THE SAINT AND THE EMPIRE VETERAN
“Yaana, why did they pick you?”
When I was chosen as the saint, that was the first thing one of my fellow saint candidates and close friends said to me.
I’d been elated about the unexpected offer, but those words brought down my mood right away.
Candidates for sainthood are trained from a young age.
Many girls withdraw before the end, unable to bear the severe training.
It’s a difficult life, but we keep at it in hopes of becoming the future saint, all so we can someday support the hero.
Naturally, being chosen as the saint is the ultimate honor for us.
Only one person can be chosen, of course.
And even then, a new saint can be chosen only when a new hero is born.
Customarily, the chosen candidate is one who’s close in age to the hero, so even the most exceptional candidate usually won’t be chosen if she’s not the right age.
The vast majority of candidates will never become saints.
But there’s no telling when a hero might pass on and a new saint might be needed, so new trainees are still initiated every year.
In order to have a tiny chance of becoming a saint.
And I was chosen for the role.
It was as if fortune had smiled on me.
Naturally, I was so thrilled and excited that I ran to tell my good friend.
She was older than I was but always treated me kindly, so I was sure she’d be happy for me.
But as soon as she spoke, I realized I was wrong.
“Ah—I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that…”
She apologized right away, apparently regretting her choice of words.
But then she seemed to have nothing else to say. She just hung her head, turned around, and hurried away.
My friend was two years older than I was.
Sir Julius, the new hero, is the same age as I am.
If the candidate chosen has to be close to the hero’s age, surely she was qualified, too, being only two years apart.
I, on the other hand, couldn’t think of any reason I’d be chosen except for my age.
My aptitudes weren’t bad; they were above average certainly.
But there were other candidates who ranked better than I did, including my friend.
So although I’d always done my best, I didn’t think I’d ever be chosen as the saint.
Depending on their grades, an unselected candidate for sainthood can still get a good job.
If anything, that was what I was aiming for.
I dreamed of being the saint, of course, but I thought that realistically, there was no way I’d really become the saint.
So I didn’t fully understand the weight of taking on that role.
I didn’t realize that becoming the saint meant trampling on the hopes of all the others who weren’t chosen.
The girls who tried to be the saint and failed.
For their sakes, I have to carry on their hopes and become the best saint I can be.
So that no one will ask me “Why?” ever again.
Since I never really expected to become the saint, I’m sure there are other candidates who would scoff at me for making this resolution so late in the game.
But once I’ve made up my mind, I never go back on my word.
I have to become the kind of saint who those candidates can never find fault with.
Half of that is out of a sense of duty.
The other half…is fear.
Once the saint has been appointed, there are only three ways the title can pass on to someone new.
One is if the current hero, Sir Julius, passes away.
The other two ways are if I become unable to fulfill my role as the saint.
In other words, if I become unable to heal due to a serious illness or injury or if I die.
There are very few instances of a saint being assassinated by a candidate for sainthood.
We’re taught to be noble and virtuous during our training, so there are few who would ever think of doing such a thing.
But that doesn’t mean there are none at all.
I don’t want to believe that my former fellow candidates and friends would even consider doing something like that to me, but I know some of them are displeased.
After all, even my closest friend reacted that way.
“Urgh!”
“Lady Saint, please don’t force yourself.”
I try and fail to hold back the bile that rises unbidden in my throat at the scene before me.
And the stench.
Blood, guts, and the distinct smell of body odor. The bandits who lived outside the town must’ve had poor hygiene practices, for the natural stench of their bodies is horrible.
It wouldn’t be so bad if it was only the stench of blood—I’ve experienced that in the hands-on medical training I went through while being trained as a candidate for sainthood by the Church.
At first, the smell of blood bothered me, but I got used to it after experiencing it several times.
But that was from patients in a sanitary hospital ward, not victims on a real battlefield.
Here, there are other odors mixed in with the blood, along with dirt and dust of battle.
All of it combined assails me with nausea far worse than any I experienced in training.
“It’s all right. I can’t be faint of heart after Sir Hero fought so valiantly.”
Gently rejecting the soldier who tried to guide me back to the carriage, I request instead that he lead me to the wounded to begin treating them.
Once I start healing, I’m able to focus on that alone, instead of being affected by my surroundings.
For better or worse, I’ve yet to be called on to do anything, since the anti-human-trafficking force was first formed.
There are proper doctors and healers in the party, and things have been going almost too smoothly thus far, so I haven’t been brought out to heal.
Even this time, nobody asked for my help.
But after seeing Sir Hero take it upon himself to dive into the fray, I can’t just sit on the sidelines doing nothing.
“Next!”
“Lady Saint, the majority of the wounded have already been healed.”
Indeed, I look around and notice that there aren’t any more soldiers with serious wounds.
“What about the captured criminals, then?”
The only victims gathered here are the soldiers, so the captives must be someplace else.
They fought against Sir Hero and company, so surely, they’re gravely wounded as well.
“…Most of the criminals have breathed their last. No healing will be necessary.”
“I…I see.”
From the soldier’s hesitation, I can tell that most of the criminals must have met a gruesome end.
“It would have been better if only Sir Hero had captured some of them alive for us…”
The soldier seems to assume that I’m grieving for the dead criminals, and he murmurs something that sounds like a criticism of Sir Hero.
“No, that’s not true.”
…To be honest, I was afraid to see Sir Hero fighting.
My private impression of him is an incredibly kind boy of the same age as me.
He’s always smiling amiably and seems so warm that one might wonder if he could even hurt a fly. I confess, though it’s disrespectful, that I doubted whether he could really fight.
