The Day the Sky Was Clear
My hazy consciousness, as if entranced by something, snapped into sharp clarity the instant a blade of cold metal pierced my flesh. “Who the hell are you?! What have you done to my little sister?!”
The intruder’s features, illuminated by the dim light that my eyes—long accustomed to darkness—could finally register, seeped into my mind layer by layer. A gaunt, skeletal frame. Clothes riddled with holes. A sour, stale stench. The wretched reality I had failed to notice from a distance now stood far more vicious than the blade embedded in the back of my hand, stabbing relentlessly at my heart.
“Let me make this clear! There’s nothing valuable here no matter how much you dig! And if you touch me or my sister, you’ll only end up cursed or diseased yourself! So if you don’t want to die, get the hell out of here right now!”
Despite the murderous tone, the small hand gripping the knife hilt trembled violently like a leaf in the wind. Every shudder caused the blade lodged in my flesh to twist, tearing at the wound even further. Still, in front of someone whose body was already half-rotted, I couldn’t afford to whine over a mere hole in my palm. I clenched my teeth with everything I had, swallowing back the groan threatening to escape.
I switched to my left hand, grabbing her bony shoulder in an attempt to stop her frantic movements. But the moment I did—
“Hiiik! L-let go! Let go of me! Don’t touch me! Don’t you dare touch my body! I-I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you!”
Her sudden tearful outburst sent my mind into chaos, and the attempt failed completely. Faced with the girl now spiraling into full panic, I couldn’t summon the courage to explain the situation in detail. It was right then, as I tried to calm her with the pathetic excuse of “I’m not a suspicious person,” that it happened.
“Cough…!”
“What the…?”
I only realized belatedly that dark red blood was gushing from my mouth. In truth, the signs had already appeared while I was praying for the boy. Back then, I could only invoke a prayer by making direct physical contact with the patient, and my method of weaving divine power into it was crude beyond words. It wasn’t really a prayer at all. At best, it was me forcibly dragging every ounce of holy energy from my body and slamming it into the target. That was the limit of what I could do.
Naturally, I had no means to protect myself from the poisonous malice of the curse. Even as the remnants of the curse I had driven from the boy’s body eyed my now defenseless, depleted form as a new home, I could only let it happen.
It was horrific. It felt as though someone had injected thick, sticky mud directly into my veins. The agonizing pain of black, tooth-studded lumps of flesh writhing throughout my body, threatening to rearrange my organs, had even made me bitterly regret my foolish actions.
Yet I could not stop the prayer.
Even though a pitch-black stain—visible even in the dimmest corner—had already devoured half of the boy’s face. Even though the only eye still functioning on that ravaged face was the right one, half-lidded and heavy with exhaustion and sickness. The fact that those clear, shining pupils were staring straight at me, condemning my sin, was painfully obvious.
So I had to continue. Even if it was nothing more than a shabby, pathetic prayer that served as a flimsy excuse.
“Huu…”
“Hiiik! Let go! Let go of me! I said let go! Let gooo!”
Using the blade still embedded in my right hand as a makeshift bridge, I poured what little divine power I had left into her. During that time, her furious fists rained down on my body while her nails frantically scratched at my eyes and cheeks. It hurt like hell, but I didn’t particularly mind. The reward I received in return was more than enough to make up for it.
“H-huh? My arm…? What…?”
The exact moment vitality began returning to her previously hoarse voice, the first spark of hope bloomed in my heart that had lost all light. It was like a gentle moonbeam slipping through thick storm clouds, kindly guiding lost souls back to where they belonged.
The miraculous sight of the black stains that had been devouring her body slowly fading away, starting from the arm where my divine power had first seeped in, felt like salvation itself to me.
“Are there… any other places that hurt…?”
“…Huh?”
I kept my head bowed, as if hoping the veil of night would hide the face of a sinner, and spoke to her. Whether the droplets falling from my body were blood from my hand or tears from my eyes didn’t seem important anymore. All that mattered was how those irregular, soft sounds against my ears somehow soothed the thoughts that threatened to burn me alive with guilt. For that, I was endlessly grateful.
“Y-yes…?”
“…Thank goodness.”
