Self-Cultivation and Family Order (1)
It was nothing new, but the only person who could see Dantalion was Yoanna.
Showing himself would not have caused any particular trouble. He simply had no reason to, and so he did not. Besides, remaining unseen was sometimes more convenient…
Modir's cooking really is something else.
For reference, Modir was the oldest of the seven people Yoanna had rescued — a woman who had cooked day and night for nine younger siblings back in the countryside, and whose skill in the kitchen was formidable as a result.
The texture of the tart is excellent, but the harmony between the fruit and the cream is especially well-judged.
Chewing quietly, Dantalion prowled the tabletop in secret, snatching bites of food without anyone noticing. A blueberry tart, chicken stew, sausages sautéed with onion and garlic and other vegetables…
He circled the table this way and that, greedily sampling everything. The sight of him was almost childish — like a little boy stealing food behind his parents' backs. But there was no helping it. Unlike his true body in Hell, the avatar was far less efficient than one might expect. Periodically consuming food from the surface world helped maintain the vessel.
"Saintess? Has something happy happened?"
"Hehe. Forgive me. Sharing a meal with all of you simply makes me glad."
Yoanna, the only one who could watch him, hastily composed the smile that had risen unbidden to her face. Looked at kindly, was this not simply their god enjoying a meal prepared by his faithful with genuine pleasure?
She cleared her throat lightly, folded her hands together, and smiled with serene benevolence.
"Let us offer a prayer to Lord Dantalion, who watches over us this day as well. Padir, would you lead the grace?"
"Yes. Then… we give thanks to all who have brought abundance to this table, and we pray that we may look below and still lift our eyes above, so that we—"
Listening to a prayer one had taught oneself was not as pleasant as one might imagine. Still, a being who had accepted offerings owed it to his followers to lend an ear to their prayers. Having stealthily polished off three tarts, Dantalion regarded the man called Padir with a steady gaze.
So the power Yoanna shared with them was not wasted after all.
If Modir was the eldest among the women, Padir was the eldest among the men — and the one who had adapted most thoroughly to holy power. Looking at that rock-carved, powerfully built frame, who would believe this was a man whose entire body had once been broken by torture?
When his devout prayer ended, Yoanna took up her knife and fork, and the others followed.
"Hm? The tarts seem a little fewer than before."
"The children probably ate them. They're at that age when appetites grow."
"We didn't eat them!"
"That's right! Taking more than your share is a bad thing!"
"…"
Faced with the pure-hearted children's rebuke, Dantalion found himself utterly speechless.
Yoanna laughed again and turned the conversation toward Emily, who sat beside her.
"Emily, I truly thank you for all the help you've given us."
"Ah — n-no, not at all! And it's not just anyone — Yoanna, you're the one who saved my life! It wasn't even that difficult!"
"Are you saying that compiling the words of a god is easy work?"
"…Of course that's not what I meant!"
Flustered, Emily waved her hands and feet in a flurry of incoherent protest. Writing a scripture that carried a god's words and dignity was by no means simple. Clean grammar, apt metaphor, and the self-restraint to keep emotion from becoming off-putting — as the most representative means of spreading doctrine, it naturally demanded literary talent. None of Dantalion's current followers possessed such gifts by nature, so Yoanna had turned to Emily as a personal favor…
"A-and, well, it had been so long since I wrote anything that I actually enjoyed it quite a bit."
In truth, Emily had taken real pleasure in drafting the scripture. As was often the case with people who loved to read, she had long carried a quiet yearning to write in her own heart. To craft something as grand as a holy book and set it before others — for Emily, that held a pleasure beyond words…
"Emily… your expression is a little…"
"Hwah!? I-I'm so sorry!"
Startled, Emily scrubbed at her face with both hands. Was this what they called a sense of transgression? Writing another god's scripture had been a rather novel experience. Considering she had not gone blind overnight or woken up illiterate as divine punishment, Lord Ilias must have permitted it…
This has to be the last time. For a timid person like me, anything more would be too much.
Even so, she could not help feeling nervous. Emily's face settled back into its usual timid, squirrel-like expression, and she smiled foolishly as she worked her knife. The simple sight of her set the whole table laughing. The solemn atmosphere left by the grace dissolved at once, and dishes began to move busily across the tabletop.
The meal of tender meat and wine stretched on for quite some time.
"Haaawn… I'm so full…"
"Emily, really — you can barely hold your liquor, yet you love wine far too much, don't you?"
"Hiiing, but back home I almost never got to drink any…"
Before long the younger ones, flushed with drink, began to nod off. Watching them, Modir and Padir guided the children to their rooms. The remaining adults cleared the table of food and dishes and drifted off to bed one by one.
"Yoanna, see you tomorrow~"
"Emily, brush your teeth before you sleep. Don't skip it just because it's a bother — wash properly."
"I'm not a child…"
"Haha! At your age, Miss Emily, you still count as young."
"Mr. Thomas, that's mean."
With Thomas and Emily the last to leave, Yoanna remained alone. She did not return to her room. Instead she wet her lips with water and waited, endlessly, as time passed.
