Chapter 122 - 10-9
Marvel Boony watched with a feeling of utter collapse as the country of her father was poked and prodded at will by the attacks from her mother's country, and eventually, as they withdrew.
—This is bad.
The Kosa army gave up on Malfa Castle and fled.
The Siddim army pursued them, taking advantage of the situation.
What did this mean? It meant that the road leading to Geraha was being blocked before her very eyes. Marvel had been left behind in the central part of the enemy nation.
Marvel hadn't even known that the enemy general, Lucy Alish, had long since departed for the east. But it was already clear. Both Lucy and Yugis Necrat had likely headed east.
They had slipped away completely.
Why had she been so dull?
That wanted poster was working. It wasn't a well-made portrait. Marvel had underestimated it. But once her identity was seen through, and she had left Aver city, she understood. If even one person in a thousand suspected Marvel, the plan would be ruined. Marvel could be cornered with ease.
Marvel trembled. She ran in a state of near-total abstraction. Her coarse town-girl clothes fluttered as she lost sight of her destination, running through the fields instead of the roads.
In a sunless land near Midheim, there was a remote village so secluded that one might doubt if it even had a name.
With her hair dyed black and grass and leaves clinging to her, Marvel hid in a place away from the village.
She waited for night to sneak into the village.
The great thing about this country was that there was a church in even the smallest village. A magnificent stone church, far too luxurious, existed even in this village.
The door was unlocked. The hall was dark. Marvel crouched behind the seats where the congregation sat, holding her breath. Candles were lit in the candelabra on the altar. A shadow that had been kneeling in prayer raised its head.
'Who is it?'
A figure spoke. It was the language used in Koroi.
'Bishop, Bishop!' the figure suddenly raised its voice.
Like an actor appearing on a theater stage, an old man holding a hand-lamp walked slowly from the doorway that served as the wings. He dragged his priestly robes.
"Please calm down, Boojo-san." This was in the Siddim language.
The old priest tilted the flame of his hand-lamp. There were still many unlit candles on the altar. He began to light them one by one.
The flustered Southerner was illuminated.
'Bishop, someone is...'
"No, no. There is no alcohol."
'I thought it would be safe here! I'll be killed! Oh, Bishop, have mercy, I have been a Roma believer since my grandfather's generation!'
"It's no use wailing. The food is finished with that. This village is not very prosperous, you see."
'Please, please do not hand me over! Bishop! Please help me!'
"My my, are you crying? Oh, you poor thing."
With sluggish movements, the old priest embraced the Southerner like a mother.
The Southerner called Boojo pointed repeatedly toward the hall door.
'There is someone over there. Bishop, it's safe here, right?'
"Rest easy. It is safe here."
Seeing this scene where the Southern and Northern tongues matched like a miracle, Marvel stood up. She walked forward in silence, knelt before the altar, and offered a prayer.
"You are not from this village, are you?" the priest said.
"Priest, I seek the protection of sanctuary." Marvel looked up.
A sinner who received the protection of sanctuary was shielded from the intervention of secular power. As long as they were in the church, even a sinner could not be arrested. The church was the territory of the Roma Church. An independence like extraterritoriality, where the Roma Church's principles of innate human goodness took priority, existed even in the church of such a remote village.
"I shall grant you protection."
"Is confession necessary?"
When Marvel asked, the priest shook his head.
"It is not I who requires confession, but you."
Taking this to mean that if she didn't want to, she didn't have to, Marvel turned her eyes toward the Southerner.
'Deserter, don't mind me, got it?' Marvel threatened in the language of Koroi. 'You and I have never met. Keep it that way.'
Boojo stepped back, looking startled. He likely found it eerie that a woman who had suddenly appeared spoke the Southern tongue so abruptly.
"Your name?" the priest asked while continuing the work of lighting the candles.
"Marvel Boony."
"Are you hungry?"
"I am."
