novelraw Chapter 53 : Chapter 53
Chapter 53 : Chapter 53
Chapter 53: Student Interview (3)
“Professor Argento is……”
Fleur narrowed her eyes.
“You have very simple tastes.”
It's not a space where a person can stay.
Fleur thought as she looked around Abel's office. A large round table and a wooden chair, two folding chairs of different shapes, ink and a quill pen, stained towels, and a bundle of paper stacked for sending letters…….
Abel's space consisted only of indispensable objects. And so, it was strange. A person would inevitably have some useless items.
‘That is…….’
Come to think of it, there was one useless thing.
‘……A rose.’
A glass bottle on the round table.
A yellow rose placed in the glass bottle.
It was the flower Fleur had given to Abel. Fleur, who was staring at it, sat down on a folding chair.
“Do you know the language of the yellow rose?”
“No.”
To Fleur's question, Abel answered indifferently.
“You are insensitive to trends. The ladies of high society exchange flowers instead of letters. They convey their feelings through the language of flowers rather than writing long sentences.”
The language of the yellow rose is jealousy and envy.
Fleur muttered so.
“I did not gift you a flower, Professor Argento. I merely conveyed the language of flowers. So you can throw it away. It will wither soon anyway.”
“I am not interested in the language of flowers. A flower is just the reproductive organ of a spermatophyte.”
Abel looked at the yellow rose.
He touched the withering leaves, then soon wore a faint smile.
“You gave me a flower, and I am of a nature that cannot throw away what I have received. The meaning contained in that act doesn't matter.”
“Even though I didn't give it as a gift?”
“There is no law that says you must only give and receive gifts. The relationship between people is not that romantic.”
What an inscrutable man.
Fleur thought, letting out a faint sigh.
There was no emotion in Abel's smile. It was not the result of his lips moving, but like looking at a curve engraved on a statue. Looking back, everything about that man was mysterious. Abel Argento, how did that man discover Monika's talent, and how did he slaughter the warships that surrounded CIAR?
‘There must be something he's hiding.’
She had been guessing since the moment she witnessed the cast shortening.
That Abel Argento was not an ordinary general-turned-Holy Knight.
“You seem to have many questions for me.”
Abel said, resting his chin on his hand.
His long-extended hand was covering a piece of paper. It was the document with Fleur's history written on it.
“I am the same. Therefore, the interview with you will not be based on the documents.”
An inscrutable child.
Abel thought, watching Fleur closely.
On the outside, she was no different from a girl of her age. Fleur was neatly dressed in her school uniform, and while she put on a noble air, she was controlling it so as not to stand out. Not only her academic performance but also her peer relationships were smooth. Even setting aside her talent as an evangelist, Fleur was a model student.
‘But this child is the daughter of Marquis Saint-Pierre.’
What kind of disposition does a child who grew up among fanatics have?
It was time to find out. That is why he asked a question.
“Are you not sad?”
“……What?”
At Abel's question, Fleur tilted her head.
“The members of your family died. They were brutally murdered. Wasn't it reported in the ‘Daily Watcher’? The students will also find out by today. And yet you seem unfazed.”
“Everyone dies.”
Fleur said, adjusting her floral wreath.
“As a member of the Saint-Pierre family, I learned that life and death are nothing but the arrangement of the Main Gods. Someone being born, and someone dying, are both inevitable.”
Isn't that right, Professor Argento?
Right now, in some alley, cats are being born. They must be rummaging through their mother's fur without even opening their eyes. Pushing their heads in search of warmth, they will barely find a breast and suckle on their mother's milk.
Among their mother's fur, there will be swarms of ticks. Aren't tiny ticks constantly being born and dying? A person's life is similar. Someone might be born with difficulty like a kitten, and die suddenly like an insect.
Fleur whispered so.
“In the first place, the world is like that, so there is no reason to be sad. Because it must be the result of the Main Gods' design.”
“Do you really think so?”
“Of course.”
Fleur nodded her head.
Without even a slight tremor, a firm smile was etched on Fleur's lips.
“Professor Arcturus and my father will also think so. As long as one's faith is firm, one does not have to be discouraged by trivial misfortunes. There is no need for sadness in this world.”
“You……”
Abel let out a sigh.
“You certainly told me. That the Saint-Pierre family wiped out Monika's hometown. Is there no lie in those words?”
“Of course. But I cannot give you evidence. My father is of a thorough nature. But it's probably not just for that reason that he avoided responsibility. Wasn't it a result of the Main Gods' will?”
If, by any chance, that's not the case……, she said.
Fleur's eyes shone as she continued.
