Chapter 91

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I think I was about this age. Or was I a little older when I left for the eastern expeditionary front? Back then, I followed an imperial recruiter without knowing a thing. Like a leaf drifting aimlessly down a river, I spent a month traveling, only to arrive in a place that was, quite literally, hell.

But I wasn't particularly despondent or discouraged. I simply slogged through it alongside my comrades, learning how to become a devil in hell. How to stab, slice, and hack people apart, killing them quickly and efficiently. How to make my enemies weep tears of blood, how to drive them to despair, and how to utterly destroy anything, whether a person or an object.

Chaldebert, you told me I had the makings of a poet. But wouldn't you have been a far better man yourself if not for the battlefield?

Looking back now, I wonder whether I really needed to leave the war at all. Not if it meant facing those lies and that betrayal.

If only there had been a single warm word, or at least a look of pity. But that gaze had been so cold.

It was possible to have thought me dead. But that icy stare, those utterly heartless words—surely I didn't deserve that. What choice did that leave me?

Other than killing them all.

"Riki."

Marie called to him from the seat opposite in the rattling wagon. Ricard emerged from his thoughts.

"Hm?"

"What are you thinking about?"

"Nothing much. The old days."

"You're getting sloppy."

"Huh?"

"Stay sharp. Sharp."

Marie was repeating something Ricard had once said to her. He couldn't help breaking into a silly laugh.

"All right. I'll stay sharp."

"Anyway, we'd better finish this quickly. We only have a few pieces of agarwood incense left."

The agarwood incense Doctor Reno had given him had lasted about a month. Since then, they had been buying it out of their own pockets. Not only was it expensive, it was hard to find, so the price varied with every purchase.

Sometimes they paid almost enough to buy a house; sometimes they received it in return for doing a job. As a result, Ricard and Marie weren't in particularly good financial shape.

Thanks to her choice of boyfriend, Marie was practically penniless despite being a Sword Master. Of course, she had no complaints herself. All she wanted was to do even more for Ricard, whatever it took.

Ricard turned to look out of the wagon. The adventurers of the Ehrenberg branch followed in silence, marching with their heads down. It was like looking at himself when he had left for the eastern expeditionary front.

The fields were already drying to yellow. They had planned to launch the campaign in spring, but various practical constraints had delayed the order to assemble until autumn.

Surprisingly, their commander-in-chief was Helauman, the Count Palatine of Kelbron. He was taking the field in person.

A dozen or so guilds had been mobilized, with the Beringen Guild contributing roughly a hundred adventurers. Forty came from the Ehrenberg branch alone, the largest proportion of any branch. Their total force numbered around seven hundred.

Ricard, however, was somewhat skeptical. Simply put, adventurers weren't soldiers. In other words, this was no army.

An adventurer's individual combat skills might surpass those of an ordinary soldier, but an army depended less on individual fighting prowess than on forming a cohesive, organized body.

In that respect, fiercely individualistic adventurers might be suited to search-and-destroy missions and other small-scale special operations, but not to fighting en masse. Ricard therefore believed that the more adventurers gathered together, the less efficiently they would function.

Still, their enemies would be in much the same position, so he wasn't particularly worried. A capable military commander was rarer than a Sword Master. He doubted either side had anyone like that, so it was an even match, in a sense.

"I think we're here. I can see it over there."

Boribori's voice came from outside the wagon. Ricard hopped down while it was still moving. In the distance, colorful tents dotted the field. They belonged to the adventurers who had arrived ahead of them.

"I don't see a river, though."

Volka looked around as he spoke. All he could see were vast fields undulating like gentle waves, with no water anywhere in sight.

"There isn't a river here. We'll have to dig wells."

Familiar with the local geography, Ricard answered at once.

Meanwhile, his heart had begun to pound uncontrollably. He could scarcely calm it. Thinking about this place and actually coming here stirred entirely different feelings.

The familiar scent of nostalgia rising from the mountains and fields, the sky and wind, kept making his heart ache. It felt as though a knife were carving it apart, yet also as though it were filling to the brim. He couldn't explain it. Emotion welled up in his throat for no apparent reason, and he struggled to swallow it without letting it show.

Everywhere he looked, this place was steeped in painful nostalgia. It was the birthplace of betrayal and hatred, despair and rage—and the home of an innocent boy who had once lived more peacefully than anyone in the world, with nothing to envy.

Two wagons, five carts, and some forty Ehrenberg adventurers approached the assembly point. Among those watching from a distance, members of the Beringen Guild came over to greet them.

"Fuck, did you empty out the whole place to come here?"

"Wow, they really did bring almost everyone."

"Don't tell me you actually believe the Fifth Prince's promise?"

Volka and the other adventurers were showered with fond rebukes mingled with warm greetings. All the while, those who had arrived earlier kept sneaking glances at the Ehrenberg Four: Ricard, Marie, Boribori, and Ice.

