Chapter 3 - The Gutter - 3

Another five days or so must have passed.

The day he had initially judged would surely see him dead had arrived.

Bera gave a hollow laugh at the sight of himself still breathing.

Much as he hated to admit it, Renée's care had worked. The porridge she fed him, even at the expense of her own meals, had kept him from starving to death. The divine energy she kindled by gathering the remnants of her lost divine powers had slowed the worsening of his wounds.

But that was all.

"Your condition is improving. Let us keep trying a little longer."

At Renée's words, Bera turned his head toward her and answered.

"Nonsense. You've merely prolonged my life a little."

Yes, his life had been prolonged a little. That was the extent of it.

His wounds were still opening. The pain grew worse with each passing day. His injuries had gradually worsened over nearly a week, until now they had robbed him of even the strength to twitch a fingertip.

Bera let out a breath steeped in pain and spoke to Renée.

"Why not admit it now?"

"Admit what?"

"Your efforts were wasted. I'm going to die soon."

Bera mustered all his strength to say it with a sneer, but Renée smiled and shook her head.

"We cannot know that."

Bera's brows drew together.

"Saying that won't change anything."

"We cannot know until we have done our best."

The same answer, repeated again.

Once more, Bera felt something tighten inside him. It was her persistence, which made him feel so pitiful, that brought on the feeling.

"You're a fool."

"I am simply full of love."

"Are you a parrot?"

"Of course not. As you can see, I am human."

"You always have to have the last word."

"A competitive spirit is good soil for growth."

Bera furrowed his brow. He wanted to sigh, but with pain stabbing through his entire body, that was all he could manage.

"If I were healthy, I'd slap you across the face."

"That is an excellent attitude. I will be right here, so recover quickly and do just that."

With that, Renée leaned against the wall beside where Bera lay and took out her rosary.

The platinum-colored rosary was obviously precious at a glance. It was the emblem of the Holy Empire's high-ranking priests.

Whenever she had a spare moment like this, she would clasp it and pray.

Once, watching her pray without ever seeming to tire of it, he had asked what she was praying for so earnestly.

She had answered that she was praying for his recovery. A truly ridiculous wish, one only a fucking idiot would pray for.

Recalling that exchange, Bera watched Renée praying with the rosary clasped in her hands, and words slipped out before he knew it.

"... If you don't intend to throw that rosary away, you'd better leave it here when you go out."

"How could I do that?"

"That rosary is going to get you killed."

Bera spoke with certainty as he watched Renée, whose eyes remained closed.

It was no idle remark. The gutter was more than capable of bringing such a thing about.

The scavengers of the gutter.

They were called that because they would rip even the organs from corpses and sell them if there was money to be made.

If they spotted that rosary, Renée would immediately become their target. Those vile bastards would plunge a blade into her throat and kill her, take the rosary, then slit her belly and pull out every last organ. Only after selling those too would they finally be satisfied.

"Scavengers are lunatics who live only for today. To earn money they can spend right now, they'd take that rosary even if it meant being hunted by the Holy Empire."

Speaking at such length brought the pain in his chest back.

Bera panted as pain reverberated through his body, then scowled. He could not understand why he had said any of that, why he had needlessly meddled.

Had he finally gone mad now that death was near? As that thought crossed his mind—

"How unfortunate."

That was the answer he received.

Renée opened her eyes, a small smile rising to her lips as she continued.

"Their lives must be so harsh that they feel compelled to do such things."

"Ha. Kariak would fall over laughing if he heard that."

"Who might that be?"

"The first scavenger."

"Oh my. A person of some renown, then."

"Well, you could say that."

He had created the deepest darkness in the gutter, so she was not truly wrong.

"Those bastards aren't worth pitying."

"Does such a person exist in this world?"

"You live in a garden of flowers."

"Since I cannot see one, I can only picture it in my mind."

"... Let's stop."

Bera closed his eyes.

He had never lost a war of words in his life, yet whenever he spoke with her, he always felt himself being drawn in like this.

Really, no matter how he looked at it, she was better suited to being called an oddity than a Saintess.

Ever since bringing him here, she had not once asked him about himself. Never mind his background or past—she had not even asked the most basic thing, his name.

Yet it was not because she lacked interest. She spent almost all her time nursing him, never showing fatigue or annoyance over it. Whenever he seemed about to lose consciousness, she would hold his hand tightly and speak to him. Though she could not even manage one proper meal a day herself, she made sure he ate without fail.

One could certainly call it nobility befitting a Saintess, but to Bera it felt more strange than noble.

'... No.'

Bera felt a breathy laugh escape his lips.

