The Weight of Rust
I'd heard it said somewhere before. The scariest thing about being directionally challenged isn't getting lost. It's the crushing doubt that even when you're walking the right path, you convince yourself you couldn't possibly be. That gnawing anxiety that this can't be the correct way eventually forces you to veer off. Meanwhile, when you're simply strolling down the comfortable, convenient road without a second thought, you feel strangely at peace.
Pfft.
A dry, hollow chuckle slipped from my parched lips. The rumor was absurdly funny, and at the same time, it perfectly captured my current situation. After all, even though better paths stretched out in every direction, I'd chosen the absolute worst option. All because it felt easier on my heart. I'd cowardly turned my eyes away from what I should have faced, closed them tight, and run.
My right hand throbbed. It was inevitable. This place was where my guilt had taken root.
I rolled up the glove on my right hand—the one I had never once removed in front of others—and stared down at the hideous scar etched across the back. A savage sword wound that brutally crossed the bones of my middle and ring fingers. The sleepless nights this thing had caused me were beyond counting. Not because of the dull ache that sometimes flared up, but because of the memories it dredged up. Memories I desperately wanted to forget.
Among the countless failures that stained my life, this weed-like regret was the very first one that needed to be ripped out by the roots. It had never allowed me a single peaceful night. Compared to that, the pain of flesh being pierced and bones being wrenched out of place was nothing. Physical wounds fade with time, and you can even complain about them to someone else. But the molten lament that seeps through the cracks of a scar like this doesn't diminish. It only grows larger with time. And there was no one I could possibly whine to about that wretched past.
So today, once again, I snuffed out the spark of courage needed to face my mistake with my own will. I covered that ugly brand with a thick glove and looked away.
"Still... maybe I should have asked if she was staying healthy..."
I shook my head immediately. Worrying about her health, of all people, was more pointless than worrying about a celebrity's finances. Just looking at the time when I'd decided to desert, her body had already reached the realm of diamond. The kind of state where even if she fell from a sheer cliff, or got crushed under a dragon's massive body, you'd be hard-pressed to find even a shallow scratch.
I decided to drop the needless concern. If there was one flaw, it was that she was a bit clumsy with practical tasks. But that was something that wouldn't change much whether I was there or not, so I'd pushed it out of my mind long ago. Besides, she had reliable comrades now. Comrades so solid and dependable that comparing them to someone like me was laughable. I was too weak to even lend a shoulder for her to lean on, let alone add any real strength. I couldn't shamelessly occupy that spot forever.
To her, I was rust. Something that needed to be scraped away. An obstacle that had fused to her joints, a fatal corrosion that would inevitably cause the whole organization to collapse in the near future. I could not stay by her side. No—I must not stay by her side.
"This is... this is fine..."
It was fortunate that the first person I'd run into was Apis. I'd steeled myself as best I could, but summoning the courage to look directly at her face—bright as the sun—wouldn't have been easy. If it was the considerate Apis, she would surely understand the true meaning behind my words and comfort her grieving comrade who had just lost a party member. Moreover, the two of them were quite alike. That was why I'd once commented that looking at them felt like watching a pair of close sisters.
Every time I said that, Apis would give me an utterly dumbfounded look. Which was understandable. The idea that someone who seemed like the living embodiment of purity and integrity could resemble Apis, whose speech and behavior were anything but wholesome... I still vividly remembered how I'd brushed off her rough retort of "Are your eyes crooked?" with an awkward smile.
But I wondered if Apis knew. That the girl I'd met in the past had been her spitting image—not just in tone and behavior, but even in that fierce temperament.
The moment I'd first encountered her was impossible to forget, no matter how hard I tried. That beast-like figure, spitting curses laced with vivid killing intent and thrusting a blade at my throat without the slightest hesitation, was a memory carved not into my mind but directly into my skin.
The reason those vicious fangs never reached my neck was because my right hand, swung reflexively, had happened to block its path. Pure luck. It wouldn't be an exaggeration to say my life had been sustained by that luck ever since. The reason my current life was at the pinnacle of misfortune was probably because I'd used up all the good fortune I'd ever get on that single day.
'Get your filthy hands off my little sister right now, you son of a bitch I'll tear apart!'
The killing intent radiating from that child—who couldn't have been even half my size—had made my body tremble pathetically. To be fair, I had been doing something that could easily be misunderstood. Sneaking into the children's dormitory in the dead of night and groping a sleeping boy's body? No normal person would do that.
The only reason Santa Claus had never been sued for breaking and entering was because he had the minimal justification of leaving gifts for good children. If not for that, the man would probably be wearing furry handcuffs by now, writing appeals for cookies and milk as prison food.
It was a past riddled with regret, but at the time, I'd believed it was the best choice. I'd seen far too many children in that poor orphanage, burdened with illness and curses, meet their tragic ends. The reason God had granted divine power to humanity was surely to save those who needed such help.
Even now, I don't think the choice itself was wrong. The only problem was that I'd made the decision far too late. The worthless things I'd been clutching in both arms had felt so precious, so irreplaceable. Right up until the very last moment, I couldn't choose the simple option of reaching out to someone. I kept hesitating, kept faltering.
The result of that pathetic indecision was this. A half-baked cleric who could be neither savior nor bystander. That was why I found it unbearable to look into those upright eyes that reminded me of my foolish self from that day. They terrified me. They filled me with dread.
When I reunited with her years later, I recognized her instantly despite the drastic change in her appearance and aura. It was because her eyes hadn't lost even a fraction of that brilliance from back then. That sacred light was bright enough to illuminate every single sin I'd sunk into the dark abyss of memory. It felt like it would condemn and reproach me at any moment.
I never wanted to see that face again. So I turned my back on the light. I ran away.
"Hoo..."
I draped a cloth over the dark thoughts floating on the surface of my mind so they wouldn't show. A faint smile. Calm breathing. After confirming that the makeshift mask was decent enough, I straightened my slumping back as if a heavy weight had been lifted from it.
Right after that, I opened the door.
"Saintess. I'm here."
"Aah!"
Thud.
Something with the light presence of a feather landed softly against my lower abdomen, as if someone had thrown a pillow. Thanks to quickly raising the tray in my hands above my head, I managed to prevent the disaster of the carefully prepared meal spilling everywhere. I'd also predicted from past experience that the Saintess would come flying at my midsection, so the elegant wobble after impact didn't throw off my balance.
Knocking over the food tray like this whenever she didn't like what was being served had become one of the Saintess's recent bad habits. It was good that her mental age had grown enough for her to play house, but the increase in these sly tricks was definitely a downside.
"Saintess. If you thought I'd fall for the same trick twice, you're making a huge mistake!"
"Hmph! Hmph!"
Her face still showed no movement whatsoever, but the way she was stomping her feet in place with clear irritation told me she was quite upset that her plan had failed.
"I told you last time, didn't I? Saintess. Only good children who hold their noses and eat everything evenly get rewards."
"Mmm! Mmm-mmm!"
Backtalk?! I finally understood why parents clutched their chests in despair when they saw their children's misbehavior. Yeah. This must be exactly how they felt. The saying that raising kids is pointless must refer to moments like this...
"Ha, haha..."
"Mmm?"
It was ridiculous. Truly ridiculous. For a fleeting moment, I couldn't help but laugh at myself for acting like the Saintess's guardian. No, it wasn't fleeting. I simply hadn't found that perception embarrassing until now. I'd harbored similar thoughts from time to time. It was just embarrassing. And absurd.
Especially when I was already plotting my escape from this place as well.