The Eve of Our First Journey
Beating a chicken's scruff won't delay the dawn's visit, and no matter what objections anyone raises, the Earth keeps turning. Didn't Lincoln say it? Calling a dog's tail a leg doesn't make the dog have five legs. Truth like that remains unchanged, regardless of people's perceptions.
"…Let's wrap up the story here."
Unfortunately, the world is full of people who can't accept the truth or keep up with reality. I'd offered to tutor her in magic, starting from the most basic principles, but… Beni's face was already flushed with utter bewilderment. Even the barbarian princess couldn't hide her confusion, staring at me blankly.
Why are you like this? You're not that kind of character. Why regain common sense and intelligence only here?
I felt an inexplicable sense of injustice but ended the explanation anyway. I knew well that preaching true history to those unwilling to listen or believe was pointless.
"By the way, we have a field trip scheduled this week. What are your plans, Miss Beni?"
I cleared my throat and changed the subject.
"Pardon?"
Beni tilted her head quizzically at my question.
"I'm talking about club activities. We have them every other week, for now."
It's called a field trip, but it's basically just domestic tourism, I added mentally.
I had my mission to monitor Riley, but for the other members tagging along—Beni being the only one right now, and unlikely to get more—it was just a chance to relax and enjoy sightseeing. Normally, you'd have to submit a token report, but… with Riley Tiwe Kuntak, heir to Groomha County, as our club president? No one expected any paperwork from us. Hell, no one could demand it in the first place. This club, the Angras Cultural Survey Club, was created out of the school's necessity—a leash of sorts. An excuse to assign a faculty advisor to keep tabs on the wild dog that might bolt anywhere.
So for Beni, she could just come along, goof off, and leave. Still, it was better to hear her opinion. Not everyone loves travel.
"Um… well…"
Beni let out a hesitant hum, scratching her cheek.
"My family's not well-off, so… I get academic support funds, but not enough for trips like that…"
"Ah, of course, all expenses are fully covered."
"……P-Pardon?"
"The amount coming out this time is definitely…"
I pulled out my notebook from my pocket and flipped through it. No smartphone meant relying on old-school stuff like this.
"Ah, here it is. Roughly this much."
"Th-this much…? Per semester? No, it can't be per month…?"
"Didn't I say 'this time'? It comes every other week."
"Uh… uh…"
Beni froze on the spot.
This trip's destination was close to the academy, so the payout was on the lower side. Telling her that might actually make her faint, so I kept quiet.
"It's a school where eight out of ten are nobles—elite talents at that. And it's for training our empire's ultimate weapons, so this level of support is only natural."
Besides, the empire had this subtle—no, blatant—militaristic vibe. Defense spending probably topped the world charts, and as the continent's strongest, largest power, the absolute figures were overwhelming. Naturally, the academy, as a knight-training institution, got massive funding. Hell, the second princess attended here. Emperor whatever-his-name was a top-tier doting dad who launched a rescue op for his daughter even after hearing she was tangled in treason. No way he'd skimp on her school.
"So… you're saying it's a free vacation…?"
"Exactly."
"……."
Beni swallowed hard at my answer. The word "free" must've flipped a switch. Her family really wasn't well-off, it seemed.
"Um… could I… join too?"
"Of course!"
"I'm a club member now, right?"
Beni ventured cautiously, and Riley answered instantly. I nodded in agreement too. Honestly, I was thrilled. More cute girls were always better. Sure, as chaperone, too many out-of-control members would be trouble… but just one more, and a very well-behaved student at that? No issue.
"Where are we going, anyway?"
Beni asked suddenly. I opened my mouth calmly again.
"Yugten, Frostwood Citadel."
×
Around the Imperial Academy, shops targeting big-spending noble students lined the streets. Near the end of that district stood a church in classical style.
Legend said a saint once prayed there for the empire through seven days and nights without rest, on that bedrock. The largest church in Karimille, city of culture and arts, was built atop that sacred ground.
