Chapter 114: “The Mad Saintess of Peace‚ or the Two Cages of Silence”
In the southern kingdom of Arcadia‚ there was spring.
At the very least‚ even in the same moment when innocent people in the far northern empire were collapsing upon the frozen earth and exhaling sighs of despair amid an endless winter‚ this land was truly blessed with a lush green earth and the gentle winds of a mild spring.
The central market of the royal capital was already engulfed in a sea of clamor from the morning.
Along both sides of the cobblestone streets‚ stalls stood packed tightly together‚ displaying red ripe fruits‚ leafy vegetables glistening with morning dew‚ freshly baked bread—and thick steam mingled with the scents of spices and meat‚ filling every available space.
Children ran across the cobblestones with innocent shouts of joy‚ while their mothers scolded them and chased after them.
Fruit Merchant: “Come on‚ come on! Take a look! This year’s sweetest!”
Boy: “Mister‚ you say that every year!”
Fruit Merchant: “Well‚ it’s the best every year‚ so what can I do!”
Boy: “Oh‚ so that’s how it is!”
Fruit Merchant: “That’s just how business works!”
Cheerful laughter chained together‚ filling the market with lively energy.
The sky stretched endlessly blue‚ and soft sunlight gently warmed the entire town.
In a corner of the market‚ an elderly woman selecting vegetables broke into a wrinkled smile.
Old Woman: “They’re quite cheap today‚ aren’t they?”
Vegetable Merchant: “Well‚ it’s another bountiful harvest this year.”
The young man arranging the vegetables puffed out his chest with pride.
Vegetable Merchant: “The fields are doing well.
No pests‚ and plenty of water.
For us farmers‚ it’s a blessing.”
Old Woman: “All thanks to the Saintess‚ isn’t it?”
At the old woman’s words‚ the young man nodded deeply—as naturally as affirming that the sky was blue.
Vegetable Merchant: “Yes.
All thanks to the Saintess.”
A short distance away‚ at the eaves of a bakery‚ a peaceful everyday scene was unfolding.
Older Brother: “Only three today!”
Younger Sister: “Ehh!”
Older Brother: “Because you ate five yesterday!”
Younger Sister: “That’s because you were slow‚ Brother!”
Older Brother: “Bread doesn’t run away!”
Younger Sister: “Don’t give me weird excuses!”
Older Brother: “But it’ll be gone!”
Younger Sister: “Well‚ that’s true!”
At the siblings’ typical bickering‚ the people waiting in line laughed again.
The bakery owner sighed in exasperation‚ yet an irrepressible warmth seeped into his expression.
Bakery Owner: “Honestly.
What peaceful times.”
Customer: “That’s not a bad thing‚ is it?”
The customer next to him replied.
Bakery Owner: “Well‚ true.”
The owner pulled steaming hot bread from the oven.
The fragrant aroma of wheat and honey gently spread on the spring breeze.
Bakery Owner: “I hear things used to be a lot tougher long ago.”
Customer: “Even the cold waves?”
Bakery Owner: “Yeah.”
The owner casually answered while wiping sweat with his flour-covered hands.
Bakery Owner: “Up north‚ things seem pretty bad again.”
For an instant.
The air around them fell slightly silent‚ as if torn.
Customer: “Really?”
Bakery Owner: “A merchant said so.
In the empire‚ several villages got hit by the cold wave.”
Customer: “And demonic beasts are appearing too‚ or something.”
Old Woman: “...Scary‚ isn’t it?”
The old woman clasped her hands at her chest and looked up at the sky with a distant unease.
But the ripples of that fear did not long disturb the hearts of the kingdom’s people.
Someone: “But”
Someone said in a bright voice.
Someone: “We have the Saintess here.”
After a brief silence.
Someone: “That’s right.”
Someone: “Indeed.”
Someone: “We’ll be fine.”
The people began laughing together again‚ as if under a spell.
Someone: “This country has divine protection.”
To them‚ that was an absolute‚ unquestionable truth.
The southern kingdom was always shielded from the cold.
Crops bore rich fruit‚ water never ran dry‚ and demonic beasts could not take a single step inside the borders.
Children would wake healthy the next morning‚ mothers need not worry about the next day’s table‚ and the elderly knew no fear of freezing to death on winter nights.
All of that was‚ to them‚
“ordinary”
everyday life.
Boy: “...The Saintess is amazing‚ huh?”
A boy not yet ten years old‚ standing in line‚ looked up at his father beside him.
On his cheeks lingered a faint stain of the fruit juice he had just eaten.
Father: “Yeah.”
The father squinted and smiled.
Father: “She’s been protecting this country all along.”
Boy: “Have you ever met her?”
Father: “Nope.”
Boy: “I want to meet her.”
Father: “Me too.”
Boy: “You too‚ Dad?”
Father: “Of course.
I’d like to thank her in person at least once.”
The boy thought for a while‚ then put on a terribly serious expression.
Boy: “Then when I grow up‚ I’ll give the Saintess some bread.”
Father: “Bread?”
Boy: “Yeah.”
Father: “Why?”
Boy: “Because she might like bread.”
The father burst out laughing.
Father: “That’s true.
She might.”
Boy: “Delicious bread.”
Father: “Yeah.”
Boy: “The most delicious kind.”
The boy nodded firmly‚ as if shouldering some grave national mission.
Not a single adult around him laughed at him.
They only looked on with gentle‚ affectionate eyes.
The Saintess was loved by the people.
At the very least‚ that fact alone was unmistakably genuine.
—Gong.
From the great cathedral rising in the center of the royal capital‚ a low‚ deep bell tone that seemed to envelop the entire town resounded.
