How to Teach a Hero at the Academy

Chapter 193: The Masterless Wasteland (5)

"Oh dear."

Iris narrowed her eyes.

Shattered teacups lay strewn at Monica's feet. As lukewarm black tea soaked into the carpet, the surface of the overturned tray dully reflected Monica's face. Because the surface was convex, her features were warped.

"Are you hurt, Monica?"

Iris asked, but Monica did not answer.

She was only staring. The halo that had risen above Iris's head. The glowing ring of light held Monica's gaze. It was bright. Far too bright. It was because of the brightness. She couldn't hold any thought. She couldn't take any action. As though bewitched, Monica gazed up at Iris's halo.

"Ease up, won't you."

Meanwhile, Abel opened his mouth.

"Can't you see Monica has been startled."

"It's less that she's startled and more that her soul has flown off, wouldn't you say."

Her eyes are unfocused.

Iris whispered so.

In an innocent tone, teacup in hand.

"Because she's been exposed to the halo. It seems she can't even hear your voice."

"I suppose that's only natural. This halo is a radiance bestowed by the Five Main Gods......, and because it's so radiant, it tends to unsettle the mind."

Let's call it quits on the teasing, and.

Iris murmured with the cup held at her lips.

After swallowing a sip of tea before long,

"──Monica Lohengrin!"

Her eyes flew wide as she shouted.

"Y-yes, ma'am!"

Monica's body jerked.

Monica answered with strength in her voice.

The halo had flickered out at some point. Focus returned to Monica's eyes, which had been dyed by its radiance. After rubbing her eyes three or four times, Monica looked at Iris, who was seated with a stern expression.

"What are you doing. I am speaking to you. Like a fly that would reach for the sun, you do not know your place."

"My apologies, Your Grace......"

Monica bowed her head.

Inwardly, she wondered. What did I just see.

A ring of light so radiant it defied description. A halo — she had witnessed it with her own eyes. The halo was a precious sign the Main Gods bestowed upon Saintesses. She had read as much in books. The Saintess depicted in the illustrations of <BRAVE QUEST> also bore a halo, and historical records, too, described the existence of many Saintesses who bore them.

"Is it so astonishing."

Could she really be a Saintess.

Could the Duke of Orléans be a Saintess.

Thinking that, Monica raised her head.

"Is it so astonishing to you that I am a Saintess."

Iris asked with the face of a Duke.

Her gentle expression had vanished. A chill filled her light-red eyes, and her warmly curved lips were set in solemn lines. And how she looked seated in the chair. She wore the unassuming garments of a guide, but the cloth was too thin to hide her sharp poise.

"......I do not know."

Monica managed to answer.

It was not a question of astonishment. To be astonished leisurely required the capacity to comprehend enough to perceive astonishment, but coming up against something that transcended the range of comprehension only left her mind reeling.

"Even if you were not a Saintess to begin with......, for me, the very act of conversing with Your Grace of Orléans feels like a miracle. How is it that someone like me could exchange words with Your Grace."

But, and.

Monica hesitated, then went on.

"You must be, most likely. You must indeed be a Saintess."

I saw the halo,

I saw black magic being purified,

I can't fully understand everything yet, but since I've seen these things with my own eyes, I suppose I have to believe.

"It feels like the honor of a lifetime."

Monica murmured.

Fidgeting with the tips of her toes.

"That someone like me should be able to behold a Saintess, truly......"

"Broaden your vision, Monica."

Thunk.

Iris set the teacup down.

"You seem to regard yourself as far too small. I won't say that's a mistake. But how about broadening your vision at least? If the vision is narrow, one cannot see a great mountain for what it is, even upon looking at it. For conversing with a mere Duke to feel like a miracle. That shouldn't be. There must be miracles far more astonishing than that in this world."

Iris's expression softened.

It was the face of the Saintess. It was the same face, yet Iris as Duke and Iris as Saintess stood opposed like winter and summer. Only her expression, her posture, and the pitch of her voice had changed, and yet she felt like another person.

"I'll tell you, Monica. One of the astonishing miracles that exist in this world......"

Iris raised her index finger.

She thought for a moment, then,

"Would be that a man like this......"

Extended her finger toward Abel.

"Is, in fact, the Hero."

"I am not the Hero."

Abel said with an indifferent expression.

Then he turned his gaze toward Monica.

"But what do you think."

A faint smile was etched on the corners of Abel's lips.

"Given that a Duke who wields authority and a Saintess who refuses authority can both exist......"

Could it not exist?

Could such a thing truly not exist, and.

Abel put the question to Monica.

"I am quite curious."

A Hero from some rural village,

A Hero who lived as a war orphan,

A Hero who lost her right arm in childhood,

Could such a Hero truly not exist?

***

The next morning, on the outskirts of Cyurio.

As dawn broke across the sprawling gravel desert, meanwhile,

- Hero.

Monica began writing in her journal.

Seated in the back seat of the magestone vehicle.

- Every era insists on ordaining its hero, and the era is interpreted along the hero's life. For some reason, every era has its conqueror, and their lives are riddled with feats and missteps. If feats accumulate enough to bury the missteps, one is acknowledged as a hero.

