novelraw Chapter 57 : Archbishop (3)
Chapter 57 : Archbishop (3)
Chapter 57: Archbishop (3)
A sweet scent drifted up from beneath the proffered collarbone. Nike flared his nostrils.
It was a tempting smell to others, but to Nike it was unpleasant.
“Was all of this your intention?”
The condemned asked as if demanding an answer. Nike crunched even the apple seeds. He showed no sign of answering Morgana’s question.
Morgana’s head only grew more tangled in the face of his vacant behavior.
‘As always… I can’t tell what you’re thinking.’
She calmed her twisting mood and spoke.
“Nike. I came to examine your curse.”
“It hurts.”
“Is it still hard to move?”
Nike only nodded. He could move his hands and feet lightly, but getting about was difficult.
He could no longer walk, run, or fight.
Whenever he tried to move violently, searing pain burst from the inscribed points of the curse.
Even Nike, who enjoyed most types of pain, let out an “urk” from time to time. The power of a curse laid by a witch who had lived four hundred years was astounding.
Morgana coated her fingers with mana and rubbed at the curse on Nike.
“…The name of the curse is probably 『Shackle』.”
The endlessly rotting skin calmed for a moment.
“Until you free yourself from the Shackle that the Witch of the Sword placed on you, you’ll be dying every moment.”
The Shackle was an ancient, vicious curse.
Only one who could overturn the very fate of a target possessed the authority to lay it.
“Aghh— What a hassle! I’ll kill her when I see her!”
Nike snapped. Even at a glance it was an irksome curse. The gap in class made it worse.
“Hoho… I want to treat you, but unfortunately I’m bound by a contract at present. I can’t use my strength fully, so I can’t undo your curse.”
She added that even with her full power, she might not succeed.
“For Nike to live, you have to act. You must lift this curse as soon as possible.”
The condemned gave a bitter smile.
“So… though I disliked it, I asked the Hall of the City God for help.”
“The Hall of the City God?”
“Yes. It stands above our Order. An Archbishop will come.”
Nike tilted his head. Morgana’s voice, when she spoke of the Archbishop, didn’t sound good.
“…Nike. I know we have no choice if we’re to lift your curse, but I’m worried.”
“Hah? Worried? You?”
“Yes. Me.”
Nike furrowed his brow. Morgana was strange today. She lacked her usual gloomy edge.
Instead she seemed like a pitiful woman craving affection.
“I’m afraid of what the Archbishop might do to you… Nike.”
“…?”
Nike cocked his head. The woman was not herself today. He did not even know who the Archbishop was, so he couldn’t understand why she was making such a fuss.
The condemned gently wrapped Nike’s hand.
“Nike. Promise me one thing.”
“Promiiise~?”
“Whatever the Archbishop does to you, whatever he says, you must trust me.”
“Gloomy meat. You’re weird today. I don’t like it.”
The condemned covered her mouth and chuckled.
“A woman… is that kind of creature in nature.”
* * *
“Tia! Listen to me!”
The next day, Hestia came to see Nike. Her arm was still not sound, so she was still in the care of the infirmary.
Since she was nearby and better able to move, she had come to look after Nike.
“…What is it?”
Hestia answered listlessly and sat by his bed.
Nike’s expression looked very strange. He looked like someone who had seen something he should not have seen.
“About last night.”
Nike told Hestia what had happened the night before.
He told her that Rowen had left for Batuan for several months of training, and about the Captain’s odd remarks.
“Hmmm…”
After hearing him out, Hestia crossed her legs, tucked her hair behind her ear, and folded her arms. An unreadable smile touched her lips.
“Rowen… it’s fine that she left. But why would the Captain say that? ‘Trust me’?”
Hestia was not in a good mood.
Lately there were too many women lingering around Nike, and she was already on edge. Now even the Captain was acting strange, which was no small matter.
‘Is Nike the type who makes women gather on their own? Still, there are too many…’
At first she had no interest either, but her feelings had grown. He had saved her life, and being with him set her heart at ease.
If people all saw the same things, then he must look like a decent male to other women too.
‘Especially to witches, he’s even more popular.’
She had been overlooking it and ignoring it, but Hestia knew Nike was special.
He was the only man in a world suffused with mana. It would be stranger if witches did not covet him.
Even the Captain of the Order of the Silver Blades, a former witch, would be no different.
Hestia fixed Nike with a very cold stare. The slight tilt of her head and the emotionless eyes were cold enough to be frightening.
“…”
“T-Tia, what’s wrong… Tia is being strange too.”
“…You know, Nike.”
“Ah?”
“…Lately I keep thinking, marrying you would be exhausting.”
Nike choked on his cookie and hacked.
“Tia. Marriage? With who?”
“…With you. It would be exhausting.”
“Me? With you? Why!”
“…”
Hestia brushed up her platinum hair. Her gaze went even colder.
“…What words could I even manage with you.”
“Rowen, the gloomy meat, and you, Tia, you’re all weird. Did everyone eat rotten mushrooms? Spit them out, now!”
Hestia jabbed him in the side with her good arm.
“Agh! That hurts!”
“…I should go. The Archbishop is coming.”
“Hah?”
Hestia looked out the window. From far off, a procession from the Hall of the City God was approaching Vilnogos. It was vast.
“You heard. The Archbishop of the Hall of the City God is coming to lift your curse.”
“Agh… annoying.”
“…Don’t say things like that in front of the Archbishop.”
Nike nodded silently.
“And don’t let your eyes wander needlessly.”
“Hah?”
Thud.