But he has a strong sense of duty, and watching him work hard to earn the respect of the adults only deepened my fondness for him.
He’s struggling with a weighty role, just like me, I thought.
But I was wrong.
It’s more than his position or sense of duty that makes Sir Hero work hard: It’s his strong desire for justice.
“Sir Hero didn’t have time to worry about such things. If he let them get away, they would have scattered to other areas, and we would’ve lost the chance to take them all out at once. And then they would have continued to commit terrible crimes in other places, even if only on a smaller scale. Sir Hero realized this and decided that they had to be wiped out before that could happen, even if it meant doing the deed himself.”
In battle, Sir Hero fought with a bloodcurdling intensity that was a far cry from his usual kind self.
His downright merciless fighting style showed how determined he was to stop the criminals at all costs.
“What? No, no…surely, Sir Hero didn’t think about all that?”
“It looked that way to me.”
“But even if some got away, the harm done would be negligible…”
“Would you still say the same if the victims were your own family?”
At that last comment, the soldier’s excuses fall away.
“Admittedly, the people who live in this area are strangers to us for the most part. But Sir Hero pushed himself beyond his limits to protect those very same strangers.”
While I was healing the wounded, I overheard soldiers who were displeased that Sir Hero had taken matters into his own hands.
They said he was being reckless because he wanted more accomplishments to his name.
That he has no sense of teamwork because he’s a child.
That because the person they’re supposed to be protecting charged into battle, they were forced to charge into battle as well, and so on.
It’s true that acting on his own wasn’t exactly commendable.
But he was motivated by a desire to protect the people, a sense of justice deeper than anyone knows.
“Exactly.”
Turning around, I see the deputy high commander Sir Tiva walking over to us.
His voice, far more strained and emotional than usual, takes me by surprise.
“Sir Tiva, your hand is bleeding!”
Noticing blood dripping from his tightly clenched fist, I rush over to heal him, but he holds me off.
“It’s all right. I must not heal this wound, as a reminder to myself.”
Sir Tiva opens his hand and gazes at the wound, then clenches it shut again.
“I am ashamed of my cowardliness,” he says quietly. “Forcing Sir Hero to push himself this far… I am a failure as his deputy.”
“…Sir Hero is a child. Is it not a child’s job to push past their limits?”
One of the soldiers, probably a commander based on his attire, attempts to comfort Mr. Tiva but is met with a shout of rage.
“And what does that make us, if even a child doesn’t think he can rely on us?! Sir Hero was forced into action because we were too craven!”
The commander’s attempt to soothe Mr. Tiva instead sets off an explosion he was holding back.
“I thought we could let Sir Hero grow up at his own pace, that he would slowly close the distance between himself and the troops. But it seems we are the ones who still have growing to do.”
The commander looks away as Tiva continues.
“We’ve forgotten why this force exists in the first place. Our goal is to protect as many innocent victims from this organization as we can! Sir Hero understood that better than any of us. We’ve all been utter fools!”
Mr. Tiva’s voice echoes around the vicinity.
I’m sure the rest of the soldiers heard him, too.
I don’t think things will change right away.
But I have the feeling this might be the start of something new.
“Hey, welcome back.”
When I return to the carriage, Sir Hero’s attendant, Hyrince, waves to me.
He’s rather rude, so I admit I’m not very fond of him.
“Where’s Sir Hero?”
Hyrince points silently into the carriage.
Peering through the window, I see Sir Hero fast asleep in his seat.
In this moment, he looks like nothing more than an innocent young boy.
But this is the hero, the one and only savior chosen by the gods.
“Julius really worked hard today, so he’s exhausted. Let the guy sleep for now, will ya?”
“Not this again. I know you are Sir Hero’s childhood friend, but you must refer to him with more respect!”
Sir Hero is worthy of the utmost respect.
I realized that all over again today.
And yet, this insolent boy takes him far too lightly!
“I dunno. If anything, maybe you should stop calling him ‘Sir Hero,’ yeah?”
“What are you talking about? Enough with your jokes.”
I scoff at Hyrince.
How can he spout such foolishness?
“I wasn’t really joking, though. You guys are gonna be together forever, right? Not in the marriage sense, though.”
“F-f-f-forever?! M-m-m-m-marriage?!”
Now that he mentions it…!
Sir Hero and…me?
As I picture the two of us close to each other, my face flushes red.
Since I was raised among women at the sainthood candidate training school, I’m not used to that sort of thing.
“…I literally said it wouldn’t be like that, but whatever.” Hyrince sighs for some reason. “It is true that the hero and saint keep their roles their whole lives. You’ll be together until one of you dies.”
As I huff at him, Hyrince responds in an unexpectedly serious tone.
“Do you plan on staying so formal with him forever?”
“Well…”
Now that he’s pointed it out, I realize that maybe I have been overly distant toward the hero.
“I’m not saying you have to be best buddies or try to force a super-close relationship or anything. I just think you might want to reconsider calling him ‘Sir Hero’ and stuff. Makes it seem like there’s a wall between you.”
“A wall…”
I was merely trying to express my respect by calling him “Sir Hero.” But is that how he feels about our relationship as well?
“Well, I’m not gonna force ya. But if it were me, I wouldn’t call him by his title at all. Makes it seem like you’re not seeing the real Julius, just his title.”
“The real…him…”
Am I truly seeing the real Sir Hero…no, Sir Julius?
Or have I been seeing him through the lens of his title?
Suddenly, I’m not sure.
“As much as it irks me to take your advice…I’ll think about it.”
“Sounds good.”
Normally, Hyrince would be sure to tease me over this, but this time, he smiles as gently and warmly as Sir Julius.
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