Chapter 40: The Marquis of Saint-Pierre (1)
‘So that's what it was.’
Abel let out a sigh.
Konstanze's private spell, ‘The Endless Puppet Show’.
It was true that he had felt a question about it. Since it was a spell of an absurd scale.
Magic was not a miracle. It was close to a chemical reaction. Divine magic was a phenomenon that borrowed the power of the Pantheon with divine power as a medium, and elemental magic occurred when magic and spirits collided. If so, what was Konstanze's private spell being maintained at the cost of?
‘Was it everything of the caster.’
Not only magic, but also the whole of her body, and even her soul.
The real Konstanze must have been reduced to a living corpse. In a state where not only the dismantling of the spell, but even its control was impossible, she must just be prolonging her life by Iris's hand.
[I request once more.]
Konstanze's mouth opened.
For now, that is the main body. Abel judged so. Since it could control the other clones, and possessed the title of Vice President and the authority of the Theresia family.
[Please complete the qualification verification process.]
“Iris René von Orléans.”
Iris lit a match to her cigarette.
“The one who has received the right of control from your master.”
[Please wait a moment. I will check your iris.]
Konstanze looked up at Iris.
Iris's eyes twisted. Huu, and. The tobacco smoke that poured towards Konstanze. Konstanze wore a mechanical smile.
[Verified. Iris René von Orléans, the one who has been entrusted with full authority from my master.]
“I will now give you an order.”
[I will approve.]
Iris's head bent towards Konstanze.
Beyond the jet-black veil, Iris whispered with her eyes narrowed.
“You will sleep soundly for about three hours from now. The clones other than you will continue their missions. Erase the fact that I visited from your memory. Because I do not wish to be left in your mind.”
And also, and.
Iris continued.
“Be absolutely optimistic.”
[What should I be optimistic about?]
“Be optimistic about everything of yours. Erase from your mind the invasion of external forces, as well as the cause of trivial worries.”
A doll has no right to agonize.
Iris whispered so.
“You must be endlessly gentle, and sometimes naive. You must not be buried in political beliefs or struggles for interests. Remain a teacher who cherishes the children. That is the future my friend Konstanze von Theresia should have reached……. You are to concentrate only on performing that child's role. Do you understand?”
[Approved.]
Konstanze nodded her head.
[……Commencing reactivation.]
A moment of silence.
Soon, a focus was engraved in Konstanze's eyes, and,
“I……, ris?”
At the same moment she called out in a trembling voice,
“I am……, what on earth……”
──Koong!
Konstanze's body, collapsing onto the desk.
The quill pens and bundles of documents that had been flying around all sides settled down. A regular breathing sound, spreading in the silence. After confirming that Konstanze was asleep, Iris looked back at Abel.
“For what purpose.”
Abel asked in an indifferent tone.
“The reason for prolonging the Vice President's life. Is it to have her as a subordinate? Or is it because you do not want to accept the death of a close friend.”
“I wonder.”
Iris lifted her mesh veil.
A face without makeup. Iris's features, with her makeup removed, were as innocent as a Saintess's. But the cigarette stuck between her lips was steeped in the acridity of a noble.
“What does it look like to you? Tell me, Abel. For what purpose am I keeping Stanzi alive?”
“Either way, it doesn't matter.”
Because it's futile.
Abel muttered so.
“We are strangers. A handful of power, and a moment's memory, are just futile. You must know that as well. After we finish subjugating the Demon King, we must leave.”
To leave meant to die.
After the subjugation of the Demon King by ‘The Mother God's Right Hand’, ‘The Mother God's Left Hand’ would cast aside their bodies and leave for another world. Their life in Epezeria was just a fleeting journey. Countless worlds were waiting for Abel and Iris. That was why they had to be aware. Of their respective domains that would soon become empty.
Even if you hold onto power, only an empty throne will be left.
Even if you make a close friend, it will just leave you with a sense of loss.
“Stanzi is a special child to me. There's no need for that child, or this doll, to be with us.”
Iris took the cigarette with a burning ember.
She crushed the butt with her bare hand.
“At the same time, she is a useful tool. Since I have become able to handle the real power of CIAR as I please.”
“I suppose so. I have no intention of getting involved in your intentions.”
Abel shrugged his shoulders.
Then he whispered with his eyes narrowed.
“But you are……, deceiving yourself.”
