Chapter 44: The Marquis Saint-Pierre (5)
“Your, Your Highness Orléans…….”
Monika, who had been hesitating, opened her mouth.
“Are you telling me to eat all of this by myself?”
“Of course.”
Iris nodded her head.
A private room in the Brilliant Sun Royal Palace. A banquet was laid out on the vast table. It was the food Iris had requested from the attendants.
Is this a form of torture popular in the capital? It looked like it would take at least three people to finish. Looking down at the table, Monika thought. It was filled with countless dishes whose names she didn't know. Not knowing what to eat first, nor even how to eat them, Monika clutched her water glass.
“You were with Zylon. Did he, by any chance, try to harm you.”
“No…….”
At Iris's question, Monika shook her head.
“Not at all. He said he came to offer his apologies and thanks. He apologized for insulting me, and expressed his gratitude for saving Senior Dante.”
“I see. And what did you do?”
“……I accepted them.”
“Well done.”
Iris’s lips parted slightly.
A sigh followed. Monika recalled the insults that had passed between Drogo and Iris. Were the Zylon and Orléans families on bad terms? Wondering this, she swallowed a mouthful of water.
“Drogo is not an evil person.”
On the other hand, Iris's explanation was unexpected.
“He is foolish and narrow-minded, and while he may screech and shout, he knows how to apologize for his mistakes and express his gratitude. Do not hate him too much. Compared to the other Directors, he is an innocent one.”
“……You don't dislike him, Your Highness Zylon?”
Monika asked.
On the surface of the water that filled the glass, Monika’s pensive expression wavered.
“How could I possibly dislike him.”
Iris let out a hollow laugh.
“Konstanze von Theresia. And also, Drogo von Babenberg le Zylon. The two of them are my schoolmates. All three of us graduated from CIAR. We spent all our time together, sharing a friendship. Among them, if I were to speak of Drogo…….”
Once, he was in love with me.
Iris whispered so.
“In love……, you say?”
“Yes. A man like a wild beast whispered his affection to me. His face flushed like a ripe fruit, his hand clutching a bouquet trembling. It’s a memory from the distant past, but it’s as vivid as if it were yesterday. Drogo surely hasn't forgotten it either. Though for that man, it must have become a memory that makes him want to tear up his blankets.”
“Why did your relationship turn sour? His Highness Zylon hurled insults at Your Highness Orléans…….”
“Calling me a kin-slayer. A fox of the capital. You mean those childish, tantrum-like insults?”
That much is fine.
Drogo held back a lot.
According to Iris's explanation, that was how it was.
The prince of the snowy mountains, a descendant of the barbarians who protect the perennial snow.
Unlike his upright title, the Zylon family had a history of humiliation. In the first place, the word barbarian did not actually exist. It was simply a word used to refer to savages. The northernmost part of Epezeria, a wild land that had not even taken the form of a nation. Zylon was a clan from the tribal society that ruled that place.
In other words, they were prey.
The imperial army that advanced to the north slaughtered the natives. The corpses thrown into the river blocked the current, and the embers that rose from the gaps in the heavy snow incinerated a handful of civilization. Thus, the north became the empire's territory. The Zylon family, who came to govern it, obtained the authority of a duke, but for a long time, they were scorned as a savage clan and remained isolated.
“Do you understand, Monika.”
Iris poured black tea into a teacup.
“It was all led by the Orléans family.”
The expedition to the north was commanded by an ancestor of Orléans.
And so, Monika understood. Because Drogo had said it; Zylon knew.
That there are grudges that cannot be resolved with an apology.
That there are adversaries from whom one must refuse gratitude.
“We were like water and oil from the start. The foolish Drogo learned of his family's history belatedly, and he became a man who was in love with me and hated me at the same time.”
“……I see.”
Monika nodded her head.
A silver spoon scraped against the bowl. Rolling the apple soup in her mouth, Monika observed Iris's face, tinged by the sunlight.
‘Even while talking about such things……, she shows no emotion at all.’
If Drogo, despite being a duke, had a liberal disposition, Iris’s demeanor seemed to be the epitome of a noble. A firm gaze, a heavy tone. Even as she leaned back in the armchair in an arrogant posture, a sharp spirit enveloped her entire body.
“My, my.”
Iris moistened her lips with black tea.