“The imperial family, the Papacy, and the countless nobles. In other words, all the adults who hold sway over this world……. They were all either incompetent, or indifferent, which is why they weren't caught.”
“……I suppose so.”
Abel stood up from his chair.
He then walked toward Fleur. The desolate sound of his shoes filled the office. While Abel's shadow cast over Fleur, Fleur looked up at Abel with a relaxed smile. Abel's cold, sunken, blackish-blue eyes. Even while facing such a sharp gaze, Fleur was unconcerned.
“Fleur de Saint-Pierre.”
Abel's hand extended toward Fleur.
Fleur did not waver. She just stared at Abel's hand.
“You do not know life, and you do not know death.”
Thus, it touched her head.
Abel's hand rested on Fleur's head.
He stroked it.
“The Main Gods do not take responsibility for life and death. You, as an evangelist, should know. The Main Gods are outside this world, and the laws that make up this world can only be resolved within this world.”
We have to take responsibility.
For both life, and death.
Abel whispered so.
“Then what are you going to do from now on, Professor?”
Fleur asked in a quiet tone.
“Someone is killing the members of the Saint-Pierre family. It might be the work of someone with a grudge. That's understandable. There must be countless people who would resolve to take revenge on the Saint-Pierre family. Has our family finally faced its karma? Only the Main Gods will know the answer.”
“I will track down the culprit who killed the members of your family. At the same time, I will also investigate the evil deeds committed by your family. To impose the price that must be paid.”
“Is that also part of your duties, Professor? I'm learning that for the first time.”
Fleur smiled softly.
She extended her hand to cover her curved lips.
The sleeve slowly slid down. The stigmata on Fleur's wrist was revealed.
“Then what should I do? Should I convey the professor's declaration to my family? Or should I ignore it as it is? What do you wish for that you are telling me these things?”
“I wish for nothing. You are a girl who is not yet an adult.”
Abel calmly stepped back.
The hand that had been on Fleur's head was withdrawn.
“I am the one who wants to ask.”
Abel said with his back to Fleur.
“What do you wish from me? What did you wish for that you told me. That your family has committed great evil deeds.”
“I also wished for nothing. You are just one of the common adults.”
They say the duty of an adult is to teach.
Not just professors, but all adults try to teach children.
But Professor Argento, I have nothing to learn from you. Because I know life, and at the same time, I also know death.
Fleur whispered so.
“──My mother, you see. In her lifetime, she shouted to everyone around her to kill her.”
And so, she died.
She ended her own life.
Fleur told Abel about Pertillier's death. A life that ended on its own after crying out to be killed. Such a death could only be realized by the Main Gods. Taking one's own life seemed like a death achieved solely by human power, but it was an anomaly because it was a death that could not be understood as a human.
“If it's not a providence set by someone……, it becomes unbearably futile.”
That is life. That is death.
Fleur asserted, clutching her wrist. A soft touch covered the stigmata, which was like a slash. Her overflowing blue eyes hardened, and the smile on her lips vanished without a trace.
──Because it was all, a lie.
.
.
.
“I'm here.”
Monika said, pushing open the archway door.
Abel was sitting facing the round table. The documents scattered on the round table were in a mess. Monika picked up one of them and examined it. Fleur de Saint-Pierre's history. How unlucky to have picked this one. Thinking so, Monika sat down on a folding chair. As she always had.
“I went to the capital on an errand. So I'm a little late. Am I the last one?”
“……Yes.”
Abel nodded his head.
He gathered the scattered documents and covered them. There was no need for her history in interviewing Monika.
In the first place, Monika would stop by the office every evening. To learn how to write, or to learn various humanistic common sense. She had been reading books with Abel by her side.
“You look tired for a change. Tomorrow the sun will rise from a goblin's ass.”
Monika rummaged through her leather bag.
‘Learn with Grandma Fruit! The Sweet and Sour Writing Class’.
She spread it open and held a fountain pen. The dictation journey with the damn grandmother was also coming to an end.
“I'm tired from talking for hours. And the sun rises in the east. It's because of Epezeria's rotation direction.”
“I know that.”
Abel drew his beloved sword.
He picked up a stained towel and wiped the blade.
Even so, it was impossible for it to become clean. The stains on the beloved sword were blemishes that could not be wiped away.
“In any case, Monika, we also have to have an interview.”
“Well……, ask me anything.”
“What are you going to be in the future?”
“If possible, I'd like to become a Holy Knight, but even if I can't, I'll probably make a living with a sword.”
Monika shrugged her shoulders.