It was the noon bell.
The market’s clamor slowly came to a halt‚ like the ebbing of a tide.
The old woman selecting fruit stopped her hands; the bakery owner withdrew his from the oven.
Children‚ mothers‚ merchants‚ guards—all of them.
The people of the kingdom all naturally looked up at the sky and clasped their hands at their chests.
Someone: “Saintess.”
Someone murmured as if in prayer.
Someone: “Thank you for today as well.”
It was no prayer forced upon them by anyone.
It was a habit of gratitude that those born and raised in this country repeated as naturally as breathing.
Someone: “May this year be abundant once more.”
Someone: “May the children grow up healthy.”
Someone: “May our families smile tomorrow as well.”
Someone: “Please—please protect the Saintess.”
The hour of prayer.
From the empty sky‚ visible magical power fluttered down like beautiful petals of light.
The people believed it a miracle of the gods and smiled at one another.
But no one knew.
Or rather‚ no one “tried to know.”
That this beautiful miracle.
This peaceful frenzy.
Was‚ even at this very moment‚ continuously consuming the “life” of a single girl as fuel—a cruel fact.
Far from the market’s sunlight‚ in the deepest part of the royal palace.
Beyond layers of thick iron doors and the further depths of underground passages buried in the darkness of history.
There existed a chilled space that none of the kingdom’s people would ever see.
There were no windows leading outside.
The market’s laughter‚ the scent of freshly baked bread‚ the footsteps of children—none of it would ever reach here.
Only‚ amid a death-like stillness called serenity‚ the faint sound of water echoed.
Drip.
Drip.
Water droplets falling from the high ceiling drew ripples as they sank into the spring spreading in the center of the dark space.
And in the center of that spring—stood a single girl.
It was the “Seat of Sacrifice‚” passed down from generation to generation when a girl reached the coming-of-age ceremony at eighteen and the previous holder completed her duty.
The girl wore not a single garment that might become an impurity to her body.
Kneeling in cold water up to her knees‚ hands firmly clasped before her chest‚ she continued praying in a silence so intense it bordered on madness‚ carving away at her own life.
Sylphie: “—Please”
Her pale lips trembled slightly.
Sylphie: “Grant everyone peace and happiness again today.”
Her voice was weak and ephemeral.
Yet that prayer turned into waves of magical power and surely permeated the entire southern kingdom.
In the market someone bought bread‚ children laughed innocently‚ the elderly squinted under the warm sunlight.
All of that she continued to protect in exchange for her own life force.
In the southern kingdom of Arcadia‚ there was spring.
No one doubted that it was ordinary everyday life.
—And precisely because of that.
This bottomlessly bright peace was far too mad.
The water was not as cold as she had expected.
The “Oracle Spring” hidden in the deepest part of the royal palace.
Kneeling up to her knees in its dim waters‚ the 128th Saintess Sylphie kept her eyes closed.
Only a single ray of sunlight piercing from above faintly illuminated her translucent white skin.
Her limbs‚ bare of any clothing to avoid impurities‚ had long since lost sensation as the price of endless prayer‚ but to her it was now nothing more than a daily numbness.
Sylphie: “—Grant blessings to the land we dwell upon.”
She spun the words of prayer small‚ yet never allowing them to break.
Sylphie: “Fruitfulness to the crops.
A tomorrow to the children.”
Each time the words fell‚ the spring’s surface rippled slightly.
The light pouring from the skylight would appear to the ignorant as a blessing from heaven itself.
But she alone knew.
This was no mercy of the gods.
It was merely that she herself was wearing away her life‚ maintaining the world so that it “appeared that way.”
Sylphie: “...Please”
Suddenly a pain deep in her chest made Sylphie frown for just an instant.
But she did not stop praying.
She had long grown used to the pain.
Each time she offered prayer‚ something in her vessel was surely diminishing.
Each time she awoke‚ her body felt as heavy as lead‚ and when she peered into a mirror‚ the luster that should have been in her hair the day before was gone.
There were days when simply climbing the palace stairs left her severely short of breath.
Even so‚ the chief physician who came for regular checkups would always say with a gentle smile:
Chief Physician: “You seem to be accumulating fatigue.
Please do not overexert yourself.”
Every time she heard those kind words‚ the Saintess felt a secret confusion.
Not overexerting herself—such an option had not existed since the day she took this seat.
If she stopped praying‚ the kingdom’s protection would weaken‚ the climate would turn harsh‚ and demonic beasts would cross the defensive lines.
And someone would die.
Sylphie slowly opened her eyes.
Before her gaze stood a mystical statue of a goddess carved from white stone.
An idol with arms spread‚ embracing someone in a form filled with compassion.
Sylphie: “Goddess”
Her voice trembled faintly.
Sylphie: “...Am I doing it properly?”
There was no reply.
Of course not.
Not once had this cold stone statue ever returned words to her.
Even so‚ every day she immersed herself here‚ slowly‚ little by little burning her own life like firewood as she continued to pray.
Sylphie: “...One hundred twenty-eight people.”
Gazing at her young face reflected on the water’s surface‚ Sylphie murmured softly.
In the depths of that water mirror sank the 127 predecessors whose faces she did not know.
In the public records‚ all the successive Saintesses were said to have
“lived out their natural lifespans.”
Each time a predecessor departed this world‚ the people of the capital decorated the streets with flowers and mourned her death with tears of gratitude.
“Thank you for protecting the kingdom for so long.” “Please rest in peace”—they said.
They had no awareness of lying to the populace.
It was an undeniable fact that the Saintesses had protected the kingdom with their lives.
Only the understanding of the cause of death was fatally different.
