The Saint Enters the Fray
The Saint Enters the Fray
There is a saying that the history of mankind is the history of war.
And naturally, in this place still stuck in the medieval era, large and small wars broke out frequently.
Moreover, in this world where the Saintess actually existed, religious wars between those who accepted her and those who did not broke out frequently,
and the pilgrimage was, in essence, the very path the Saintess took to personally stop those wars.
'I want to finish this quickly and go back.'
The Ten Days' Pilgrimage was, in fact, the name of the act itself. In past history, when the Saintess was first dispatched to reclaim the holy land, the time it took to recover that great land was ten days, and so the name became fixed as the Ten Days' Pilgrimage.
In other words, there would be no problem even if it were finished well before ten days.
While she was thinking that, the Saintess's carriage arrived at the holy land.
To her surprise, the holy land was a vast desert.
On this land, humanity had been punished for killing the first Saint, and the land that had once been a symbol of abundance became a desert where only death remained.
But paradoxically, because of that, this place later became the holy land that first received God's touch, becoming a symbol of the Church that surpassed even the Holy Kingdom itself.
'...I need to end this meaningless squabble over profit quickly.'
Because such a thing had no place in the paradise she intended to create.
As of today, in order to stop this meaningless cog from turning, she had dragged her overworked self on this long pilgrimage all the way to the holy land.
Everything was for the promise made back then.
Until she created the promised paradise, she could not stop.
"Please open the door."
As soon as he heard those words, the Commander of the Order of Holy Knights opened the carriage door and bowed his head politely to greet the Saintess.
Soon, as the Saintess stepped down from the carriage, all the faithful saluted her like a clap of thunder.
"A servant of God greets the Saintess!"
They paid their respects to the manifested reincarnation of God.
There were no distinctions of high or low status in that place.
It was simply humans saluting the reincarnation of God.
'...The degree of injuries is severe.'
Since this was a war fought with cold weapons, stab wounds, abrasions, and fractures were the norm, and even amputations were a common sight.
And even the wounded were saluting the Saintess.
In a way, it was a faith akin to madness.
And so, the Saintess simply repaid their mad faith.
The Saintess raised her hand and prayed.
At the same time, holy power filled that holy land.
Then, the miracle of the faithful began to manifest in the world.
With the main god's blessing, that place began to become a land of life like the past, if only for this moment.
The miracle of regeneration began to spread outward from the Saintess's body.
That miracle was not limited to human flesh alone. It mended broken spears, made flowers bloom for the first time in ages in this cursed holy land that had become a desert, and breathed life once more into the blood-soaked land of death.
Everyone cheered at the miracle unfolding before their eyes. Chanting the name of the Saintess who had driven away the approaching death, everyone worshipped the reincarnation of God before them.
"...Please guide me to the battlefield."
The Saintess asked the Commander of the Order of Holy Knights politely.
"That is not necessary. There is no need for the Saintess to trouble herself."
The Commander of the Holy Knights spoke with his head bowed. But the Saintess had no obligation to listen to his words.
"I will handle it myself, so please guide me."
What was he thinking, asking her to leave it to them, when they had requested the Holy Kingdom's help precisely because they couldn't finish it themselves?
Foolishly, the Commander of the Order of Holy Knights showed that he could not set aside his pride even before the Saintess.
Of course, that same pride had likely allowed him to rise to his position, but to the current Saintess, it was not a pleasant sight.
He appeared only as the pathetic stubbornness of a loser in her eyes. And it sounded as unpleasant as the whining of a weak dog.
Yet the Commander of the Holy Knights did not step aside.
He was reluctant to entrust such a role to the Saintess. No matter that she was the reincarnation of God, the Saintess was a girl. He blocked her path with the worthless, foolish consideration his title afforded him.
"...Do you intend to make me say the same thing three times?"
The Saintess wore a displeased expression.
At the same time, a chill that seemed to freeze time itself blossomed in the heart of the Commander of the Order of Holy Knights.
It was fear—a sensation the Commander of the Order of Holy Knights thought he had long since forgotten.
Reflexively, the Commander of the Order of Holy Knights grabbed his neck.
Fortunately, his neck was still attached.
And the Commander of the Order of Holy Knights, having understood the three times the Saintess had mentioned, quickly raised his head and apologized.
"...This servant of God has dared to commit rudeness against the Saintess."
The Saint's third patience was not written in the Sacred Scripture. If he had ignored it and continued to block the Saintess, depending on the situation, the Saintess might have simply cut his throat right then and there.
Because the Sacred Scripture was the absolute law.
"From now on, guide me without any unnecessary words."
The Saintess pointed a finger at the distant battlefield.
She was now personally moving to put an end to the long Holy War, and this would soon be the first step before the quickening that would write a new page of history.
*
The messenger ran, gasping for breath.
He could not believe what he had just seen with his own eyes... but in the end, he had to report this event—which had become reality—to his master, the Sultan, as quickly as possible.
He ran with all his might. He raced toward the Sultan with desperate effort, and in the end, he kept running even as his eyes rolled back.
After running for about an hour, the messenger arrived at the camp where the Sultan was.
"I must see the Sultan! Move aside!"
Huff... huff... The messenger breathed laboriously. Normally, the guards would have followed procedure, but because the messenger's face was a ghastly sight, they assumed it was dire bad news and quickly guided him to the Sultan.
"S-Sultan, there is a grave matter!"
The messenger reported, urgently observing formalities.
He conveyed to the Sultan that the Saintess had personally joined the war, and the reply that came back was, as expected, one of disbelief.