If she became a Holy Knight, she could stay in the Papal States. She would own a fiefdom, and also obtain wealth. That was enough. A not-bad life. Monika believed it without a doubt. Because the problems of housing and livelihood would be solved.
“Even if you become a Holy Knight, life does not end. Someday, you might get married to someone, and even have children.”
“Who would want to marry me? With my right arm like this.”
“What does that have to do with anything? There are plenty of people who would find you beautiful.”
“Don't tell me you're talking about artists? They even metaphorize a stone as a bone fragment of the World God. I'll pass.”
What about you, Teacher, she said.
Monika asked, moving her fountain pen.
“Aren't you of marriageable age, Teacher?”
“It has already passed.”
“You do remember, don't you? You said you became a professor at CIAR to save up for marriage funds. During the first morning assembly.”
“That was a reason His Holiness the Pope made up.”
“Anyway. Recently, it has become frequent for people to marry around thirty. It's because the sense of time has slowed down from mingling with the elves.”
“Elves at most live for about a thousand years. I have lived twice as long as that.”
“Oh my, is that so?”
Jokes, you see.
They're not funny when you say them with such a blunt expression.
Monika muttered so.
‘A joke.’
It might certainly be funny.
Abel thought, looking at his beloved sword. The bastard sword that had been the equipment of the Saintess Ion Blanche. Even that had lost its light and worn out. A human who had lived on longer than an artifact. The years he had lived as a ‘Mother God's Left Hand’ were like a joke. If a memory becomes too old, one will come to smile even while recalling misfortune. Even the difficult moments become nostalgic.
He had recalled it many times.
The end of Ion Blanche, who was nailed by the subjects.
He wondered if even death would become full of life if he cherished it for a long time. The woman he loved was preserved in the past, but that was okay. Abel had not forgotten for a thousand years. He could recall it as if it were yesterday.
“Monika.”
Thus, Abel opened his mouth.
“Have you ever thought of revenge.”
“……Revenge?”
“Yes. Because the past is hard to forget.”
You know it too.
Your hometown disappeared, swept away in the Mirror War.
Have you never yearned for revenge against the culprit?
Abel asked so.
“Hmm.”
The end of the fountain pen on Monika's lips.
Why is he suddenly asking such a question, she thought, but Monika answered without hesitation.
“──My mother said. Just before she passed away, she shouted at me to be sure to survive.”
And so, I live.
I must live.
“I can't say I've never dreamed of revenge. But I won't do it. Because I shouldn't ruin my life.”
Monika knew.
That if she yearned for revenge, her own life would also collapse.
In the first place, that's what revenge was. It was an act that could not be completed without the resolve to burn one's own body.
What should I do to kill Marquis Saint-Pierre right now? I don't know. There is one clear fact. That a resolve to give up one's life is necessary. Monika thought so.
So, no.
I can't just throw away my life.
“I am the legacy of my mother and father, and the people of Sarrifis.”
Monika moved her fountain pen.
Her messy handwriting had become quite upright.
“So I must cherish my life. I will live very well until I die.”
Abel did not speak.
That child already knew. According to Fleur's words, Monika knew the circumstances of her hometown's disappearance.
The reason she was not swayed by resentment must be because of the last words. If different last words had been exchanged, Monika's life would also have changed. Monika's mother had left the necessary words, and there was nothing more for Abel to advise.
“By the way, Teacher Abel.”
Monika, who had been scribbling letters, raised her head.
She looked at Abel and raised the corners of her lips.
“I have prepared a gift.”
“……A gift?”
“Yes.”
Monika nodded her head.
“I went to the capital to buy a gift. I've only been indebted to you all this time. I've prepared something amazing, so please look forward to it.”
It seems he's arrived, she said.
Monika muttered, looking back at the archway door of the office.
Come to think of it, footsteps were heard. A heavy gait for a person. It was clearly Fabien's presence.
[I apologize for being late.]
As soon as the archway door opened,
[The procession was endless. My turn finally came.]
Fabien appeared, holding a gift parcel.
A thin, angular, and elegantly wrapped parcel was in Fabien's hand.
“I'm sorry, Mr. Fabien. It must have been hard waiting alone.”
[Do not mind it. A golem does not feel hardship.]
“Still, it was on my mind. Because I left first due to the interview……”
Abel rested his chin on his hand and blinked.
The harmonious conversation stopped, and Monika and Fabien looked at Abel. A moment of silence. Monika, holding the gift parcel, cleared her throat.
“I had a hard time getting this.”
“Thank you.”
Abel received the gift parcel.
When he unwrapped the wrapping paper, the cover of a book was revealed.
“My father said. That if you want to convey your true feelings, you should gift something precious.”
