How to Teach a Hero at the Academy

Chapter 185 : Chapter 185

Chapter 185: The Banality of Evil (2)

'An apostate?'

Monica tilted her head.

She looked at Henrietta, who was walking ahead.

'No matter how I look at her......'

She seemed too destitute to be wielding black magic.

Abel's spell would surely be correct. The fact that Henrietta Owings was an apostate would not change. Which was exactly why it became all the more puzzling. If she were an apostate, there would be no reason for her to eke out so wretched an existence. Even granted she'd be fated to be hunted by paladins, what reason would she have to dress in rags and haul corpses about?

'Is she in disguise?'

As though to mock Monica's doubts,

"That's right."

Yes indeed, and.

Henrietta whispered leisurely as she turned to look back.

Her eyes were so glazed over that watching them made you drowsy.

"Thank you for lending me the umbrella."

"Never mind."

"Are you really all right? You look cold."

"I don't feel the cold much."

Abel spoke with an indifferent expression.

His body was soaked through. Because he had been tilting his umbrella toward Monica. Monica had refused it over and over, but Abel hadn't minded.

"Let me ask you one thing."

The remaining umbrella had been handed to Henrietta.

Beneath the canopy shaped like a bat's wings, Henrietta was fiddling with the umbrella's handle as if it were some marvel. At a glance it appeared she was holding an umbrella for the first time.

"Why are you showing us kindness?"

"I thought I said it was a trade."

At Abel's question, Henrietta answered in a soft tone.

"I'm going to collect the lodging fee, for sure."

"That hangs on my choice. I have a sword."

"Oh my, I just noticed. Quite an old sword, isn't it. Come to think of it, you said you were a paladin, didn't you. I listened in on your conversation with the clerk."

"That too could be nothing but impersonation."

"Right. That aside, we have a kitchen knife at home. So I too have a blade, in my way."

She's too slow-witted for me to call it handling people.

Abel thought with a sigh. It only deepened his suspicion. He had remained at the 'Pest and Corpse Control Office' until deep into the night, observing the visitors. He had surveyed, one after another, the corpse collectors who came for their payment, and watched whether any of them had ties to apostates.

"Mr. Abel Argento, was it?"

Of them all, Henrietta had been the most artless.

And she was the only apostate. He could cut her down on the spot, yet Abel wished to uncover the point of contact between Henrietta and the Parousia Denomination.

"Telling good from evil isn't difficult."

If you speak kind words to them they grow up kind,

If you speak cruel words to them they grow up cruel.

People and vegetables are exactly the same. I've only spoken kind words to all of you. So all of you will grow kind. No matter how cruel you've been until now.

The reverse, too, holds.

Even a person as kind as can be. Speak cruel words to them, and they turn vicious in no time.

Henrietta murmured so, and,

"Oh, look at me. I was forgetting."

Then she looked ahead.

"We've already arrived."

Beneath a mass of ink-dark clouds pouring down a curtain of rain,

A mansion easily three stories tall reared up. The vines that had climbed the mansion's outer walls were like the hands of a clock. Wrapping around the weathered mansion as though to devour it, they had raised their thorns sharply, as if marking out the years of its history.

The rusted weathervane kept rotating with a groaning noise, and the crumbled fountain was blanketed in spider webs, meanwhile,

"Hank."

Thud, thud.

Henrietta rapped on the door.

"Hank, we're here."

"We?"

Clunk.

Just as the door opened, a man's question was aimed at them.

A man emerged from within the mansion.

"There are two of them."

Henrietta said.

As she turned to look back at Abel and Monica.

The man, Hank, also stared vacantly at Abel and Monica. Apart from their sexes, Hank and Henrietta looked just alike. Their ages appeared close too. They seemed to be siblings.

"Hello."

And so Hank wore a smile.

He greeted them in a languid voice.

"What a lovely night."

Just as Henrietta had.

***

"The house is spacious."

Abel spoke up.

As he looked at the food set on the table.

Stiff bread, cheap dried meat, and roasted vegetables lay strewn about, meanwhile,

"But it's run-down. Isn't it?"

Henrietta said in a voice tinged with laughter.

She then set a plate of corn soup beside Abel. A jerk of her chin followed. It meant, please, go ahead and eat. Abel picked up a spoon and stirred the corn soup. After swallowing a single mouthful, he furrowed his brow. His throat went numb.

"It doesn't appear to be poisoned. You may eat, Monica."

"Ah, yes......"

He looked like he was in pain just now.

Thinking that, Monica propped her chin in her hands.

Henrietta and Hank began their meal, and after confirming that, Monica too put her hands to work. She had been starving, as a matter of fact. Dipping bread into the corn soup and swallowing it, she found it unremarkably bad. As Abel had said, it didn't seem to be poisoned.

"It doesn't seem to be to your taste."

Then Hank opened his mouth.

As he gazed at Abel, who was sitting stock still.

"I'm sorry. Our household isn't well-off."

"There's no need to apologize."

Abel replied with his arms folded.

"I've simply lost the ability to eat food. Swallowing it only brings pain. But it's of no concern. I've also lost the ability to feel hunger."

"Is that true?"

Henrietta asked, turning to Monica.

Monica, who had been chomping on bread, looked Abel over.

By what Abel said, it must be. But Monica couldn't help being confused. A person who had become incapable of eating. Wasn't that too far-fetched? She'd once thought it unthinkable. Yet now she wasn't so sure. For she had only seen Abel eat a meal once.

Once in the span of several months.

It was a painfully small number.

"......It seems so."

Monica chose to leave it at that, and,

"What a relief."

Henrietta said with a bright smile.