When I saw the girl—looking utterly bewildered as she patted her own body here and there—moving cleanly and without pain, a deep sense of relief washed over me. I genuinely believed I had made up for it. That I had corrected my mistake before it was too late. Foolishly. Stupidly. At the time, I truly thought so.
“W-wait!”
That was why I could so easily shake off the desperate voice trying to stop me. Why I could once again irresponsibly turn my back on the things I was supposed to face. Without knowing what kind of disaster that cowardly choice would bring in the future.
When I came to, the sun had already risen. My body, now little more than a rag, was displayed like a mannequin right in front of the house where I had been staying at the time. The memory of drunkards who could somehow find their way home even while blackout drunk suddenly made a snort escape me.
The senior priest’s bright red face, furious beyond words, flashed through my mind several times. The pale, ghostly expressions of the other priests who had come to check on me lingered hazily in my foggy consciousness. But the damp, throbbing pain radiating from every part of my body and the burning thirst in my throat demanded immediate attention. So I reached for the doorknob first.
“Ugh!”
But at that very moment, a sharp pain surged from the back of my hand, sending an electric jolt through my blurred mind. The sight of the white bandage hastily wrapped around my right hand turning dark red with fresh blood overlaid itself onto the panoramic memories I had unconsciously skipped over.
Your divine power has been so thoroughly corrupted by the curse that it can no longer be restored.
The wound on your hand is infused with both curse and plague. Our skills are not enough to heal it.
The middle and ring fingers, whose tendons have been completely severed, will suffer permanent aftereffects.
Furthermore, your body is no longer capable of manifesting divine power.
You can no longer… be called a proper cleric.
“…That’s what they said, wasn’t it…”
I stood there like a scarecrow, blankly repeating the senior priest’s words like a broken recorder, when—
“Letter delivery~”
A cheerful voice brought a faint light back into my dull eyes. When I glanced behind me, the familiar young postman I saw every week was standing there, busily rummaging through his large bag.
“Whoa~ There’s a ton again this week. These filthy bundles of letters… What would you like to do? Should we dispose of them like always? Or…”
“No. Just give them to me.”
“Huh? H-hiik!”
The postman let out a startled gasp only after finally noticing my miserable state. But at the time, my attention was entirely focused on the items he had dropped in shock. I didn’t even spare a glance at his retreating figure as he fled in panic, letters spilling from his bag.
“S-sorry for the disturbance! Have a good day!”
Letters lay scattered carelessly across the floor. Among them, I carefully selected the particularly familiar, dirty ones, picked them up, and held them between my teeth. My right hand, blackened in places by the curse, refused to move properly, so I had to rely on my relatively unharmed left hand.
How much time passed after that? The pile grew and grew until it formed a small mountain. I randomly picked one, tore it open with my teeth, and slowly read its contents.
Dear Mister,
My little sister is sick.
I know it costs a lot of money to call a priest, and I know you’re really busy these days. So I’ll give you all the birthday presents and Christmas presents I’ll ever get for the rest of my life! All of them! If you could just ask the priests to take one look at my sister, please…?
And if you heal my sister, I promise I’ll never say bad words again. I won’t hit anyone, and I won’t complain about side dishes. I’ll become a kind, brave person who never tolerates injustice—just like the heroes in fairy tales. So…
— A child who wants to be a hero
I roughly understood why the letter paper was so dirty. The faint, blurry handwriting was probably the result of mixing cheap ink with water. The paper itself seemed scavenged from someone’s trash; it carried the distinct sour smell of a dumpster.
That was why, for the past several months, every time these bundles of letters arrived, I had assumed someone jealous of my promising future as a high-ranking priest was playing a cruel prank on me.
“……”
I carefully folded the opened letter and tucked it into my chest. The rest of the unopened letters I tied together with string and placed gently inside a drawer. Every single letter spoke only of how her sister was sick. Not once did it mention that she herself was suffering.
“Abigail… Victim… Abigail… Vic… tim… Abi… gail… Vic… tim…”
I quietly repeated the names of the children that had once grown blurry in my mind, carving them into my heart. From that day on, my life became an endless cycle of recalling shameful thoughts and ruminating on the sins I had remembered.
That day, the sky was cloudless and bright. Unlike the dark, oppressive storm clouds that had filled my heart.