The Saintess's First Choice

The tide of battle had shifted.

The Black Archmage no longer deigned to receive the Hero's party's attacks head-on. The moment he unfolded a fresh barrier, he folded space itself and vanished from sight—only to reappear an instant later, high in the sky, so far up that the party had to crane their necks just to find him.

"I-it's too far...!"

A distance no sword, no arrow—not even magic—could hope to reach. The Mage craned her head back and cried out in desperation.

"A mage has no obligation to stand on the same ground as his enemy."

Then, a searing light began to bloom.

A spell vast enough to swallow the city's entire sky. The surrounding mana was sucked inward like a storm, and the smoke-choked heavens twisted grotesquely around the Black Archmage's magic as its axis. It was, in effect, a public declaration that he intended to rain another devastating blow down upon the Hero's party and everything in the vicinity.

The Black Archmage looked down upon them with imperious contempt. The city spread out below was already ablaze in a dozen places, and all he had done was flex a fraction of his power. Collapsed buildings, shattered flagstones, citizens fleeing with screams tearing from their throats.

Gazing upon the ruin he had authored, the Black Archmage idly thought that leaving a somewhat larger scar wouldn't be any great loss. He had no intention of occupying this city anyway. So long as he claimed the Hero, the rest could burn to ash for all he cared.

Now, then.

A smile curled at the corner of his mouth.

How will you answer this one—

The Black Archmage's hand finally began to sweep through the air.

KWAAANG—!

And then.

The Hero flew.

.........???

The Hero flew.

"It worked, then."

"...What?"

KANG—!

Without a moment's hesitation, the Hero slammed his own sword down against the shoulder guard that had been shielding his shoulder, and the collision of metal against metal split the air with a shriek of thunderous noise.

"Ghk!"

That piercing sound spread outward in an instant, and with the roar detonating mere inches from his head, the Black Archmage instinctively clamped a hand over one ear and recoiled. Naturally, there was no chance of continuing his incantation. The spell, pulsing violently on the very cusp of completion, wavered into instability in a heartbeat, and the masterless mana scattered into empty air.

With almost insulting ease, the great magic vanished—without ever so much as activating.

It was precisely the method the Mage had used moments ago to disrupt his casting.

"You see it once and apply it immediately?"

Consternation. Fury. Disbelief.

And then, pushing all of those emotions aside, something else welled up slowly and undeniably: pure, unadulterated admiration.

"Ha!"

One ear still plugged, the Black Archmage stared at the Hero with the eyes of a man genuinely impressed—and burst out laughing.

Admiration aside, however, he had no intention of meeting the Hero's sword head-on. Before the Hero could carry his follow-up strike through, the Black Archmage's figure warped. Space folded, the shape he'd left behind dissolved, and he reappeared in the sky a few dozen paces away.

"Not there."

Before the Hero could even turn his gaze, he vanished again.

Left.

Right.

Above.

Below.

Ahead.

Behind.

Each relocation twisted the air and left a black afterimage in its wake, and he changed position so fast, so frenetically, that tracking him with the naked eye was nearly impossible.

The Hero, for his part, could not remain in the sky. He hadn't flown under his own power—the Mage, still on the ground, had detonated an explosion spell beneath his feet, and the Saintess had wrapped him in divine protection so the blast wouldn't tear his body apart. Only then had he been launched skyward like a single cannon shell.

Slowing his fall was within his ability; flight was not.

In the end, he had no choice but to follow gravity back down to the earth.

KUUUNG—!

Thanks to the Saintess's lingering protection he was unharmed, but the ground where the Hero ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠landed was spiderwebbed with cracks. The moment he set foot down, the Saintess and the Mage hurried to his side.

"That was a fine method."

The Hero spoke in his usual soft, even voice.

"Hehe, hehehe......."

The Mage's face bloomed into a smile at once. It had been the Hero who had broken through the Black Archmage's spell, and the Mage had merely supplied the explosion magic—but the idea of using the blast to launch him into the sky had been hers. Her own thinking had actually helped. The Hero had praised her. That alone was enough to sweep every trace of the fear that she might die from her mind entirely.

The Saintess's expression, on the other hand, stiffened just slightly.

...I helped too, you know.

She was the one who had laid the blessing over the Hero so the blast wouldn't wreck his body. If the Mage had been alone, the Hero's bones might have snapped the instant he was launched—or his whole frame might have been crushed on landing.

Of course, the Saintess hadn't acted in order to be praised. She had simply done her part, and this was hardly the moment to be tallying who deserved the larger credit.

And yet.

Watching the Mage laugh and glow with happiness, she felt a corner of her chest turn sour by degrees, and a bitter smile escaped her despite herself.

You're doing it again.

