Chapter 16: Cowards (6)

[16] 2. Cowards (6)

To cut to the chase, things didn’t go as wrong as we’d expected.

According to Irene, the deceased’s representative was already on his way to Axolotl. The only thing left for us to do was to wait for him in this city.

Of course, there was still the issue of who killed our recipient. But that was the Axolotl City Guard’s job, not ours.

Plus, Axolotl was a city where the church’s influence was strong. The murderer wouldn’t dare cause a scene, for fear of the Inquisitor.

To begin with, it was strange that a murder even occurred in this city.

Anyway…

In conclusion, our job was done.

I told our guys to stick together and let them do whatever they wanted.

Of course, if I let them loose like this, damage claims would fill our mailbox within a week.

But it was a more difficult request than we’d expected, and everyone worked hard.

I decided to let it slide, just this once.

And I decided to give myself some time to rest as well.

“…”

…That is, until Parsley, her hat pulled down low, came to my room.

Her hat was pulled down so low that I couldn’t see her face. But I could just barely make out her expression from her pale, tightly clenched fists.

“You said… you’d help me get my memories back.”

***

I’ve thought about it for a long time, but,

There’s something graceful about Parsley when she’s preparing something.

She might be a loud-mouthed, short-tempered little brat, but…

Whenever she’s getting ready for an experiment or casting a spell, she becomes uncharacteristically quiet, tightly shutting her mouth, as if her usual demeanor were a lie.

And with her small, pale hands, she would pick up items without hesitation, one after another.

Her movements exuded professionalism, but they also showed a confidence bordering on arrogance.

Perhaps because of that, I’d always watch Parsley as if possessed whenever she’d do this.

And usually, it would end with an irritated shout of “What are you looking at?!” or a 1,300-page theory book flying towards my face.

This was when we were 18.

Seven years have passed since then.

But that gracefulness that had captivated me didn’t seem to have diminished one bit.

I sat silently in the chair, watching Parsley as she scanned the shelves.

Grief was etched on her face, but her hands moved without hesitation.

Mixing potions, grinding herbs, drawing magic circles with chalk.

The true magic of a mage wasn’t when they cast spells, but when they were preparing it.

How many minutes did I spend watching her, captivated as always?

“…”

Before I knew it, Parsley had a potion, emitting blue smoke, in her hand. She looked at it with a pained expression.

“…First, we need to make sure your brain is okay. If there’s something wrong with it, and you didn’t just lose your memories, then we need a completely different treatment method.”

I nodded obediently. I also felt a little bit guilty.

Because my amnesia was a complete lie. All this examination and effort were meaningless.

…But now wasn’t the time to reveal that.

“Here, drink this.”

“Okay.”

I downed the potion in one gulp. Needless to say, it tasted awful.

“Now, close your…”

Parsley suddenly stopped speaking. Clasping her trembling hands in front of her chest, she lowered her head.

Her entire body was shaking. It was an expression of intense fear.

Was she this scared of me regaining my memories?

When I, the one who *didn’t* lose my memory, was perfectly fine.

I shook my head, unable to bear the sight, and also to suppress the words that were threatening to spill out.

“If it’s too hard, then we don’t…”

“No, it’s fine.”

Parsley raised her head, clenching her fists as she said with difficulty,

“…I might not like it, but… I can’t just sit around and do nothing like *her*.”

Her?

I gave her a puzzled look, but she shook her head and extended her hand towards me, saying,

“Close your eyes.”

I did as she asked.

“This won’t take long.”

…

…

…

“…It’s okay to open your eyes now…”

Her voice trembled.

I opened my eyes, sensing that something was wrong. And saw Parsley’s face, pale as a sheet.

“Are you oka…”

“I-I’m sorry, but… Could you go back for today?”

It was a sudden request. My curiosity deepened, but Parsley didn’t let me ask.

“Just… Please go back.”

I saw desperation in her eyes. I hesitated for a moment, then nodded.

“…I hope you have a good rest.”

And with that, leaving behind a customary farewell, I left the room.

***

Parsley, now alone in the room…

She covered her face with her hands, collapsing onto the floor.

What she had just seen in the darkness appeared before her once more.

An intricate magic circle deeply embedded in his brain.

Parsley instantly recognized its purpose, as well as who had cast it.

She couldn’t help but recognize it.

It was a magic formula she had seen since she was too young to remember.

A formula she had spent her entire life striving to master.

Curling up on the floor, Parsley muttered in a low, pained voice,

“Mother… Why… would you…”

Rem, her first love, had his memories tampered with.

By none other than her own mother.

***

By the time I stepped out of the room, the sun was already setting.

The shadow of the high wall gradually swallowed the city, and dim lights flickered on in the windows.

And there, amidst it all, I saw a familiar face waiting for me.

“Are you done?”

“…What are you doing here?”

Feya grinned.

“Where else would your right hand be but by your side?”

“…I told you countless times, my right hand is detachable… never mind.”

I sighed and walked over to her. Patting her on the shoulder, I asked,

“Do you know any good pubs around here?”

Feya’s eyes, initially filled with confusion, lit up with joy.

“You’re going to drink with me?!”

“I promised you, didn’t I?”

And to be honest, I needed some alcohol right now.

The hero party members’ reactions to my past weren’t exactly pleasant.

Constant guilt and fear.

And the growing concern about how to resolve this situation every time I saw it.

Not exactly good for my mental health.

“W-Well…! There’s a good one in the entertainment district! And there’s one over there…!”

“Stop explaining and just lead the way.”