It was not illness.
Not accident‚ and certainly not old age.
What killed them was “prayer.”
The protection covering the entire kingdom.
Each time that enormous defensive system was activated‚ the fuel called life force was surely carved away.
In the end nothing remained‚ and they died empty.
Sylphie too‚ fully understanding her own end‚ immersed herself in this cold spring.
Sylphie: “...The predecessors as well”
Looking up at the goddess statue‚ she asked.
Sylphie: “Did they think this way too?”
I want to help.
If possible‚ it would be better if no one dies.
That was by no means a lofty ideal‚ but the ordinary kindness of a girl who worries when someone cries and comforts the pain of an injured child.
That was why‚ when she was chosen as Saintess‚ she had been just a little happy.
She had innocently believed that with her own power she could help someone.
—“I can help.”
The cruel weight that word carried—back then she had not yet known.
Slowly exhaling‚ she closed her eyes again.
She directed her consciousness to the far lands her protection did not reach.
Beyond the mountain ranges at the border‚ the northern empire.
By now‚ was that land covered in freezing snow?
Villages might be frozen‚ families clinging together waiting for help.
Children might be crying “cold” while clinging to their mothers’ hands.
Sylphie: “...I’m sorry.”
To whom the apology was directed‚ even she herself did not know.
Sylphie: “I...”
The continuing words melted into the cold air and vanished.
I want to help.
But I cannot help.
If she left this spring‚ the kingdom’s protection would dissolve.
Moreover‚ she could not possibly possess power enough to cover the entire empire‚ and if she tried‚ the thought of how many seconds her life would burn out... was terrifying just to imagine.
She gazed at her own hand lifted from the water.
It was a slender‚ still youthful girl’s hand.
If she had not been chosen as Saintess and had remained an ordinary village girl.
Would she have walked that central market today‚ bought red fruits‚ and laughed together with someone?
Suddenly a small smile spilled from her lips.
Sylphie: “...Bread.”
Why that word suddenly floated up‚ even she did not know.
But right now‚ intensely‚ she wanted to try eating that fragrant freshly baked bread.
Sylphie: “...I’d like to try it.”
With a murmur addressed to no one‚ she smiled just a little.
It was not the face of the “Saintess” who always smiled divinely‚ but the smile of an ordinary girl of her age that no one in the kingdom had ever seen.
—Gong.
Beyond the thick rock walls‚ a faint bell tone echoed from afar.
It was the noon bell.
By now‚ in the market‚ people were surely offering prayers of thanks to the “Saintess.”
Those voices did not reach the underground spring‚ but she knew all too painfully that they loved and relied on her.
And so Sylphie closed her eyes again and re-clasped her hands.
Not for herself‚ nor for the distant northern empire.
For the innocent people who were laughing as a matter of course in this country right now.
Sylphie: “—Please”
The spring water began to glow faintly as it absorbed her life.
Sylphie: “Tomorrow as well”
Deep in her chest‚ several more days of lifespan vanished without a sound.
Sylphie: “May everyone... be able to smile.”
Overwhelming light overflowed from the spring and rose toward the canopy of the southern kingdom.
To protect the rich fields‚ the lively market‚ the fragrant bread‚ the children’s tomorrows.
In the deep underground bottom known to no one‚ the 128th Saintess offered once more today the firewood called her own life to the world.
The royal palace of the southern kingdom of Arcadia.
In its vast audience chamber‚ the warm sunlight of spring poured down without stint.
A soaring canopy‚ polished pure white marble floors.
Decorating the walls were enormous frescoes praising the history of abundance the successive kings had brought to this country.
Golden waves of wheat fields‚ heavily laden fruit trees‚ children laughing innocently.
And the figure of a white-robed Saintess watching over it all with compassionate eyes—.
For the southern kingdom‚ it was by no means an ideal land only within murals.
On this warm earth that knew neither hunger nor freezing‚ people would live today and tomorrow as well.
As long as a single Saintess continued to offer her own life as a sacrifice.
Envoy: “...I have come from the northern empire.”
A low‚ withered voice resounded in the serene audience chamber.
Standing in the center of the deep crimson carpet was a single man.
On the face that seemed around his mid-forties was carved a fatigue far denser than his actual age.
Utterly unsuited to the luxurious palace‚ the dry sand and mud of the north‚ and the remnants of snow that could not be fully brushed off‚ eloquently told of his harsh journey.
The man bowed deeply.
Envoy: “The Third Colonization Territory in the northern empire.
Last month it suffered enormous damage from a cold wave.”
King: “I have received the report.”
The king seated on the throne responded briefly without stirring.
Envoy: “...Then this will be quick.”
The envoy raised his face.
What resided in those eyes was not a diplomat’s calculation‚ but a desperation as if coughing blood.
Envoy: “One village was annihilated.
Houses were frozen to the roots‚ and the stored food was lost.
Those who could not even evacuate—”
The man choked on his words‚ his throat trembling.
Envoy: “...Starting with the young children‚ they died out.”
The fingertips of the Saintess attending at the side trembled faintly.
But no one noticed.
Or‚ noticing‚ they ignored it.
Envoy: “If the next cold wave strikes‚ the damage will expand further.
The imperial army is scrambling with the subjugation of demonic beasts‚ protection of refugees‚ and food transport‚ but... our hands can no longer keep up.”
The envoy took one step forward.
Envoy: “The southern kingdom has the gods’ ‘protection.’”
Those words slightly tensed the air of the audience chamber.
Envoy: “It repels abnormal cold waves‚ enriches the land‚ and keeps demonic beasts away.
We know of that miracle.”
King: “Continue.”