“You’re thinking that I don’t show my emotions.”
“……How did you know?”
“Well, now.”
Clink.
The sound of the teacup being placed on its saucer.
“There are various ways to gain insight into another's inner thoughts. First, there is conjecture. Even baseless predictions can become a conversational skill if trained endlessly. There might also be a way to use magic. To take divine magic as an example…….”
Iris placed an index finger on her temple.
She tilted her head to one side, feigning contemplation.
“……That’s right. There is a spell that visualizes the heart and shows it as an image. And what about the warlocks of the apostates? They manipulate others' minds as they please. But you can rest assured, Monika. I did not use magic on you.”
So, let me ask, she said.
Iris spoke as she stirred her black tea with a teaspoon.
“Do you know about the Saintess.”
“The Saintess……, you say?”
There was no way she wouldn't know.
The Saintess was a creature that all the Main Gods watched over.
If the Pope symbolized the authority of the Platinum Round Table Orthodoxy, the Saintess represented its doctrines. Religion is a system that preaches both the consolidation of power and its dismantlement. Therefore, there were frequent records of the Pope and the Saintess confronting each other, and there were also cases where the Papacy itself suppressed a Saintess.
The birth of a Saintess acts as a turning point of an era.
One Saintess stood on the battlefield. Holding not a sword but a flag, she ended the years of war not through conflict but through dialogue.
One Saintess fought against an epidemic. After carving the tumors of all the subjects onto her own body, she threw herself into the sea, martyring herself along with the disease.
The last recorded Saintess existed a thousand years ago. The woman who ended the age of witches. Records were passed down of the Saintess who righted the Empire that had been bewitched by black magic, and then suddenly disappeared.
“And also, as far as I know…….”
Monika put a piece of lamb steak in her mouth.
“……I heard that she will one day embark on a journey with the Hero. To complete the subjugation of the Demon King.”
“The Hero?”
Iris tilted her head.
Hero. The sight of her referring to herself with an honorific was, in a way, adorable. It must have been because she learned of the Hero's prophecy through fairy tales.
Has Abel not told her the truth yet? Wondering so, Iris swallowed her black tea. No. That couldn't be. Considering Abel's personality, it was obvious that he had stated it so matter-of-factly that he wasn't believed.
‘That man would be nonchalant even if the world were to end tomorrow.’
Monika and Abel were different. Somewhere on the high staircase, if Abel had reached the top, Monika had only just taken her first step. Accepting one’s destiny required composure. ‘The Mother God's Left Hand’ must exist for that purpose.
“In any case, Monika.”
Iris wore a smile.
“Saintesses can wield miracles.”
They wield miracles, not might or magic.
Iris whispered so.
“They can transfer another's wounds to their own body, and they can foresee the future or transfer their consciousness to the middle of the past. Of course, the miracles that each Saintess can perform are different. Still, if there is one thing in common…….”
Yes. That's right.
When gentle souls like you stand beside them,
It is being able to help them confess their inner thoughts……,
“……I suppose?”
──Pzzzt!
Above Iris’s head, a halo unfolded.
‘……What is that?’
Monika’s gaze tilted toward the halo. A radiance seeped into her amber eyes. So it’s good. It feels good. Monika thought that she felt indescribably unburdened. It was as if a gentle touch was unraveling her brain, and a smile spread across her lips. An unknown sense of elation dominated her mind.
And thus, her true feelings were revealed. Monika’s precocious expression had, at some point, become like that of her peers.
“Monika.”
“Yes!”
At Iris's call, Monika answered vigorously.
“Please eat at ease. You are severely thin. It should be a time for you to grow strong and tall…….”
“Teacher Abel said something like that too. I'm a little worried. Because Teacher will be concerned.“
Monika’s utensils moved busily. Unbound by etiquette, not wary of Iris, Monika began to eat in a comfortable posture.
“How is life at CIAR?”
“It’s great!”
I……, I mean, you know.
Monika said, munching on chiffon cake.
“I never imagined it. That I would become a student at CIAR…….”
“I see. Are you happy to be a student?”
“I think so. I’ve made friends, and my bed has become comfortable. Sometimes, Teacher Abel makes me laugh. A few days ago, you see. I went to register a weapon and was treated like a smuggler.”
“……It must have been chaotic.”