The priest had said himself it was a poor village. However, the taste of the soup served was something else. The ingredients were fresh. It was the season of harvest. She drank the hot soup with a slurping sound. The pieces of food cried out in joy as they slid down her esophagus, stretching their limbs in her stomach and beginning to dream happy dreams. Marvel felt a dizzying sense of fulfillment.
The small church had a small courtyard. Surrounding the courtyard were wings connected by corridors. There were rows of rooms whose purposes she didn't understand. Marvel was lent one of them. It was a small room with only a bed.
Though it was a basic rule for a woman trained in the Valley of Cats that one must not fall into a deep sleep, Marvel overslept. She woke up just as it was becoming noon.
It was noisy outside. The presence of people was stirring. Marvel jumped up and dressed. Peering outside timidly, she saw children running around the courtyard. Marvel clicked her tongue and left the room.
—Hello.
—Hello.
The children looked at Marvel and said the same thing like idiots. They greeted her, laughing with voices like screams.
"Yeah, uh, oh." Since it was a bother, Marvel responded with grunts.
When she went to the dining hall, an old woman was there.
"Oh, you startled me," the old woman said, placing her hand on her chest and trembling. "Please don't surprise me. Goodness, my heart is still pounding. And you? Are you a guest of Father Nemo?"
The old woman spoke with a youthful voice.
"Oh dear, perhaps you're here for a meal? It's a bit early for lunch, isn't it?"
"What are those children?" Marvel asked.
"They're children who've come to school."
The children came to this church to learn letters and numbers, bringing vegetables and meat entrusted to them by their parents. The food they brought became lunch, prepared by this old woman. They were sent home after being fed.
"The mothers, you see, thoughtfully give them extra food, keeping our share in mind. There's some for you too."
The old woman winked with plenty of charm. Immediately, Marvel's stomach growled.
"My my."
"Old woman, I can at least do some cooking."
Marvel stood in the kitchen with the old woman and ate her meal mixed in with the noisy, screeching children. The old priest called Father Nemo and the Southerner, Boojo, were also there. It seemed Boojo had begun work at this church carving prints used for manuscripts. Boojo was popular with the children. His brown skin seemed rare to them. Did the people of this village not know that they had been at war with them?
"Were you born in the land of eternal summer, Boojo?"
'You look like you'll become a beautiful bride when you grow up.'
"Boojo, have you ever seen an elephant?"
'I think you'll become a strong warrior in the future.'
He responded in the Southern tongue with a smile.
"Boojo is amazing!"
If Boojo was being casual, the children were just as careless.
Marvel finished her meal with a sullen face.
Marvel couldn't keep acting like an outsider forever. If she was to live at the church, she had to take on some kind of work.
"I wonder if you could teach arithmetic."
The person teaching at the church school was a strict-looking woman. She had a vertical wrinkle carved between her brows and looked scary at first glance. Her straight posture set her apart from other women.
"I'll try. How far have you taught them?"
"From the beginning, please," the wise woman smiled with thin lips.
Entering the room that served as the classroom, Marvel started with a shout. She had no intention of spoiling them. The children gathered, laughing and jumping, and sat down on bundles of straw.
"I shall teach you numbers. First is one. It is written like this."
Marvel wrote the number on a piece of paper nearby.
"One is the only, and nothing else stands beside it. Our God is one. For He is the sole absolute existence. How many kings are there in your country? You, boy, yes."
The boy answered in a soft, limp tone.
"Yes, one. The king takes a queen. At this time, does anyone know how many royal family members there are? The answer is two. Two is written like this. When there is one, two immediately appears as an opposing existence, like a shadow. A baby shall be born between the king and queen. The first child is a prince. King, queen, prince—does anyone know how many that is?"
"Three!" several children answered.
"Well said. Three, like the legs of a tripod, makes things stand upright. Height is created in the world by the number three. The king and queen were then blessed with a princess."
"Four!" the children answered energetically.
In this manner, progress with the numbers went smoothly.
The children understood addition and subtraction if it was only a single digit. When the digits carried over, some children suddenly stumbled.
"Teacher, I don't get it—"
"I don't get it—"
—Damn brats.
