Chapter 14 - Seven Days and Nights of the Midnight Sun

Four years.

A span of time that could be called either long or short had passed. As a wait for the Saintess... it had been very long indeed.

Even after all that time, her face, her voice, and those moments remained branded into his mind, stirring his thirst at every instant. Though he had no idea where she might be—though all he knew was that she was somewhere in the Kingdom of Horden—he wanted to leave and search for her immediately.

Yet he had not done so because, in the end, he lacked confidence in himself. He still believed he had not become the kind of person worthy of her.

For the past four years, Bera had set aside his standing as an apostle and lived as Bargo's squire. He had trotted along behind him to learn the sword that protected. Yet despite spending those long years attending to him every day, he sadly had no results worth speaking of.

Bera still did not understand a protector's sword. His swordsmanship remained sharp-edged, favoring attack over defense, with far more wild instinct than reason.

Nor did he understand faith. He still could not clearly say what faith meant. To him, it remained an intractable question, and his sacred mark remained a useful tool.

Over those four years, Bera had refined the sacred art he had named Sanctuary and trained his body, achieving immeasurable, tangible growth. His inner growth, however, remained slow. The only realization those four years had brought him was that he was arrogant and ignorant.

Time, cruelly, did not wait for his faltering steps.

"Boy."

"Yes."

It was early morning in the Grand Temple's chapel. As he had throughout the past four years, Bera had accompanied Bargo to pray. At the sound of his name being called, he opened his eyes.

Before him stood Bargo, a man aptly described as a strange creature. He was unmistakably frailer than when they had first met.

Once, Bera had needed to crane his neck just to meet his eyes. Now Bargo's frame no longer seemed so large. Bargo's back had grown more bent, while Bera had grown taller.

They could now look at each other at the same eye level, but for some reason Bera found no pleasure in that and could not face him squarely. Whenever he answered Bargo's call, he inevitably bowed his head.

As Bera waited with his head lowered, Bargo spoke again.

"... How is your training in sacred techniques coming along?"

"I still have many shortcomings."

"Are you going to be lacking forever?"

"I am ashamed."

"Bah. Tsk."

At the sound of Bargo clicking his tongue, Bera bowed his head still deeper. Recognizing his own shortcomings and following in Bargo's footsteps had finally taught him humility. He had learned to show him respect, as the Holy Empire's other holy knights did.

"So, are you just going to keep trotting along behind me? Hmm? How long do you intend to do nothing but eat my food?"

He had been saying that for a year now. Bera realized that the time had come to give a different answer. He had to strike out on his own, something he had postponed again and again in hopes of gleaning even one more small insight.

Bera's lips moved hesitantly. How should he put it? What could he say to convince Bargo and obtain the position of the Saintess's escort?

The question had tormented him all this time. Only after much thought had he finally found an answer.

"Your Holiness, would you assign Sir Norn to me?"

"Eh? What do you want him for?"

"I wish to strike out on my own."

Having said it, Bera raised his head and met Bargo's eyes. Those eyes, whose depths he had always considered unfathomable, filled his vision. Their depth had once seemed sly, even uncanny, but now Bera understood that it held the weight of years.

"... I wish to assemble a traveling party."

"What sort of party?"

"Do you remember what I told you?"

"Of course. How could I forget you groveling about wanting to trail after someone?"

Bera flinched at Bargo's mockery. He had heard such remarks constantly while following him around, but they still riled him every time. Letting out a small breath, he gathered himself and continued.

"... Yes. I wish to assemble a party for that purpose."

He had spent some time pondering how to say this while concealing his Regression. Yet however much he thought about it, no suitable approach came to mind. In the end, he had chosen to confront the matter head-on.

Of course, he would not explicitly say that he knew the Saintess would appear because he had regressed, or that he was assembling a party to escort that future Saintess.

'He isn't the sort to pry, anyway.'

The Bargo he had come to know over the past four years was not a man who would demand every detail of such a story, so there was no need to tell him.

The world called him the father of all holy knights. He truly embraced the Holy Empire's priests with a father's understanding. Perhaps that was why, at some point, Bera had begun treating him with respect despite how infuriating the old man was.

While Bera waited for his answer, lost in thought, Bargo scratched inside his ear and asked, his expression as indifferent as ever,

"Is it a woman?"

Bera's expression abruptly froze.

"So it is. Bah, tsk. You throw a fit whenever you see that fellow Rohan, but you're no different. Your brain's between your legs."