Their eyes were drawn in particular to the breastplate visible beneath Ricard's cloak. Crushing an entire guild and taking its treasured heirloom as spoils carried extraordinary symbolic weight.

"Come on, when else would we ever get a chance to become nobles? This is an opportunity. The idiots are the ones who didn't come."

Volka spoke up. The Fifth Prince, Bellator, had publicly promised titles to anyone who distinguished themselves in the campaign.

Whether he had the authority to do so without being Emperor was another matter, but with so much land now ravaged by outlaws and left without a lord, it didn't seem like an entirely empty promise.

Above all, the campaign held immense symbolic importance for Bellator himself. It meant avenging the late Emperor.

"Nobles always say one thing to your face and another behind your back. Haven't you been fooled enough times?"

"Then why are you here?"

"Me? I'm just tagging along. Still looks like there's a fortune to be made. Hey, getting a free ride is what life's all about!"

"Heh heh. Idiot."

Volka traded idle banter with the clan leaders and other branch heads. He also went to Dunkel's tent to report their arrival, then began organizing their campsite.

They leveled the ground with shovels and spread tough cloth over it before pushing up thick logs, starting with the central pole. When Ricard single-handedly hoisted and drove into the ground a heavy pole that should have taken several people to handle, those nearby watched in wonder.

After putting up a spacious two-person tent and moving in cots and other necessities, Ricard set off somewhere.

"Where are you going?"

Boribori looked back to ask as he followed Volka to a meeting for Clan Masters and above.

"Oh, just going to look around."

"Shouldn't someone with bad lungs be resting?"

"It's not as though I've lost an arm or a leg."

"Marie's going with you, right? Make sure she does."

Live long enough and you saw everything. Even Boribori was worrying about Ricard now. It seemed his less-than-perfect health had given Boribori cause for concern.

Having someone worry about him felt rather nice. It showed in his smile.

"Here she comes. We'll be back before sunset."

Ricard waited for Marie to reach him, then set out with her into the vast fields. They were heading for his old village.

She stared straight at the sun. Yet for some reason, it didn't dazzle her.

She didn't even know why she was looking at it, but an ominous feeling that something terrible was about to happen felt like absolute certainty.

Then, at some point, a round shadow began to cover the sun from above.

What in the world was happening? How was this possible? The girl staring at the sun felt her heart pound. For some inexplicable reason, dread swept over her, as though the world were about to end.

The shadow crept lower. It was as if the sun were closing its eye. In an instant, bright day abruptly became night.

When the sun closed its eye completely, a sacred ring of light flared. And someone stood with that ring above his head like a halo.

Shrouded in black shadow, he stood upon a sacred altar and slowly turned his head. His eyes blazed with golden fire.

The girl's anxiety turned to unbearable sorrow, pain, and regret, swallowing her whole.

"Ah!"

Daisy woke with a start. Cold sweat trickled down her skin, and goose bumps covered her arms and neck. The soft bed and pillow were slightly damp.

She gasped for breath, trying to calm her racing heart. Light from outside seeped through a gap in the thick curtains.

"Michela, are you all right? Did you have a prophetic dream?"

Michela was the name Daisy had been given after joining the church. The girl in the next bed had spoken to her—a girl so beautiful it almost hurt to look at her.

But Daisy, with her melancholy air, was every bit her equal. The whites of her large eyes were utterly unblemished, like the smooth surface of a boiled egg, and her long blond hair was as fine as silk curtains.

"Yes..."

"You've been having them a lot lately. The eclipse?"

"Yes."

"Still, yours aren't so bad. Ariella dreams about all sorts of horrific corpses."

"But I feel the emotions. It hurts, and it's sad. So much that I can't bear it."

Prophetic dreams weren't simply glimpses of some future scene. The dreamer experienced the full emotions of the person in that situation, including every negative feeling: terror, fear, anxiety.

Unlike Armand, however, the girls saw only fragments rather than the whole, so the church verified the facts by comparing multiple visions.

The decisive breakthrough had come relatively recently, when Daisy's visions revealed that God would rise on the day of a solar eclipse. By bringing astronomy into the matter, they had been able to determine the exact date. That was why they had unleashed that disaster in the imperial capital of Nibelungen the previous year.

The girl in the bed beside Daisy's was also a Sister of Prophecy. She looked three or four years older than Daisy, though that still made her only fifteen or sixteen.

She came over and stroked Daisy's shoulder to comfort her.

"It will all be over soon. Once God rises, He will take away all that fear and anxiety. All we need to do is think of Him. Believe. And obey. Then peace will dwell here."

She pointed to Daisy's heart as she spoke. But instead of answering, Daisy changed the subject.

"... Aisa, do you still have dreams too?"

"Mine aren't much help."