The king’s expression did not change.
Envoy: “...Please”
The envoy slowly knelt on the marble floor.
He had long since discarded the pride of an envoy of a great empire.
Deeply‚ he pressed his forehead against the cold floor.
Envoy: “The Saintess’s power.
Please‚ to the people of the north as well.”
His voice was trembling.
Envoy: “I do not ask that you save everything.
Even a few days would do.
Even a single village would do.
A miracle enough for the children to survive this cruel winter...”
Silence fell.
No one answered.
From outside the window even the peaceful chirping of small birds could be heard.
In this country of maddening peace that knew nothing of winter’s severity.
Envoy: “...I beg of you.
Please.”
The envoy’s voice was hoarse.
It was not a diplomat’s voice.
It was the scream of a single human who had watched over the people dying miserably in his homeland.
Beyond the bamboo blinds‚ the Saintess kept her gaze lowered.
I want to help.
If I could save the children trembling from cold in the north‚ I would save them right now.
There was no lie in that pure wish.
But she could not leave the “Oracle Spring.”
If she stopped praying‚ this country’s protection would be lost next‚ and the people who had never known cold would for the first time face that freezing terror.
If I save the north‚ the south will die.
And so‚ though I want to help‚ I cannot help.
The Saintess could only clutch her aching chest and endure in silence.
King: “—I refuse.”
At last‚ cutting through the absolute silence‚ the king’s cold voice resounded.
It was an instantaneous severance with not a speck of hesitation.
The envoy’s body swayed as if struck.
Envoy: “...Your Majesty”
King: “Did you not hear?
Our country refuses that request.”
Envoy: “But...!”
King: “Our country has its own people.”
The king declared flatly.
King: “There is no reason to expose them to danger in order to save the empire.”
Envoy: “Danger...?”
The envoy raised his face.
Envoy: “We are not demanding that you send troops!”
King: “It is the same.”
The king’s tone was thoroughly level.
King: “Your country is demanding our country’s very security itself.
I understand that the northern empire is suffering‚ that innocent people are dying.
That does not become a reason to expose our country’s people to danger.”
The envoy’s face twisted.
Envoy: “...Is that.
Is that the southern kingdom’s answer?”
King: “It is.”
An immediate reply.
In that instant‚ something decisively snapped inside the envoy.
Envoy: “...Then!”
The man stood up.
The guards moved instantly‚ but the man held no weapon.
He merely turned a piercing gaze not at the king‚ but at the white-robed Saintess.
Envoy: “Saintess!”
It was a grief-stricken cry.
The Saintess looked up with a start.
Envoy: “Can you truly... do nothing?”
It was not an accusation.
Even now‚ this man believed.
That even if the king rejected it as a political judgment‚ the Saintess‚ symbol of compassion‚ might at least offer a single word of salvation.
Envoy: “In the north there are still living children.
Children who have lost their fathers‚ children who have lost their mothers.”
The Saintess’s pale lips trembled faintly.
Envoy: “Please... I beg you.”
The man bowed his head deeply once more.
The Saintess could only stare at that pitiful figure.
Slowly‚ she closed eyes filled with despair.
Sylphie: “...I’m sorry.”
It was a thin‚ vanishing voice.
Sylphie: “I...”
No more words followed.
She could not continue.
The man did not move for a while.
In the audience chamber only a long‚ breath-stifling silence lay.
Eventually.
Envoy: “...Is that so.”
The envoy murmured.
From his voice the desperation of moments before had completely vanished.
Envoy: “I understand.”
The man stood and looked at the Saintess.
In those eyes were anger‚ deep sorrow‚ and—inescapable despair.
Envoy: “Saintess.”
That bare form of address was decisively different from the respect of earlier.
Envoy: “You people may keep praying in this warm place.
Without knowing who is dying far in the north.”
Sylphie: (...I know.)
The Saintess’s body stiffened‚ and she screamed inside her heart.
I know.
In the midst of prayer‚ at the ends of the protection’s boundary‚ she had felt the pain of the freezing people many times.
But speaking that fact would be nothing more than cruel self-justification to those who could not be saved.
And so she kept silence with a feeling as if bleeding.
Envoy: “...Excuse me.”
The envoy bowed deeply once.
It was no longer an expression of respect‚ but merely the last remaining formal etiquette as an imperial diplomat.
The man turned on his heel and walked toward the massive doors.
Step by step‚ only heavy footsteps echoed in the audience chamber.
Before the doors‚ the man stopped just once.
Envoy: “...In the north”
Without turning‚ he said.
Envoy: “We do not envy your gods.”
No one answered.
Envoy: “Only”
The man’s hand touched the cold door handle.
Envoy: “Just a little... I hate the warm country.”
The heavy doors closed‚ leaving a cold reverberation in the audience chamber.
The empire’s envoy departed.
The remaining Saintess merely continued to stare blankly at those closed doors.
In the north‚ there were people seeking help on the brink of death.
In the south‚ there were people protected in exchange for her own life.
Both were the same humans‚ merely wishing to live.
Yet she could choose only one side.
No—that was wrong.
From the beginning‚ no “choice” had been given to her.
The Saintess slowly clenched her hands on her lap.
Nails dug deeply into her palms‚ and pain ran through them.
Even so‚ she did not raise a single sound.
In this country‚ the Saintess does not cry.
The Saintess does not waver.
The Saintess must always be a being who saves people with selfless love.
And precisely because of that‚ at this very moment.
There was no one anywhere in this world who could save the heart of the girl shedding tears of blood.
Warm sunlight poured without stint from the high windows.
The southern kingdom was‚ today as well‚ all too cruelly‚ at peace.