Marvel grew irritated. These kids probably weren't stupid. They likely just couldn't understand without seeing it.
The next day was the study of the scriptures, so the wise woman conducted the lesson. Marvel visited the workshop within the church where Boojo was. In the workshop, besides Boojo, there was a white-haired man working, hunched over a workbench. Marvel greeted him. The white-haired man didn't even look up.
'He is deaf,' Boojo said timidly.
'Boojo, I hear you are dexterous with your hands,' Marvel said in the Southern tongue.
'In Koroi, I was a craftsman slave.'
'There is something I want you to make.'
What Marvel had in mind was an abacus. A large abacus that could be seen by the children in the back. A square frame with ten horizontal bars passing through it, and ten rings strung on each bar. When all the rings gathered on the left moved to the right, the digit carried over, and one ring on the level above moved to the right.
'It's a mechanism to express from one to a hundred in this way.'
'Wouldn't beads be better? Rings might be hard to count.'
'Are you telling me to wait for you to carve beads?'
'No, there are good tools here. It's easy. Also, how about changing the color of the beads from one to five and six to ten? It can be counted intuitively. Please wait a moment, I'll draw a picture.'
The Southerner drew a picture smoothly on the spot. If it went according to the drawing, something much better than what Marvel had envisioned seemed likely to be made.
'I like it, deserter.'
Saying it without thinking, she looked up from the diagram, and Boojo had a gloomy face.
'What is it?'
'Nothing.' Boojo cast his dark eyes down. 'Then, I will proceed according to this diagram.'
Marvel was confused. She started to call out to Boojo, then stopped. She didn't know what to say.
Boojo's dark eyes caught in Marvel's chest and wouldn't fade. The color of those eyes, cast down as if disappointed or lonely, seemed to stain Marvel more deeply.
—When I spoke, Boojo's demeanor became strange.
While cooking in the kitchen, when Marvel spoke of it, the old woman burst out laughing.
"It's your fault, dear. I don't know the detailed circumstances, but there's no doubt."
"No, it's not my fault."
"Really? Didn't you say something?"
Marvel realized it when night fell. 'Deserter.' That man was ashamed of having deserted.
—No.
Marvel thought as she tossed and turned on her bed. It wasn't necessarily shame. That man might have had some circumstance that forced him to flee. For that matter, was he really a deserter? Marvel had simply assumed he was someone who had fled from the enemy and rushed into this church. She didn't know the truth.
When she unleashed her imagination, various possibilities emerged without end.
In other words, even if that man was a deserter, he wasn't just a deserter. He was a man who had done woodworking in Koroi. He was a man with a background. He must be here with a history. Why had she forgotten that? This question was easy for Marvel. Because it was wartime. A soldier in wartime is not a human. They are nothing more than a soldier. A soldier who flees is a deserter. No other elements are necessary. Because it has nothing to do with the battle.
This way of thinking is correct. On the battlefield.
However, this was not a battlefield. The war in this region had ended.
Boojo was no longer a deserter. Only Marvel had brought the logic of the battlefield to this place and simply labeled him.
—How foolish.
I'll apologize to Boojo. In short, Boojo felt bad. Marvel decided in her heart and felt refreshed. If she apologized, he would understand. He would probably make the abacus too.
However, Marvel did not know the difficulty of apologizing.
'Hey, Boojo, that... you know?'
In this manner, it was simply awkward.
Boojo, for his part, had a face as if yesterday's events had never happened. 'It's about the abacus, right?'
'No, it's not that. I called you a deserter, didn't I?' Marvel said hurriedly, as if clinging to him. 'I wanted to apologize for that. I think I was rude, and I don't know your circumstances. No, anyway, this is not a battlefield. I think I had forgotten that.'
Boojo made a very serious face.
'Marvel-san. I understand well. I felt that I shouldn't carve prints for the people of this country. Because it's an enemy nation. I was surprised that I, who ran away, had such feelings. But it's distressing, because everyone is so kind to me.'
—If you say this is not a battlefield.
'I suddenly don't know what I should do.'
