What Could Possibly Go Wrong?
What could possibly go wrong?
Darkness had settled thick over everything, and a torrential rain was hammering down from the sky.
"Hoo... hah..." A haze of white breath spilled from my lips.
The roar of the downpour filled the world on every side. Frowning at the clammy weight of soaked clothes clinging to my skin, I kept walking, hunting for anywhere to escape the rain. Without so much as an umbrella to my name, I was one wrong step away from huddling beneath a tree until morning.
But fortune, for once, obliged. Lights glimmered from a village in the distance, and the two of us hurried in from the cold and managed to turn up a decent inn. Light leaked out between the windows, and there were voices and footsteps stirring within—it looked to be open for business.
"Good thing we found somewhere to get out of the rain. Let's get inside, quick."
Getting rained on was nobody's idea of a good time. The clothes sticking uncomfortably to my body, the long hair gone heavy with rainwater—every last bit of it was unpleasant. I wanted to hurry into that inn, peel off my wet things, scrub the clamminess away in a hot bath, then change into something dry and toasty and warm myself in front of a roaring fire with an ice-cold beer in hand.
Which was exactly why, just as I reached for the door handle—
"Eek!?"
Something dropped over my shoulders, and I startled so badly I spun around. A black-haired man was settling his own outer coat across me.
"...Hey. You scared me. Don't just do things without a word of warning."
I wrangled my dripping hair back into order and snapped at him, irritation bleeding through.
"I really do think you should wear a coat before going inside."
"What's gotten into you all of a sudden? Worried I'll catch a cold from a little rain?"
A saintess's body brims with powerful divine power. As if a bit of rain could ever give me a cold. Besides, if he was going to do this, why not hand the coat over while I was still outside? Springing it on me right before we stepped into the inn—what exactly was he playing at? I was not a coat rack.
"That's not what I—"
When I stared up at him dead-on, the man turned his gaze away toward the distance. His bare ears had flushed red—though that might have been nothing more than the cold.
"Then what is it? Quit dithering and say it straight."
"Your clothes are soaked through, Lady Saintess, and, um... they're a little... revealing..."
I glanced down. My drenched clothes were clinging to me, laying bare every line of my figure. Oh? So that was why he'd spent the whole walk answering me while staring at empty air instead of at me. Fair enough, I supposed—my body was enough to make a man's head swim.
A crooked smile curled onto my lips as I looked up at him again.
"My, my~ And what's this? So you're seeing me as a 'woman' right now?"
At my innocent little jab, the man recoiled like a culprit confessing to some monumental crime, hands waving in frantic denial.
"N-No! I would never see you as a woman!"
"..."
He all but screamed the answer. I'd only meant it as a tease, but hearing that, the strange swell in my chest went flat like a balloon losing its air.
...Am I... actually disappointed right now?
Why?
Seized by an inexplicable sting of hurt and irritation, I drove my foot into the man's shin.
"Ow!"
"...Hmph. Serves you right."
Snorting at the sight of him yelping, I pulled the coat he'd draped over me snugly shut. ...Maybe it was the rain, but his scent suddenly flooded my nose. It was a good smell, and I'd caught myself sniffing at it without thinking—which somehow put me in an even fouler mood.
That rotten bastard.
Doesn't see me as a woman, does he? Then let's see if he can still say that after this.
"Hey."
"Urk... Y-yes?"
"They say there's only one room left."
A lie. The inn's rooms were empty to the last one. The only soul in the whole place was an old woman who, hard of hearing or simply obstinate, dozed off no matter how many times we called her.
I watched the man with a wicked little grin. His face had gone scarlet enough to burst. Hmph. So you don't see me as a woman, do you? I had asked for the room with a single bed—he was going to be lying awake all night for certain. Heh. For some reason, that spiteful little revenge felt exquisite. Rot, you bastard.
"The bed's a single, too. Guess we'll just have to share it tonight?"
I tugged him in by the collar and whispered right against his ear. And then...
"EEEEEEEEK!"
I jolted awake mid-shriek. Thud—
"Ugh—!"
At the very same moment, I pitched off the bed with a strangled cry.
Owwww... That hurt. Why was the floor made of stone?
After groaning my fill, I flopped back down flat and stared up at the ceiling. An unfamiliar ceiling... no, wait—it was the ceiling of the healing chamber that greeted me.
