novelraw Chapter 149 : Chapter 149
Chapter 149 : Chapter 149
Chapter 149: Blossoms, Bouquets, and a Storm of Flowers (1)
At daybreak, on the coast of Portsmouth.
As the sea breeze brushed against grains of sand—
‘The scenery has changed.’
THUD.
Abel sat down heavily in the middle of the beach.
The sun was rising, but its light was faint. In the dim air, the afterimages of stars were scattered. As Abel counted them, his gaze lowered.
Beyond the breakwater, the once grotesque scenery of Portsmouth had been transformed.
Fresh trees rose up vividly, flowers blooming in tangled vines. It felt unfamiliar to call it a winter landscape. It was as though some kind of impression had been laid over the land.
‘It is beautiful.’
Abel closed his eyes gently.
He could tell just by looking at the scenery.
What the children had accomplished. Not only had they repelled the Banshee invasion, but the divine punishment cast upon Portsmouth must have been lifted as well.
‘Exceedingly beautiful, but…….’
I am tired.
Looking at it for too long is exhausting.
Thinking so, Abel lowered his head. Some landscapes strained the eyes. Usually, the brighter they were, the more so.
Hoo. As Abel let out a long breath—
“What are you doing there?”
Suddenly, Monika’s whisper reached Abel’s ears.
Abel opened his eyes slightly. Looking toward the source of the sound, he saw Monika standing on the sand. She looked only half-awake, wrapped in thick fur.
“I was resting.”
Abel rose to his feet.
He stepped forward and stood silently beside Monika.
His ceremonial clothes were in tatters, and the stench of blood was strong. Looking up at Abel, Monika thought. Of course they would be. He must have fought all night. If anything was strange, it was rather—
“You are not injured.”
“I healed everything.”
“I do not see the boat.”
“I walked back.”
“Yes, well…….”
I suppose you did.
Monika muttered quietly.
“It is cold.”
“You can feel the cold?”
“A little.”
“Then you should have worn something other than ceremonial clothes.”
“Thick clothing interferes with movement.”
“Fabien said so.”
That you only own ceremonial clothes.
That you just buy several of the same outfit and rotate them.
As Monika said that—
“It is convenient.”
Abel shrugged, as though he did not see what the problem was.
“Ceremonial clothes are acceptable in any setting. That is why I favor them. I do not have to think about what to wear.”
“Most people do not live like that.”
At least they own sleepwear, she whispered, pouting slightly.
Their footsteps pressed dully into the sand. Abel walked ahead, and Monika followed behind. It was trivial conversation, but as Monika watched Abel’s back, she thought. An ordinary person could not live like Abel, and by the same token, Abel could not live like an ordinary person.
It was not that he chose not to live an ordinary life—
it was that he could not.
If one could no longer eat, no longer sleep, then surely……
“What did you see.”
As they walked, Abel spoke.
Facing the purified scenery of Portsmouth.
“Lizer must have taken you to the Mother God’s domain. I have visited it myself many times. Even so, I wish to ask. What did you see there.”
“I…….”
Monika trailed off.
She tightened her grip on the fur wrapped around her. Then she told Abel everything she had seen in the Mother God’s domain.
It could not have been an ordinary experience. As she reported to Abel, Monika thought. Speaking with a Main God, resonating with the dead—neither could be called ordinary.
“I saw the souls of the people of this place…….”
And yet, why was it?
It did not feel unfamiliar. It was not surprising, nor did it provoke doubt.
“I also saw the souls of the people of Sarrifis…….”
Had she grown accustomed to it?
Since joining CIAR, she had encountered events far removed from the life she once knew.
“……I saw Fleur.”
No, that was not it.
Stopping in her tracks, Monika reached a conclusion.
The reason none of this felt unfamiliar was because an even stranger question had taken root in her mind.
“They trusted me.”
For some reason, they said they would trust me.
Monika murmured.
“The people who died in Portsmouth chose to trust me. The Spirits who resented this land chose to trust me. Even the Mother God chose to trust me. And all of that…….”
Was because of my life.
Because of the life I have lived so far, and the souls who look upon me from the Underworld.
My unceasing mourning for them.
That, they said, was the reason…….
“I was told that, but I…….”
Those words……
The words Fleur spoke……
How should I even put it……,
“You cannot believe it.”
Abel cut in.
Monika nodded. Naturally so—she had not lived a life worthy of trust. She had not lived a life deserving trust from resentful souls, from Spirits that lived on while diseased, from the Mother God who had cast divine punishment.
An ordinary life.
Or perhaps a life worse than that.
Even if those who died beside her became her justification, where in her life had there been power enough to transform the scenery. Mourning? Was it truly mourning? Could mourning alone make that possible? Monika was lost in such questions when—
“……Believe.”
Tap.
Abel’s hand came to rest atop Monika’s head.
A faint smile curved his lips.
“If you cannot believe in the mourning you have done until now, then believe in the mourning you will do from here on. As you live, there will be more and more to mourn. Mourn those who lived in your homeland. Mourn the friends you have lost. Mourn those who died on this land.”
That alone
is the way to face the dead and transform the past.
