SomaRead | How to Teach a Hero at the Academy

Chapter 21: The Grand Cathedral (2)

The eyes of the main gods are on every ceiling of the cathedral.

It was said that the five main gods sat around the platinum round table and looked down upon the world. The cathedral was a structure built to face them. Beyond the outer walls that overused curves, an engraving symbolizing the gaze of the main gods was etched into the concave ceilings.

Then what is on the floor of the cathedral?

There was a round table.

The deepest part of the Naflansee Grand Cathedral's catacomb.

Just before his professor interview at CIAR, Abel had a reunion with the Pope there.

A serene round table placed in the center of a weathered space.

The Pope, sitting on it, was swinging their legs.

The Pope's appearance was unmistakably that of a young girl. The echoing voice was innocent and naive, and the figure beyond the unadorned white habit was small. But beyond the Robe that covered the Pope's head, only a deep abyss was present.

It wasn't that their face was covered by the hem of their clothes. Not a single strand of hair, not a single breath was revealed. A black color, as if expensive paint had been squeezed out and layered over and over. Only a faint smoke rose from within.

<Speak. My shadow, Abel of the Margin.>

The Pope said, crossing their legs.

“It is to teach the child who will become the Hero.”

Abel replied in a calm tone.

High-ranking priests, who had washed their bodies with holy water, stood beside Abel. They began to dismantle Abel's armor with wet hands. A Plate Armor made of high-purity platinum, so large it rivaled a Magic Arms. It was a ceremonial armor made to be bestowed upon a Sword Saint.

<Yes……, you certainly said that.>

The Pope's head bent languidly.

“That must have been so.”

“I believe so.”

“Your Holiness's words must be right.”

Abel's armor was completely dismantled.

Beyond the helmet that concealed not only the color of his eyes, but also his voice,

Abel wore a faint smile.

“Time is certainly like a thousand pounds. In a little over 10 years, my height, which had to be compared to Your Holiness's, has grown so much. But when compared to the life I have consumed while traversing other worlds……”

10 years mean nothing to me.

Abel muttered so.

<Indeed. It must be so for you.>

The Pope's laughter was heard from beyond the expressionless robe. The Pope lightly came down from the round table and stepped towards Abel. Small, slender hands revealed from within the sleeves of the habit. They were thoroughly black. Those two hands wrapped around Abel's arms.

“It is 96.”

It will soon be 97, and.

Abel said, looking back at the retreating high-ranking priests.

<That's a number so large it makes my head spin.>

Strength entered the Pope's hands, which were holding Abel's arms.

A silence that followed.

The Pope, who had been staring at Abel, finally,

<──This is fun!>

Their body shook with a cheerful laugh.

<It's fun, it's fun, it's fun! To think I won't be able to hear more of your stories, it's sad. But I know when to let go. If I were the emperor and not the Pope, I would have tied you up tightly and pestered you to spill your stories.>

It would take a very huge rope, wouldn't it?

Because it won't be easy to tie you down.

The Pope muttered, nodding their head.

Abel's arms slipped from the Pope's grasp.

After stroking his arms, which were tinged with a faint coldness, Abel knelt on one knee before the Pope.

“I will not be able to see you for a while.”

“I know you are not one to do so. Because you have neither blood nor tears.”

<Goodness. What on earth do you think of me?>

The Pope crossed their arms as if sulking.

Either way is fine, and, after chattering,

The Pope placed their right hand on Abel's head.

The Pope's small whisper.

“I do not know.”

I was certain that you, were mad.

The Pope's whisper echoed in Abel's ear.

A hollow smile hung on Abel's lips.

Lifting his bowed head, Abel looked up at the Pope.

“You did not believe my words back then.”

You are mad.

You can't help but be mad.

Even if you weren't mad, that itself would be nothing more than madness.

The Pope asserted so.

“Do you still consider me a madman now.”

<Rather, it has become firm.>

The Pope's young voice sank affectionately.

Born to save one world,

And dying right after saving one world.

You, who have repeated being born and dying to the point of a hundred times,

You don't think you're in your right mind, do you?

<So, my poor child, I wanted to take care of you.>

Because you cannot be healed, and cannot rest.

Because you have gone mad to an extent that cannot be fathomed by anything.

The Pope's head, who had been whispering so, bent beside Abel's.

The Pope's hand was withdrawn, and Abel stood up.

“As Your Holiness said, I am a mere madman.”

Abel whispered, blinking his lusterless blackish-blue eyes.

“A madman like me……”

In any world,

Will surely not exist.