"...Are you telling me to believe those words right now?"
In over a thousand years of the Holy War's history, the Saint had never once moved to punish them directly. Yet the messenger before his eyes was spouting words that denied that history.
That was precisely why the Holy War had been maintained. Because the Saint did not interfere in the battles of the Holy War, they could continue waging it, and the war could persist.
But if the Saintess joined the war, the story changed. He did not know why the Saintess, who had always stood by in silence, argued doctrine, and only helped the wounded recover from behind the lines, was now joining the fray...
But it seemed the war could not continue any longer.
It was the moment when the Sultan, having resolved to wrap up his war business, was about to issue a retreat order.
"Beware the silver-haired, black-eyed woman. For she is the Saintess."
As soon as he heard those words, the Sultan flew into a rage.
Immediately, he picked up the spear he was holding and threw it, planting it into the messenger's head.
The messenger died on the spot.
At the same time, the enraged Sultan shouted at his corpse.
"A messenger who doesn't even know what the Saint looks like, feeding me false information."
A moron who fell for such a fake, and he calls himself a messenger.
The Saint originally had blonde hair and dark gray eyes.
Thinking that one who didn't even know that had managed to serve as a messenger in the Holy War, the Sultan sat back down on his throne.
With an extremely arrogant bearing.
*
It was unsettling. Kal's overly hospitable attitude was making her uncomfortable.
Or was this the kind of treatment nobles normally received? Or did he want something from her?
She drank the coffee Kal had personally prepared and pondered while gazing at the excessively lavish refreshments and his overly formal demeanor.
But as expected, no clear reason came to mind.
At that moment, surprisingly, Isabella spoke first.
"Ka-Kal ahjussi? Aren't you normally not the type to go this far with excessive hospitality?"
So it really was excessive. I'd thought this was just the medieval standard, you ridiculously burdensome ahjussi.
And from what I heard, he's normally not someone who goes this far?
'...Then why is he doing it now.'
I was so overwhelmed that I couldn't even eat the desserts.
I really love macarons. The financiers and the cake look really delicious too... but that excessive, fawning attitude was so overwhelming that I couldn't even bring myself to eat them.
So, with the heart of a miser, I drank my coffee while eyeing the desserts instead of the dried yellow croaker hanging on the wall, imagining how they'd taste.
'...It's a familiar taste.'
So even across dimensions and eras, does a rough, toiling life demand sugar? The sweet coffee, reminiscent of cheap instant coffee from a rest stop, wasn't bad.
"...So, may I ask why you are treating us to this extent?"
Did he make that much off the wheelchair? But it wasn't like I gave it away for free. I received royalties diligently. How much could he have earned to act so subservient?
Since I didn't know the circumstances, I decided to just ask.
"...For someone as noble as you, I believe this level of hospitality is rather insufficient."
Kal lowered his head further and apologized.
"As I said earlier, please, lift your head."
If she's a noble person, does he think she's some great noble? Just what kind of scoundrel nobles has he dealt with to treat a mere countryside noble like some sort of god?
Seriously, medieval nobles are incorrigible bastards.
Just how badly did you piss him off, you scoundrel pricks? Did you boil him alive until he became this grovelingly deferential?
"...If the noble person says so, I shall comply."
Only then did Kal lift his head. Honestly, he was showing an attitude one would only display to a Saintess, toward a countryside noble young lady (i.e., wheelchair business partner).
No matter how accustomed I've become to being treated as a noble young lady while living here, that was a bit too much.
"So, what business brings you all the way here?"
He finally seemed to be moving toward the main topic.
'It was a really long journey. Atom... cherry... puppy...'
Anyway, I didn't want to stray any further, so to get straight to the point, I brought up the main topic without beating around the bush.
"I came to discuss our future contract."
"...You mean you have something else besides the wheelchair?"
Kal couldn't hide his surprise.
Well, it's not as if I don't know a few things... but I can't draw them as blueprints, and machines aren't made just by scribbling things down, so I've only kept them as ideas for now.
I'm not certain.
"...Well, I do have something."
Enough to appear in about eight hundred years of future history.
The problem is I don't fully understand all of it.
"And, may I ask if I could seek advice on things other than equipment?"
Since I lack knowledge about the industry, getting consultation from an expert is essential, isn't it? And Kal seemed to have made decent money from the wheelchair, so wouldn't he be able to offer at least this much advice?
It was an arrogant thought, but what of it.
This is the medieval era.
Obeying the words of a noble young lady is the law itself.
"...It seems it will be quite a long story, so would you mind sending Isabella outside?"
...I absolutely hate long, drawn-out stories. And just a moment ago, I was just telling Isabella that we'd finish up quickly and go buy some desserts.
"...Lady Rosaria?"
At that moment, Isabella's expression stiffened as she looked at the clock. The famous dessert shop she had mentioned was about to close. But as a servant, she could not leave her lady behind and go to the dessert shop alone.
Isabella wore the face of a person caught in a tug-of-war between duty and desire.
"Isabella."
First, let's ease Isabella's mind.
"While I talk with the blacksmith here, Isabella, please go to the dessert shop. Then, give them my name and buy as many desserts as you want to your heart's content."
At those words, Isabella looked ready to jump for joy.
"Ah, of course, you must buy mine as well."
So saying, I sent Isabella, who had been anxious about the drawn-out, repetitive meeting, to the heaven she desired.
With this much of a good deed, it felt as if my afterlife was one step closer to heaven.
'The heaven move was legendary.'
Thinking that, I ate the cake before me and began negotiations with the burdensome blacksmith before my eyes.