The Resignation Letter
"I quit."
"You may not."
Here we go again. Her tone was as cold and dismissive as ever, carrying the clear implication that she had no intention of entertaining this nonsense. Not that I could blame her. This back-and-forth between us was hardly a rare occurrence. Still, this week we'd only gone through the routine three or four times, which was something of an improvement over the usual.
"This week alone, that makes twenty times, Guardian Priest. You've declared your intention to abandon your duties twenty times. Please consider my position as well—I must sit here and indulge your complaints every single time."
…Strange. A devout nun like her shouldn't be capable of telling such blatant lies beneath the very roof of the cathedral, a place as sacred as standing before God Himself. Could there possibly be another unfortunate soul in this order who shared my name and miserable circumstances? I knew the odds were astronomically low, but I found myself hoping it was true anyway.
"Sister. This time, I've truly come to understand. The title of exclusive Guardian Priest to the Saintess was never meant to fit someone like me. It was merely a yoke the Lord temporarily fastened around my neck."
"I'm sure it was."
"There is no greater evil that rusts an organization from within than an incompetent man occupying an important post. It's not too late. You must replace this worn-out cog—that is, me—as soon as possible."
"Indeed."
"Thank you for understanding my intentions, Sister. I've been in your debt all this time. If fate allows, let us meet again someday. Now, if you'll excuse me."
"Very well. Take care, Guardian Priest Reygis. And do not forget to return in time for the Saintess's breakfast tomorrow morning."
The conversation, as always, ran on parallel tracks. Even after hearing my desperate plea, the nun's gaze remained fixed on the mountain of documents before her, as immovable as an impregnable fortress. But I couldn't back down here. If I wanted even a single moment of the peace I could barely remember, I had to cast off this crushing title that weighed down my frail body.
Thud.
I carefully placed the envelope boldly labeled "Resignation Letter" on her desk. I'd considered dramatically flinging it like they did in dramas, but even in this situation, that felt a step too far.
"Given that you've even prepared something like this, I suppose you're quite serious this time."
"I've always been serious."
Serious about wanting to quit with every fiber of my being, every single time.
"May I ask your reason?"
The nun tapped her fountain pen against the desk, her displeasure subtly showing as she posed the question. It was a reasonable one. After all, the position of Guardian Priest to the Saintess was considered more glorious than any title granted by a king among those who served God—an exalted post said to stand at the Lord's right hand. Who in their right mind would tear up a winning lottery ticket?
Her eyes, watching my every move, were filled with that exact doubt.
"Ahem. As the eldest grandson, I must inherit the family business on my father's side."
"That's odd. Weren't you born an orphan with no family, raised in an orphanage?"
"A-Actually, a professor I knew during my student days offered me a graduate position…"
"You dropped out of the Academy, didn't you?"
"Back home… there's a fiancée who swore to share my future…"
"The man who couldn't even hold a woman's hand after being dragged to a brothel by his classmates on his coming-of-age day certainly sounds like he has one."
"…I did hold hands."
One after another, my hastily concocted excuses were shot down. A bead of cold sweat ran down my spine, sounding the alarm. Of course. To a nun who had memorized even the number of moles on the Saintess's body, the personal information of her exclusive Guardian Priest was hardly more than a one-point multiple-choice question. Shoddy lies wouldn't work.
Yet I couldn't bring myself to tell her the truth either. Lately, the Saintess's physical contact had gone far beyond excessive—far enough that I no longer had the confidence to maintain my identity as a clergyman. There was no way I could confess something so ridiculous to anyone else. At best, I'd be treated like a madman lost in delusion. At worst, I might be dragged before a religious tribunal for tarnishing the Saintess's honor.
What's more, just yesterday, I'd suddenly received the Saintess's blessing and lost consciousness for several hours, leaving a blank in my memory that only fueled my anxiety. Right up until the moment I blacked out, I'd begged her not to go any further—like some tragic heroine from a dark romance novel—but given her usual behavior, she'd probably gone through with it anyway.
The moment I regained consciousness and saw her face, nestled against my chest like a rabbit in its burrow, breathing softly in sleep, I knew. Whether intentional or not, the Guardian Priest meant to protect the Saintess had taken her lips.
I had to leave this country as soon as possible. That single thought had consumed my mind ever since.
"Does the reason even matter? This position was never meant for someone like me to begin with. I know my own limits better than anyone. There are plenty of capable people around who could replace me—twice as many who are far more talented. With my meager abilities, I'd only become a hindrance rather than a shield for the Saintess. You, of all people, must know that."
"Haa…"
The nun pressed a hand to her furrowed brow, as if she couldn't bear to listen any longer. I knew. I knew all too well that dealing with someone who constantly belittled themselves was exhausting. But what choice did I have? If I didn't do this, I'd be buried here—literally.
"Very well. I shall approve your resignation, Guardian Priest."
"In my homeland, there's a saying: 'An eagle cannot catch a fly.' It means that—wait, what did you just say?"
"I said I will approve your retirement."
"Um… really? You mean it?"
"Yes. Our order's doctrine states that we do not turn away those who come, nor do we hold back those who leave. Losing a valuable talent like yourself would be a great loss to us, but if your resolve is truly that firm, then I have nothing more to say."
Her refreshingly straightforward response left me stunned. Normally, we would have argued for another few dozen minutes before she called in other priests to drag away my tearful, pleading self. I never expected her to accept so easily. They say persistence pays off—my sincerity must have finally reached the heavens. Suppressing the surge of emotion rising in my chest, I offered my gratitude to the benefactor who had granted me the greatest mercy of this lifetime.
"Th-Thank you, Sister!"
"Think nothing of it. Ah, though it hardly counts as compensation, may I ask one favor in return?"
"Of course! It's a request from you, Sister—I'll do anything within my power!"
"Then please deliver this letter to the post office on my behalf. Via griffon mail."
"Yes! Understood! Griffon mail it is!"
Before she could change her mind, I snatched up the letter. Even at a glance, it was clearly an expensive item—the quality of the paper, the seal, the perfume. All the hallmarks of correspondence meant for someone connected to the royal family. And to send it via the fastest griffon mail in the capital meant it was an urgent matter indeed.
"This letter is extremely valuable, so you must handle it with the utmost care. Should you damage it in any way, the matter of your resignation as exclusive Guardian Priest will be considered null and void."
"I-It's that important…? Could it be related to the royal family…?"
"No. It has nothing whatsoever to do with the royal family. It is a letter containing a purely personal matter of mine."
"Pardon? What do you mean…?"
A chilling silence, like the cold of a harsh winter day, swept between us and momentarily halted my thoughts. Then, in a calm, unhurried voice—like a single drop falling into a still lake—she spoke.
"It is a purely personal letter addressed to a certain famous adventurer party known throughout the capital, who have been desperately searching for the whereabouts of a particular priest who suddenly vanished…"
"Trash belongs in the incinerator—!!!"
It was a reflexive action to protect myself. I hurled the letter straight into the nearby brazier. The flames consumed it in an instant, reducing the pristine paper to black ash. Throughout that brief moment, my breath had stopped completely. The information that had slipped from the nun's lips was that shocking.
"H-How could you?!"
"Since you burned the letter, as promised, the matter of your resignation as Guardian Priest shall be considered null and void. Guardian Priest."
"How?! How on earth did you—?!"
"Or perhaps I should address you like this instead. Former member of the Hero Party—Reygis Rowbill, Guardian Priest."