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Chapter 38: Historia (2)
On the battlefield, the importance of medics goes without saying.
Especially for the Empire’s army, now ruined with both the Papal Curia and Magic Tower in collapse, medics were worth their weight in gold.
In such a situation, the penal unit was lucky.
Among prisoners who were mostly only good at breaking or harming things, there happened to be the most exceptional medic in the Empire.
—Historia. Just call me that.
—Yes, Saintess.
—Haha! You’re a funny one!
Historia was a saint even back then.
Not because she was revered as some symbolic figure, but because the divine power within her was stronger than that of any other human on this land.
Even when her body had deteriorated to a grotesque, barely human form, it was the same.
She was the being most favored by Hope itself.
After all, how easy is it to treat someone as if nothing happened, even if their limbs are blown off, so long as you can retrieve the pieces?
With that level of ability, she should have been assigned to Central Command.
She was, after all, someone who had willingly taken on false charges and ended up imprisoned—she wouldn’t have disrupted military discipline.
Yet the reason she was placed in the penal unit was simple.
—…The Saintess is a ticking time bomb. We can’t have her in Central.
It was the contamination embedded in her body.
If she ever let her guard down, the pollution festering within her twisted body could spread out in all directions.
It wasn’t war but internal disaster that could bring the army to ruin.
That’s when the Crown Prince snatched her away.
No medic wanted to be assigned there.
Our unit carried out the most dangerous missions, barely surviving.
Even if she was a ticking time bomb, we could accept her as long as she could heal.
That’s why the Saintess was the medic of the penal unit.
Anyway, if I were to talk about that woman who was assigned under my command… yeah.
—Oh! Wildflowers!
Her mind was a garden of flowers.
Even in the midst of war, where people were dying left and right, she never lost her smile.
Even though every gaze upon her was filled with disgust, she never once shrank away.
In every way, she seemed a true cleric—always preaching hope.
At first, nobody liked Historia.
In a battlefield where dozens or hundreds died in their sleep daily, it was irritating to see someone smiling while not even fighting the enemy.
Some just found her grotesque and didn’t want to be near her.
But it didn’t take long for that perception to change.
No one said, “Let’s be nice to Historia.”
She didn’t change her behavior either.
It’s just that the more time people spent with her, the more they realized:
That woman was genuine in every moment.
—Tomorrow, Hanna’s going to show us a new recipe!
While everyone else spoke of what they lost yesterday and would lose today, she was the only one who talked about what they would gain tomorrow.
—Do you have something on your mind? Maybe a secret crush…?
She made us think there was value in things beyond just dying.
—If I put this flower in a pot, will I get in trouble?
Her quirky actions made us smile.
Yes, even though she had the most hideous face of all, Historia had the most beautiful heart.
That’s why we cared about her.
If I had to add one more reason—
—Confession again today?
She was a lifeline for us, the sinners.
The emotional relief that came from confession was overwhelming.
Especially for me.
—You know you come the most often, right?
—Shut up and just listen.
—Is this really for confession?
—I just…
—Wow, not listening at all.
My sins were so deep-rooted.
My desire for redemption was overwhelming.
That’s why I had to speak.
I didn’t want to forget it.
So I told Historia all about my many regrets.
Each time, she would laugh and say, “Your sins are forgiven!”
Once, she said something that stuck with me:
—It can work out. Everything will be okay.
—Don’t make promises like that. It’s not something you can say so easily.
—No, I can say it easily.
I still remember the reason she gave when I said I would rebuild Pharos.
—Because the once-wild heir is now a model for the army. You’re saving countless soldiers. You’ve already changed. And you’ll change even more.
—What if I betray everyone and defect to the enemy?
—I believe you won’t. Because I know you, Lieutenant.
More than just a subordinate or a comrade—
That day, she seemed truly noble.
—Believing in one’s will to be good—that’s my duty.
That’s when I fully realized why she was a Saintess.
And her final moment was as fitting as you’d expect for someone like her.