Iris let out a sigh.
To think she had difficulties even in the process of registering a weapon. A dry laugh rose up.
It wasn't that she didn't trust Abel. It was the opposite. Compared to the other ‘Mother God's Left Hands’, Abel was honest. And strong at the same time. Even if all the ‘Mother God's Left Hands’ dispatched to Epezeria were to attack him at once, they would not be able to defeat him. If there was one thing to be concerned about, it would be his devastating communication skills.
“Aren't you afraid?”
Therefore, Iris asked.
Because Abel might not have realized it. About the psychological problems inherent in Monika.
“What do you mean by that?”
Monika's hands, which had been holding her utensils, froze.
“How can I not be afraid?”
I……, I don't know.
Monika mumbled so.
“Would Teacher Abel know? He doesn't seem to have any fear. He’s a really strange person. He smashes through ceilings and jumps into the hideouts of ruffians, and he falls from a floating island and slaughters warships. So I think. I could never become someone like Teacher Abel.”
“You can.”
“That’s not true, Your Highness. I shouldn't become like that.”
It must be because he has nothing precious left.
The reason Teacher Abel was able to cast away fear.
There’s nothing in his dormitory room. It’s one thing that there was no place for me to sit, but does it make sense that there isn't even a bed? Does Teacher Abel lie down on the bare floor to sleep every night? Or has he really become unable to sleep at all?
“I don't know for sure but……, I don't think I should be like that.”
“I will respect that, Monika. Do you have anything precious?”
“Yes! It's myself.”
Monika smiled brightly.
“I decided to think that way. Because on every one of my fingernails and toenails, on every single strand of my hair, and in every moment of mine, the names of the dead are engraved. My mother and father, and the people of Sarrifis…….”
“Come to think of it, your hometown……, Sarrifis, was said to have disappeared, swept away in the Mirror War.”
“That's right. Marquis Saint-Pierre wiped out my homeland.”
……Marquis Saint-Pierre?
Iris furrowed her brows. Her gently relaxed eyes sharpened, and the lips that had held a smile stiffened.
“Monika, is what you just said true? Marquis Saint-Pierre wiped out your hometown?”
“Yes. Fleur de Saint-Pierre told me.”
“The Evangelist Fleur de Saint-Pierre? Deserick’s only daughter? What about Abel? Does Abel also know this fact?”
“……No.”
Monika’s head drooped powerlessly.
“I didn't tell Teacher Abel. Because I felt like he would do anything if he found out. I can't let that happen. I can't live on my own if I only rely on others. I don't want to get revenge. The people of Sarrifis wouldn't want that. For me to live shackled by resentment.”
Iris bit her lip.
During the Mirror War, there were several villages that had disappeared, their names and all.
It was clearly the doing of the 2nd Prince's faction. She had received a report that they were researching forbidden magic in the village's underground. However, the data regarding the actual commander was lost. Without evidence, there was no way to accuse Deserick. Deserick was consistently meticulous.
‘Even if I were to use the authority of a Saintess, I probably wouldn’t be able to grasp that man’s inner thoughts.’
Deserick de Saint-Pierre.
There wasn't the slightest gap in his heart.
“Your Highness, promise me.”
Monika looked on the verge of tears.
“That you won't tell Teacher Abel.”
“Of course, my precious one.”
Iris wore a picture-perfect smile.
The teaspoon held in her fist bent mercilessly.
“You will forget this conversation with me. But it was enjoyable. I’m sorry to have disturbed your meal with my talking. I'm truly sorry.”
“It's okay. I'm full now.”
“My, you have a knack for jokes as well.”
Is there ever an end to a child's meal?
Iris whispered so.
“After finishing lunch, you must have dessert. After eating dessert, you must covet snacks. Please, eat up. The food laid out now is not even half of the banquet prepared for you.”
“Ahaha, Your Highness is a little like a grandmother.”
“……Grandmother?”
A hint of bewilderment crossed Iris’s crimson eyes.
“I'm sorry, Your Highness. I can't eat anymore. I think my stomach is going to burst.”
“And what of it?”
I cannot understand.
Even if your stomach were to burst, you just have to sew it back up.
* * *
“My daughter is in your care, Mr. Argento.”
Deserick’s steps strode out busily.