She clutched at the ache rising in her chest, disgusted with how pathetic she was. Over a single word of praise—over something that trivial, she was envying the Mage all over again. As if she'd forgotten what she had done to the Hero. As if she could erase every wound and humiliation she'd dealt him, and still believe that praise and affection were owed to her too, as a matter of course.

"........."

"Saintess."

"...Y-yes!"

The sudden voice made the Saintess jolt violently. But even that was enough—her heart pounded as though her thoughts had been caught red-handed, and at the same time, expectation swelled at the Hero's call.

The Hero, his face as unreadable as ever, looked up at the sky.

The Black Archmage still hung above, looking down on them.

As if each side were waiting for the other's next move.

"We need a way to stop his movement. Can you manage it?"

And for that next move, the Hero had chosen her.

"His movement......."

The Saintess hesitated to answer. No—more precisely, she lacked the confidence to answer. Binding and restraining holy magic was easy enough for her. But would the Black Archmage—who folded space to space to travel—kindly shut his eyes and wait for it? Above all, striking a target hovering up in that sky would never be simple.

Every time he hides, space twists and snaps back. He's forcibly folding the distance between two points to erase it.

It's not enough to block his movement alone. If he just stalls up there, every second is a loss for us.

Flight, and teleportation. The Saintess possessed a technique that could forbid them both—or rather, a technique that could declare anything forbidden.

Will my divinity hold? Will my body...?

It devoured power in proportion to its worth. In a battle that had yet to end, for the Saintess—healer and guardian both—to pour out most of her remaining strength in one stroke was nothing short of a gamble.

What if she wasted power on a guess and became a burden later, when she didn't even have enough divinity left for healing and protection? What if the Black Archmage saw through her technique and shattered it? What if it failed from the very first syllable?

This time, surely, she would be abandoned.

Countless bleak possibilities swirled together, leaving the Saintess's head spinning.

But.

But this was a first.

The Hero asked something of me.

Since that day, the Hero had never once leaned on her.

He trusted me, and he asked.

It was far too great a thing for her to hesitate over.

"Whew....."

The Saintess drew a deep breath and began to gather her divinity—into a form more radiant than anything she had shown until now. No, perhaps into a form as filled with holiness as the very title of Saintess implied.

"I will."

She pushed the hesitation aside and clasped her hands together.

"Then I leave it to you."

"Yes."

A short reply. And yet the alienation that had squirmed in her heart until a moment ago seemed to fade a little. She had a role, too. The Hero had needed her.

That single fact alone was enough. The Saintess took hold of the remaining flow of divinity in her body and began to spread it slowly across the entire city.

"O our Parent, who watches over every lost lamb with mercy—"

The prayer began.

PYAT—!

A faint light spread out from beneath her feet. At first it merely wrapped her fingertips, but it flowed along the streets and the buildings, widening its reach, until at last the entire district lay within a vast domain of divinity.

The city drowned in gold.

A sanctuary—a place where the Goddess's authority reassembled the laws of the world. A place where the authority newly exercised within it took precedence over all existing laws.

And yet the sanctuary the Saintess had unfolded had no direct ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠effect of any kind. In and of itself, it healed nothing, protected nothing, bound nothing.

A spell that spreads divinity to widen the effective range of her holy magic? Closer to a barrier field, then.

The Black Archmage narrowed his eyes as he looked down on the city that had become a sanctuary.

And I've already been caught inside its bounds, haven't I.

The Saintess, standing at the golden city's center, did not stop her prayer. On the contrary—holding a light brighter and more brilliant than the city around her, she moved her lips again and declared.

"Borrowing that One's strength, I dare to exercise authority."

The Saintess spread her hands wide.

"From this very moment—"

Her gaze turned toward the Black Archmage.

KEEING—

"Let every power that touches space be forbidden within this blessed land."

The first taboo was set upon the holy ground.

In that instant, the divinity blanketing the entire city pulsed violently. The Black Archmage, seeking to distance himself from that radiance, readied another teleportation from his perch in the sky—

"...Ghk?!"

The completed spell collapsed on the spot. The space he had been about to fold snapped back to its original shape, and his body was flung out of thin air. Even the Black Archmage looked more than a little flustered as he stared at the Saintess's power.

"Next."

It was not over.

An even stronger radiance burst forth and wrapped the surroundings.

KEEING—!

"Within this blessed land, let the wingless trespass no further into the sky."

The second taboo was set upon the holy ground.

".......!"

In an instant, the magic that had enveloped the Black Archmage and kept him aloft vanished without a trace. The sky would tolerate him no longer—would tolerate no wingless being at all.

And then, the third.

"Next....... for......."

Blood began to trickle from the corner of the Saintess's mouth, and her voice slowly began to tremble.

"S-Saintess!"

The Mage sprang to her in alarm, catching her by the arm and shouting.