* * *

The central corridor of the Naflansee Grand Cathedral.

While five-colored curves decorated the surroundings,

“……I didn't know there was a back door.”

The believers were lining up in front of the main gate…….

Monika muttered, looking up at the indefinitely high ceiling.

The gazes of the five main gods engraved on the highest wall. To Monika, they seemed like mere shapes drawn by a narcissistic artist. As someone who had no occasion to visit a cathedral, even the symbols of the Naflansee Grand Cathedral felt merely consumptive.

“It is a door installed for the clerics and holy knights.”

Abel said, walking ahead indifferently.

“This place is a space prepared for the believers, but it is also the base of the clerics and holy knights who are active in the capital. That is why a separate entrance where a crowd does not gather has been made.”

Abel's shoe-clad feet stopped.

Turning his back, Abel met Monika's eyes.

Monika's shoulders flinched at the silent gaze directed at her.

Meanwhile, the whispers that had been roving around began to spread like a stench.

- Goodness, look over there. That child……

- Don't look. It's nauseating.

- To set foot in this place with such a filthy body, the main gods will be enraged.

- Mom, that sister's one arm is strange.

- It's because she committed a great sin in her past life. The main gods have punished her.

A smile mixed with resignation graced Monika's lips. The gazes of those walking through the central corridor were directed at Monika. A sharp displeasure was steeped in every voice, regardless of noble or commoner, old or young.

Monika fumbled in her uniform's inner pocket with a calm expression. Just as she was about to take out a crumpled glove and put it on her prosthetic arm,

“What should I do, Monika.”

Abel's voice was heard.

“I can pick one of them and shame them. I can also laugh heartily at their futile faith. I can aim my sword at those who insult your arm, and I can also press my authority as a Holy Knight.”

To get out of here right now.

I can force them to do so.

Abel listed only the facts in a toneless intonation. They were all things that could be realized without much difficulty. Abel's slightly hardened expression was as hazy as usual, but in his half-open blackish-blue eyes, a thinly honed concern was steeped.

Monika's lips, which had noticed that, stirred, but soon hardened into a wordless smile.

“I can do anything to prevent them from insulting you. But I don't know if that will be a comfort to you. That is why I asked.”

How can I help you, and.

At Abel's question, which was offered once more,

“You can just stay still.”

Monika answered lightly.

As she was, she put the glove into her inner pocket and took a step towards Abel.

“But please walk a little slower. Your stride is too wide, Teacher. It's hard to keep up.”

“I apologize.”

A faint smile circulated on Abel's expression.

“It seems I was in too much of a hurry.”

The two crossed the central corridor of the Naflansee Grand Cathedral. Finally, they reached the entrance of the catacomb. In front of the giant iron door, surrounded by several layers, faceless golems were lined up, guarding the entrance from general believers.

Abel submitted his certificate of qualification to a golem standing nearby. The catacombs provided in each cathedral had functioned for a purpose befitting their name until 5 centuries ago, but in the current era where the purification of corpses has become easier, they had long lost their role as tombs.

[Verification complete.]

The golem's hand that had been on the certificate was withdrawn.

A magic circle engraved on its palm. It had read the magic preserved in the document through it.

[Abel Argento, of ‘Unviewable’, belonging to ‘Access Forbidden’, ‘Information Expunged’, welcome to the Naflansee Grand Cathedral.]

“I would have sent a request form needed for facility use. Are the preparations complete.”

[They are. All facilities have been prepared in the ‘Desire Age’ section.]

The golem gestured towards the iron door. The sound of complex mechanical devices engaging. The entrance of the heavily protected catacomb opened, revealing an elevator that seemed to be at least a hundred years old.

‘He's completely different from Mr. Fabien.’

Monika thought, passing by the golem. Even though they were both golems, he had no eyes, nose, or mouth, and his voice was nothing more than a mechanical sound. Not even a slight sign of life could be felt.

And so, the elevator that began to head downwards.

Abel leaned his back against the wall. He brushed off the cobwebs from his formal coat and looked at Monika. Monika was feeling the depth of the catacomb, gripping the iron bars. She seemed overwhelmed at first glance.

The catacomb of the Naflansee Grand Cathedral had shared time with the capital since the moment it was designated. The historicity steeped in the historic buildings that made up the capital indicated the accumulation of life, and the historicity steeped in the cathedral's catacomb asserted the buried death.

The sarcophagi that sealed the corpses became countless and turned into a labyrinth,

And the depth of the stairs, classified according to each era, was endless.