Why had I been sleeping in the healing chamber? Oh, right—I'd been under Clarice's care, and she'd put me under so she could examine the outline of my soul. The dream had been so jarring that, for a moment, none of it had come back to me. But the instant I finished taking stock of my situation, the memory of the Precognitive Dream came surging right back up.
...So past the point of being crushed that he didn't see me as a woman, I went and lied about there being only one room left? And what was it I said again—guess we'll just have to share the bed tonight? Me? No way in hell. A saintess's dreams are Precognitive Dreams: glimpses of a future yet to come, a divine authority granted to saintesses and saintesses alone.
"Enough!"
The phrase floated up into my head yet again, and I raked my fingers through my hair in pure frustration. Never had I more desperately wished that dreams came with a block-sender function.
Ha. Infuriating. What soured my mood further was that, every single time one of these Precognitive Dreams visited me, the man's face inside it stayed hidden. If I knew who he was, I could at least draft a counterplan. The only detail I ever got was a tall man with black hair. Now, who did I know who fit that description?
"Hmm..."
No one came to mind. The people of the Order of Eris all wore absurdly flamboyant hair colors—from a distance, the lot of them looked like a flowerbed in riotous bloom.
Ah, enough with the pointless detours. Think, think. A man with black hair...
"Huh?"
Exactly one face surfaced. Cassian.
"Pfft. Bullshit, haha."
And rather than shuddering at the guess, I found myself oddly relieved. Fair enough, too. Even if I was fated to fall in love someday, there was no universe in which it would be with a guy like Cassian.
"Unnie? What are you doing on the floor?"
So there I lay on the cold stone floor, adrift in my own head, until Clarice's voice broke through the reverie. I turned to find her peering down at me, tray in hand, wearing a faintly put-out look.
"Uh... I fell out of bed."
"Fell out of bed? You're not a child, you know... Are you hurt anywhere?"
"You think a fall like that could actually hurt me?"
"Honestly, that bravado of yours never gets any easier to cure."
Even mid-pout, Clarice supported me all the way up and back onto the bed. I wobbled once or twice, but I managed to rise without real trouble and settle onto the healing dais.
"I brought you breakfast, so eat up. You'll be running on an empty stomach, so I got you soup and some soft bread. That should be all right, yes?"
"Huh? Breakfast?"
The word snagged in my ear, and I blinked at her, wide-eyed. When I had arrived at the central citadel of Septimoa and made my way to the healing chamber, it had been a little past the lunch hour. And she was telling me it was breakfast?
"Surprised? It's the next morning."
...Wow. I really did sleep the day away. Or had healing my soul simply taken that long? Well, it wasn't exactly minor surgery, so a lengthy procedure was fair enough. Still dazed, I accepted the breakfast Clarice handed over.
"You can eat while you listen. And, well—to give you the conclusion first: your treatment was a success."
"Oh, really? Now that's what I like to hear."
I answered between spoonfuls of soup. Wow, this soup—it was every bit as good as what Jean, our Order's head chef, made. If Jean ever heard that, the man would be wounded to his core. He took fierce pride in his cooking. Ah—quit wandering, brain. Focus on Clarice.
"So I'm all fixed now, then?"
"That's right. Though there is one thing you should keep in mind."
"Mm? And what's that?"
"The soul treatment. The truth is, there was nothing there for me to treat."
I had braced myself for a lecture about not straining myself, so I gave Clarice a look of open surprise.
"Nothing for you to treat?"
"Your soul was mending itself all on its own, without me so much as laying a finger on it."
"Well, isn't that a good thing?"
"It is. Nothing heals better than natural recovery—and it's proof that you're healthy again, Unnie."
"Really? Then that's a relief."
"But there is one small thing that nags at me..."
"Which is?"
I lowered my spoon into the soup and looked at her.
"The soul is a terribly fragile, sensitive thing. Even a small wound can change a person completely. You know that, yes?"
"Yeah, I know."
The soul. The word had existed on Earth too, but there it was a concept without substance. Here, though, things were different. Perhaps because this world ran on the logic of a fantasy, the soul truly existed. The easiest way for me to wrap my head around the idea was to substitute the word brain. The brain, after all, was a delicate organ—one small injury, one little bleed, and you could very well die. The soul was much the same.
"When I first examined you, there was a hole in your soul so enormous I could scarcely believe my eyes."
"...Wha—? Seriously? How am I even alive?"
