The Lingering Scent of a Dream
The feeling of superiority had long since faded, yet the Hero still couldn't fully emerge from the lingering afterglow of the dream that had swept through her thoughts. With her arms drawn neatly to her chest as if invisible ropes bound her wrists, she stared blankly into the air in a hazy state that resembled a drug-addicted patient.
"Mm..."
The sudden, languid murmur didn't come from her conscious mind. It was the result of her lips parting unconsciously while chasing the faint scenery beyond the dream—a fragment of consciousness. If there existed someone in this world intoxicated by dreams, they would surely look exactly like her now.
"It... it was a dream..."
In fact, this wasn't the first time she'd dreamed of overlapping bodies with the cleric. No matter how great a hero bearing the monumental task of bringing peace to the world, she was ultimately just a girl of that age. Completely severing the primal desire to be physically intimate with the one she loved was impossible from the start.
But the dreams she'd had until now were mostly pure: being held in his arms all day, rubbing her face against his cheek, lying with her head on his lap chatting away. It was because of guilt. She felt it was wrong for her, who had uprooted everything he had, to monopolize his love.
If he had been a lecher with great interest in women, she would have gladly accepted his desires with her body. But deceived by his lie that clerics, having sworn purity to God, had no sexual desires, she had no choice but to cleanly abandon her own improper desires.
However, the cleric's ecstatic kiss had poured oil on the dying embers of her desire. The moment he kissed the back of her hand, the Hero remembered. That he had claimed to be a lecher and confessed to feeling sexual attraction toward her. In reality, it was just him reluctantly reciting what she might want to hear, unable to withstand her near-threatening plea. But to the Hero, who knew nothing of that circumstance, his words were accepted as a kind of implicit consent.
I want to share love with the priest. The priest also desires my body. Then, is there no need to hesitate anymore?
A shared understanding. The destination that a man and woman who wish to possess each other will soon reach. A future she had refrained from even imagining because it was such a shameless assumption suddenly flashed through the Hero's mind like lightning.
Marriage. And...
Gulp.
An ominous swallowing sound suddenly echoed in the quiet room. Then, like a mother gently stroking her belly, the Hero carefully caressed the back of her left hand. It was because she had unconsciously been searching for it. The proof that she had become his, and that he had become hers. The wedding ring.
"..."
But the hollow sensation felt from the fingertips only made it clear that she was foolishly chasing after a dream that had turned to foam.
"Huu... haa..."
What she settled on as a substitute was the back of her own hand where the cleric's lips had once descended. The scent of saliva that had melted thickly into that skin.
"Sniff... haa... The priest who appeared so recklessly in my dream... It's the priest's fault..."
It was a poor excuse. An absurd sophistry. But at this moment, the Hero firmly believed this was the only way to calm the fierce heat boiling like lava inside her body.
She had found it strange when people who shook hands with her made a fuss about never washing that hand again for the rest of their lives. But now she could deeply empathize with that feeling. Wanting to eternally possess the scent that a loved one had left on her was only natural.
She wasn't bad. She hadn't done anything wrong. If anyone was at fault, it was surely that man who had carelessly spilled such sticky and rich pheromones on her body.
"Hey, did you hear that? Cleric Regis, he—!"
Just then, as the Hero was about to slowly bring her lips to the back of her hand, she heard someone's voice from outside the room and flinched like a thief with a guilty conscience.
'W-what was I about to do just now!'
Her face, which had been inching toward the back of her hand, jerked backward in that urgent movement, dripping with sticky reluctance. Yet this was also proof that the light of reason had returned to her vision, which had been darkened by her wicked instincts.
"Cleric Regis and Sister Welna! They applied to go out together!"
That excited voice belonged to the servants chatting in the hallway. It was so soft that an ordinary person wouldn't have caught the content, or even noticed anyone was in the hallway. But her hearing, which far transcended human limits, didn't miss a single word of their conversation.
The priest going out alone with a woman! I absolutely cannot overlook this!
If it were the usual Hero, she would have shouted something similar and burst through the door. But for some reason, at this moment, the Hero maintained a calmness no different from usual.
'Why! If it were before, just knowing the priest was alone with a woman would have made my heart flutter! Now it doesn't bother me at all! Moreover, that person is someone who once tried to separate me from the priest! Rather, I even feel suspicious about why I used to make such a fuss over such trivial matters! Huh! Don't tell me this is...!'
The Hero, who had gained some kind of realization, suddenly turned her gaze toward the back of her hand. The mark the cleric had personally engraved on her hand of his own will. In other words, a token of affection. The Hero could faintly guess that the leisure now filling her thoughts was springing from right here.
"I see! I've realized it! This is what they call the dignity of a legal wife! The composure of an adult!"
He, who had been so ascetic that he could be called a model cleric, had probably done such things for others as well. Even within the Hero's party, composed only of the Capital's most beautiful women, the cleric had never once shown his lustful side. That was why the Hero had no choice but to take the cleric's words—that clerics had no sexual desires—at face value.
Therefore, the Hero was certain that she was the only woman in this vast world who had received such an advanced level of skinship as a kiss on the back of the hand from him. He surely wouldn't have done it even for the Saintess. Even if he had, it would only have been the result of the Saintess suppressing him with status and power. It would be hard to see it as something done of his own volition.
Therefore. This back of the hand, filled with his abundant affection, was now her exclusive property. No, it wouldn't be wrong to call it her sole possession.
"Hehe, hehehe..."
As if holding a precious treasure in her hands, the Hero suddenly clutched her left hand dearly and collapsed onto the bed with a bashful smile.
Thump, thump.
Her legs, occasionally tapping the bedsheets lightly, fully expressed the overwhelming emotion she was feeling now.
The hostility toward the Saintess, who had constantly tormented her, had also melted away like snow before she knew it. No. Rather, in the place where the hostility had burned away, a faint sympathy was budding layer by layer. Because the Saintess had surely never even seen such a beautiful gift from the cleric, such a sticky expression of affection filled with his sincerity.
Moreover, the relationship between the Saintess and the cleric was one that would end the moment the Grace Bestowal Ceremony concluded—a truly shallow connection. She herself would clearly continue to share her will with him and deepen their bond, and perhaps receive even greater gifts in the distant future. But the Saintess was fated to only watch their affectionate acts from afar.
Pitifully so. Even though she had been captivated by his devilish charm, the Saintess couldn't even receive the remnants of that affection, and the Hero felt nothing but pity for her.
"I was foolish! Bestowing upon those who have not is an implicit custom that must be practiced in a society where we live together! Moreover, the Saintess is an immature age, two years younger than me! To think I tried to seriously quarrel with such a Saintess! I've once again deeply realized how small my vessel is."
There wasn't a trace of malice in those sparkling eyes. The emotions composing the Hero's thoughts now were intense confidence, a bit of sympathy, and a pale sense of superiority.
"It might be good to use this as an opportunity to request reconciliation with the Saintess! But before that, first! Since I've been in the room for a long time, I need to go out and get some fresh air! Yes! I think I need to go for a short walk!"
Thus, with all her idle thoughts cleared away, beautiful and transparent wings seemed to flutter on the Hero's back, representing her hopeful mindset.