“This is the base.”

At Abel's words, Monika's ears perked up.

“In the distant past, corpses could only be purified in a cathedral. That is why they designed a catacomb and buried them. It's different now.”

The process of purifying corpses has been simplified.

It was thanks to the development of the Mana Engine. After magic was supplied to the lives of the public, corpses could be purified at any time as long as one purchased a scroll with a spell written on it. The existence of evil spirits dwelling in unpurified corpses had become rare long ago. The catacombs of each cathedral came to be used as the bases for clerics and holy knights.

“So you lived in a place similar to mine.”

Monika said, looking back at Abel.

The funeral home in the slums.

Monika was recalling that place.

“Did you also eat……, and sleep where the corpses stayed, Teacher?”

“I cannot eat and cannot sleep.”

“What?”

A question crossed Monika's expression.

Abel, who had not noticed it, continued.

“In the first place, a Sword Saint cannot stay in one place for long. Because they had to secretly carry out the missions given by the Pope. Other than high-ranking priests, those who know my identity are also rare.”

But……, that's right, and.

Muttering, Abel stroked the hilt of his beloved sword.

The weapons of his dead comrades.

Abel was recalling them.

“Staying by the side of corpses is the same for me as well.”

Monika quietly looked at Abel.

That person's inner thoughts are impossible to fathom. His expression is unchanging as if it were taxidermied, but sometimes he looks sad and sometimes he looks kind. Just like a golem.

But, and it's a very natural thing to say, Teacher Abel is not a golem. A golem is completed by adding a mana reactor to a mineral given elasticity. If so, what is Teacher Abel being operated by? For some reason, it doesn't seem like it would be blood and flesh. In the midst of the silence, Monika conceded.

‘I must be…….’

Trusting the inhuman part of my teacher.

Not only did he not consider a one-armed body to be ominous, but he also suddenly appeared and changed the direction of her life. It's too gracious to be the will of a mere human. It might be more correct to consider him a god instead.

Monika's mouth, which had been thinking so, opened, and……,

“Teacher Abel, I……”

A voice shot out as if being thrown up. As if being made to mumble towards the statue of a main god.

“I……, very occasionally, you see.”

I feel like I'm nothing but a shell.

My existence, that is.

Monika whispered, gripping her prosthetic arm.

“The moment Sarrifis disappeared due to the forbidden spell, I reached out my right arm towards my mother. That was why. My right arm entered the area of influence of the forbidden spell, and was cut off as it was.”

But……,

but, you see.

“What if it wasn't that I lost my right arm, but that my right arm lost me?”

I have such thoughts sometimes, Teacher.

The meaning of the words ‘to have lost a part of the body’ is……, well. It would depend on where one considers the origin of that body to be. People consider it to be the head. The origin of the body, that is. Or the heart. Or both. If one could prolong their life even with only the head and heart remaining, it would be considered that they had only lost most of their body, not their existence.

So, I lost my right arm.

I am considered a person who has lost their right arm.

“But sometimes……”

I feel as if the origin of my body was neither the head nor the heart,

but just my right arm.

My right arm, which was trying to hold onto my mother,

that itself……,

“I feel as if it was my existence……, my everything.”

The Monika Lohengrin standing before you, Teacher, is a fake.

In other words, a shell, a severed body, a lost thing.

The real Monika Lohengrin died with her mother.

If so……,

“It sounds like the thought of a mad person, doesn't it?”

It's just a mere right arm.

Please forget it.

Saying so, Monika bowed her head.

“That is not so.”

Abel took Monika's prosthetic arm.

The warmth that made up Abel's hand seeped into the surface of the prosthetic arm. Even so, it could not be felt by Monika. Abel thought it didn't matter.

“Because what you lost was so precious, it's natural to suspect if it was your everything. It's not wrong. You are not mad.”

A severed right arm. A mother she wanted to reach. And a father. The scenery that made up her hometown. The names of countless people. The suspicion that all of that was everything that made up Monika Lohengrin. Abel asserted that it was all reasonable.

“But all of that cannot be your everything. For now, my words probably won't reach you. I know that well too.”

“I understand it with my head. It's just that sometimes……, sometimes my heart cannot accept it.”

“That's a relief.”

“A relief……, you say?”

At the same time as Monika's gaze widened with question,

──Deolkeong, and.

The sound of the elevator stopping.

A staircase made of worn-out sarcophagi was revealed. A place where the dead from the point in time named the Desire Age, several centuries ago, were buried. A section used for the interrogation of apostates in the present day. Abel stepped forward, gripping the hilt of his beloved sword.