—Haha, we’re isolated now.
Three months before the capital defense battle, the frontlines were collapsing rapidly.
Every day we fought just to retreat, and then we heard the main camp had been hit during a feint operation.
I rushed to help.
That was my mistake.
—Shit. They were after me.
—It just means you’re someone the enemy fears that much!
It wasn’t a diversion—it was a triple-layered trap.
While the barbarian king held the Crown Prince, soldiers were lying in ambush, waiting for me, who would try to support him.
I managed to win, but I was too wounded to retreat.
My mana was drained, and my muscles and joints were crushed.
We were in a forest, so there were places to hide, but it was no environment for survival.
I sent the others to rejoin the main force.
But Historia stayed with me.
She said she’d slow down the others if she went with them…
A flimsy excuse, really.
—Am I going to die…
—No. You will make it out alive, Lieutenant.
She tried to heal me.
It was madness.
A wound like mine would take a full day of divine healing.
And the second and third waves of the pursuit would be here in less than half a day.
I told her to go, but she wouldn’t listen.
No matter how harshly I cursed or even slapped her in anger, she stood firm.
In the end, maybe realizing how dire it was, she cast a sleep spell on me.
—When you wake up, everything will be okay.
What happened next I only know from the aftermath.
—…Historia.
When I awoke, everything around me was horribly twisted.
The enemy soldiers had mutated into grotesque forms, writhing in agony.
Even the trees looked like they had wills of their own, twisting unnaturally.
Only my body remained unharmed, fully healed and protected by divine power.
Isn’t it obvious?
She released the contamination she had always kept sealed with her divine power.
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That killed the pursuers and saved me.
She self-destructed.
Just to save me.
That much, I knew with absolute clarity.
Even so, I couldn’t even cover it up.
Because I knew what would happen if I touched the contamination again.
I had to return and join the battle.
That was, I believed, the price of the life that one had saved.
As always, I tried to live for tomorrow.
Thinking that even that ended in ruin not even three months later, I suppose it’s something to feel sorry for.
Looking back, she liked meat buns more than cheeseburgers.
She loved wildflowers blooming amidst desolation and always spoke of “tomorrow” like a habit.
That was the kind of person she was.
“This garden is really beautiful.”
That same girl, with a face unfamiliar to me, smiled.
She complimented the flowers as if it were natural.
Quietly, yet with a vibrant chuckle, trying to lighten the mood.
It unsettled me deeply.
I wanted to ease at least a bit of my guilt.
So I said,
“Have you eaten?”
“Huh? Not yet, but…”
“Then let’s eat while we talk. For the witness interview.”
Historia blinked, then added a remark.
“…If it’s not a bother, may our holy knights join as well?”
“L-Lady Saint…!”
“Haha, none of them have eaten since morning…”
Seems her personality hasn’t changed much.
I chuckled and nodded.
* * *
While Yuren was meeting with Historia, Callios was facing Saint Verheim in the audience chamber of Dawn Palace.
Red hair and golden eyes.
Too emotionless and calm for someone said to be blessed by the divine—a cold impression.
Facing him, Callios smiled.
“Thanks for coming. A private talk—it’s nerve-wracking, isn’t it?”
It was a one-on-one.
Even if this was supposedly a witness interview about a demonic summoning, only the Saint could hold his head high before Crown Prince Callios von Ortaire and interrogate him.
Even apart from that—
‘You probably wanted this setup, didn’t you?’
Callios had anticipated everything.
He’d even expected that Verheim would come to him instead of Yuren, the one who reverse-summoned the demon.
It was only natural.
‘Because you’re not interested in demons, are you?’
Demons weren’t important to him.
Rebecca had disappeared on Founding Day.
It had only been a week, but to him, that week probably felt like an eternity.
The only ones he could ask about her whereabouts were those who had stayed near her: himself, Beatrice, the Archduke’s heir, and that guy in the underworld.
Beatrice had been harmed by the demon and was bedridden.