Even after the empire’s envoy had departed‚ a heavy silence continued to settle in the audience chamber.
The thick doors were already closed; neither the figure of the man from the north nor his blood-coughing pleas were here any longer.
But the curse-like single phrase he had left at the end alone had become an invisible frost‚ freezing the air of this warm room.
—I hate the warm country.
Saintess Sylphie hung her head deeply‚ tightly clenching her trembling hands within her pure white sleeves.
Maid: “Saintess.”
The maid attending at her side called out worriedly.
Sylphie: “I’m fine.”
Sylphie immediately raised her face and tried to force a smile.
Sylphie: “I am... fine.”
Yet that smile was all too painful and cracked.
Just as the maid was about to continue‚ the master of the throne opened his mouth.
King: “—Withdraw.
All of you.”
It was a short but absolute command.
The royal guards‚ the maids‚ the court officials all bowed deeply and hurriedly exited the audience chamber.
Eventually‚ only the king and the Saintess remained in the vast space.
Outside the window‚ the southern country’s warm wind swayed the trees.
From the time of her birth‚ to the Saintess that had been the entirety of the unquestionable
“world.”
King: “...Do not mind it.”
The king opened his mouth.
To the Saintess who slowly raised her face‚ he continued flatly.
King: “I understand that the empire’s people are on the verge of dying out‚ and that you wish to help them.
...However‚ a country cannot be moved by pity alone in wanting to help.”
Sylphie: “...I understand.”
King: “Truly?”
At the sharp question‚ the Saintess fell silent.
The king rose from the throne and descended the marble steps one by one.
Only those regular footsteps coldly echoed in the serene space.
King: “No matter how much you grieve for the north‚ nothing can be done.
Do not torment yourself.”
The king stopped before the Saintess.
King: “You should know.
Without the Oracle Spring the protection cannot even activate.
If you stop praying‚ the absolute barrier protecting this country will weaken and vanish at once.
From the beginning there has been no method for us to save the empire’s people.”
Pausing‚ the king lowered his tone a little.
King: “Even if it is the northern empire of incompatible ideology‚ I can understand your heart that wishes to save that country’s children.
However... in this world there are things that simply cannot be helped.”
Sylphie: “Your Majesty.”
The Saintess opened her mouth as if squeezing out the words.
Sylphie: “I am powerless...”
There her voice caught.
After a while of silence‚ the king spoke in a strangely quiet voice.
King: “Do not be foolish.
Who could blame you?”
The king’s gaze turned toward the window.
Spread below was the scenery of the capital devouring peace.
The market’s clamor‚ the rich fields‚ the ignorant people walking in the distance.
No one knew that their tomorrow was built upon the life of a single girl as fuel.
King: “It is none other than we who are forcing that overly heavy burden upon you.”
Sylphie: “A burden... is it?”
King: “Yes.
In this country there are millions of people.
And in the north there are just as many.
The wish to help someone is beautiful.
But—”
The king’s gaze once more pierced the Saintess straight on.
King: “For a single human to think they can save everything... is far too arrogant hubris.”
The Saintess’s eyes widened.
Save them alone.
Simply pray— that is the duty of the Saintess who protects the country‚ she had been taught since birth.
She had never once doubted it.
King: “I too shall be with you to save the people.”
The king twisted his lips in self-mockery.
King: “As the thoroughly ugly and filthy king who is forcing you to offer your life.”
Sylphie: “...Your Majesty.”
King: “I am the king.
I have the absolute duty to protect the people.
That is why I am forcing you to continue praying at the spring.”
The Saintess had no words to return.
She was not permitted to leave the spring‚ nor to freely walk outside the kingdom.
Even if she wished to help someone‚ she could decide nothing by her personal will alone.
I want to be free—such words she could not speak.
For she herself did not even know whether such a selfish wish was allowed to exist within her.
King: “...There is one more matter.”
The king announced as if changing the air.
King: “About the underground special training room—Louis Adel.”
At that name‚ the Saintess’s expression tightened faintly.
Sylphie: “He is still sleeping‚ I hear.
Lady Selina is always at his side.”
King: “Yes.”
The king nodded.
Yet his gaze transformed from that of a statesman moments before into that of a cold observer wary of an unknown threat.
Sylphie: “Your Majesty... what do you think of Lord Louis?”
The king did not answer immediately.
He gazed at the peaceful townscape outside the window.
On that day‚ the one who had protected all of this from the unprecedented calamity called Kyle was none other than that boy.
King: “He is a hero.
At least‚ he was then.”
At those words the Saintess felt a little relief‚ but the next instant what issued from the king’s mouth was an icy fact.
King: “But at the same time‚ he is the most dangerous existence in this country.”
Sylphie: “...Dangerous‚ is it?”
King: “Kyle Valks possessed the power to reduce the capital to ashes in an instant.
Louis Adel fought him and repelled him.
...If he were to turn against us‚ who could stop him?”
The Saintess swallowed her breath.
No answer came.
Even her absolute “protection” had not reached that boy.
As if he stood outside the very principles (system) of the world itself.
Sylphie: “...Lord Louis is by no means a bad person.”
King: “That is so.
I too do not think him a villain.”
Surprisingly readily‚ the king affirmed.
King: “That is precisely why he is troublesome.
If he were a villain we could treat him as an enemy.
But he is different.
Even at the cost of himself‚ he fought to protect.
Thus the people call him a hero.”
The king heaved a heavy sigh.
King: “But to me as king‚ there is nothing more terrifying than an existence called a hero.
There is no guarantee anywhere that one who possesses overwhelming power will always remain good.”
Sylphie: “...”