"You did say you came from the capital. So I thought our food must look shabby to you."

"Right."

Hank nodded.

"Otherwise it would be too pitiful. The corn, the wheat, the starch, the vegetables, and the meat......"

"All of it crushed and torn and warmed like this. For our hunger. Isn't that so, young lady?"

"......Yes, I suppose so."

"How about you, young lady? Is our food to your taste?"

"Of course."

Monica smiled awkwardly.

"Though I came from the capital, I was born and raised in the slums. Thank you for welcoming me......"

"Born in the slums."

Hank exclaimed with a fork in his mouth.

"So that's why one arm is a prosthetic? That prosthetic......, it looks very expensive."

"It does."

Monica nodded.

"Even just the cost of the materials. I don't remember the exact figure, but......, it was expensive enough to make someone spit out their ginger ale."

Damn it, the thread of the conversation has gone completely sideways.

Monica thought as she chewed on her lip.

She mustn't let her guard down. This place was, after all, an apostate's base. At any moment she could be exposed to black magic. She didn't want to repeat what she'd gone through beneath the Naflansee Grand Cathedral. Vincent Tremblay — she could not forget how that damned warlock had mimicked her mother.

"Monica, eat the carrots too."

"Understood."

Meanwhile, Abel looked around.

The sound of water dripping could be heard here and there. Because rainwater had seeped in. There seemed to be quite a lot of places in need of repair. The mold-covered ceiling looked ready to collapse at any moment, and beneath the floorboards, rats were wriggling and squeaking.

"Monica, eat the peppers too."

"That's a bit......"

"Eat."

"Fine, fine."

Still, the mansion was safe.

Various spells appeared to be in operation. Scrolls had been cut up and buried in the yard to form a Barrier, while magic circles inscribed on every pillar held the mansion's collapse in check. At this rate it will hold a full hundred years. Abel was thinking that when a question came to him.

Why is it so amateurish.

"Monica, eat the eggplant too."

"I don't like eggplant."

"Eat."

"Absolutely, absolutely not."

"Eat."

"......Please don't."

Abel held out a piece of roasted eggplant toward Monica.

Inwardly, he thought. That the mansion was safe for now was obvious, yet the amateurish way in which it was safe was the problem. With black magic, a more impregnable hideout could easily have been built. Without any need to pose as corpse collectors, she could have been plying her craft somewhere beyond the eyes of all.

"That man."

And so Abel looked at the parlor wall.

The portrait hanging on the wall. He gazed at the portrait depicting Henrietta and Hank together with an elderly man.

"Who is that man?"

At Abel's question,

"That is our father."

"Right, that's our dad."

Henrietta and Hank answered at the same time.

"Our father passed away three years ago."

"That's not so. He only went out."

"Strictly speaking he went missing. To call it 'going out' when he hasn't come back in three years. Hank is just too optimistic."

"You're the one who's too pessimistic, Henrietta. Even granting, for the sake of argument, that he went missing. That still doesn't mean he's dead. Because we never saw a body."

"Hank, quiet."

"You quiet down, Henrietta."

Abel scratched at his temple.

The siblings who had been warm and friendly were glaring at each other.

Then Henrietta's and Hank's gazes tilted toward Abel, and,

"What do you think?"

"Yeah. What do you think?"

To the question of the two,

"I don't know."

Abel answered with his index finger raised.

"He may be dead, or he may be alive. In that case, there's surely another possibility to keep in mind as well."

Right, and.

Abel murmured softly.

"He may be dead, and yet alive."

.

.

.

"Now......"

A little while later, in the mansion's bedroom.

A small candle was struggling to keep burning, meanwhile,

"Now......, you have to tell me."

Monica opened her mouth.

Perched on the edge of the bed, her body swaying.

"What's our......, purpose. Did we come......, to catch an apostate?"

"Sleep for now."

Abel spoke in an impassive tone.

Monica's face was heavy with drowsiness. It was only natural she'd be tired. She'd been on the move all day, burdened with her luggage. The tension seemed to drain out of her as she washed up and took off her armor. The way she kept righting her tilting upper body looked like a tumbler doll.

"No......, I'm not sleepy......"

"Right."

Abel took a step forward.

He pressed his ear to the door and focused on the sounds outside.

"Today, for sure......, I'm going to check it......"

"Right."

He ignored Monica's words.

He concentrated on the signs of presence drifting from beyond the door. Henrietta and Hank, the siblings, appeared to be pacing around inside the house.

"Whether you really can't sleep anymore, Professor......, last time I fell asleep first, but......"

"Right."

"Tonight, without fail......"

"Right."

"I'm going to find out......"

"Right."

"I'm not asleep......"

"Right."

"But you're the one who's asleep, Professor......"

"Right."

"See......"

"Right."

"Heh......"

Flop.

The sound of Monica's body tipping over.

Abel turned to look at Monica. Sprawled on the bed, Monica was breathing evenly.

"A person who can't sleep, that doesn't exist......"

"It does. Right here."

Abel laid Monica out properly.

After drawing a blanket over her, he picked up the candle.

'There are too many suspicious points.'

Inwardly, he thought.

Henrietta and Hank had been given their chances. If they had set their minds to striking at an opening, it would have been possible any number of times. There had been moments when they could have taken Monica hostage, and moments when they could have slipped poison into the food. Black magic, too, could have been used freely. Are they planning to strike once the others are asleep? In order to secure a decisive advantage.

'I'm curious.'

Whoosh.

Abel breathed out.

'Now it's time to find out.'

The flame of the burning candle flickered out.

With darkness on every side, footsteps echoed faintly through the room.