“Well done, Monika.”
Your mourning has purified this land, stained by a distorted history.
Abel whispered so, and—
“……That is too much praise.”
Monika shook her head.
She brushed Abel’s hand away and spoke.
“There is something I want to ask.”
If I wanted to praise you, Teacher……
What should I say?
To Monika’s question—
“……Praise?”
Abel tilted his head.
“Yes. Saying you did well seems redundant, since you always do. I cannot think of anything else suitable to say. Should I say you were impressive? But then, your appearance is a mess. As a disciple, offering praise is surprisingly difficult.”
“I do not need praise.”
“That cannot be true.”
A smile appeared at Monika’s lips.
But it lasted only a moment. The corners of her mouth, which had curled up primly, soon fell. Monika lowered her amber eyes cautiously, scuffing the sand with her boot as she murmured.
“Teacher, you look…….”
I do not know why, but you look very sad.
***
At dusk, in the plaza of Portsmouth.
As bonfires flickered with gentle warmth—
“──Everyone, brace yourselves!”
Roberta shouted at the top of her lungs.
KABOOM. Fireworks shot up into the air.
Flames were etched across the darkening sky. The fireworks Roberta had hastily assembled scattered into the shape of an eagle, and the residents of Portsmouth gasped in awe. The festival was in full swing.
“You really…….”
At the edge of the circular crowd, Eleanor frowned. Demian stood beside her, arms crossed, his expression solemn.
“……You are not planning to erase that, are you?”
“That is correct.”
This scar must not be erased.
Murmuring so, Demian touched the corner of his eye. Most of the wounds he had suffered in battle had been treated, but the scar by his eye remained. A vertical mark from a Banshee’s claw was etched into his gaze.
“My mother and father both bore scars on their faces from protecting others. They treasured those scars and kept them. I, Demian Fernando von Farenheit, am no different…….”
I am only now taking my first step.
Following the path the two of them walked.
Demian murmured—
“You are full of shit.”
Eleanor sighed.
“You looked better without the scar.”
“──Aaaah, Senior! You damn bastard!”
As Eleanor muttered, Ernst screamed. A drunken Lizer was dragging Ernst by the arm toward the dancing crowd around the bonfire.
“Do not just sit there, Er. Let us enjoy ourselves.”
“Do not call me by a nickname! It puts me in a foul mood.”
“Fine, fine, just move your feet. To the rhythm.”
“No, listen, you are drunk! Why are you trying to dance with me!”
The voices of Ernst and Lizer mixed with the dancing.
Abel did not hear them. No matter how bright the bonfire burned, it did not reach Abel, who stood at the edge of the plaza. Abel merely lowered his head with a quiet expression, facing Pnakotic, who stood leaning on a cane.
“……I see.”
Hoo.
Smoke flowed from Pnakotic’s mouth.
“So the enormous monster this town worshiped…… grew by devouring children, you say.”
“That is correct.”
Abel could not tell the truth.
That the sacrificed children and the monster’s progenitor had become one—he could not say that to anyone. The Black Sea would become transparent once more. The Banshees, having lost their nest, would decline. Portsmouth would return to peace. All truth ought to be buried within the Black Sea. Abel understood his position well.
Bearing a twisted conclusion alone.
Protecting the world by any means necessary.
That, too, was one of the Hero’s duties.
“Abel.”
And so Pnakotic whispered, biting down on his cigarette, a hollow smile on his face.
“No, perhaps I should call you a Hero.”
You are very bad at lying.
Your thoughts are written all over your face.
Pnakotic said so.
“I do not know what you are hiding. But I can tell that you did not speak the whole truth. And that is because…….”
You look far too burdened.
Your expression, I mean.
“So look.”
Look over there.
Pnakotic pointed his cane toward the center of the plaza.
“Your students seem to have noticed as well.”
Abel followed the direction Pnakotic indicated.
Then he tilted his head in confusion. The residents, who had been bustling about, had formed neat lines, and Abel’s students stood shoulder to shoulder with the bonfire behind them.
At the moment when everyone’s gaze turned toward Abel—
“Ah, well…….”
At the center of the line, Monika spoke.
“I do not know how this happened, but…….”
She scratched the back of her neck with an awkward expression.
“I heard there was some kind of semester assignment?”
Lizer shrugged, his face flushed with drink.
“You might want to be careful, Professor.”
Roberta snorted, arms folded firmly across her chest.
“Yes, well. We do need to get credits, after all…….”
Ernst muttered with a sulky expression, glancing at the resolute Demian.
“That is correct, Professor Argento!”
Demian nodded and recited the semester assignment Abel had given them.
“To pierce the professor’s back with a sword. No difference in scoring. Pierce it and you pass. Fail to pierce it and you fail. Those who fail will attend remedial lessons.”
Ah, right.
Abel let out a hollow laugh.
Now that he thought about it, the semester was nearly over.
The students still had an assignment to complete.
“So, it is a duel!”
Demian declared boldly, and—
“……Very well.”
Abel stepped forward.
It would be a fitting lesson for a festival.
Thinking so, he drew his beloved sword.