King: “That is why I support—and even feel relief at—Selina Elferia’s judgment to isolate him underground.
She bares her fangs at all who approach him and seeks to monopolize him.
...I find her terrifying as well.
If ordered to kill him‚ she would destroy this country.
He is a ‘Pandora’s box’ that no one must touch.
For now I only wish him to sleep deeply.”
It was an all too cruel adult truth.
King: “That is‚ for the present‚ the only way we humans can survive.”
While listening to that cold logic‚ a strange sense of dissonance spread deep in the Saintess’s chest.
—They are the same.
I and that boy.
I cannot leave the prison called the Oracle Spring in order to protect the country.
The boy is confined in the birdcage called the underground training room so as not to threaten the country.
Both of them‚ with their personal free will left behind‚ have their fates fixed by the circumstances (ego) of the surrounding adults and the nation.
The Saintess gazed at her own white slender fingertips.
Hands that could save millions of humans‚ yet could choose nothing of her own future—pitiful hands.
Sylphie: “...Your Majesty.
If”
The Saintess opened her mouth fearfully.
Sylphie: “If Lord Louis awakens‚ what do you intend to do?”
The king did not answer immediately.
After a long‚ breath-stifling silence fell‚ he for the first time murmured as if releasing the omnipotence of a king.
King: “I do not know.
...Is there any human in this world who would know such a thing?”
And he narrowed his cold eyes.
King: “That is why‚ once he awakens and I know what he desires... I will make the judgment ‘as king.’”
It was an extremely correct‚ perfect answer as one who protects the nation.
But the Saintess keenly sensed the ruthlessness lurking behind those words and secretly felt a chill run down her spine.
Sylphie: (Judgment as king—)
That resonance was that of one who viewed him not as a single wounded boy‚ but as a “monster (risk)” to be discarded at any time.
It seemed to imply that even a modest place for him to return to showed no sign of being found yet.
Outside the window‚ the pleasant spring breeze continued to blow through.
In the market people laughed at trivial jokes‚ children ran about‚ merchants raised their voices.
That this absolute peace was maintained by burning a single girl’s life as firewood—no one knew.
Nor that in the deepest darkness underground‚ a single boy possessing the power to transform the world continued to sleep.
—Once he awakens‚ what does he want to do?
The one who would pose that simplest and most human question to him did not yet exist anywhere in this wide world.
The sole land route separating the southern kingdom of Arcadia and the northern empire.
There stood a sturdy barrier long traversing the kingdom’s northern border.
It was no mere stone wall.
It was the “nation’s shield” and “symbol of order” for physically repelling the invasion of demonic beasts‚ driving back bandits‚ and strictly examining outsiders.
Before the checkpoint gate‚ today as well a long line of wagons‚ merchants‚ and travelers had formed.
The southern kingdom was by no means a closed isolationist nation.
Those who followed proper procedures‚ proved their identity‚ and obtained permission based on law were equally granted entry.
That was this country’s proud “rule of law.”
Soldier: “Next!”
The voice of the soldier handling inspection rang out‚ and one wagon advanced.
Soldier: “Cargo?”
Merchant: “Medicinal herbs procured from a northern town.”
Soldier: “Certificate.”
The soldier ran sharp eyes over the received documents.
Paper quality‚ seal‚ signature of the customs bureau—not a single flaw in the strict procedures set by the kingdom.
After carefully examining the cargo‚ the soldier nodded.
Soldier: “Pass.”
Merchant: “Thank you.”
The wagon slowly passed through the gate.
Behind it‚ another traveler waited quietly for their turn.
It was the usual scene.
The unchanged‚ peaceful everyday of the kingdom’s border.
—At least‚ until the next group appeared.
Soldier: “...A pilgrimage group?”
One of the soldiers guarding the gate muttered suspiciously.
White.
Far too white.
The clothing of those who had undergone a long journey would naturally be caked with sand and dust‚ seeping with the color of fatigue from exposure to rain and wind.
But the pure white robes worn by the group that appeared from beyond the road had an unnatural lack of dirt.
At their chests‚ a small silver crest gleaming dully.
One‚ two‚ three— the soldier who had been unconsciously counting raised his brows slightly.
Soldier: “...That’s a lot.
How many are there?”
Soldier: “Wait.”
The neighboring soldier finished counting and answered briefly.
Soldier: “Forty-eight.”
A short silence fell.
As a pilgrimage group the scale was somewhat large.
But of course that alone was not a legitimate reason to refuse entry.
The southern kingdom had a great temple dedicated to the Saintess‚ and from ancient times pilgrims seeking healing of illness or salvation of the soul from various countries never ceased.
However‚ the true nature of the chill that stroked the gate guards’ spines was not the large number.
They completely lacked the “emotions” that travelers should naturally possess.
Fatigue‚ expectation‚ anxiety.
Without a single fragment of such emotions that any human would show‚ the forty-eight were eerily quiet.
Not a single one conversed‚ they did not exchange glances‚ and they walked with identical stride and identical speed without the slightest deviation.
As if from the beginning they were “one inorganic giant organism” sharing a will.
Soldier: “Halt.”
When the soldier raised his spear to stop them‚ the group came to a stop exactly‚ literally simultaneously.
At that abnormal unity‚ the soldier involuntarily swallowed his breath.
Soldier: “...Confirming the purpose of entry.”
Petelgeuse: “Pilgrimage.”
The man at the head of the line returned a mild voice from within his white hood.
Petelgeuse: “We are on a journey to visit churches in various places and offer prayers.”
Soldier: “Affiliation?”
Petelgeuse: “From the northern diocese of the Hero Church.
Here is the entry permit.”
