The Runaway's Feast
Someone once said that crying when things are hard makes you third-rate, enduring when things are hard makes you second-rate, and eating when things are hard makes you first-rate. Could there be a more fitting proverb for humanity's craving for animal protein? That overwhelming sense of fullness, which vegetables or fruit could never replace, has sustained human life in every aspect. It has even naturally offered us a blueprint for a more prosperous existence. Humans picked up blades to slice meat. They invented fire to grill it. They began herding livestock to secure a steady supply of appetizing meat. Indeed, it would not be an exaggeration to say that humanity's evolution began in front of a meat grill.
"Sorry for the wait, sir. Here is your Minos tenderloin steak and Valtin red wine. I hope you have a pleasant evening."
I expressed my thanks to the waiter with a slight nod and a modest tip. It had been half a year since I last faced such a beautifully arranged meal, so it seemed only proper that the one being served should observe a certain level of decorum as well.
Sizzle. Pop. The oil scattering across the meat looked like a colorful fireworks display. The occasional sound of meat cooking felt like an orchestra's performance, moving me so deeply that a single transparent drop of dew formed at the corner of my eye.
The bland, heavy potatoes. The bacon with its gamey smell. The watery stew made of nothing but greens. All those days of half-heartedly filling my stomach—perhaps they had merely been seasoning for the emotion of this very moment. If I were to edit this later, the primal allure of thick meat was so immense that it would dominate my thoughts with logic no better than nonsense.
My nose suddenly stung, and both hands holding the utensils trembled as if gripping heavy dumbbells. Even when I faced a mountain-sized dragon in the middle of the sea, my heart had not pounded this violently. Ah, right—I had fainted back then.
I exhaled the nameless thoughts weighing on my chest and carefully pushed a sizable piece of meat into my mouth. The harmony between the seductive char on the well-seared surface and the moist, springy texture was nothing short of culinary violence. The rich juices that flooded my mouth with every chew left such an enchanting impression that even the full-bodied red wine could not wash it away. Even as it slid down my throat, the meat's raw, wild presence was so vivid that I had to suppress an undignified moan.
"I'm glad I lived…"
The words came not from my mouth, but from my soul. In my previous life, I had often wondered why extreme vegetarians always seemed furious to the very tips of their hair. Of course they would be—they could not eat something this delicious. With this newly realized truth of the world as my side dish, I was about to cut another piece when—
BOOM!
A terrifying sound of something tearing through the air without warning shattered the peaceful restaurant and paralyzed my consciousness in an instant.
"I sent dozens of emergency messenger hawks and heard nothing, so I wondered what on earth you were doing…"
Gulp. The familiar voice that followed carried a palpable irritation that yanked the already taut string of tension even harder.
"How was it? Did you enjoy your long-overdue vacation? Of course you did. You must have been so busy enjoying yourself that you could not even spare a thought for my urgent messages."
Click. Click. The mechanical footsteps, growing steadily louder, finally reached my back. Just as they were about to tap my shoulder—
Thud! The Saintess drove her fork into the steak on my plate and spoke in the most chilling tone I had ever heard.
"Answer."
"Um… Could you maybe put the fork down first before we talk…? Saintess…?"
◈◈◈
I felt a twinge of unease—call it a guilty conscience. I knew better than anyone how grave my sin was: ignoring the Saintess's urgent summons to return immediately and instead indulging in a feast. Yet how many people could righteously scold someone who, faced with a vacation that might never come again, could not bring themselves to turn back? Even the most virtuous saint, once wearing the mask of an office worker, would roar like a lion if a promised vacation were suddenly revoked. My decision to stage a tearful escape in order to enjoy this rare golden holiday was, I believed, somewhat understandable.
"If you have nothing to say…"
The Saintess's words, cold and sharp like icicles hanging from an eave, kept stabbing at my conscience. I had thought there was no trust left between us to lose, but her noticeably colder attitude suggested our relationship had been far more amicable than I realized. Well, that was in the past now.
"I was wrong. Please forgive me. I am reflecting deeply. Just this once—"
"……"
See? Even a sincere apology received no reply. With a metallic clink, as if mocking my miserable state, the heavy metal ornament around my neck shifted. It was far too large to be called a necklace—more like the kind of collar people usually put on dogs. Forcing this iron shackle, which no sane person would wear even for a fortune, around my neck and being made to follow wherever it led was deeply unpleasant, but what could I do? This disaster was entirely of my own making.
"Look, I swear to God I will not run away, so could you at least take this collar off?"
"No."
In a tone like someone disciplining a poorly trained puppy, the Saintess tightened her grip on the handle attached to the collar around my neck.
The surroundings grew noisy. A nun calmly walking a priest wearing a collar down the main street of the village was certainly a sight worth seeing. If it had been someone else's problem, I would have laughed from afar and used it as drinking snacks to liven up a boring day.