Not every prophetic dream was useful. There were twelve Sisters of Prophecy in all, but only three, including Daisy, received decisive visions.

One saw the resurrection, another saw a blade of sacred golden flame, and the third saw a scene drenched in blood. The church interpreted this as God rising and killing all His enemies.

In any case, since the church did not know what tastes the resurrected God would have, it kept sisters in a range of ages, from twelve to twenty.

The sisters were taught that once God rose, they were to worship, revere, and love Him alone, offering Him everything and continuing His bloodline.

But not Daisy. She kept her true feelings buried deep in her heart. Her beloved was not God, but another man.

"I still want to hear it."

Aisa didn't understand why Daisy was so fond of her simple vision. Still, if it would soothe her, there was no reason not to tell her.

"Hmm... All right. There's a cool breeze, warm midday sunshine, a ruined village, and a lone house to the southwest of it. A young man in a red cloak is there. His eyes are hazel..."

Every time Daisy heard that unremarkable story—no, that vision—her heart pounded. She was certain that the young man was her beloved Ricard.

She could never forget. That moment was etched into her heart forever.

["I'm Riki. What's your name?"]

She didn't care about any god. To Daisy, that boy was her savior.

"Feeling a little calmer now? Shall we go wash?"

"Yes."

Aisa took Daisy by the hand and led her to the baths. Meticulously finished with marble tiles, the baths were exceedingly luxurious. Warm water was available at all times, too.

Although the Sisters of Prophecy received strict instruction, their supervision was relatively lax. They were women who would attend upon God, so no one in the church could treat them carelessly or punish them.

In practice, most of their daily routine consisted of tending to their beauty or practicing arias to delight God. They ate fresh, nutritious food, received clean bathwater every day, and applied beauty ointments specially made by the church.

Compared with the children undergoing Sword Master training, the difference in their treatment was almost that between heaven and hell.

In return, the sisters had to wear white robes and veils at all times, and were forbidden to show their faces freely to anyone. With their lives completely cut off from the outside world, they tended to form close bonds with one another.

After washing, brushing one another's hair, and applying their ointments, Daisy and Aisa left the baths. But instead of returning to their quarters, Daisy headed in an entirely different direction.

"Where are you going?"

"Aisa, keep watch for me."

"Oh, you! Not again!"

Aisa was horrified. Evidently, this was far from the first time.

The Sisters of Prophecy lived in a separate palace within the sprawling temple, which resembled a castle on level ground, and there was almost no surveillance there.

Daisy went to a little side door in the wall and opened its rusty lock with ease. She had sawn through it herself over the course of several days.

At a loss for what to do, Aisa kept glancing around, making her veil flutter. Daisy paid her no heed and simply opened the door.

"Michela! You must be back before sunset!"

Aisa called after her in a hushed voice. The sisters weren't punished, but if they were caught misbehaving, the sister who acted as their eldest would scold and lecture them all day.

"I know. Don't worry. I know what time it is."

Aisa's vision had clearly taken place at midday, so Daisy thought she would have plenty of time to return before sunset.

She boldly stepped outside and pulled off the cumbersome veil flapping in the wind.

The wind whipped her long white robe so hard that it clung to her body, but her steps never faltered. She seemed determined not merely to await her destiny, but to seize it herself.

When her mother had entrusted her to the church, Daisy had passed through the ruined village. That was how she knew where it was.

Starting in the cool of the morning, she walked for nearly four or five hours before arriving. Reduced to ruins over a century ago, the village was so overgrown that it seemed to have become part of the natural landscape.

She hadn't eaten and ought to have been hungry, but she didn't care. Murmuring, "Southwest, southwest," she reached a roofless house open to the sky.

She went inside, curled up, and settled down to wait for however long it took. Every so often, she looked at the sun to gauge the time. That was all.

It didn't matter if today wasn't the day. She could come again, and again after that. In fact, coming here to wait had become something of a regular occupation.

But walking for hours without rest must have exhausted her, for she began nodding off like a sickly chick.

How long had she dozed? Suddenly, a cool breeze blew in and gently caressed her. Like a wind of prophecy, announcing that he had come.

"Huh? There's someone here."

An unfamiliar voice. Instantly wide awake, Daisy raised her head. A red cloak. A man standing with the light behind him. Huh...?

She squinted in the backlight. As her eyes finally adjusted and the man came into view, she didn't recognize him at once.

He had grown so much since she had last seen him. His face still held traces of youth, but it was hard to call him a boy anymore.

"Huh?"

Ricard, too, thought he had seen her somewhere before, but Daisy had changed enough that he didn't immediately recognize her. Marie approached from elsewhere.

"Someone's here? Could she be a spy?"

At that moment, Daisy flung herself into his arms, calling at the top of her lungs to the man she had longed so desperately to call her own.

"Darliiing!"