“It is truly regrettable. If I had the time, I would have served you tea, but I must return to the north.”
“Do not mind it, Your Excellency.”
Abel answered bluntly.
“I am short on time as well. Above all, I do not drink tea.”
Abel’s shoe-clad feet stomped on Deserick’s shadow with every step. It was a scene of Abel pursuing Deserick as he crossed the garden. Fleur, who had fallen far behind, gasped for breath. The layered dress she wore was too heavy.
‘Why?’
Fleur stared straight ahead.
Taking off her floral wreath, she placed a hand on her chest.
Her chest heaved violently. It was not simply because she was short of breath.
‘Why did Professor Argento approach us?’
Could Monika have told him the truth?
That Father led the annihilation of Sarrifis.
No, that can’t be. Fleur shook her head.
Monika lacked a desire for revenge. Her obsession with life was what allowed her to endure her resentment. To Monika, Deserick would be a hateful villain, but not a target worth sacrificing her own life to harm. Fleur was aware of this fact.
‘Then, don't tell me…….’
Fleur’s light blue eyes hardened.
Her eyes, which were like a stream, were honed like an iceberg.
‘Was he instigated by someone else?’
Meanwhile, Abel silently followed behind Deserick.
The initiative of their pace was with Abel. At a glance, it looked as though he was chasing Deserick’s hurried steps, but Deserick was merely rushing because he could not keep up with Abel's speed. In other words, it was closer to an escape. It was just that his neat appearance was hiding his urgency.
“Mr. Argento.”
Thus, it was Deserick who broke the silence.
“It seems Fleur has fallen behind. That's a relief. We can talk now.”
Deserick turned to look at Abel.
A gentle smile was held on his pale face.
“For what business have you come to see me?”
“It is part of my duties.”
Abel stood beside Deserick.
What an overly neat man. He continued, thinking this.
“Not as a professor, but as a Holy Knight.”
“A Holy Knight…….”
Laughter mixed with Deserick’s breath.
The two men walked toward the edge of the Brilliant Sun Royal Palace. Without looking at each other, they slammed down their footprints, each staring straight ahead.
“I respect you, Mr. Argento. Holy Knights are truly the vanguards of the Main Gods. They must be wondrous beings who have set foot on the Platinum Round Table, in the center of the Pantheon. That is why I am always grateful. It must be thanks to all of you that the mien of the monsters has faltered.”
“Is that so.”
To Abel’s question, Deserick replied with a deliberate smile.
“Your Excellency, Holy Knights chase monsters without distinguishing between night and day.”
Abel said in a quiet tone.
“We dig through the gaps between corpses to search for traces. Bodily fluids or grime, sometimes even feces and urine. We stick our noses into all sorts of filth to find monsters.”
I am the same. It’s a sort of occupational hazard.
When I see something dirty, I cannot pass it by.
Abel whispered so. It was a clear provocation.
“I think I know what that feels like.”
Deserick said, nodding his head.
“I too am always weary from contributing to research. It is also frequent for me to rummage through filth. But it is not difficult. To achieve a great purpose, one must let go of oneself. Great achievements are manifested through individual sacrifice, and thus, the individual obtains the opportunity to contribute to the world.”
Deserick’s steps stopped.
With the exit of the Brilliant Sun Royal Palace in sight, the mana stone vehicles favored by the nobles were parked. It was none other than the mode of transport Deserick had invented.
It was a familiar sight to Abel, who had traversed countless worlds. The civilizations of each world had always pondered means of transportation. Steam, gasoline, or coal. He had seen vehicles that operated through various fuels. Among them, there were not a few modes of transport that used mana stones.
“I will ask you directly, Mr. Argento.”
Deserick stood with his back to his mana stone vehicle.
While the driver, who had been dozing off, hurriedly prepared,
“You don't suspect me of being a monster, I assume, so do you perhaps think I am associated with the apostates?”
Toward Deserick, who asked while rolling up his right sleeve,
“That is correct.”
Abel replied simply.
“If not, I will apologize, Your Excellency. Will you punish me?”
“Of course not.”
Deserick laughed hollowly.
“I was just a little surprised. To think I was truly under such suspicion. Rather, I should express my respect. You are a devoted Holy Knight. To weed out evil, it is only right to suspect anyone and everyone.”
Suddenly, a halo of light formed on Deserick’s right hand.
