Hateful Four, Murderous Seven
They say that when a woman holds a grudge, frost falls even in midsummer. I'd heard the phrase plenty of times before. Of course, it was always meant as a warning not to carelessly anger a woman—an idiomatic expression, nothing more. At least, that's what I'd always believed. Until this very moment.
"Haa······."
Kwaaaah.
The bizarre sight that unfolded beyond the door I'd hesitantly pushed open was enough to freeze my thoughts solid. The vast, pristine white space was as stark and empty as ever, but the violent blizzard raging through it radiated a presence so vicious it seemed ready to devour everything in existence. The bone-chilling cold clawed at my skin with wild, murderous intent, like an air-conditioned room left running for an entire month. I'd seen that visual trope in old Japanese anime—snow swirling around a character to show their foul mood—but the emotion filling the chamber before me far exceeded anything so cute.
My heart sank like ink bleeding through paper as I realized I'd soon have to walk into that white maelstrom.
Kwang.
I quietly closed the Audience Chamber door I'd left slightly ajar.
"Can't we just come back when she's calmed down? When the Saintess's mood has improved······?"
"Don't worry. I've prepared winter coats, lanterns to light the darkness, and all the necessary mountaineering equipment."
Maybe it was because my nerves were frayed, but the nun's behavior—producing coats and lanterns from who-knows-where and thrusting them at me—felt especially irritating today.
"The Saintess hasn't been this angry since Priest Lobel pulled that stunt······. You're telling me to go in there now?"
"What are you so worried about? She's never once harmed your body on purpose, has she?"
"I have a bad feeling today might be the historic first time······."
"No. I can assure you—the Saintess will never harm Priest Regis."
Easy for her to say. I understood she was trying to encourage me, and logically her words made sense, but fear was still fear. Did she have any idea what it felt like to have to soothe a transcendent being capable of summoning a natural disaster of this scale inside a windless room? More importantly, when had the Saintess learned this bizarre trick? The fact that she'd gained a new ability beyond making human mannequins and doodling on people's bodies could be seen as proof she was mastering her divine power. Maybe I should congratulate her growth. But from my position—the one who had to deal with the aftermath—it only made my stomach churn.
"Fine······. I'll go. I'll go, alright······."
"A wise decision."
After making that near-resigned choice, I gripped the door handle with trembling fingers. It was true—the Saintess had never deliberately harmed me before. In fact, she was so terrified of me getting injured that I could safely say she would never intentionally hurt me.
"Huu."
Click.
Drawing strength from that fact, I forced the door open and took a heavy step into the Audience Chamber.
Thud.
It happened in an instant. The moment I planted my first hesitant footstep onto the floor, like an astronaut stepping onto the moon for the first time, the blizzard vanished as if someone had flipped a switch. In its place, a riot of colorful flower petals bloomed across the once-lifeless floor. The surreal scene reminded me of those nature documentaries that used time-lapse photography to show flowers blooming.
"See?"
The nun spoke with a calm, slightly triumphant tone.
Then—
"Why are you so late?"
The Saintess appeared before me, cheeks puffed out like an angry squirrel.
Hateful four-year-old. Murderous seven-year-old. When I'd first heard those words, I'd thought they were a bit excessive for growing children. After all, it was only natural for kids whose sense of self was just developing to become more stubborn as they grew. Children throwing tantrums was simply the way of the world—a kind of natural disaster. Why couldn't parents around the globe understand that getting emotionally worked up over every little catastrophe was foolish?
Back then, I'd genuinely believed that.
'You haven't even lost your baby teeth yet, let alone gotten married, and you're already running your mouth.'
The sharp jab my senior had once thrown at me resurfaced in my mind, but I set it aside for now. In my defense, I hadn't understood the weight of child-rearing at the time. Watching my senior get pushed around by his rapidly growing kids, I'd only thought, Ah, that must be tough. Poor guy. I'd observed his exhaustion from a safe distance, never truly grasping it—nor bothering to.
'Kids start talking more and developing their own opinions. But there's no logic to it. Can you even imagine what kind of hell that is?'
So when my senior, looking haggard as if his lifespan was draining away in real time, had offered me that weary advice, I'd simply let it go in one ear and out the other.
But now I understood the weight of those words. In fact, it wouldn't be an exaggeration to say I'd fully realized just how noble and monumental the act of raising a child truly was.
"Where did you go? Why are you so late? I waited so long. I waited forever. Why didn't you come? You're mean. You're getting punished. Severely punished."
"H-Holy Saintess······. Saintess······."
The Saintess knelt on the floor and kneaded my face like a baker working dough, occasionally shoving her fingers into my mouth without a care. Her touch carried an indescribable, sinister emotion.
"If you're sorry, accept your punishment. If you broke your promise, you have to be punished. From now on, stay still no matter what Welna does. Don't move until I say 'done.'"
"Saintess······. Even so, that's······."
"If you don't listen, Welna won't eat. Won't sleep. Won't do anything she's told."
"S-Saintess······!"
It was true that the Saintess's mental age had matured noticeably lately, which should have been cause for celebration. But with that newfound intelligence came endless clever schemes, so as the one who had to manage her every action, I couldn't exactly be happy about it. Before, she'd just thrown a few tantrums if I refused her requests. Lately, however, she quoted things I'd said in the past or exploited gaps in conversation, constantly trying to negotiate. Dealing with her stubbornness had become incredibly difficult. Among all her tactics, using food as blackmail was especially grueling. I'd even felt a sense of kinship with mothers who chased after energetic children, trying to spoon-feed them.
"I-I'm sorry, Welna. Oppa had something urgent to take care of. Can't you forgive me just this once?"
I tried pulling the "oppa" card in desperation, but even that didn't work well anymore. After all, most of the times I'd called myself her oppa in front of her were when I couldn't grant her wishes. Lately, she even seemed to dislike hearing the word.
"No kissing on the lips. No sleeping together. None of that. Everything Welna says is no. Welna kept her promise. She held back even when she didn't want to. She was good and waited. But it's always no, no, no."
"We-Welna······."
Instead of staying still, the Saintess occasionally stomped her feet in irritation, revealing her displeasure. I couldn't tell exactly what emotion fueled her agitation, but I could sense that her emotional storm was approaching some kind of breaking point.
"If you don't listen to Welna, Welna won't listen either. I won't do that thing you asked for last time. Never."
"Th-That's!"
It wasn't hard to guess what "that" referred to. The Grace Bestowal Ceremony. The sacred ritual where the Saintess would transfer her power to the Hero—a holy rite tied to the fate of humanity. It was directly connected to the foundation of world peace, essential for defeating the Demon King and achieving peace in this world.
"Will you listen to Welna?"
"······"
The Saintess gently cupped my face with both hands, her lips trembling as she asked the question. Two choices floated hazily in my confused mind. Either comply with the Saintess's demand······ or······.