Iris's expression sharpened.
What is that man trying to say. Iris thought, glaring at Abel. If I'm deceiving, what am I deceiving? Am I deceiving a noble as a Saintess? Or am I deceiving a Saintess as a noble?
“Are you always like that?”
Iris wore a smile.
It was a laugh that contained a clear provocation.
“Without any desire, you save countless worlds from the position of a stranger, and……, have you taught numerous disciples? Monika Lohengrin. You have no intention of becoming a new father to that child who has lost her parents, do you?”
“Monika is a child who knows how to cherish death. That child has no need for new parents.”
I am a mere teacher,
and there is no teacher who is with his disciple forever.
Hearing such words from Abel, Iris let out a sigh. What a blockheaded person. He's no different from an inanimate object. Iris thought, shaking her head. Following that, Iris's hand was held out to Abel. A magic circle appeared for a moment, and a carefully sealed letter was teleported.
“The imperial palace will be opened this weekend.”
Iris said to Abel, who was examining the letter.
“The big shots of the social world will gather, taking advantage of the banquet. You must come with me. His Majesty the Emperor has personally invited you.”
“……I am not inclined.”
Abel's eyebrows twisted slightly.
The social world. Does he mean I have to wiggle my butt with the nobles?
When he opened the letter, two letters were tied together. One was a perfunctory invitation. The names of the distinguished guests scheduled to visit were written on it. The other letter was a personal letter from the emperor. Sentences conveying his regards were listed, but it was not difficult to guess his intention. The invasion incident that had occurred a while ago. A discussion about that must be the business.
“Please bring Monika too. She's a child who will become a Hero in the future, how can she not know the state of the social world? That child must learn how to overwhelm the nobles.”
And also, and.
Iris said, fumbling in her overcoat.
“You must have confirmed it, right? The oracle from the Pantheon.”
A journal was held in Iris's hand.
It was different from Abel's. A neat shape, not old. The patterns decorating the cover of the journal were sparkling with moonlight.
“The Execution of the God Forged from Lies. It is our new mission.”
Abel nodded his head.
Though the content of the oracle was unclear, Abel and Iris were sharing a hypothesis based on experience. A creation who wishes to become a god himself. Or a creation who tries to create a god. A creation who desires the power of the main gods. They had faced such cases countless times.
When compared to the civilization of Epezeria,
there was only one group that could have the preceding examples as their objective.
‘It must be the apostates.’
Abel was certain, examining the list of distinguished guests.
In the center of the invitation, a certain name stood out.
Deserick de Saint-Pierre.
The marquis of the north, the man who had made the corpses of knights into weapons.
* * *
Dawn, the Crimson Whale Building of Cia-Harphe Academy.
While the autumn wind shook the blackout curtains,
<My lady, the coffee is ready.>
Alberge said, holding a teapot.
An apron decorated his body, which was nothing but bones. An apron with a rich floral embroidery that stood out. It was an item that Fleur had chosen herself.
“Thank you, Sir Alberge.”
Fleur held out a porcelain coffee cup. Fragrant coffee poured out from the tilted teapot. Cold brew coffee made from southern beans. After taking a sip of it, Fleur looked down at the table.
Between the plates of breakfast, a pile of mail was stacked.
Most of it was nothing but kindling. Fleur, as an Evangelist, was a celebrity within CIAR, and there were plenty of students who wished for her friendship. There were not a few boys who sent her love letters.
The boys' sentences were endlessly naive. Your hair is a flower petal woven from frost. I wish to slide on it. Fleur snorted. She folded the love letter, written in clumsy handwriting, any which way.
<How stark.>
Meanwhile, Alberge said, sitting across from Fleur.
<This is like the catacomb of the Naflansee Grand Cathedral.>
“Is that so?”
Fleur looked around.
Indeed, there was some truth to Alberge's words. The inside of Fleur's dormitory was full of the dead. Knights with only bones left were wearing armor, and were staring at a distant place with a vacant glint in their eyes. Their reason had been gone for a long time. It wasn't that their instincts were left either. They were moving through their souls.
“But even so……”
Tuk, and.
The sound of a coffee cup hitting a saucer.
“It feels bad to just keep them locked up in a pocket dimension. I want to show them the sunlight sometimes.”
<My lady, the dead do not feel this world.>
Alberge's glint of light narrowed.