'What do you intend to do?'
'What do you think?'
'Since it is not a battlefield, wouldn't gratitude, sincerity, and faith take priority?'
'I see—well, I have one idea. I thought I'd try talking to the Bishop.'
'That's a good idea.'
'Only, that problem...'
'I understand. I'll interpret for you. I swear to forget the confession I hear from you. In exchange, forget my heartless words from yesterday, okay?'
'Yes.' Boojo smiled. 'I wasn't even worrying about it that much to begin with.'
Having been able to apologize to Boojo, Marvel finally settled down.
When she visited the workshop again in the afternoon, to her surprise, Boojo had brought the abacus.
'Look at this. It's not finished yet, though.'
The bead parts were shaped like hexahedrons with the corners cut off, not yet spherical. However, this seemed sufficient for her needs.
Looking closely, the white-haired man was there. He must have helped too; he was looking at Marvel with his mouth open.
Marvel took the man's hand. Since he seemed unable to hear, she had to find a way to convey her gratitude.
"Thank you, thank you. Th-ank y-ou."
She moved her lips in the Siddim language. She didn't quite understand why she had to be so earnest about this. However, this was not a battlefield. Even with a deaf person from an enemy nation, doing so would be the right thing.
"Th-ank y-ou."
The white-haired man finally smiled and nodded.
Marvel felt good. She smiled, unlike her usual self, and patted Boojo's shoulder. 'You did well. I'm grateful.'
'No, you're welcome.' Boojo blushed. 'I'm counting on you for the interpretation, okay?'
'Yeah, anytime. More than that, I'm looking forward to it. Serve them right, you brats.' Marvel shouted in triumph. 'I'll use this to hammer arithmetic into their very marrow.'
That night, Marvel thought about the confession Boojo had decided upon.
Naturally, Marvel could not repent of anything. Marvel's confession was military secrets themselves.
No, more than that, there was a terrifying obstacle standing in her way, slick and imposing. To confess meant to face one's own sins.
Just as Boojo had not been a mere deserter, the people who had died at Marvel's hands had not been mere enemies. She would have to admit that they, too, were human. This was dangerous. If she did such a thing, what on earth would happen?
—If I admit it.
Marvel broke into a cold sweat. She knew that people of the enemy nation had flesh and blood. She had felt that temperature with these hands.
But if they had backgrounds, families, personalities... there would be no end to it. No. She must not think about it. She couldn't do something like a confession.
—But, if.
If she could reveal this, Marvel would say.
That she had been fighting. It might be an excuse, but she would have to say it. That it was her mission. That it was for her homeland.
Would she be forgiven?
Naturally, the church would forgive Marvel. Because the Tenshu-sama is such a being.
She would be forgiven.
As long as she didn't step a single pace outside this church, she could remain a forgiven existence.
Marvel, who had fallen asleep before she knew it, woke up feeling wrapped in a familiar scent. A faint twilight filtered in from the open door. A face like a skull was peering into Marvel's sleeping face.
"It seems you were having a very good dream, Marvel."
"Rivet..."
For a large Black nun, was this room too small? She gave a cramped impression.
"I received word from Father Nemo. I've come to collect you."
"Ah, I see. I suppose so."
A lifeless laugh leaked from Marvel's mouth.
"Let's leave for now. There are even those in this village who suspect Marvel is the woman in the wanted poster the army is searching for."
Marvel looked at the abacus. She had brought it into the room because she was so happy.
"Rivet—"
"It's impossible, Marvel. You should know that yourself."
Marvel got out of bed and prepared herself.
She forced her body to move. As if making a cracking sound, she tore something away from herself and left the room. It was strange that her legs moved. Even so, Marvel left the village and entered the fields. She was in a daze.
It was around dawn. There was no wind.
"Where are you going?"
Rivet, walking ahead, spoke without looking back. "Back, to the Valley of Cats."
"..."
"Marvel's journey is over. Finally."
"Not yet."