The handwriting that dominated the cover caught Abel's attention.
[The bookstore owner said. This special limited edition is a masterpiece among masterpieces, a result of the literary giants of the capital reinterpreting the prophecy of the Platinum Round Table Orthodoxy.]
Abel opened the book.
The hero's adventure was written at length. Rich illustrations stood out, and in any case, it was a story where everyone met a happy ending.
“I'm curious.”
Abel opened his mouth, turning the pages of the book.
There were many points that were difficult to understand.
“Why does this hero fellow break into other people's houses without permission? He's openly stealing, yet the guards pretend not to see. Above all, while on a journey to subjugate the Demon King, why……”
Is he gambling in the underground of a large city,
cross-dressing and participating in a beauty pageant,
and ending up with the elf queen instead of the childhood friend he had promised to marry?
To such a question from Abel,
“Well, that's……”
[That is…….]
Monika and Fabien opened their mouths at the same time.
“It's obvious. Because he's the Hero-nim.”
[That is correct. It is a privilege given to the hero.]
I can't understand.
Abel thought, fiddling with his tie.
‘Is this hero fellow a scoundrel?’
* * *
Late night, the underground armory of Cia-Harphe Academy.
The sound of the elevator operating cut through the silence. On the other side of the elevator that was descending smoothly, the magic circles that adorned the armory began to lose their light. The barrier spells were destroyed with a spark. As if to put a period to it, the elevator stopped.
Thud, he went.
As soon as the metallic sound echoed,
“──Heraclitus of the Fire speaks.”
The surroundings brightened.
A small boy was crossing the armory. It was Emilio Mackenzie, a third-year student from the Department of Elemental Studies.
“About 500 years ago from now, an unprecedented great fire occurred in a corner of the Empire.”
A cheerful tone as if singing a ballad.
However, Emilio's voice was that of a sinister old man.
“It happened at a certain mana stone mine. The embers left after incinerating trash caught fire on the mana stones, and the mana stones that reacted to the flame exploded, causing a fire.”
Suppression was impossible.
The fire on the surface could be extinguished, but the problem was the underground.
The narrow passage of the mine was, so to speak, a fuse. The fire was transported and stimulated the mana stones buried in the mine. And so, an explosion. Not trees, buildings, or something else burning, but the ground layer began to combust.
“And so, the mana stone mine was sealed off.”
The entrance of the mine had to be blocked.
After forcibly relocating the residents of the mining village, they blocked the underground fire along with the mine.
And so, the fire was continuing underground. Scholars predicted that it would burn for at least 300 more years. The roads cracked and poisonous gas leaked out, and sometimes the ground collapsed, but they didn't mind. If it became a land where no one lived, the disaster was also considered to be calmed.
“It is said that there were not many casualties.”
Emilio stroked his chin.
It was a gesture like stroking a beard.
“Is that really so?”
Around Emilio, there were countless golems.
They were golems designed for combat. Puppets with a crude and large form. Emilio smiled, looking around at the combat-type golems.
“We must not forget the golems used for mining. Thousands of golems were abandoned underground. Are they not casualties? They cannot feel pain but can feign pain, they cannot sense death but can play dead, can a golem designed like that not be counted as a living, breathing being?”
Answer, he said.
Emilio quietly recited.
“What are you.”
A firm silence.
A low mechanical sound echoed.
The bodies of the combat-type golems slowly began to stir.
Soon, a chorus of voices adorned Emilio's surroundings.
[We are fire.]
[A furnace that holds an ember.]
[An intangible being that soars from the embers.]
The combat-type golems began to operate.
The Mana Reactors attached to their chests were somewhat red. It was nothing more than a signal that an error had occurred, but it also looked as if a flame was spreading.
[We are a living flame.]
[The vanguard that will turn this world into ashes.]
[Yes, yes, yes.]
[We will incinerate the earth and then head underground.]
[We will burn while embracing the remains of our kin, and become the soot that adorns the heart of the world.]
Good, very good.
Emilio muttered so.
“Then tell me, your names.”
At Emilio's command, the golems answered without hesitation.
[──We, are Heraclitus of the Fire!]
The laughter of the golems filling the armory.
Emilio was also laughing. It was a strange laughter. The laughter of everyone's tone being constant and the phonemes also matching. Not different beings laughing together, but as if a single being was laughing with countless mouths.
‘That's right.’
Slump, he went.
Emilio's body collapsed.
‘Therefore, come to me.’
Emilio's expression scattered.
Therefore, it was a very short moment. The complexion of a frightened boy was etched on Emilio's features.
‘……Abel Argento.’
Our adversary,
O youngest saint of the sword.