Chapter 1 - The Gutter

Pain threatened to shatter his entire body. It forced Bera's eyes open.

"Ah..."

The sound that escaped his lips was cracked and parched, as though it might shrivel away at any moment.

His head rang. A scratching noise burrowed into his ears. Moisture settled on his skin, adding to his discomfort, and every breath brought chest pain that seemed to turn his insides upside down.

Utterly unpleasant sensations, and a body in the worst possible condition.

What on earth was happening? As that thought crossed his mind, Bera slowly turned his head, which at least still moved, to survey his surroundings.

'This place...'

A dark space. A heap of planks that was a house in name only, unable even to keep out the wind and rain, with water streaming through its gaps.

Its furnishings amounted to a few layers of worn-out cloth and a couple of brass bowls streaked with rusty water. Black insects crawled along the walls, while muddy water dripped through the roof.

Those seemed to be the source of the stale air and the scratching noise.

As he looked around, Bera realized at once where he was.

... There was no way he could fail to recognize it.

'The gutter.'

He had awakened in the gutter where he had been born and raised—the place known as the Empire's pus.

As Bera surveyed his surroundings, a question arose in his mind.

Why was he here?

With that thought, he retraced what had happened before he lost consciousness. Surely...

'I was dying from a curse.'

A curse brought on by all the sins he had accumulated.

Three years had passed since the Demon King's defeat. The heroes, who had spent that time erasing the scars of the long, long war, had begun purging the continent from within and set their sights on him.

He had fought desperately to escape, but in the end the curse had struck him, leaving him dying.

Yet, strangely enough, he could no longer feel the presence of the curse that had been eating away at him all that time.

All he felt were the injuries and pain left by the long, drawn-out battle.

Bera tried to work out why he was lying here when he had collapsed at the entrance to the gutter. Unable to find a plausible explanation, he dismissed the thought and closed his eyes.

Whether someone had saved him or this was a scheme by another person hunting him, there was nothing he could do now. He had no reason to dwell on it.

It was a truly shabby space, but signs of habitation lingered throughout it nonetheless.

He would soon encounter whoever lived here. There would be time enough to ask then.

Having reached that conclusion, Bera was passing the time with his eyes closed when the shack's door opened with a sound.

CREAK

He opened his eyes at the noise and looked toward the door. The person entering was...

'... A woman?'

She was an ugly, disfigured woman wrapped in a shabby robe, all her exposed skin melted by burns.

The white hair sticking out from beneath her hood was fouled with filth. Her feet were caked in muddy water, apparently without shoes.

She seemed unable to see, either. He could tell from her lightless blue eyes and the way she walked crookedly, feeling along the wall.

Who was she?

As Bera pondered that for a moment, he listened to the jingling that accompanied her every movement.

'Metal.'

It was the sound of metal striking metal.

'Concealed weapons? Coins? Jewelry?'

Bera ran through the possibilities that immediately came to mind. Only after she sat down on the floor did he discover the source of the sound.

A platinum-colored necklace gleamed against her burn-melted neck.

'Jewelry, then.'

Bera narrowed his eyes.

Jewelry made from precious metal was hardly something he would expect a person living in such a shabby home to possess.

He began to suspect that the woman had sold him out in exchange for the necklace.

It was a fairly plausible deduction. Among those who wanted him, more than enough could afford to hand over precious metal like that without a second thought.

As he watched her, tension rising within him, she lowered her head and revealed the necklace's shape more clearly. Bera drew in a sharp breath.

Now fully exposed, the necklace was something he knew well. What hung around the woman's neck was...

'A rosary from the Holy Empire.'

A platinum-colored rosary that only those of the highest standing in the Holy Empire could possess. That was exactly what it was.

'It isn't... a fake.'

The discerning eye he had developed over the years let him tell at once.

'Nor was it payment.'

No price could be placed on a platinum rosary. Merely trading one would bring the entire Holy Empire down upon you.

Thus, he concluded that the woman belonged to the Holy Empire.

As he followed that train of thought, a particular person flashed through his mind.

'White hair. Blind. A platinum-colored rosary.'

It was not impossible to find others with similar traits, if he looked. Yet for some reason, Bera could not dismiss the conclusion that had come to mind. He studied her with a tense expression for a moment, then parted his lips slightly.

"... Saintess."

His badly cracked voice slipped out.

The woman flinched at Bera's voice.

Her whole body jolted, then her fingertips twitched. Seeing those movements, he knew his deduction was correct.

As Bera studied the woman—the Saintess—with an even tenser expression, she turned her head toward him and spoke.

"Are you awake?"

A clear voice, quite unlike her appearance. That was Bera's first thought upon hearing the Saintess speak.

After speaking, she faced him and began moving the muscles of her face. Her burn scars twisted grotesquely with the movement, but Bera could sense that the expression was meant to be a smile.

It was the air about her. Her quiet tone, her blue eyes directed straight toward him despite their unfocused haze, and the facial muscles she was visibly struggling to lift.