"Marvel, you have contributed to the church far more than you think. You've been useful. You've accumulated merit. The church evaluates Marvel highly. So, let's return to the Valley of Cats and finish your training. The only place for Marvel to live is the church. The church forgives Marvel's sins. Marvel can only live in the church."
"I'm going east, I'm going to Geraha."
"It's impossible. You'll be killed before you reach the east."
"I am going."
That's right. She should just go. To Geraha.
"I'm going, Rivet."
She had been half-asleep, Marvel thought. The person Marvel should confess to was not Father Nemo or the church. The place she should go was not the Valley of Cats. She didn't need the forgiveness of the Tenshu-sama.
It was Geraha.
Geraha would forgive everything. Not just forgive—Geraha would praise her. He would appreciate her. Marvel had defeated the enemy. The people of Kosa would seek nothing more than that. Marvel hadn't been cruel; she had been brave. Geraha would understand that.
"You can't escape from the church, Marvel," Rivet smiled sadly. "The church is already inside Marvel, within your conscience."
"The ones escaping are you. Soon, Geraha will become the world." Marvel stopped her feet. "Goodbye, Rivet."
"Wait, Marvel. Are you sane?" Rivet's eyes widened. "I thought you understood your own strength correctly. You cannot reach the east. It is overflowing with enemy soldiers."
"I'll just kill them one by one. Stop me by force if you wish. If it's a contest, I'll accept."
"I'm telling you that you'll die. Are you prepared to die, Marvel?"
She felt this was the first time she had heard Rivet's voice sound so panicked.
"It's the opposite, Rivet. If I return to the church, I'll die. In a warm place like that village church, Kohal would suffocate."
"You don't understand, Marvel has no choice but to live as Marvel now. Remember the young men you killed. Could you say you want to live as Kohal in front of them?"
"I don't want to live as Kohal. I want to die as Kohal. See ya, Rivet."
"Wait, I've got it!" Rivet's voice cracked. "You're serious, aren't you? I understand. There's no need to die. I get it, Marvel. I'll arrange it. The Bishop of this country will soon go east. He'll take a ship from Delroy city. I'll slip Marvel in as one of the attendants. With this, you can reach the east safely."
"What brought this on?"
"Marvel, Mozu Wolf has died," Rivet told her quietly. "I had a promise with that person—. Marvel, this is the last time I can be of help. Even if you arrive in the east alive, Marvel's life will not last long. In short, you can only die. This one step decides life or death. You should think about it once more before deciding."
"No, I won't think anymore. Let's go, Rivet. To Delroy."
"You won't regret it?"
"I will move forward without thinking anymore."
If she thought about it, she would surely lose her nerve. Human thought is probably designed to be that way. Marvel took the step Rivet spoke of at a run.
Bishop Kabel Kofie was a man who, in his life, had been surprised by many, many things. However, nothing had astonished him as much as the battles fought around Malfa city. It seemed that Yugis, the son Urgil Necrat couldn't handle, had pulled it off.
Yugis had surprised the Bishop. But what remained strongly in his heart was the strength of the royal family.
—Siddim can soar with this.
Bishop Kofie smirked.
He couldn't lose, not to the likes of His Eminence Archbishop Kyle VIII.
He would use Kosa for Siddim's internal political issues. Bishop Kofie was the last survivor of that conspiracy. To use the Kosa army to crush the Siddim royal family. There was a time when he thought that. Now it was different. The Bishop's goal had twisted and twisted, and was now directed toward the survival of the royal family and the victory of Siddim.
—And my faith.
Bishop Kofie's faith was one of protecting the stupidity that pervaded the world.
—The Archbishop's faith.
Which one was stronger—this was a contest.
Currently, the Bishop had the advantage. But he couldn't let his guard down. The Kosa army still remained in Siddim. This is a matter for negotiation, the Bishop's common sense whispered. To put it plainly, there was no longer any seed of victory for the Kosa side. Further combat was meaningless.
Bishop Kofie thought he would act as the mediator for the negotiations.
—There is a need to go east.
