Even a Scoundrel Gets Tired

50 – Lignil

The rumors spread through the Empire with the speed of light.

A word without feet travels a thousand *li*, they say.

I could roughly understand what that saying meant.

A human favored by the Goddess had appeared.

Even just this baseless rumor caused a great stir in the Empire.

Until now, the Goddess was known to have never shown favoritism to anyone.

Seeing how much influence a single mark had,

I felt the Goddess had managed her image quite well.

It was as if an unwavering faith, akin to that of fanatics,

dominated this country.

Fortunately, the Order hadn’t officially announced its position yet, so

most people seemed to dismiss it as nonsense.

“Ah, if it isn’t the Holy One! Ha ha ha!”

“Greetings.”

Of course, I had shown my mark publicly within the Order, so

the people inside knew of its existence.

Already, among the believers, there were those who called me the Holy One, and

movements to treat me with utmost courtesy were frequently noticeable.

Perhaps they were trying to make me think that becoming a member of the Order wouldn’t be so bad.

I didn’t know who ordered it, but the intention was obvious.

And so, now like this…

“Holy One, would you like to try some of this?”

“Ha ha ha, Holy One!!”

“Holy─”

‘Damn it!! I said I won’t join!!”

If there was malice, I might know how to react, but clear malice didn’t exist within them.

That made it even harder for me to respond.

If there had been malice, I would have killed them on the spot.

I didn’t have a proper backer at the Academy, but I was different now.

As someone chosen by the Goddess, nothing significant would happen even if I killed a few devotees.

Rather, the people who had disrespected such a person would be at fault.

Even so, I avoided conflicts with others as much as possible.

Sometimes living as an assassin, sometimes as a mad scientist conducting human experiments,

sometimes living as a slave who had to be beaten relentlessly.

A distrust of people and a disregard for life had naturally grown within me.

Therefore, feeling that I couldn’t continue like this, I made a rule.

I didn’t want to become a bloodthirsty fiend who killed people as I pleased.

If someone didn’t provoke me first, I would treat them with at least minimal courtesy.

That had become my rule at some point.

The barest of rules to abide by, for fitting in with those around me.

Meaning, I can tolerate things like this, easily enough.

They mean me no ill will, after all.

Even if they launch into hymns before me.

Or expound upon the beauty of a statue fashioned after the Goddess.

Or recite prayers while clutching their rosaries, there is no malice.

Good intentions, if anything.

What’s so wrong with praising and proselytizing their object of faith?

They’re unaware of any conflict between myself and the Goddess,

So I can readily understand their actions.

The Saintess’ actions, too, for that matter.

Their devotion is deeper than most, as their very positions attest,

So it’s only natural she’d view my presence with disapproval.

If their ardent faith doesn’t affect me, then

I have no intention of antagonizing her.

“Ah! Please don’t sit there!! The statue…!”

“Always giving thanks to the Goddess…”

“Let us have a moment of prayer together…”

Of course, from my perspective, she is just another bothersome woman,

But even as she pesters me, not a sliver of spite can be felt in her tone.

A world apart from the one now before me.

“Ahem, Holy One, might I borrow a moment of your time?”

It was the rather portly Bishop, the one who had received such a dressing-down from the Pope.

Lignil, wasn’t it, his name?

He doesn’t even try to conceal his scheming,

Approaching me so blatantly.

A revolting sensation rose through my body, emanating from his voice,

And the way his lips curled upward, it was clear he hadn’t considered the possibility of his plans failing.

“What is it, Bishop Lignil.”

“Oh! You remember my name. I’m beside myself with honor, heh heh.”

How could I forget you, who so openly kept me in check before everyone.

“You made quite the impression, after all. What brings you to me?”

“Ah, well, I simply wished to have a conversation with the Holy One.”

He gave a smile so amiable,

But to me, he resembled a fly, scraping and bowing with obsequious flattery.

“What sort of conversation?”

“Well… a man-to-man sort of conversation, hahaha!!”

He punctuated this with a poke to my ribs, “You know what I mean…”

I nearly snapped his elbow in two right then and there.

That *this* sort of fellow was a Bishop in a religious order.

He was a fellow tailor-made for the moniker: that goddess and this bishop.

He clapped an arm around my shoulder as if we’d shared a conversation or two.

The madman promised to escort me to paradise tonight, imploring me to join him after.