"Wait, what on earth happened that even I, who was off duty, had to be called out? You even prepared a substitute twice as capable as me just in case. Honestly, if that guy cannot solve it, I doubt I—"
"That 'twice as capable substitute' is exactly why this mess happened. If you have time to complain, hurry up and walk, Guardian Priest Lazis."
"……?"
◈◈◈
His soul had left his body. His mind was gone. I had seen and heard such expressions in various works before, but this was probably the first time I had witnessed a textbook example with my own eyes.
"Is he even alive?"
I pointed at the familiar man standing blankly on the white stone floor, staring vacantly into space, and asked the Saintess for an explanation. He looked like a wax doll crafted by a master artisan. It was a slightly unsettling comparison, yet the man before me lacked the vital presence that any living human should naturally exude—so unnaturally that one could almost accept he had been stuffed and mounted.
Lobel Wright. Also known as Priest Ranobel. Just this morning he had been endlessly chattering away, yet in such a short time he had transformed into this taciturn figure. While that might have been a blessing for me, depending on how he ended up like this, I might very well be the one left to deal with the aftermath. I could not simply rejoice.
"According to the attending physician, his breathing and heartbeat have both stopped, yet some metabolic functions and pupillary reflexes are still operating normally. The maid who first found him apparently thought he had died of a heart attack."
So that was why several maids outside the chapel had been wailing and holding a funeral. He had always been especially kind to his own people. If word got out that he had passed, there would be no shortage of mourners.
"Could holy water or prayers not help?"
"We used the highest-grade holy water and gathered every high-ranking priest currently in the chapel to attempt healing, but neither method showed any effect. After all, we cannot even properly define what kind of abnormal state his body is in."
I see. Then we have done all we can, so we might as well give up cleanly and consider ourselves lucky to have gained a well-made mannequin for free. I was about to say exactly that when I caught sight of the Saintess's deeply furrowed brow and obvious displeasure, and wisely shut my mouth.
One thing worth noting: neither the Saintess nor I were particularly concerned about this living corpse's future well-being. What worried us was the storm that would follow if he remained a dead body. He was the scion of a prestigious noble house that donated an astronomical sum to the Holy See every year, and a promising young talent whose striking appearance and exceptional abilities had already made him famous. If rumors spread that he had died mysteriously in the middle of the capital rather than inside a dungeon, the high-ranking officials of the Holy See, obsessed with money and honor, would undoubtedly foam at the mouth and cause an uproar.
The Saintess and I held relatively high positions, so we could at least keep ourselves at a safe distance from their wrath. But for those of lower rank who were directly or indirectly connected to Priest Ranobel's death, unfair and unreasonable punishments were inevitable. Excommunication would be the best-case scenario. If the matter escalated to a religious trial, it was entirely possible that his entire family could be dragged into prison under collective punishment.
"Haa…"
Unable to utter curses while wearing her holy robes, the Saintess merely mouthed the words and let out a heavy sigh into the air. "I should never have entrusted the task to that idiot."
I was no expert at lip-reading, yet I had no trouble understanding what she had said.
"Good grief…"
A ragged breath escaped my dry lips. Now that things had come to this, there was only one way to resolve this chaotic situation. The very person who had turned Priest Ranobel into a living mannequin—the source of all my worries and troubles. Unless I negotiated directly with her and persuaded her to restore him, there was no other way to improve this total mess. And unfortunately, regrettably, lamentably, the person most likely to succeed at such a feat right now was none other than me—her personal guardian priest, who, for some unknown reason, had earned her considerable favor.
"……Priest."
"It's fine… I am not running away…"
The Saintess called my name in a worried tone, perhaps thinking I was about to flee after seeing me rub my face in sudden headache. But contrary to her concern, I had no desire to run this time. It was not a sense of duty. If I had to classify it, it was guilt. I could not bring myself to abandon a bomb that might drag several lives into ruin just to save my own skin. My nature was not that cruel.
Perhaps it was an unavoidable calamity of human society: some people cause accidents, and others clean them up. As long as humans refused to abandon group living, this disaster could never be eradicated. Today, once again, I felt as though I had taken another step closer to the truth of this world.
"By the way, what on earth did that guy do to make even the usually indifferent Saintess this angry? Did he shove bell peppers in her mouth or something?"
"I do not know. I heard he went around telling several close colleagues that from today onward he would become the Saintess's personal attendant. Perhaps he made similar remarks in front of the Saintess herself…"
"What…"
It was not like they were running for class president. After some time had passed, I reached the obvious conclusion that we could not keep debating forever. My heavy body defied gravity and pushed off the ground.
Thud. Thud. The place where my weary footsteps—reminiscent of an office worker on a Monday morning—finally stopped was the sacred sanctuary where that troublesome individual was hidden: the Saintess's Audience Chamber.