The truth was that he judged her that way because he did not want to think of it as nobility. The light that never faded, even in her miserable life, was so dazzling that it seemed to expose him, covered in every kind of filth. That was why he judged her so.

Bera humbly admitted it.

He was ashamed to have his past life, lived as the vilest of villains, exposed beneath her light. That was why he belittled her.

She effortlessly did what his past self had been unable to do, and she was so dazzling that he belittled her for it.

He had thought no one would be beside him at the end of his life. His life had been too ugly for him to dare hope that someone would remain.

And so he had sworn to humbly accept dying alone. Yet her light was wearing away even that oath.

She was offering him kindness that a person so vile should never dare receive.

'... Ridiculous.'

Bera mocked himself for leaning on her kindness.

* * *

His gaze followed her.

... Followed her face as she sat absently with her eyes closed.

A grotesque face, melted by burns until its original shape was unrecognizable.

Bera tried to picture the face she must once have had over it, but it was so badly disfigured that even that was difficult.

"Did you do that to your face yourself?"

"What do you mean?"

"... The burns."

"Yes. I did it myself."

"Was there a reason to go that far?"

Bera could not understand it. If she had simply wanted to hide her identity, she could have used an artifact. If that was not feasible, she could have worn a disguise mask.

As Bera waited for her answer, his face full of questions, Renée chuckled and replied. Her tone held a hint of mischief.

"Did you know? Before I did this to my face, I was so beautiful that anyone who saw me would gasp in admiration."

It came out of nowhere, but that one sentence was enough for Bera to understand her intent.

He knew better than anyone that beauty was a fatal weakness in the gutter.

She probably meant to say that she had made that choice to protect herself. But—

"... How can someone who can't even see be so certain? Did it never occur to you that the people who saw you simply lacked the courage to call you ugly?"

For some reason, the sight of her saying such things about herself grated on him, and Bera gave that reply.

The answer that followed was, again, tinged with laughter.

"What I said is true."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Do you know what it means to be unable to see?"

Renée leaned toward Bera as she spoke. Her hand settled over his.

"It means becoming that much more sensitive to your other senses. Through them, I can tell whether someone's words are true or false better than most."

Renée stroked the back of Bera's hand.

"A person's voice holds countless tremors, depending on the emotions within it. When someone lies, there is a tremor that breaks off in little jolts. When someone is moved, there is a tremor that seeps into the voice."

Her hand, which had been stroking the back of his, moved to his wrist and began gently pressing over his pulse.

"The heartbeat comes through as well. The stronger the emotions, the more clearly it reveals itself."

"... Why are you telling me this now?"

"Because all—almost all those who saw me spoke in voices filled with passion when they looked at me."

"Ever considered that you're full of yourself?"

"Of course not. I can be certain. The tremors in the voices of those who called me beautiful, and the warmth that came with them, all held a dreamy light. As far as I know, only love gives a voice such a yearning light."

"Everyone who saw you fell in love? Aren't you embarrassed to flatter yourself like that?"

"I am stating the truth."

Watching Renée say that without the slightest embarrassment, Bera felt a hollow laugh escape him.

"Enough. I shouldn't have asked."

"It is a shame I have no way to prove it."

Renée lifted the hand that had been taking his pulse, and the warmth seeping into his wrist receded.

At the sensation, Bera felt an inexplicable emptiness. He let out a short breath, then pressed his lips tightly together.

Had his heart grown weak along with his body?

The feeling that had just arisen needlessly wounded his pride. He had lived without ever asking anyone for help or regretting the departure of another's warmth. Yet somehow, whenever he dealt with her, weakness slipped out like this.

His shallow imagination kept conjuring meaningless possibilities.

Would I be different now if I had met you at another time, in another place, under different circumstances? What if I had met you before I became so vile? Would I be living a different life? If it had been before you disfigured your face, would I have felt love, as you said?

The possibilities continued without pause. Feeling something stir inside him again, Bera bit down on his lip to shake them off.

They only deepened his misery.

For a long while, silence settled over the room as he struggled to banish those thoughts.

"... Then I will step outside for a little while."

Renée spoke.

Bera watched her rise hesitantly and stagger along with a hand against the wall, then said it again.

"You'd better leave the rosary here."

"How could I do that?"

Once again, her answer was a refusal.

Watching Renée slowly walk away with her back to him, Bera felt a stifling tightness inside.

And so, needlessly, those words slipped out.

"... I suppose all those prayers you've been saying were pleas to be killed."

"Of course not. I will not die before you are back on your feet."

With that, Renée opened the shack's door and stepped outside.

CREAK

"I'll be back."

Her tone was as peaceful as ever.

That was the last time Bera heard Renée's voice.