It was unmistakably divine power.
<Where the Mother God is, there too are our footsteps.>
A cast followed. Abel’s eyes narrowed.
‘Guide of the Journey’. It was a beginner-level divine magic spell described in the first chapter of the Mother God Theory.
A white sphere floated above Deserick’s hand. The Guide of the Journey was a spell to check the state of one’s divine power. The more the sphere flickered, the more unstable it meant it was, and the darker its color, the lower its density.
“Mr. Argento, I have never professionally learned divine magic.”
Deserick’s sphere was absurdly clean.
Its white, shining surface was flawlessly brilliant.
“I have merely read the scriptures countless times, prayed without missing a single day, and always expressed my gratitude to the Main Gods. Perhaps because of that, I have become able to wield a little divine magic.”
Mr. Argento, I detest apostates.
Deserick declared so.
“Divine power is a more valuable resource than any other. To be born with such a beautiful talent and yet dabble in black magic. Apostates should not exist in this world.”
“Is that so.”
Abel bowed his head.
It was time to revise his hypothesis. Deserick de Saint-Pierre. Is that man truly associated with the apostates? Abel pondered, staring at his own shadow.
Divine power was an innate force, but training was necessary to increase its quality and quantity. Deserick's divine power was at an outstanding level. The devotion of reading the scriptures, repeating prayers, and speaking to the Main Gods must have acted as training.
“Your Excellency, there is one last thing I am curious about.”
Abel raised his head.
Deserick, who had been walking toward the mana stone vehicle, stopped.
“It is a hypothetical situation. If someone were to get into an accident while operating a mana stone vehicle today, and thus pass away, where do you think the responsibility for that death lies.”
“Nowhere.”
Deserick answered without hesitation.
“Life and death, pleasure and pain, happiness and sadness. All of it is the result of the Main Gods' design. If someone dies today, it is the will of the Main Gods, and if someone survives today, that too is the will of the Main Gods. I am merely living by the will of the Main Gods.”
Then, if you'll excuse me, he said.
After a single nod of his head, Deserick left. The mana stone vehicle moved away beyond the noisy exhaust sound. Abel ran his fingers over the hilt of his beloved sword. His darkened, blackish-blue eyes hardened, filled with conviction.
‘Deserick de Saint-Pierre.’
That man is unrelated to the apostates.
Abel concluded so.
‘He’s more likely to be on the opposite side.’
The dead he had witnessed after attending the White Night Ball.
Abel recalled their faces. The reason why Deserick would desecrate the corpses of knights, engrave his signature on them as if they were works of art, and pride himself on the series of events as the result of his research. It was not because he was associated with the apostates.
‘That man is…….’
A fanatic.
Because he is a fanatic, he believes without a doubt.
That all of his actions are righteous.
“Professor Argento.”
Suddenly, Fleur's voice came from behind Abel.
“Has my father left?”
“Yes.”
Abel turned to look at Fleur.
Fleur stood in a demure posture, her floral wreath taken off. With a smile like her father's on her lips, she opened her mouth, her overflowing light blue eyes shining.
“I’m curious, Professor Argento.”
“About what.”
Is it about the reason I followed the Marquis?
Just as Abel thought so and was about to answer,
“Why did you make Monika wear a school uniform?”
Fleur asked an unexpected question.
“I did not make her wear it. Monika said she would wear it.”
“Then you should have stopped her. You must have known she would be ridiculed?”
“Of course I knew. It wasn't a fact only I knew. Monika knew it well, too. That child does not flinch at mere ridicule.”
Hmm, she went.
Fleur let out a sigh. Her dainty lips parted, and a soft breath escaped. The sound of heels followed. Fleur came to stand on Abel’s shadow. A chilly wind blew from a faraway place. After taming her fluttering hair with a five-colored floral wreath, Fleur stood on her toes toward Abel.
“Then please answer me. What kind of person do I seem to be to you, Professor?”
It was a futile gesture.
Even standing on the tips of her toes, Fleur was small.
Therefore, Abel answered.
“A girl who is not yet an adult.”
“I see. I think I understand now.”
You know, she said.
Fleur whispered, fiddling with her floral wreath.
“Professor Argento, I really hate you.”
A flower was extended toward Abel.
It was a yellow-blooming rose.