The Archduke’s heir had returned north.
And Verheim and that guy were completely incompatible.
That left only himself.
Sending the Saintess to Yuren—who was more important to the investigation—and choosing to meet Callios alone?
Anyone who could read the flow of logic would see it clearly.
Moreover, knowing how someone acts makes it easier to counter.
Callios asked with calm confidence.
“Let’s get to your testimony. What do you want to ask?”
“…Please start with what you witnessed directly.”
“That’s already been said. Yuren asked me to come to the Tower. When I arrived, he had already defeated the demon. Shamefully, I didn’t make it in time… After that, I was busy tending to his wounds. That’s it.”
Verheim remained silent.
Callios looked into his eyes.
It was clear he had something to say.
Callios welcomed it.
“Anything else suspicious? I’ll help however I can.”
In truth, Callios shouldn’t be the one under investigation.
Given what had happened to Beatrice, and what he himself had intended to do with Yuren, he was sure of one thing:
‘You must’ve come up with something. Doesn’t that demon drive you mad with desire to obtain it? What have you planned?’
There was definitely a big move either underway or being considered.
That was what Callios had to find out.
Using such a bothersome method had its reasons.
To strip the demon of its inscribed name, one needed a suspicion that could lead to certainty.
To sow suspicion, one needed leverage to prove themselves right.
Otherwise, in a delicate situation like this, without solid coercive power, revealing Rebecca’s death would only make things worse.
But he couldn’t just say, “I think you’re plotting something, let’s interrogate you.”
The Saint was one of the two pillars of the Papal Curia.
One wrong step could lead to political disaster.
So what was needed was certainty.
To find an opening, Callios first showed one.
“It’s odd. I heard that after the reverse summoning, Your Highness left the capital with the Lord of Pharos. Yet you say you were tending to Yuren’s wounds…”
Verheim had taken the bait.
“…What kind of wound required ignoring the capital’s healers and going outside?”
Callios resisted the urge to smile.
He could sense the emotion behind Verheim’s gaze and the intent behind the question.
“I had seen the demon summoned. I didn’t know how far its effects had spread, so I felt the need to avoid people.”
“Then where did you go?”
“Is that question important?”
“I believe it is.”
“Oh? Are you interrogating me?”
Tap.
Callios tapped the table with his finger.
“I’m sitting here as a witness, am I not?”
“…There’s only one reason I can think of for Your Highness to leave the capital.”
The line Callios had been waiting for.
He changed his expression.
A mix of anger, suspicion, and wariness—meant to appear genuinely flustered.
“…You think I went to find Rebecca?”
“……”
“I should be the one asking that.”
Mana began to shimmer faintly.
Callios released unrefined killing intent as he asked Verheim:
“Yes. I went looking for Rebecca. The moment I realized a demon had appeared, she was the first I worried about. But she was gone. Not a trace to be found.”
Rumble—
Furniture in the chamber trembled.
“Why? How? Why wasn’t she there? In the middle of agonizing over it, a thought occurred to me.”
All hints of a smile vanished from Callios’s face.
“From the time the demon wreaked havoc until it was captured… What was the Papal Curia doing?”
Verheim’s eyes sank.
Callios met his gaze, intensifying the menace he radiated.
Inside, he was smiling.
‘So, how does it feel to be the one under suspicion?’
Suspicion creates wariness.
Wariness breeds secrecy.
But excessive secrecy creates discomfort.
And if something was being planned—given Verheim’s nature—that discomfort would surely show.
There was someone who needed to sense that discomfort.
‘Please. Yuren.’
Before the investigation, during the strategy meeting, Yuren had said:
—We cannot let this become a political power struggle. The Saint doesn’t move that way.
—Then what do we do?
—We make them clash from a different angle. For example, sowing moral suspicion.
—But how?
—Your Highness, suspicion naturally arises from circumstances.
Yuren had likely already met with the Saint.
The board was set.
Now, it was Yuren’s move.
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