“What do you mean, a relief?”

Monika's question followed Abel.

“What you have lost is only a very small part."

Abel said, tilting his head at an angle.

“Only when you truly realize that fact will you stand at the crossroads of a madman.”

Abel knew.

The jocular mage Leon Baibars, the noble inspector Vanessa Spencer, the cool-headed strategist Maurice de Olfrange, and the endlessly lovely saintess Ion Blanche.

They could not be everything that made up Abel's existence. No matter what precious thing was lost, as time passed, it would just be reduced to a memory that was easy to forget. Losing those who were like his own life did not mean his own breath would be cut.

“So you can rest assured, Monika. You are normal because you do not know the futility of what is lost. A madman is different. They know. Because they know, they wander, struggle, and writhe."

The weapons of his comrades, withered like a shrunken ruin.

Like a tombstone. The body surrounded by it is a so-called cemetery, and the endlessly repeated life and death are merely forced.

That was why it was inevitable. To have set out on a wandering path to insist that the existence of his comrades was not in vain.

“I will not let you become like that.”

Abel showed a faint smile.

Monika Lohengrin. The child who will become the Hero of Epezeria.

That child had not learned what she should have learned, and had learned prematurely what she could have learned much later.

Even Aura was like that. The pinnacle that could be achieved as a Holy Knight. While she was born with it, she lacked the basics of swordsmanship. That was the most trivial part of the problems inherent in Monika. The most severe difficult problem was none other than……,

‘She learned death too early.’

The experience of watching others die, and the experience of almost reaching death, were things she should not have known at a young age. She should have learned life first. In a time when she should have been cherishing her parents, sometimes having friction, finding someone to share friendship with, and contemplating how to get along with the world……,

‘You have lost everything.’

So I must teach her.

How to live. How to enjoy an education befitting her age, make friends, and get along well with this world. That is why I took measures to make her a scholarship student at CIAR.

‘You must walk a different path from me.’

Only those who know the beauty of life are calm in the face of death.

Abel did not know that. That was why he was prolonging his life.

Just as he was about to take a step between the graves,

“Um……, Teacher Abel?”

Monika's voice, as if she had eaten fear.

And at the same time,

──Kwaang!

An explosion that echoed.

Abel quickly turned his body. He rolled his eyes to understand the situation. A moment was enough. The cannon barrel revealed as Monika's prosthetic arm opened. A magic bullet fired. Did it react to the apostates trapped here? With a small question, Abel reached out his hand.

The magic bullet caught in Abel's hand.

He concentrated Aura at his fingertips and disintegrated it.

While the powdered magic bullet scattered,

“W, what on earth is this?”

Beyond the thick dust, Monika's dazed face was revealed.

“My prosthetic arm opened its mouth! Could it be that the Porginay has come back to life……”

“Rest assured. It just operated a bit sensitively.”

“Sensitively……, just operated?”

Monika's eyebrows trembled.

“What on earth did you do? Please tell me the truth.”

“I didn't do it.”

The Duke of Orléans did it, and.

Abel shrugged his shoulders and told the truth, but,

“Idiot, idiot, idiot!”

Monika shrieked.

“Stop telling lies that won't even work! You might as well say that the Duke of Orléans is a berserker who fights with a giant mace!”

“The Duke of Orléans enjoys using a mace. She's not a berserker, but she fights in a more intense way than a berserker. And above all, she's a saintess from another world……”

“Oh my, as if!”

This, this damned thing……, why won't it close!

Monika clenched her teeth and shouted. She pressed down on the cover of the cannon barrel with her left hand and a vein popped on her neck.

‘In any case……, it's a relief.’

Since I've gotten the chance to explain the functions of the prosthetic arm.

Thinking so, Abel approached Monika.

“Monika, what I will teach you today is……”

Cheolkeok, and.

Abel whispered, closing the cover of the cannon barrel.

“About combat using this prosthetic arm.”

“Crazy……, madman……, you're crazy……, the worst……, I can't understand……”

Monika's eyes welled up with a fed-up expression.

“Calm down and listen to me.”

“Go ahead and try saying it!”

“This prosthetic arm will be helpful in protecting your body. Besides the cannon barrel that fires a magic bullet, various functions are installed. The first function among them is……”

“Stop! That's enough!”

“Didn't you tell me to say it.”

“──That's enough, so please just be quiet!”

Monika's shout wrinkled the vast stone cave.