Delroy, where Bishop Kofie stayed, had a port, and one could go as far as Saranti by sea. It seemed Princess Lucy had also entered the east via the sea route. He too should stand on the stage. He would stand on the stage and settle this war.
Once the war was settled, the victory would be Bishop Kofie's.
He had stirred this country up thoroughly. That too was finally ending. He would strengthen the power of the Siddim royal family and exterminate the monsters rampaging in the Roma Church.
"I shall go east," the Bishop declared loftily.
The Bishop of Delroy and the priest of Delroy Cathedral trembled. For just a moment. Immediately, they changed their expressions and began to persuade him. Their eyes said that if he left his seat, it wouldn't end simply.
In short, the east was dangerous. That is what the Bishop and others said.
How foolish, the Bishop thought with amusement. Why had he been able to rise to the position of Bishop of Siddim? It might be because he could perceive this foolishness.
If a superior wants to go to a dangerous place, they should be let go. It would be a stroke of luck if he accidentally died. Wouldn't a seat open up? What was the intention behind trying to stop him in earnest? Did they want to say they didn't want Bishop Kofie to die?
"I am touched by your admonitions," Bishop Kofie said. "Do not think of me as a Kabel Kofie who would forget you two. However, the most urgent matter now is the Roma believers in the east. They are in the darkness."
"Must you go, regardless?" the Bishop of Delroy said in a voice full of grief.
"I go. I have a mission."
To his amazement, the Bishop of Delroy and the Cathedral priest began to weep, bringing their sleeves to their eyes.
Kabel Kofie grit his teeth and held back his laughter.
This was not Bishop Kofie's first sea voyage. Even so, every time he boarded, he admired how brave sailors were. He wondered how they could entrust their lives to a structure with a shaking footing. The spirited crew spoke proudly of things like "one plank of wood below is hell." He didn't know what they were thinking. The ship groaned, creak, creak.
No one other than Bishop Kofie felt anxiety. They are foolish people, the Bishop thought, but in this case, it seemed he was the idiot. The captain explained it to him. Ships basically do not sink.
"That's just how it is. Both Gyua and Skesia went out to the open ocean in sailing ships cruder than this."
The sailing ships used by Gyua and Skesia had flat bottoms and long hulls. With those ships, they carried battle-axes and went to plunder the southern oceans.
Now, port facilities had been developed, and sailing ships with deep hulls and height were the mainstream. They could recover to some extent even after taking a side wave.
"Even so, maritime accidents haven't disappeared, but it's become incomparably safer than before," the captain said enthusiastically.
"I see. That deserves a blessing."
The Bishop spoke solemnly and made the sign of the cross.
Once he felt at ease, his eyes turned to the beauty of the sea.
"Isn't it pleasant, Arsius?"
While listening to the cries of seabirds at the railing, the Bishop spoke to the young attendant boy. The ship was in the wind. Arsius had a sorrowful face with clouded brows. He didn't seem to be in a mood for enjoyment.
"Your Eminence, I am worried. The east is a battlefield."
"Even so, Arsius. There are times when one must go, regardless of anything else."
Now was the opportunity. If the Bishop moved now, the Archbishop would be caught off guard. He wouldn't be able to keep up with Bishop Kofie's movements. If the negotiations ended successfully, the Archbishop would have no choice but to ratify the result.
This was a lightning visit for that purpose. Bishop Kofie was confident.
At night, surprisingly, the ship continued to run through the waves without anchoring. The moonlight, washed by small waves, stretched long toward them. It was close to a full moon. The moonlight seen on the sea looked glaring, bringing a strange apprehension to the Bishop.
The Bishop was invited to the captain's meal. The meal was simple. Although the taste was good, it was insufficient for the gluttonous Bishop Kofie. However, the wine was of high quality. The Bishop, who had a knack for winning people over, soon hit it off with the captain and drank a bit too much.
The Bishop had been given a private room on the ship.
How long had he slept? Suddenly shaken, the Bishop was woken up.
"Your Eminence, Your Eminence!"
It was the young guard. He was a knight of the Holy Cathedral Knights, a pilgrim protection organization that operated with the support of the Roma Church.