The man presented the documents‚ which the soldier received.
Paper quality‚ kingdom-specified format‚ signatures‚ seals.
Everything was perfectly in order.
The soldier furrowed his brows.
It was not a forgery.
As far as he knew‚ this official document was unmistakably “genuine.”
Soldier: “Wait.”
The neighboring soldier peered at the documents‚ and the air tensed slightly.
Soldier: “This permit... the issuer is the kingdom’s foreign affairs bureau.
From whom did you receive it?”
For an instant.
Truly just an instant‚ the man’s eyes narrowed within the white hood.
Petelgeuse: “From fellow believers already residing in the kingdom who are pioneers of the pilgrimage.”
It was not a lie.
At least‚ not a complete falsehood.
In the southern kingdom‚ for years their “fellows” had been lurking as merchants‚ travelers‚ and scholars.
Unnoticed by anyone‚ they had blended into the kingdom’s social structure.
Several days earlier‚ a single notice had reached them from the northern empire.
“The diplomatic negotiations will break down.
The Saintess’s protection will not be obtained”—.
To the archbishop‚ the empire’s envoy being turned away was from the start nothing more than a staged farce (diversion) that had been anticipated.
Then‚ proceed to the next means.
Receive “legitimate permits” from the sleeper agents within the kingdom‚ and cross the border legally.
That was all there was to it.
The soldier compared the documents and the men alternately.
Instinct told him he should doubt them.
However‚ there was nowhere a legal reason to refuse entry.
Soldier: “...Inspecting the luggage.”
Petelgeuse: “Please do.”
The contents of the examined luggage were only clothing‚ food‚ water‚ and small silver crosses for prayer.
No swords‚ spears‚ bows‚ or even suspicious magical tools emerged at all.
Soldier: “...No problems.”
One of the soldiers reported weakly.
A young soldier approached with a stiffened face.
Young Soldier: “Are we really letting them through? I have a bad feeling.
There’s no evidence‚ but I feel we shouldn’t open the gate like this.”
Soldier: “Hey.”
The older soldier patted the young soldier’s shoulder.
Soldier: “We’re not fortune-tellers.
If you doubt them‚ produce evidence.
This country’s laws aren’t so barbaric as to turn away unarmed people with legitimate documents based on gut feeling alone.”
The young soldier fell silent.
Correct.
As guardians of a nation of law‚ it was an all too correct judgment.
Soldier: “—Pass.”
With a heavy creaking sound‚ the sturdy border gate opened.
The southern kingdom.
Rich land‚ warm air‚ a beautiful garden protected from demonic beasts by the Saintess’s prayer.
Into its defenseless bosom‚ the forty-eight white pilgrims set foot.
No one drew a weapon.
No one raised a battle cry.
And precisely because of that‚ not a single member of the border garrison could notice the fact that they had just been “invaded.”
◇
The group in white attire walked steadily along the road leading to the royal capital Arcadia.
Far ahead spread the city walls reflecting sunlight‚ rich orchards‚ and the peaceful livelihoods of people.
Petelgeuse: “...A beautiful country.”
The man walking at the head—Petelgeuse—murmured in a voice drained of emotion.
The man walking beside him answered nothing.
Petelgeuse: “No cold.
No hunger.
No fear.”
After a short silence‚ within the white hood another man laughed coldly.
Member of the Silver Wedge: “That is precisely why it is easy.”
Petelgeuse: “...”
Member of the Silver Wedge: “Those who doze in peaceful places know least of true ‘malice’ creeping from outside.”
No one replied to that.
The forty-eight walked.
To the same place‚ for the same purpose.
They were the Hero Church’s direct special unit 《Silver Wedge》.
The fanatical blades once founded to strike down the enemies of the gods.
The reason they carried no weapons was not because they loved peace.
It was because their own bodies and magic were the highest-class slaughter weapons‚ nothing less.
Member of the Silver Wedge: “Three days to the destination.”
Member of the Silver Wedge: “Understood.”
Member of the Silver Wedge: “Take no unnecessary actions.
Do not let the kingdom side notice.”
Member of the Silver Wedge: “Understood.”
Amid the inorganic confirmations‚ Petelgeuse declared.
Petelgeuse: “—Secure the Computation God.”
The warm spring wind swayed the pure white robes.
Petelgeuse: “Life or death does not matter.
Impurities that obstruct the will of the gods are to be swiftly eliminated.”
Those blood-reeking words melted into the southern country’s gentle wind and reached no one’s ears.
The kingdom’s sky was bottomlessly blue today as well.
In the market fruits were sold‚ children laughed‚ the Saintess continued praying in the cold underground.
That forty pure malice were already crawling up the nation’s blood vessels—still no one had any way of knowing.
The “Oracle Spring” was enveloped in deep silence.
An absolute sanctuary that no one but the successive Saintesses was permitted to enter.
There existed not a single impurity; only the sound of pure water flowing and a single thin ray of light piercing from the crack of the skylight were correct.
At the feet of the goddess statue standing in the center of the spring‚ the girl who had finished offering prayer with her bare body—the 128th Saintess Sylphie—slowly exhaled a thin white breath.
That her fingertips faintly convulsed as the price of long prayer was the usual.
Yet.
Today‚ something was decisively different.
Sylphie: “...?”
Suddenly the Saintess’s shoulders gave a small jump.
Her closed eyes opened wide.
It was not that the spring’s surface had rippled.
Farther— the edge of the “enormous barrier (system)” enveloping the southern kingdom of Arcadia itself had‚ just slightly‚ clouded with a fatal sense of foreign matter.
The Saintess held her breath and expanded her consciousness to the limit.