In the last century or two, as imperial power grew, the church's influence waned. But religion hadn't vanished entirely. The Angras imperial family still positioned themselves as the church's guardians; at coronations, new emperors swore justice and devotion in the name of God. Everyday folk couldn't detach from it either, in big ways and small. Even anti-church folks weren't exceptions—they just hated the institution, not denying God's existence.
In a world where divine law was real, denying God was absurd. This world's skeptics were like Earth's flat-Earthers from my past life. They just rebelled against whether God matched the church's description… but everyone acknowledged supernatural beings that communed with humans and lent power.
Naturally, on Sundays, plenty of students and faculty visited. Religion here wasn't mere belief—it was woven into daily life.
I wasn't an exception, and today I'd come to Karimille's church too.
With its size came multiple private prayer rooms. As I left one after finishing, my eyes met a passing priestess.
She wore a veil like a nun from my past life, but it didn't fully hide her hair. Long enough to cover from behind, but from the front, bangs and sides showed. And no bottoms—just white pantyhose covering her lower half, with a long curtain of fabric from her top draping front and back over her crotch.
Less "nun habit," more the slutty nun outfits from manga and games. It made church visits tempting every time.
I glanced at her lower half, then slowly raised my hand.
"Head Priest."
"Good to see you, Sister Konstantia."
The head priest seemed slightly surprised by my appearance but soon smiled warmly and benevolently, gesturing with fingers wrapped in pure white gloves. Mine were gloved too—not my usual black, but church protocol white.
In a world where darker skin was sexually alluring, exposing skin via white gloves or stockings emphasized chastity and purity. Faces stayed uncovered, of course. Veils and robes were blackened for contrast, making skin pop relatively brighter.
I didn't need much adjustment anyway—military uniform, just swap gloves. Feeling the soft texture, I continued signing.
"It's rare for you to visit on a Friday, with your regimented schedule."
"I came early since I might miss Sunday this week."
Church rule: no speaking. More precisely, converse with hands as courtesy. Simple reason—sign language was sacred here. Why? Divine law required prayers via signs. Heaven's direct line to God. Naturally seen as nobler, holier.
"With weekend duties coming up often."
"I see. Leaving at this hour—did you pray for several hours again?"
"Three, as usual."
"Impressive as ever."
She smiled brightly.
"Don't you pray even longer, Head Priest?"
"I'm devoted to God; it's my job."
"Aren't we all servants of God?"
"True enough."
I deflected smoothly, and she nodded in admiration.
…If that's deflection, what's my real reason? 'Obviously, to kneel before that massive, arousing goddess statue and declare submission while edging!'
The statue of Foolish Saint Myurin. If empathy's hard, picture a Renaissance Greek myth sculpture—same quality and vibe, but gender-swapped to female, with this world's average (or above) feminine curves. Just gazing up made your loins stir—a giant lewd masterpiece.
Excited kneeling three hours before a statue? Not entirely wrong. Even as a masochist, I wouldn't get off on a sexy adult figurine alone. But remember: gods exist here.
Whether the church's personal God or divine law as mere phenomenon—who knows. But one thing's sure: whatever "god" meant, the goddess who reincarnated me existed.
This wasn't solo play. Past life had phone sex, cam shows. I just used a holier, grander medium.
And church prayer rooms? Perfectly isolated privates. Strip out of uniform, play with hands—no issue…!
God-approved (maybe watched) playtime…!
"If only someone like you had divine law talent…"
"Instead, God blessed this tongue, no? Gifts vary, suited to each."
I'd worried before. As the head priest said, I had zero divine law talent. Pious model believer act—exposed if I couldn't use it?
But later, I learned: talent unrelated to faith depth. Even famed saints couldn't wield it sometimes.
'Maybe they were all pious hypocrite blasphemers too…?'
The thought crossed my mind, but I buried it to honor the greats.
"I'll head out then. See you next Sunday."
"May the Lord's grace be with you, Sister."
…Anyway, ditch weird thoughts, go home, pack for the trip.