I chuckled, cutting her off. And then I looked at the building where Parsley was.

I didn’t know what to do yet.

But before this whole thing was over…

My thoughts stopped, and my gaze was fixed on one spot.

“Then let’s go to the one Sabina recommended…”

“Hey, what’s that?”

Feya followed my gaze. Then she replied casually,

“That flag? It’s just a flag.”

“No, not the flag. What’s on the flag.”

“Ah…”

Feya rolled her eyes for a moment before answering.

“They say it’s the new Bishop’s symbol. You know, the one who came to this parish. They’re acting all smug, like it’s a sign from God…”

I cut her off.

“Feya, gather all the men and have them wait for us at the inn.”

“What? Why… B-Big bro…?!”

Ignoring Feya’s shout, I started running with all my might. Towards the place where I had just pointed.

The cathedral, draped in the setting sun, with its fluttering, flamboyant banners.

Emblazoned on those banners was the image of an eagle taking flight. But strangely, the eagle had three legs, not two.

The necklace that Irene had found on the necromancer…

The same symbol was engraved on it.

[I’ll go meet the Bishop for a moment. You go on ahead.]

Miss Clara was in danger.

***

Someone’s office is a perfect reflection of them.

The color of their desk is the same as the color of their passion, and the shape of their pen is the same as the shape of their thoughts. Even the stains on their walls reflect their personality.

In that sense, Bishop Atreus was a neat person.

Clara sat on the sofa, looking around.

Nothing was out of place.

The books on the shelves were neatly arranged, and the writing utensils were lined up on the desk.

But there were no extravagant items anywhere, and the furniture, though not cheap, wasn’t luxurious either.

Clean and honest.

That was what the office seemed to say about Atreus.

But neatness isn’t a trait that is unique to true religious people. There was another group of people who had this same characteristic.

Swindlers.

Excessive cleanliness is sometimes a way to hide traces of wrongdoing.

“I apologize for keeping you waiting. The meeting ran late…”

The office door opened, and an old man entered. With a carefree smile, he approached Clara.

“Oh my, I almost forgot to introduce myself.”

His bony knees dropped to the floor without hesitation.

“I, a humble servant of the Heavenly God, greet the daughter of God.”

Clara’s red eyes scanned the old man.

Ordinary. That was her honest first impression.

His appearance was kind, and his limbs were so skinny that his priestly robes seemed to hang loosely on him. He looked more like a priest from a rural village than a bishop.

But appearances are rarely true.

It was one of the things Clara had learned over the years.

Clara stood up and smiled faintly.

“Please rise. I’m not yet worthy of such a title.”

“Haha, the Heavenly God has chosen only you in this era, Clara. Who else would I call that if not you?”

“However, my title is still ‘would-be saint’”.

“For now, that is. You will become a saint as soon as you have your canonization ceremony.”

And then, as if to himself, Atreus murmured,

“But why is the Pope delaying the canonization ceremony so much…”

A strange glimmer appeared in Clara’s red eyes. But before it could turn into words, the Bishop quickly changed the subject.

“Oh my, this old man is rambling again. Please have a seat. Would you care for some tea?”

“I’ll decline. I can’t stay here long.”

“Ah, I forgot that you’re on a pilgrimage. Then let’s get straight to the point.”

Atreus sat across from Clara, tapping the back of his hand with his bony fingers, before speaking,

“First of all, locking down the city was an unavoidable choice.”

The old man’s voice turned serious.

“As she, who is called the hero, and you, Clara, who is on a pilgrimage across the continent, know very well, the recent activities of the cultists have been unusual.”

The shadows in the room deepened as the sun began to set beyond the wall.

“They have been showing their faces even near cities, and committing blasphemous acts. I even heard that they’ve banded together and started a rebellion in the west.”

It was something she had already heard from Irene.

But at the same time, it felt like a story from a distant land.

“None of that is related to Axolotl, is it?”

“Not entirely.”

Atreus suddenly groaned, clutching his head. With a hesitant voice, he spoke with difficulty,

“…It is shameful to admit, but there has already been a victim in our city. They were found dead in their home. The culprit has yet to be identified, but clear traces of cultist activity were found.”

Then the old man shook his head, as if in sorrow, clutching his forehead.

“Those evil ones have already extended their claws to this city.”

Clara didn’t speak. The old man continued,

“I sincerely apologize for any inconvenience this may have caused you, Clara. But locking down the city was a necessary step to protect it. I…”

“Bishop Atreus.”

His title, devoid of any honorifics. The Bishop’s face twitched slightly. But then he smiled and asked,

“Why do you call me by…”

“It seems like you’re misunderstanding something. I’m not here to reprimand you for locking down the city.”

The Bishop’s eyes wavered before he smiled awkwardly and shook his head.

“Haha, it seems I was so ashamed of my incompetence that I put excuses before everything else. Please forgive me.”

And then, he looked at Clara with a puzzled expression.

“Then why did you seek out this old man…”

For the first time since entering the office, a smile spread across Clara’s face.

A smile so beautiful that even the Bishop was momentarily captivated, despite the situation.

“Do you recognize this necklace?”

However, as soon as he saw what Clara had placed on the table, the Bishop’s expression hardened.

A necklace with the engraving of a soaring eagle.

Strangely, the eagle has three legs.

And, ominously, dried blood was still clung to its edges.

“The Heavenly God grants a symbol to those who are close to Him. If I remember correctly, this is your symbol.”

Clara smiled brightly.

“So how is it that I found this in the pocket of a cultist?”