He’d waited for my conversation with the others to conclude, it seemed,

approaching me without hesitation, continuing his relentless invitations.

Naturally, I was less than thrilled.

His breath, thick with the aroma of food, and hands, likely fresh from caressing a woman’s flesh,

were offensive to me even in proximity.

I made a show of avoiding his answer and distancing myself,

then, with a handkerchief, scrubbed where his hand had touched my shoulder and discarded it.

As we parted, his brow furrowed slightly, but what did I care?

“Excuse me? You dropped this.”

“Ah…”

Before I knew it, the Saintess was behind me, having retrieved the handkerchief I’d tossed away,

hurrying towards me with little steps to return it.

I wanted to tell her it was soiled,

but explaining the reason would undoubtedly provoke her ire.

To think I would say that a handkerchief was soiled for such a reason.

As it was a handkerchief I no longer needed,

and as yesterday’s blow seemed to still ache, I felt a mischievous impulse.

Locking eyes with her as she waved the handkerchief in front of me,

I placed it back in her hand.

“A gift for the Saintess. It suits you well.”

“Oh… uh… eh?!”

“I do hope you find it to your liking.”

“Oh… yes?!… Ye-es…”

For some reason, a flush seemed to rise on her cheeks,

but I dismissed it as a trick of the light, releasing her hand.

Just before our hands parted, I thought I felt her fingertips grasp mine,

but to voice such a thing would invite misunderstanding.

The scandal of a Saintess and a Saint swirling within the Order…

The thought alone made my head throb.

I simply turned to leave the area as quickly as possible,

but the Saintess’s voice made me turn back.

“Ah! The Order will be making a formal announcement shortly.”

“I am aware.”

“Once that concludes, if you seek out the Pontiff, you may return home.”

“Is it necessary to seek him out?”

“He wishes to discuss the Order’s support.”

“I will see him as promptly as possible.”

“Then, I delivered it!” the Saintess chirped, scurrying away again.

Her hands were clasped to her chest, as if embracing something precious.

*

Time passed, and before she knew it, the Order’s announcement was about to begin.

All the members of the church were moving busily,

and the proxy of god was no exception.

A woman quietly walked, tip-tapping through the cathedral corridor.

Hildegard felt strangely unsettled.

‘So…what does this mean?’

It was all because of the handkerchief given to her by Jennison, who was somehow revered as a Saint within the Order.

‘I don’t think I’ve done anything to deserve a gift…’

If anything, her actions were quite the opposite.

Her actions were based on her faith and beliefs,

but someone with less patience would have surely been angered.

That’s how impious she found Jennison’s actions.

Of course, she occasionally saw people who hated God,

but someone like Jennison was a type she had never encountered before.

There were those who denied God’s existence or blamed God.

It was so easy to blame their unfortunate lives on God, not themselves.

If God existed, why did such things only happen to them?

They resented a God who gave them trials they couldn’t overcome.

As a Saintess, she had encountered such expressions of hatred all too often.

But Jennison was different.

Everyone else described God as an unreachable being.

Invisible to the eye and omnipotent.

Therefore, an easy target for blame and resentment.

But he didn’t revere God.

No, it was closer to contempt.

Every time she saw him, he unabashedly did things that would make other members of the church

fall over in shock.

And it didn’t seem like he did it on purpose.

She wondered if the statue of the Goddess was just a chair to him.

He sat on it so casually, without even a hint of hesitation.

“I should give him another warning someday…”

“Saintess.”

“Hm? What is it, Bishop Lignil?”

“Haha, I just had something to say…”

Bishop Lignil, who seemed to appear out of nowhere,

had beads of cold sweat forming on his forehead.

“Is something wrong? You’re sweating…”

“Haha… I think it’s just nerves.”

“..Well, this announcement *is* rather large-scale.”

“Y-yes, that’s right.”

Even though the Saintess tried to ease his tension with small talk,

his eyes trembled with a certain unease,

and those eyes were directed not at her, but behind her.

Then, in an instant, a shadow appeared behind her and covered her mouth with something,

while another shadow fastened an unidentifiable bracelet on her arm.

“Mph..mmph?!”

“….”

The Saintess, caught by surprise, couldn’t even resist before losing consciousness,

and the last sight she saw as her eyes fluttered shut

was Lignil rushing toward the shadows, raising his voice in protest.