Bishop Kofie felt a chill. The youth had a face as if he had seen a ghost.
"What is it?"
"An enemy attack!"
"Enemy attack?"
"Enemy ships filling the horizon—"
Bishop Kofie jumped up. He left the private room in his sleepwear. He had no time to feel fear. Above all, he moved out of curiosity to see the enemy ships.
Clinging to the railing and squinting, the moon was still in the night sky. It shone brightly.
The waves were calm. The horizon glowed white, bathed in moonlight, in sharp contrast to the color of the sea, which looked like melted night darkness. No enemy ships were in sight.
Suddenly, the Bishop felt a human presence.
He was grabbed around the waist by the young guard.
"I am a messenger from Kindary. Please do not take this ill."
With the young knight's powerful arm strength, Bishop Kofie's body was lifted. He felt the sea surface approaching beneath his eyes.
A war cry echoed there. A shadow came running. The Bishop's body was lowered onto the deck. Swords clashed, and sparks flew. The flash illuminated a man named Kaitas, who was also a guard. He was a knight of the Holy Cathedral Knights who had served as the Bishop's guard for a long time.
The young knight's blade flashed. In an instant, Kaitas landed on his backside.
"Kaitas!"
"Your Eminence, please flee!"
It seemed he had been injured.
Kaitas was a man who always blundered at the most critical moments. That was precisely why Bishop Kofie liked him. Because he was laughable. He couldn't flee and leave Kaitas behind. Besides, where was he supposed to flee to?
The young knight, whose name he didn't know, turned toward the Bishop. He sheathed his sword and approached.
"How noisy."
A low, eerie voice spoke.
The young knight turned around as if recoiling. There was the shadow of a woman behind him. The knight reached out to the woman carelessly and with force. The woman moved slickly and crouched, and the knight stumbled. It happened in the blink of an eye. The woman, who had slipped under the knight's legs, hoisted the knight onto her shoulder and threw him over the railing.
No one said anything.
Even the falling knight was silent. The sound of water was heard muffledly.
The Bishop looked at the woman. He wasn't quite sure, but he felt she was the attendant nun that the Bishop of Delroy had squeezed in.
"You are..."
"Bishop of Siddim, Your Eminence, I am..." The woman bowed her head.
—Marvel Boony.
She introduced herself as such.
"Your Eminence..."
Kaitas raised an anxious voice. The Bishop went to check the injury of Kaitas, who was unable to stand up. There was bleeding, but it wasn't a serious injury.
"The daughter of Meira Boony, then," Bishop Kofie said while tearing a piece of his sleepwear to tie Kaitas's upper arm.
"That is correct," the woman said in a mechanical voice.
The Bishop remained crouched, his back to the woman. He felt a tremor he had never felt before.
"If you have a wish, fulfill it now."
"My wish?"
"You must have something, otherwise you wouldn't have sneaked in."
"I wish to be added to Your Eminence's guard," the woman said. "I have undergone more training than the knight from before."
Bishop Kofie had used Meira Boony to his heart's content, exactly as he pleased. He was aware that he had treated her inhumanely. He had thought the daughter had come for revenge.
He looked back at the daughter. The daughter who called herself Marvel Boony was kneeling on both knees.
"Your Eminence, I wish only to clear my mother's dishonor."
Bishop Kofie did not believe her. "The one who made your mother suffer was precisely I. There is no need for reserve. Show your pride."
"I believe my mother was sufficiently capable. As a woman of the Valley of Cats, my wish is to inherit my mother's will."
"You mean, you will protect me?"
Marvel looked up. "Certainly."
There was a light of seriousness in the daughter's eyes, enough to make the Bishop believe.
Bishop Kofie saw another example of foolishness. Jumping into danger for the sake of faith. How meaningless. In Bishop Kofie's opinion, faith did not take responsibility after death. God existed so that one could live.
—This one seems to want to die for my sake.
The Bishop misunderstood.
He did not realize what kind of dangerous monster he had brought aboard.