It was an expression as if he were wearing a smiling eye.
<It's been a long time since we've been unrelated to the physiology of feeling restless if we don't bask in the sunlight, and feeling refreshed only after breathing in the clear air.>
“I know.”
Fleur rolled up her left sleeve.
The knife marks lined up on her wrist. They were thin and at the same time, neat. It was a Stigmata, drawn to achieve the Resuscitation Ceremony. She had made a contract with the God of the Underworld, ‘Aries’, around the age of ten, and Fleur had faced countless dead people. Most of them were staying in Fleur's pocket dimension.
“How about we think of it as a kind of funeral custom?”
Fleur stroked Lisian.
The dog's skeleton, crouching on her thigh, was cold.
“The living are usually like that, aren't they. They want to show respect to the dead. They observe the funeral procedures regardless of status, and without discriminating against race.”
<I respect your intention, my lady. But this Alberge Hildeberg. I do not think there is a need to show respect to the dead. Not as a living person, but as one of the dead.>
Alberge slowly turned his head.
He stared at the group of students who were on their way to school, outside the window.
<……My son must also be at an age where he should be concentrating on his studies by now.>
“That can't be. He's already on the verge of his coming-of-age.”
Fleur fumbled on the table.
She popped a grape into her mouth and her eyes shone. A piece of paper captured in her lake-like gaze. The phrase written on it, ‘Yesterday Clairvoyance - Abel Argento Special’, was distinct.
“Your son is on the verge of graduating from Krisaor Academy. He's active as the student council president. He said he wanted to become a great knight like his father.”
<Hmph.>
Alberge, who was snorting.
<That fellow will surpass me already. He is not a talent to remain a mere knight. He was fumbling with a wooden sword since he was a newborn baby.>
“Don't you want to meet him?”
<The dead should be silent.>
To appear before my son in this state would just be disgusting.
Alberge muttered so. It had been 4 years since his death notice had been delivered to his family, and it was a time when he should rightfully be forgotten. That was what Alberge thought.
Fleur understood Alberge's position. Though death was a deep scar at first glance, even such a scar was bound to fade with the power of time. Alberge's son was living bravely. Though he had not yet forgotten his dead father, he had become able to live while pretending to have forgotten. It was the result of Fleur's checking from time to time.
‘By the way…….’
Fleur examined ‘Yesterday Clairvoyance’.
‘What kind of person is Professor Argento.’
An article about Abel was decorating the table of contents. It was a composition faithful to the subtitle of a special issue. A dialogue written by the editor-in-chief who led the CIAR school newspaper, Joshua Readmore, was also included.
「Behold, Abel Argento is a Sword Saint.」
- Abel Argento. There will be no student at Cia-Harphe Academy who does not know that name. Since he was the man who had resolved the unexplained invasion incident that had occurred about a month ago.
Recently, a strange rumor has been circulating at Cia-Harphe Academy. It was that Professor Argento might be a Sword Saint.
‘Yesterday Clairvoyance’ does not turn a blind eye to the curiosity of its readers. The editor-in-chief requested an interview with Professor Argento, and asked a question to find out the truth of the rumor. The following is a summary of the questions and answers that went back and forth between the editor-in-chief and Professor Argento.
Readmore: Hello.
Argento: Hello. It's a pleasure to meet you. Thank you for inviting me.
Readmore: It has been a month since you were appointed as a professor. May I ask for your thoughts?
Argento: I enjoy teaching the students. I like children very much.
Readmore: To cut to the chase, I will ask. Professor Argento, are you a Sword Saint?
Argento: I am not a Sword Saint. I know that I am strong. It is all thanks to a fairy. I received my strength from a fairy when I was young. It is something I am very grateful for.
“……What is this?”
Fleur tilted her head.
The content was poor compared to the provocative title. It was even moronic. As if to supplement this, an image of Abel with an innocent smile appeared at the top of the paper.
“A Sword Saint……”
Professor Argento is a Sword Saint?
Fleur shrugged her shoulders. In the first place, did a Sword Saint even exist? Though it wasn't as absurd as a Hero, a Sword Saint was also a being whose existence was doubted. Joshua Readmore. For what purpose did that slick senior write an article like this?
<How strange.>
Meanwhile, Alberge let out a laugh.
<That man……, his face is young, but his expression is like that of an old veteran.>
“He's smiling foolishly, though?”