Warm air.
Rich earth.
People walking the streets.
Fruits lined in the market.
Livestock.
Sleeping children.
The “protection” covering the southern kingdom was‚ to her‚ like a single cloth.
She could not completely see through every corner of the country‚ but she was always touching that cloth through her own life (battery).
The boundary line between what was inside the kingdom and what was outside.
And precisely because of that‚ she understood.
Sylphie: “...What?”
In the empty spring‚ the Saintess let out a hoarse voice.
Something is there.
No‚ more accurately‚ “something has entered.”
It is not demonic beasts.
The Saintess’s protection physically rejects the invasion of demonic beasts.
At the very least‚ for so many existences to enter without being repelled by the protection or even noticed was‚ under normal circumstances‚ impossible.
Yet they are certainly there.
Inside the kingdom—something terribly cold and turbid.
Sylphie: “...Malice?”
The moment she spoke that word‚ the depths of her chest rapidly grew cold.
“Malice.”
It is not something the system of protection can directly eliminate.
Humans—whether kingdom people‚ travelers‚ or merchants—all live carrying some negative emotions.
Anger‚ jealousy‚ hatred‚ desire.
If all of those were rejected‚ not a single person could live in this country.
Thus the protection does not select humans.
It is not a simple filter that lets the good pass and rejects the evil.
Yet.
Sylphie: “...This much?”
The Saintess stared at the rippling spring surface with a shudder.
Not one.
Not two.
Countless— as if completely unified‚ facing the same direction‚ installed with only the same single purpose: extremely pure “masses of murderous intent.”
She could not accurately count their number.
Only an absolute premonition of death she had never tasted before slowly crawled up the spine of her body immersed in the cold water.
◇
At the same time.
Underground in the southern kingdom.
A special sector located even further below the magic academy‚ which ordinary students were never permitted to enter.
Multiple layers of magical barriers‚ seals‚ barriers—and perfect silence.
In the center of the luxurious underground special training room‚ a single boy slept as if dead.
Louis Adel.
The Computation God who had confronted the destroyer Kyle who nearly broke the world‚ and protected the capital from the crisis of annihilation.
As the price of exercising that overly powerful ability‚ he was now sunk in a deep sleep mode (forced cooling).
Selina Elferia sat in a chair beside the recliner‚ simply staring fixedly at the sleeping Louis’s face.
How much time had already passed?
At first she thought he would awaken soon.
Next she grew anxious that some unknown anomaly might be occurring.
And now she was simply waiting endlessly.
Selina: “...Hurry and wake up.”
There was no reply.
Selina: “Hey.”
Of course.
He was sleeping.
That was all.
Though she understood it in her head‚ Selina clung and called out once more.
Selina: “...When you wake up‚ I’m going to be mad.”
She tried pouting her lips a little.
But that tough expression soon crumbled sadly.
Selina: “Sleeping on your own... is unfair.”
A hoarse voice melted into the room.
There was no one to reply.
Selina whispered in a voice so small even she herself could not hear.
Selina: “...But you know.
So that Louis-kun can sleep in peace‚ I’ll protect him the whole time.”
It was then.
Behind her‚ something stirred.
Slickly—Selina’s shadow that had fallen on the wall stretched in an impossible direction that ignored the light source.
Selina quickly turned around.
Selina: “...Agreas?”
Agreas: “Yes.”
When had he appeared? There stood a middle-aged man respectfully.
The primordial demon‚ Agreas.
Selina: “What is it?”
Caution ran through Selina’s expression.
Agreas did not answer immediately.
Instead he slowly closed his eyes‚ flared his nostrils‚ and took one deep breath of the air.
Then he opened narrowed amber eyes that seemed to pierce everything.
Agreas: “Young lady.”
Selina: “Mm.”
Agreas: “A bit.”
The demon floated a cruel smile.
Agreas: “It seems something troublesome has occurred.”
Selina’s brows drew together.
Selina: “What?”
The demon did not answer.
He merely slowly looked up at the underground ceiling.
Above it was the academy‚ the town‚ the kingdom.
And the ignorant populace who‚ knowing nothing‚ were enjoying this peaceful everyday of today.
Agreas: “...Apparently”
From Agreas’s feet‚ jet-black shadows slowly spread across the floor.
Agreas: “Outside this beautiful birdcage.
People with malice seem to have slipped in.”
For an instant.
The underground air chilled to absolute zero.
Selina rose soundlessly.
Selina: “...Who?”
Agreas: “Who knows.”
Agreas shrugged theatrically.
Agreas: “That is still unknown.”
But there was one certain thing.
Someone was inside this kingdom.
And those people had a clear purpose.
Agreas’s gaze slowly turned toward the sleeping Louis.
Agreas: “However”
Selina looked in the same direction.
The dear boy continuing to breathe quietly.
Agreas: “...Probably”
Agreas said in a voice that could not hide his pleasure.
Agreas: “It will not be a very pleasant purpose for us.”
◇
At that moment.
On a sunlit street corner of the royal capital Arcadia in the southern kingdom.
A single man in a white robe stopped dead in his tracks.
It was a peaceful town.
Children ran across the cobblestones‚ shopkeepers handed fruit to customers‚ someone raised laughter.
A warm spring breeze blew through.
As if tragedy did not exist in the world.
Petelgeuse‚ commander of the Silver Wedge‚ gazed at that defenseless scene with emotionless eyes.
And he murmured softly.
Petelgeuse: “—Where is the Computation God.”
Amid the clamor‚ not a single person heard that reaper’s voice.
Chapter 14: “The Mad Saintess of Peace‚ or the Two Cages of Silence” End
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