Abel and Iris were loading luggage into the magestone vehicle.

They planned to cross the border, she had heard. Beyond the eastern border lay a wasteland no nation had any interest in possessing — and for what purpose would they head there.

Monica had not been given a proper explanation. She had only been judging for herself. From what she had experienced over the last few days, it had to be in order to root out a gathering of apostates.

- A Hero is different.

Missteps are not permitted for the Hero.

And so the Hero feels like the delusion of an age. Could an untainted, flawless savior exist? All the untaintedness and flawlessness I have known would only have existed inside delusions.

Abel's voice came to her faintly from outside the vehicle.

"Cut back on the smoking."

"Are you worrying about my health?"

Iris's voice also reached her.

"I just don't like the smell."

"I don't like it either. But what can I do. I've gotten so addicted......"

What on earth were these two?

Not a question asked out of a wish to understand. A question asked out of a wish to feel it as real. Even if Iris was a Saintess, even if she accepted that, she could not fully feel that existence as real.

Why am I even here, in the first place. Conversations that were a struggle to keep up with were in full flower. Monica wondered whether she had any right to stand between Abel and Iris. She was barely managing to follow her own train of thought.

- The Hero's existence is a delusion.

It's the delusion of an age. And that's why I love the delusion.

Everything I love is a delusion. It's the only way I can love them. Because all of them have ceased to exist in this world. And so the Hero, too, does not truly exist.

That's what I'd always believed.

Thud.

The sound of the magestone vehicle's cargo compartment closing.

"Why don't you go on ahead? I'll finish one more and join you."

"Don't you ever tire. I will drive."

"Are you trying to get Monica killed? While I'm asking politely, please sit in the back seat. You're terrible with machines."

Before long, Abel stepped forward, and,

- If I really could be the Hero......

Clunk.

The sound of the magestone vehicle's back door opening.

- Could I love myself.

Abel sat down beside Monica.

- Could I love myself.

All of it would be no more than delusion, but......

Monica hastily closed the journal.

Clearing her throat, she glanced sideways at Abel. Abel's expression, gazing beyond the window, was vague. Monica set the journal on her lap, fidgeted with her toes, worked her lips, fell silent, and,

"......Professor."

She opened her mouth to Abel.

"Are you truly the Hero, Professor?"

"No."

Abel answered at once.

"You know well. I am clumsy at lying."

"I suppose so......"

Monica nodded a few times.

It was surely true. Abel's lies were dreadfully flimsy.

In that case......

"Then......, am I the Hero?"

Monica barely managed to ask again.

"I don't know."

Abel again answered at once.

"I believe I told you to seek the answer yourself. No matter what I say, it cannot become the correct answer for you. Seek it out in your own time."

But......,

But at least this much I can tell you, and.

Abel murmured softly.

"I too was an orphan."

I grew up in a small, rural village,

I never saw my parents, but I lost people who were like parents to me.

I've never lost my right arm, but......,

"I've lost people who were like my hands and feet."

Right.

There happen to be exactly four of them.

Abel whispered.

"All of them were......"

Both my arms, and both my legs.

***

It's because of me.

All of it is because of me.

Standing silent and still, Noel thought.

The past was repeating. Because she herself existed. Because Noel had reached into the past, time could not flow on and was stagnating. The moment the Saintess of Foresight, Lilith Problem, after being branded a witch, was executed. That moment was repeating without end.

Once, twice, thrice......, so many times the count could not be kept. Again and again, Lilith was being hanged. In a moment of that far-off past, passing by Noel, who stood mingled among the onlookers.

"Aren't you curious, Noel."

For just an instant,

A mere instant as she passed Noel by,

In each instantaneous moment, Noel and Lilith exchanged words.

"Foreseeing a future a thousand years on, and thrashing through now, for the sake of the thousand years hence......"

She was trapped.

Trapped in the past.

This was the midst of the memories accumulated by the ringleaders of the Parousia Denomination, and Noel's self had been forcibly sealed inside their memories. Their memories were acting as a barrier, imprisoning Noel's consciousness.

"Just how much might be changed."

Noel did not speak.

What would it matter if the future were changed.

Lilith could not survive. Because she knew this, she was dying lightly.

"Just wait a little."

She was hanged,

"I can see it."

Hanged again,

"People are coming from a distant future."

Hanged once more,

"In order to save you."

Endlessly hanged, Lilith spoke.

"Saintess."

And so Noel, too, spoke.

"Saintess of Foresight."

Hanged,

"Answer me. Please, answer me."

Hanged again,

"I have seen it. I have seen an age's errors."

Hanged once more,

"Ages crumbling without end, I have seen again and again."

Watching Lilith being hanged without end,

Watching the faces of those jeering at Lilith,

Men, women, old people, children,

"To humankind......, to this humankind......"

Noel asked.

"Is there any worth?"

Is there truly worth in saving them?

To those so barbaric and foolish,

"Why is a Saintess even necessary?"

Ahahaha──, and.

Laughter swept across the square.

Everyone but Noel was laughing.

As though scorning the age itself.