Greed. That was what it was. What the Hero had originally asked for was merely to restrict the Black Archmage's mobility—his uncatchable teleportation. But the Saintess had reached for more: she had restrained even his levitation, and then reached further still.

For one reason and one reason only. She wanted to hear the Hero praise her.

"Hahh.... hahh...."

The Saintess drew ragged breaths. It felt as though the greater part of the power that had filled her body had drained away in a single moment; her limbs were heavy enough that she wanted nothing more than to collapse where she stood.

"I.... did it...."

Establishing the sanctuary and declaring even one taboo within it had demanded a considerable reserve of divinity. And she had declared two, then given in to greed and reached for a third. Perhaps because she had stopped partway through, her body had not crossed its ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠limit. Her divinity was not fully spent—she had simply overexerted herself, and her body bore the strain. With rest, she would recover easily enough.

"Well done."

The Hero left the two of them behind and walked forward. Hearing those words, the Saintess forced herself upright and watched his back as he went. She did not want to be a burden to him. She did not want to show the Mage her weakness. More than anything, she wanted—this time—to truly be of help.

"Impressive. I hadn't imagined you could take it this far."

The Black Archmage met the Hero's eyes.

Thanks to the taboos, teleportation and levitation were both truly beyond his reach now. With his key pieces sealed away, the Black Archmage could no longer call upon anything like his former mobility. And the Hero ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠was already running at him with sword raised, while behind him the Saintess and the Mage steadied themselves and gathered their respective powers. While the Hero kept him occupied, the two of them would recover what strength they could.

"Wrapping a city in divinity, then writing new laws upon it. To think I would witness a sight out of mythology itself."

A perfect encirclement. Flawless coordination. No space left to flee, no time left to chant. To any observer, it was a textbook cornered beast.

".........."

But the Black Archmage did not panic.

Rather.

He curled his lips upward, slowly.

You've walked into it.

And the next moment.

He was gone.

Space did not twist. There was no tremor of mana. The Saintess's taboos did not react. Nothing. The Black Archmage who had stood there a heartbeat ago simply vanished from view, with no process whatsoever—

And the place where he reappeared was—

"Behind—!"

The Mage screamed a warning. But it was already too late. Dark-red curses coalesced in both of his hands. One aimed at the Saintess. The other at the Mage. With their rear seized in perfect completeness, he spoke.

"There you are."

The two curses launched near-simultaneously.

"........!"

The Saintess raised her hands by pure instinct and gathered what divinity remained—sparing nothing of the dregs left at the very bottom—

It's not enough—

She no longer had the strength to shield them both. One person. Just one. She could save exactly one person.

...Me.

The first thing that surfaced, as inevitably as breathing, was herself. She was the Saintess. She was the only one in the party who could treat wounds and curses; if she fell, there would be no one to help the Hero and the Mage when they were hurt. And above all, she was stronger than the Mage. She was the more important one. Protecting herself here was the most rational choice for the party as a whole.

...It was not wrong thinking.

But behind that thought, another feeling lifted its head.

When the Mage had asked to join the Hero's party, and the Hero had refused, the Saintess had felt relief. Relief that no replacement for her had appeared. Relief that her place in the Hero's attention and trust had not been stolen away—

She had been glad.

When the Mage was praised just moments ago, she had envied her. I helped too. Look at me too. She had dared to think such things.

So then—was leaving the Mage to take that curse truly a choice made for the party?

Or was it.

Nothing more than her own ugly wish to see the girl disappear, dressed up in the language of rational judgment?

"......!"

The Saintess's hands moved.

But the divinity did not flow toward herself.

The Mage. The curse was a hair's breadth from touching the girl's body when the Saintess's protection slammed down between them.

KWAJIK—!

The forbidden curse, a tier far above any ordinary defensive magic, gnawed savagely at the barrier. The Saintess wrung out the last of her divinity and held on to the very end, until at last the curse sputtered and dissolved.

"S-Saintess...?"

The Mage was staring at her, eyes wide—a foolish face brimming with disbelief, brimming with tears. The Saintess could not answer. She herself didn't fully understand why she had made that choice.

It had been a foolish act. If she fell, everyone would suffer for it. Protecting herself instead of the Mage would have been far more rational.

And yet, in the instant she sent her divinity to the Mage—

the sticky, vile something that had filled her chest seemed, just a little, to disappear.

And the second curse—the one aimed at the Saintess—

SHUUK—!

Into her body—

"...Huh?"

Never landed.

KRAK! KRARAK—!

The Hero's arm had cut across the space between them and seized the dark-red curse with his bare hand, stopping it cold.

"Ugh—."

For the first time, the Hero let out a groan laced with pain. The curse coiled around his arm in an instant, burrowed up along his back, and spread a grotesque pattern across his whole body as though crawling through his veins.