Click.
Modir and Padir came to find her.
"Have the others gone to bed?"
"Yes. We made sure the children were asleep before we came back."
They nodded at Yoanna's question. Since her church had begun its work, orphans from the streets had found their way to its doors. She had taken them in as members of the congregation, and the church basement had grown rather lively with children. But adult conversations were often the sort that children were better off not hearing.
"Before long, I intend to leave for the capital to enroll in the Academy."
"We will be fine. The children grew up in harsh circumstances — they will understand quickly enough."
"Still, both I and Modir are concerned about…"
"You're worried that the one we serve does not belong to the Empire's State Church."
Both of them nodded heavily. The Empire's State Church was polytheistic in principle, but that by no means meant it accepted just any god. Did the new faith diminish the dignity of existing members? Did it possess enough strength to warrant being called a church? …Or could it contribute to the Empire's advancement? Through such calculating measures the Empire granted recognition to new faiths. Would people like that ever acknowledge and accept their doctrine?
"Saintess, which faculty do you intend to enter?"
"The Holy Knight faculty, I think. It suits us better than the priesthood."
"Would it not be wiser to enter the Knight faculty instead? The Knight faculty has no particular requirement of fai—"
Yoanna raised a finger to her lips. Padir fell silent. She nodded as though she understood everything, then spoke slowly.
"I understand why you're worried. But if we are to realize our ideals, this is something we cannot avoid."
Worshippers of evil gods preyed openly on human desire — it was the fastest, most effective way to swell their ranks. Yet even if every one of them were counted together, they could never match the number of the State Church's faithful. How easy could it be to worship a faith that might get you killed at any moment?
That was precisely why she had chosen the Holy Knight faculty: to win the State Church's official recognition, and thereby bring their church's activities into the open before the entire world. For that, hardship and adversity would simply have to be endured.
"Having persuaded people to serve Lord Dantalion's will, I cannot spare myself for their sake."
"How can you say something so dreadful? We are prepared to die for you at any time, Saintess."
"Modir is right. From the day you pulled me up out of eternal darkness, my life has belonged to you."
Understanding her resolve, the two of them dropped to their knees and begged her to reconsider. How could they accept her walking a hard road alone when they had not even finished repaying her grace?
But Yoanna's will had been set from the day she first met them. She rose from her seat, approached them, and drew both into a firm embrace.
"Don't worry. Lord Dantalion is always watching over me."
"But…!"
"And while I am gone, I trust that all of you will protect the church."
No one disliked being relied upon by someone they respected. And the weight of that trust was as heavy as the sky itself — heavy enough to make even a single word of refusal feel impossible. Feeling a little guilty for saying something they could not refuse, Yoanna asked Dantalion:
While I'm gone, they'll be all right… won't they?
The Empire's State Church defines as evil any god that brings harm to people. So long as no evil is committed, they will have no pretext to interfere.
But pretexts were always needed when trampling the powerless. Anyone with strength and authority who set their mind to it could manufacture a pretext out of anything. Yoanna seemed to have inferred the rest; after a brief pause, she asked carefully:
These people… can you help them?
How unusual. You always seemed reluctant to accept my help.
Dantalion answered with genuine pleasure. He had not granted Yoanna power so that she would solve everything alone. He had given it so she might serve as a fulcrum against the flood of sin — nothing more. Depending on her efforts, he fully intended to exert a certain degree of influence himself.
For example…
In this world, justice without power does not exist. Without power, even righteous words become empty, worthless noise.
…providing them with the means to grow stronger.
Dantalion climbed down from Yoanna's shoulder and brushed his hand across Modir's and Padir's foreheads. Conveniently, their talents were well divided between the two of them.
To Modir, the path of the priest. To Padir, the path of the holy knight. I shall help you walk them.
The marks Dantalion had inscribed upon their foreheads flared with light.
The tilted scales are a shield to guard the righteous;
the sword raised toward heaven is judgment upon the wicked.
Having bestowed the brands upon them both, Dantalion opened a crimson book. Pages fluttered rapidly, and characters written in the language of Hell rose from the red volume. The letters drifted through the air and vanished into Modir's forehead as water sinks into sand.
I shall grant Modir some useful sorcery. Padir, too, should receive a share of arts befitting a holy knight. And as for the rest…
Tucking the crimson book back into his chest, Dantalion looked at Padir. The man's sturdy frame and solid musculature made him more than qualified as a warrior — but unfortunately, Dantalion was not particularly well-versed in human martial arts. If he carelessly taught by his own standards, Padir's body might simply explode. In cases like this, it was better to seek help from a suitable person…
The rest can wait for next time.
If it troubles you, Lord Dantalion, I could always call for Father…
Your father is already doing fine work maintaining the city's peace. This is no great burden, so don't worry — devote yourself to preparing for enrollment.
Having just then thought of a suitable candidate, Dantalion patted the worried Yoanna on the head. For the first time in a while, he had reason to meet someone in Hell.