"... That is a harsh thing to say."

"Harsh? With that shifty face of yours, you look exactly the type."

Bera clenched his fists tight.

"Then will you grant me permission?"

"Would you refrain if I told you not to?"

"... Forgive me."

"Impudent brat. Do as you please."

With that, Bargo rose and left the chapel alone.

"I'm going for a walk. Tell Norn yourself."

"Thank you."

There was no reply. Bargo walked away without another word. Only when he had passed through the chapel doors and vanished from view did Bera let out a small breath and release the tension in his body.

'It's done.'

At last, he could take the position he had sought from the beginning.

'Three more days.'

On the day marking the exact midpoint of the continent's year, the seven days and nights of the midnight sun would begin. A miracle brought about by the Supreme God's sacred mark descending upon the continent. The gods' celebratory salute, blessing the new Saintess.

It was about to begin.

'Once the seven days and nights of the midnight sun begin...'

The continent would become a veritable cauldron of chaos. The entire continent would stir to claim the Supreme God's divine powers held by the Saintess. Those powers were more than worth such an effort.

'The divine power to weave fate.'

A power that interfered with providence itself, rewriting a fate already determined. With the Saintess's power, even a slash-and-burn farmer in some remote village could become the emperor of the Empire. The most wretched beggar could become the richest person on the continent. Someone doomed to die could gain a hundred years of life.

Of course, such an ability could not be used without a price. The Saintess could not change her own fate. Furthermore, if the magnitude of the turning point created by her divine powers exceeded her total divine energy, she would have to bear the burden herself.

For example, if she made a farmer into an emperor and thereby altered the continent's entire history, her soul would perish, unable to endure the strain. In other words, the Supreme God's divine powers were an ability used with the Saintess's soul pledged as collateral.

It was an exceedingly dangerous ability... but sadly, that fact meant nothing to those who benefited from it. Why would it? The one who endured the burden was the Saintess, not the beneficiary. To them, she was like a sacred relic that could bring them glory at no cost to themselves.

As his thoughts continued, Bera recalled those who had sought the Saintess in his previous life.

'The emperor will make his move.'

With his position already under threat, the emperor of the Empire would act personally to restore the imperial family's splendor.

'The master of the Magic Tower will make his move.'

He would act to gain an understanding of the greatest providence of all.

'The leader of the alliance of kingdoms, the chief of the draconians, and the followers of the night will make their moves.'

All of them would act to find that one Saintess.

Every one of them was a formidable opponent. Yet Bera was not afraid. He, too, possessed abilities that could rival theirs.

He had his sacred mark. He had the martial strength built through his training. He had the Holy Empire at his back. There was no reason he could not protect the Saintess.

Suddenly, the Saintess who had lived without her divine powers in a corner of the gutter came to mind. Her utterly wretched appearance. Her end, lying dead without a single person to mourn her.

An event that would inevitably come to pass if he did not intervene.

'... I won't let that happen this time.'

He would never let the Saintess meet such an end. He would become the thickest bulwark, so that no one would dare covet her. He would place her where she was praised for her nobility alone. And he would spend his life guarding her side.

He would fulfill the oath engraved upon his soul, the promise on which he had staked his life.

He still... had no confidence in himself. He remained arrogant and ignorant. He did not know what faith was. His swordsmanship was utterly savage, and his character could not be called good even as a joke.

Yet he no longer had the luxury of using that lack of confidence as a reason to hesitate to stand beside her. Time would not wait for him to be ready. The seven days and nights of the midnight sun would begin whether he wished it or not, and in their midst he would have to hold off the countless enemies seeking the Saintess.

'I will not run away.'

He would not run from the oath he had sworn of his own accord, or from its responsibility. He would willingly accept the consequences of his arrogance and ignorance. He would willingly bear the weight of the blood shed by swordsmanship that knew only how to tear things apart. He would not claim that the world as seen through his narrow vision was right.

He would simply bear all of it and live for his oath.

Bera turned his gaze toward the mural of the nine gods painted on the chapel's front wall.

'Whatever you desire is no concern of mine.'

If it coincided with what he wanted, so much the better. If not, that was that.

'I will not go out of my way to solve the riddles you have posed.'

Since the final moments of his vile life, only one thing had mattered to him.

'I will protect the Saintess of my own free will.'

The light that had shone upon him in that moment.

Protecting it was enough to make his life worthwhile.