For some reason, all of it felt like a smile to Bera.

Looking at the hideously melted face exposed amid her ragged robe, which was riddled with holes, Bera voiced a question.

"... I heard you were dead."

The Saintess had died in the final battle against the Demon King. The news had been so widely known that even Bera knew of it.

Then why was she here, in this condition, when everyone believed her dead?

At the question in his puzzled voice, the Saintess chuckled and answered playfully.

"If you mean the Saintess, then yes, she is dead."

"Then who are you?"

"A mangy beggar from the gutter."

It was an indirect answer, but Bera understood what she meant.

"... So the Holy Empire held a sham funeral."

"You cannot call it a sham. Whatever else may be true, the Saintess of the Holy Empire is dead."

As she spoke, the Saintess reached out tentatively and ran her hand over Bera's chest.

A groan immediately escaped him. Her hand had passed over ribs that had been struck with a blunt weapon.

"Ghn...!"

"Does it hurt very much?"

Bera clenched his teeth and glared at her.

"..."

He must not carelessly show weakness. With that thought, he remained silent. The Saintess tilted her head, then once again felt over various parts of his body.

"I have finished the basic treatment... but you will still need to recover here for a while. It may be uncomfortable, but please bear with it a little longer."

Her voice was steeped in concern. It filled Bera with wariness.

'What is she after?'

She did not seem to be targeting him. Yet too many questions sprang to mind as he looked at her for him to find a satisfactory answer.

Why was the Saintess alive? Why was she here in this state? How had she found him, and did she know who he was?

As countless questions flashed through his mind, Bera decided to resolve them one at a time and looked at her.

"Was it you who lifted the curse, Saintess?"

"Fortunately, I had enough strength left to do so."

It was a vague affirmation.

"Strength left?"

"The Supreme God watched over me."

Creases formed across her melted face. To Bera's understanding, she was smiling.

He watched that smile, then pursued the implications of her words, "strength left."

He knew something of the Saintess's abilities. Though the curse placed on him had been exceptionally vicious, with her abilities she should have been able to lift it without feeling even the slightest fatigue.

In other words, there should have been no reason to speak of having "strength left."

Bera watched her with his lips pressed shut. Only after pondering for a long while did he infer what her words meant.

"... Were your divine powers taken from you?"

"'Taken' is not the right word. They were never mine to begin with."

The Saintess continued in a calm voice touched with amusement.

"I merely returned what had been lent to me."

"You gave them up willingly?"

"I no longer have any reason to keep them. It is only natural."

A hollow laugh escaped Bera at her answer. He felt some of his questions resolve with those words.

'She faked her death of her own accord.'

He did not wonder why. Given what he knew of the Saintess, a glance at her tranquil face made the answer plain enough.

"You must have been sick of war."

Now that the Demon King was gone, if the Saintess had remained in her former position, the nations of the continent would have fought another war over her.

Why wouldn't they? Her abilities were well worth it.

If she was the kind of person he had heard she was, she would have wanted to avoid that situation. And the solution she had devised must have been to erase her own existence.

While he was still thinking, the Saintess spoke in a slightly subdued tone.

"... You know a great deal."

"So, are you going to kill me?"

Bera looked at her as he spoke.

His body was in terrible condition. Even if she began strangling him this instant, he would not be able to offer the slightest resistance.

... Honestly, he would have few regrets even if he died here. He had certainly lived a life that deserved death, and wasn't such a miserable end well within his expectations?

Expecting the Saintess to reach for his throat, Bera closed his eyes.

At that moment—

"I have no reason to kill you."

The Saintess spoke.

Bera opened his eyes with a slight furrow of his brow. The Saintess before him still wore a tranquil expression.

"Why not?"

"Why do you think I would kill you?"

"Isn't it a problem to have someone who knows who you are?"

"I simply hope you will keep it to yourself."

"And if I decide to spread the word?"

"That would be unfortunate."

Her replies flowed as smoothly as water. Bera studied her expression again, trying to discern her intentions, but he could read nothing in her face, melted all over by burns.

Silence lingered. When he still gave no answer after a long while, the Saintess let out a brief sigh and continued.

"For now, please rest. You are in very poor condition."

"Do you even know who you're treating?"

"Must I?"

"You might need to. The person you've treated could be a murderous fiend who cuts people to pieces."

"If so, that would be truly unfortunate, but I lack the courage to turn away someone who is suffering. All I can do is pray that you are not a murderous fiend."

Another hollow laugh escaped Bera as she leaned her back against one wall of the shack after saying that.

Still leaning there, the Saintess drew the rosary from within her robe, clasped it tightly, and closed her eyes.

She appeared to be praying.

For no reason he could name, the sight made Bera's insides twist. He spoke in a mocking tone.

"How very devout you are, Saintess."

"... Renée."

"What?"

"Not Saintess. Renée."

After agreeing with everything all this time, the only objection she could muster was to correct what he called her.

Thinking that this Saintess was a truly strange person, Bera closed his eyes.