"H........................ero!!!!!!!!!!!"

A cry bordering on a scream. The Hero's body swayed hard. He drove the sword in his hand into the ground to prop himself up, but could not hold, and dropped to one knee.

And on the face of the Black Archmage as he watched—

"Pff....."

laughter bloomed in full.

"PUHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!"

One of the two. He had thought it would be enough if either the Saintess or the Mage fell to a curse. If even one of them could no longer fight properly, the coordination they had maintained until now would collapse—and after that, he need only pick off the rest one by one.

But the Hero had taken the curse himself. Ahead of the Saintess. Ahead of the Mage. The very man he needed to eliminate first had stepped in to absorb the blow on their behalf.

There was no gift like an enemy's own folly.

"Yes! That's what a hero should be!"

The Black Archmage watched the farce unfold from a distance, admiring it with all his heart.

And the Saintess confronted a reality woven entirely of tragedy.

In her desperation, she hurriedly placed her hands on the Hero's back. She scraped together divinity she no longer had and tried to dispel the curse—but the dark-red pattern resisted the holy light and burrowed deeper still.

"Why—why won't it come off......."

"Because it can't come off!"

Delighted, the Black Archmage began to explain his creation in loving detail—like a teacher lecturing a student, with perfect clarity.

"That is no ordinary curse. It is my masterwork, woven from a great many strands of forbidden knowledge."

Opening and closing his grimoire, the Black Archmage gave it its name.

It did not merely inflict violent pain upon the flesh.

It dragged every agony the target had ever suffered out of their memory—whether the wound had healed and vanished, whether it had become a thing of the distant past and been forgotten, whether they believed they had already overcome it—and forced them to feel the sensation of that moment, here and now.

The pain of flesh being torn. The sensation of bones breaking. The agony of skin burning and innards twisting. A forbidden magic crafted to destroy not only the body but the mind as well.

And the curse carried a single condition.

"No Saintess alive can dispel it."

The Black Archmage pointed a finger at his own chest.

"Because this curse is bound to my life."

The Saintess's face went rigid.

"That agony will never end! Not while I live!"

"...........I see."

A voice slipped from the mouth of the Hero, who had been hanging his head.

The Black Archmage's laughter stopped.

The Hero drove his sword deep into the ground and used it as a support to slowly raise his body. The hand gripping the hilt trembled faintly, and the veins across its back stood out as though about to burst. He was, unmistakably, in pain. The curse had not failed.

And yet.

The Hero stood.

"Thank you for the explanation."

"...What?"

Ignoring the Black Archmage's reaction, the Hero looked first to the Saintess.

"You don't appear to be hurt."

"H-Hero......."

The Saintess's voice shook. He had taken the curse in her place. Even if the Hero believed he had to protect his companions. Even if the situation had been that desperate. The Saintess could not understand it.

The Hero must hate her. No—he should hate her. Given everything she had done to him, he could have abandoned her in this dangerous moment and no one would have blamed him for it.

And yet the Hero had protected her.

"Why......."

Her lips trembled.

"Why did you shield me?"

No—those words should never have left her mouth. But they had already escaped.

The Hero regarded her for a moment.

Then he asked.

"Then why did you shield the Mage, Saintess?"

"That's......."

The Saintess could not answer. It had not been a rational choice. It had not been an act that benefited her. No one had ordered her to do it.

"I don't.... know either."

The words barely made it out.

"It's just."

The Saintess looked at the Mage. Behind the barrier she had raised only moments ago, a girl still weeping, still unable to comprehend what had happened.

"It just felt like I had to."

The Hero nodded.

"The same for me."

A voice as soft as ever, no different from any other day. But the hand gripping his sword was still trembling, and cold sweat was running down his brow.

"I also simply felt that I had to."

"......."

The Black Archmage watched the scene in silence.

The curse had, without question, taken hold. He knew the man's body was strong. He had anticipated that his endurance of pain was beyond comparison with any ordinary human's.

But the Curse's Blessing was not a spell one could withstand merely by being sturdy. It carved pain directly into the mind. It summoned the wounds of the past into the present. However ironclad one's will, no one could relive a lifetime's suffering in a single instant and rise to their feet as though nothing had happened.

Don't tell me.

A single possibility surfaced in the Black Archmage's mind.

Not that he had conquered the pain. Not that he had grown accustomed to pain. But what if, between the past agony this magic dredged up and his present state—

there had never been any meaningful difference at all?

Was he already broken?

Curiosity began to brim in the Black Archmage's eyes.

"How fascinating."

The cursed Hero raised his sword.

"Truly fascinating."

"........."

"Ah—don't push that body too hard, Hero."

The Black Archmage gathered his magic once more, smiling.

"I intend to dissect you properly, slowly, later on."

And the battle began anew.