<The muscles of the face do not matter. A knight reveals his inner thoughts with his whole body.>
“Mmm……”
Fleur nodded her head.
“He's not someone who makes that kind of expression in reality. He's the type who doesn't show his emotions much.”
<That must be so. I would like to have a bout with him once.>
Is it the competitive spirit between knights?
Fleur pursed her lips. In the case of Alberge, he was particularly unique among the dead who followed Fleur. Since he had maintained his complete reason until now.
Life is a mixture of body and soul. If one of them were to collapse, an abnormality was bound to occur. The time that one could maintain their ego while being dead was just over a year. The dead who filled the dormitory, Alberge, and even Lisian, had accepted the contract knowing that fact.
‘The reason why Sir Alberge was able to maintain his ego is…….’
Is it because of his obsession?
Fleur guessed, propping her chin on her hand. She still didn't know for sure. Everyone here must be sharing an obsession.
<But more than that, my lady.>
Suddenly, Alberge held out his hand.
He rummaged through ‘Yesterday Clairvoyance’ and dispatched an article.
<This article is……, about the girl I saw before.>
“……What?”
Fleur's eyes widened.
At the top of the paper, Monika's form appeared.
「The Special Scholarship Student of the Department of Theology Saves a Boy in Crisis.」
- Monika Lohengrin (Department of Theology) saved Dante Marchisio (Department of Swordsmanship). It is known that Dante Marchisio was deluded by a weapon of unclear origin.
(Detailed news will be published in the next issue.)
The content of the truly shabby article.
That was enough. Fleur's lips curved into a fresh smile. The descending sunlight decorated the smile that Fleur wore.
‘It was worth reporting after all.’
Around the time ‘Yesterday Clairvoyance’ was investigating Abel, Fleur steadfastly requested an article related to Monika. She had sent dozens of proposals, changing her identity and handwriting. Though she had received a reply that it lacked topicality, she did not mind. She had used a great number of threatening letters, and so, the article could be published.
<That girl is…….>
Alberge looked up at Monika's form.
<……I heard she is a native of Sarrifis. Is that correct?>
“Yes. She is the only survivor of that place.”
<How unexpected. The young lady's father is one who does not leave a trace.>
“Isn't it like a miracle?”
To think she survived. From my father.
Fleur whispered so. The word miracle just had a vague meaning, but the form of Monika visible before her was so very clear. That is why it is rare. It is special. It is like a miracle……. One of Fleur's cheeks flushed red.
<I do not believe in miracles, but…….>
Alberge pushed through the gap in the mail.
Following that, a letter was held out to Fleur. It was none other than one delivered from the imperial palace.
<Please read this. Your belief will become even more firm, my lady.>
Fleur opened the letter. The trace of it being opened was clear. Had Alberge checked it beforehand? It was fine either way. Since it was nothing more than an invitation announcing the opening of the imperial palace. It was just written to ask her to attend the banquet as a distinguished guest.
But it was questionable. The invitation must have been delivered a few days ago, so why was another letter delivered? It was not difficult to guess the intention. The names of the distinguished guests scheduled to attend, a new name was among them.
‘Abel Argento…….’
And Monika Lohengrin.
Koong, and. Fleur stood up, kicking her chair. She crossed the living room, holding Lisian in her arms. It was to check the clothes stored in the dress room.
‘This doesn't suit.’
She cleared away a ball gown, and,
‘An overdress with a hemmed skirt…….’
No, this doesn't suit that child either.
Fleur let out a sigh. She brushed her forehead, disheveling her clothes. Sharp amber eyes, black hair cut short at the shoulders, and a body as white and slender as a birch branch. She tried to find clothes that would suit Monika's appearance. It must be, it will surely be necessary.
<My lady.>
At that moment, Alberge, who had been leaning against the doorframe, spoke.
<Monika Lohengrin……, that girl will hate you.>
She will be scared. At the same time, she will be disgusted.
As if looking at a bug. No, as if facing all the malice in this world.
Hearing such words from Alberge, Fleur wore a smile.
“I know, Sir Alberge.”
A light reply.
Fleur looked back at Alberge.
“That doesn't matter. Monika needs me.”
Pitiful, and frail, and so very easy to break…….
Because I am the only one who can help such a Monika.
Fleur believed so without a doubt.