

Tick. Tock.

Suddenly, the clock's hands sounded deafening. Camilla Priest twisted away, trying to ignore it.

"Stop…."

Tick. Tock.

It was futile. The ticking grew eerily close, louder and louder.

Tick. Tock. Tick.

- It hurts…. It hurts so much….

A human voice echoed from somewhere. Camilla Priest buried her head in the pillow.

"Stop it…."

- It hurts…. My arm….

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

- My leg…. My leg…!

"I said stop—!"

The pillow she hurled struck the wall clock dead-on. Jarred loose, it dangled precariously before crashing to the floor.

Shatter!!

"Haa…. Haa…."

The breaking glass snapped her back to reality. Her face twisted in disgust. Sweat-soaked pajamas clung to her skin, clammy and vile.

The room was finally quiet—a small mercy. Then realization hit.

This was the academy dormitory.

She'd damaged academy property without thinking. Camilla Priest bit her lip.

"I told you to be quiet…."

As always, she shifted the blame elsewhere. Childish, fitting her young age. Tears welled up unbidden. She buried her face in the pillow, ignoring how it soaked through.

Only then did Camilla Priest fall asleep.

It was three in the morning.

* * * * *

"Professor Lucio. Did you hear?"

Esther Professor said as she popped a piece of beef into her mouth. I finished chewing my bread and swallowing before replying.

"Hear what?"

"The priests from the Holy Nation. Rumors are already spreading like wildfire among the students—super ominous stuff."

"…Ominous rumors?"

Esther Professor nodded, cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk. I waited until she'd swallowed.

She gulped down the beef crammed in her mouth and continued.

"That old ghost story about Giovanni, the first chief priest. Priests from the Holy Nation visited back then too, and he was found drenched in blood, right?"

"Yes."

"So now they're saying the chief priest will turn up covered in blood again…. That they'll try to do him in like before…. That's the nonsense circulating among the students."

Me, found drenched in blood? Absurd. I set down my fork.

"That won't happen. Even Giovanni's murder is based on shaky evidence at best—it's just childish gossip from kids in the first place."

"Y-yeah, figured as much…?"

"Who started that rumor anyway?"

"Probably Daniel…."

"……."

"Should I give him a talking-to?"

"…No. I'll handle it later. That'll settle it for sure."

Unfortunately, Daniel was doing his best as president of the Occult Research Club. The source of the rumors was disappointingly revealed.

I resolved to say something to him next time we met and ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠silently resumed eating. The chicken blended perfectly with the mystery sauce and bread.

As I focused on my food without a word, Esther Professor sighed.

"Haa…. Still, I'm worried."

"About what?"

"The inter-year sparring tournament before summer break. The first-years are still so green…."

Maybe. But I doubted it was that simple.

The sparring matches were the highlight of any academy novel—the protagonist shows off their genius, and the watching professors turn into applause machines.

Could I expect Chloe to shine? I wasn't sure. I didn't know much about magic anyway.

"What do you think, Professor Lucio? I heard theology department students are joining too…."

Theology students competing? I looked up, incredulous.

Fighting students from combat and magic departments, with theology kids thrown in the mix….

The theology professors and I would be swamped healing them.

Reading my expression, Esther Professor backpedaled hastily.

"Ah…! No, theology students get evaluated differently. Divine power purity, best prayer recitation, that sort of thing…."

That made sense. I nodded and scraped the last of my food into my mouth.

"They'll manage fine."

"R-right…? Well, yeah—with Professor Lucio teaching them!"

"I'm not that invested."

"Ahaha…. Speaking of, where's Deaconess Sophia?"

"I sent her on an errand for Friday's class supplies."

I'd even given her lunch money—she'd eat well enough.

After Esther Professor finished, we strolled the academy grounds briefly before parting.

I headed straight to the faculty office. Sophia Deaconess should be back by now.

Bang.

"Ah, Chief Priest. You're here!"

As expected, Sophia Deaconess was already there, sipping tea. I sat at my desk and asked.

"You ate?"

"Yeah, grabbed something outside. Want me to brew you some black tea, Chief Priest?"

"Please."

Silence fell. I fiddled with the class supplies she'd brought; she handled her own tasks.

"Here."

"Thanks."

I sipped the black tea she offered. Bitter, cheap stuff filled my mouth.

Sophia Deaconess watched me fidget a bit, then slyly pulled out an envelope.

"This came for you."

"Who's it from?"

"Uh…. Mayhem Colonel, it says?"

I took the envelope. Seeing "Mayhem ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Colonel" scrawled on it, he clearly craved that promotion to colonel in name at least.

I opened it to find fine stationery. About to read, I noticed Sophia Deaconess standing there blankly and folded it back.

"Something to say?"

"No. Just curious about the letter."

"…Too honest, aren't you?"

"But I am curious…."

"Go finish what you were doing."

"…Tch."

Sophia Deaconess stuck out her tongue and returned to the sofa. Once she sat, I unfolded the letter carefully.

I checked the desk calendar. April 13th, Thursday. Just three days left.

…Too rushed.

I read on.

- You probably think it's too rushed. But the others begged—no other day works. Bear with us.

The rest was page after page of personal chatter. Melissa had banned him from drinking forever after that scolding. But he'd sneak some at the gathering.

The bottom line gave the address—a pub with some fame in the capital, Sophia Deaconess confirmed.

"Food's great there. I went once…. Why? Dinner plans?"

Honestly, no idea. It'd been three days since seeing Mayhem Colonel, and I still hadn't decided.

As I hesitated, Sophia Deaconess chimed in.

"That place is impossible to book…. If you wanna go, Chief Priest, reserve days ahead. They take bookings a month out at peak."

"…Is that so."

"Yeah. So why ask? Blind date?"

Sophia Deaconess grinned mischievously. I shook my head and tucked the letter away.

"Nothing. Just curious. Don't ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠worry about it."

"Hmm…. Chief Priest. You didn't forget our outing Saturday, right?"

"…I remember."

"Took you a sec to answer…. My imagination?"

"It is."

"Good."

I stowed the envelope in a drawer. I'd already decided inwardly.

Don't go.

I had some shame left. A pathetic wreck like me, chained to the past—showing up would ruin the mood, leave me awkward and slinking out.

Sophia Deaconess's point about reservations nagged, though. Even Mayhem Colonel must've struggled.

- Lots of the guys want to see you. Especially the soldiers you healed.

Mayhem Colonel's words from three days ago resurfaced. They only made me want to skip more.

My old comrades from the Phoenix Brigade. They wouldn't know my wounds, understand them, or comfort them.

I'd just envy them, resent them, blame someone. No desire to return scarred deeper, like last time.

Imagining their disappointed stares twisted my gut.

I opened the window and pulled out my cigarettes. The ashtray on the sill overflowed with butts, drawing my eye.

Charred remnants from the past mixed with cold ash—uncannily like me. I forced my gaze away.

Want to see me? What for….

"What the hell is there to see…."

I'm a nobody.

I stared as cigarette smoke rode the wind out the window, long into the silence.