Which was to say that, by Clarice's accounting, I had a gaping hole bored through my brain and was strolling around in perfect health regardless.
"I honestly couldn't tell you. The only hypothesis I can offer is that the blow landed somewhere that keeps working just fine even with a hole punched through it."
"...Oh. So that's why I'm fine?"
"I couldn't say. I can't be certain."
Can't be certain, she says. That's a chilling thing to hear from one's healer, Clarice. Remember what I said about picturing the soul as a brain? I'd heard that people who took wounds to the soul and recovered often came out the other side with drastically different personalities. And since they never noticed the change themselves, they'd just stare, baffled, at everyone around them who insisted they'd changed.
"Has anything about me changed, by any chance?"
I asked, throat tight as I swallowed.
"..."
Clarice went quiet. Something in the silence felt faintly flustered, so I tilted my head and studied her.
"...Now I understand why men hate hearing that question."
"Hm? What was that?"
She'd murmured it too low for me to catch, so I asked her to repeat it.
"Nothing at all. Nothing about you looks different to me right now. From what I can feel, you seem every bit your usual self, Unnie."
"Hmm... then I'm in the clear for now?"
Clarice was never one to sugarcoat a thing. So for the moment, I could rest easy.
"I'd say you can. But I'm only at your side a handful of days out of the year, so it would be wiser to ask the people of your own Order as well."
"How?"
"Just the way you did with me. 'Is there anything different about me?'"
"Got it."
Clarice wore a curiously impish expression as she said it, but I let it slide without a second thought.
"Once you've finished eating, will you come see the sights of Septimoa with me?"
"Hm? I'm game."
I accepted without a moment's hesitation. If I lingered inside the fortress, my odds of colliding with the saintesses of the Seven Great Orders as they arrived in a steady stream were uncomfortably high. Step outside, and my chances of running into those lunatic bitches dropped—excellent. And I'd get to spend the day with the beautiful Clarice—also excellent. Two birds with one stone; there wasn't a reason on earth to refuse.
"Aren't you eating, Clarice?"
"I already have. I called it breakfast, but it's already eleven in the morning."
"Wow, I really did sleep forever."
Meaning I had spent a full day and night doing nothing but lying in the healing chamber. And if I'd been shut away in there that long, the people of my Order had to have been worried sick.
"Did no one from my Order come by?"
"They did, in the evening. But I told them the treatment had ended successfully and that you'd fallen into a deep sleep while you recovered, and asked them not to disturb you—so they withdrew."
"Ah. I see."
In that case, there was no need to go hunting anyone down—I could simply head out and enjoy the day with Clarice. The old man would be buried up to his ears in council preparations anyway, and the paladins would be scattered far and wide, savoring their first free hours in ages. No point chasing after any of them. Come sundown they would all drift back inside the walls, and I could catch their faces then.
"Our Order is staying at Seori Palace, yes?"
"Yes, that's right."
"Lovely. Well then, since I've cleaned my plate—shall we be off?"
With a destination secured for the return trip, this was officially an outing. We could drop the tray at the kitchens on the way out.
And yet, something felt a little off.
"Clarice, are you sure you can go out without an escort?"
Unlike me, Clarice was short on combat ability, and an escort was forever attached to her side—a high-ranked paladin, no less. She was, after all, the cherished saintess of the Justitia Order.
Yet even after we stepped outside and covered a good stretch of corridor, no escort materialized—and there was no whiff of a tail shadowing us from the distance, either.
"What is there to fear when I have you, Unnie? Besides, this is Septimoa."
"Oh? And I'm the patient here, remember? You're the one who told me not to overdo it."
"What on earth could overwork you inside Septimoa?"
Fair point. If something ever forced me to draw Astra, that would be its own magnificent catastrophe. But one shouldn't be quite that certain of anything, Clarice. Who could have predicted I'd cross paths with Selenia, Legion Commander of Lust, on the road here?
"Come along, then. This unnie will keep you safe."
"Yes!"
Still, this was no sleepy backwater—this was Septimoa, teeming with high priests and paladins, with the full might of the Seven Great Orders gathered within its walls. Truly, nothing was going to happen. The most dangerous thing I could imagine was the chance of bumping into another saintess while wandering about. And what were the odds of that, in a Septimoa this vast?
Cradling those comforting thoughts, Clarice and I strolled out through the fortress gates.