Hestia shut the door and left. Nike sagged and lowered his head.
“No one is in their right mind…”
* * *
Rumble…
The city gate opened, and light poured in.
The Archbishop was the messenger of God.
The procession led by the Archbishop was the army of God.
With the great Sun Cross at their front, the Archbishop entered Vilnogos.
A woman on a white horse dominated the crowd. Her golden hair, like threads from heaven, streamed in the wind. The gentle fragrance that spread around her was the scent of paradise.
At the Archbishop’s holy entry, the priests of the Order of the Silver Blades raised their voices together and swore loyalty.
“Please use this lowly one who prostrates here as the instrument of God—”
A woman whose beauty rivaled a witch’s, waved in answer to the Order’s welcome. The smile she wore was infinitely mild, as if it could relieve all the evil in the world.
“Glory to the Sun God. Your Grace, we are sorry to have made you come to such a humble place.”
A pale woman, neatly dressed, bowed her waist. She was Morgana’s proxy, for Morgana’s flesh was nailed down and unable to move.
“That is not so, Morgana. Vilnogos is steeped in a great history. I am very fond of this place.”
“…Your words honor us.”
The condemned could not fully open her eyes. The holy force pouring from the Sun Cross made her uncomfortable.
It was an artifact infused with powerful sacred arts. Any ordinary being of demonic nature would struggle even to approach.
“I would like to see the little lamb in need of help at once.”
The Archbishop spoke as she dismounted. She walked barefoot toward the condemned.
“…Is it alright not to rest from your journey?”
The Archbishop shook her head with a kind smile.
“Even at this very moment, the little lamb must be writhing in pain.”
The condemned’s face was expressionless, but Morgana seethed inside.
The Archbishop Elena she knew was not such a diligent person.
Elena had a serpentine heart no less than Morgana’s, harbored dangerous ambition, and cared nothing for the stability of the human world.
She had not become a witch, but her nature was more insidious than most witches. Such a person seeking out Nike could only mean impure motives.
The condemned answered with a smile and nothing more. She mechanically erased the extreme displeasure from her face.
Archbishop Elena suddenly took the condemned’s hand.
“It really is fine. As God’s messenger, I want to do my work quickly.”
A pale, gaunt woman with a bowed head.
An Archbishop who clasped that woman’s hand with warmth.
It was the tableau of a saintess saving a harlot at rock bottom. Elena had staged it deliberately.
“…Very well. I’ll guide you right away.”
Morgana, displeased, led them inward. Elena followed with a light smile. Priests and knights directly under the Hall of the City God fell in behind her one by one.
Wherever they passed, members of the Order greeted the Archbishop. With devout faces, they bent at the waist and offered prayers to the Sun God.
Each time, the Archbishop answered with a gentle smile.
“Morgana. An important item has recently been raised within the Hall of the City God.”
Elena waved to the people and whispered. Morgana answered quietly.
“What matter is that?”
“The selection of a Saintess will soon take place.”
“…”
They kept walking and talking. No one else could hear them.
“I would like the Order of the Silver Blades to support my candidate.”
“…”
So that was her intent.
If the usually sedentary Archbishop of the Hall of the City God had moved personally, then there was cause.
If she meant to secure a vote for the Saintess selection, the calculation fit.
“I hear the cursed child is very special.”
“He’s exceptional.”
“There must be a reason you hid him and failed to report to the Hall of the City God until now.”
“…”
They began to climb the stairs. They were the Stairs of Endurance that led up to Vilnogos’s main building.
True to their monastic nature, not a single person in the procession showed strain.
At the very head, a secret bargain took place.
“If you back my candidate, I’ll let this slide. I’ll also take that old hound off your back.”
“…Vigo?”
The condemned’s shoulders twitched slightly. Confirming the reaction, Elena came abreast of her.
“I know what that mad dog did to you. He pushed it through against the Hall of the City God’s opposition. Morgana, you have the right to rest.”
“…”
The condemned did not answer. Her eyes stayed on the steps.
At last they finished the stairs and entered the main building. From here, only Morgana and Elena, with a few closest priests and knights, proceeded.
Elena walked with elegance, trailing her long vestments. Footsteps echoed through the quiet building.
They climbed a little farther on a lovely staircase, and the entrance to the inpatient wing appeared within the main building.
“Morgana. I will take your silence as consent.”
Morgana did not answer to the very end. She only acted.
The ward door opened slowly. Screams poured out from within.
“Ghh! Aaaagh!”
The condemned’s eyes widened. Elena also knit her brows, shoved Morgana aside, and dashed in.
“Ugh! What is…!”
The air in the ward stank. It was the smell you found where mana density was extreme.
The temperature inside was blistering. Even standing still, sweat ran on its own.
In a ward that resembled a demonic lair, a gray-haired boy writhed in agony at the center.
“Aaaaaah! Gyaaaaaaah! I feel like I’m dying!!”
“Nike!”
The condemned ran in. The instant she laid a hand on him to soothe him with mana, the curse rampaged.
Kwooooom!
Soot-black and blood-red energy exploded and devoured the ward in every direction. A powerful curse began to rampage.
Elena shouted to the priests and paladins behind her.
“Let no one enter, and repeat the Prayer of Unbinding to the forty-ninth cycle until the rite is complete!”
“Yes!”
Fwooooosh!
In an instant the ward became hell.
The condemned could not withstand it and melted into the curse.
Morgana’s true body sealed the ward’s surroundings with a barrier.
Inside that barrier, Elena felt a thrill and smiled.
“…This will let me place another debt.”