"Once again, I'm Restardia, the Saint of Hakua. ...But you can just call me Dia if you want."
Based on first impressions, Restardia’s conduct had closely mirrored Anze’s.
She was polite, refined in her speech, and always wore a pure, serene smile. There was a grace to her every movement that felt almost staged. She possessed a persuasive aura that made her seem like the literal embodiment of the "Saint" archetype people imagined.
However, the girl currently sitting before me was a different story.
"Just relax, will you? No one’s watching this time."
She slumped back against the chapel pew, rolling her shoulders and stretching with a look of utter exhaustion. Her speech had turned boyish, and the elegant atmosphere she had projected just moments ago had completely vanished.
...Seriously, who are you?
"Why don't you have a seat?"
Dia patted the spot next to her with several insistent thumps. She was actually telling me to sit beside her.
"No, I couldn't..."
"Huh? You’re telling me you can’t fulfill a simple request from a Saint? What’s your problem, man?"
She had become incredibly blunt all of a sudden. Are we high school classmates or something?
"What’s with you? You’ve been spacing out for a while now."
"...Sorry. You’re so different from before that my brain is still catching up."
Let’s see... In other words, up until a minute ago, she had been putting on a front to maintain the image of a proper Saint. In itself, that wasn't too strange. Even if she was hailed as the Incarnation of God, a Saint was still a young woman. It made sense that she’d worry about public perception and try to act the part of a mature figurehead.
The problem was that the gap between her personas was so wide it felt like my cognitive functions were glitching. Moreover, she had dropped the act the very second we were alone together.
Dia gave me a mischievous, toothy grin.
"Surprised? I was playing the part pretty well, wasn't I?"
While remaining seated, she suddenly straightened her spine, pinched the hem of her vestments, and gave a refined, graceful bow.
"My name is Restardia, the Saint of Hakua. I look forward to your kind acquaintance..."
"Whoa..."
Truly, the transformation was extreme enough to suggest a split personality. Beyond her aura, even her facial expressions and the tone of her voice were entirely different. A girl’s ability to wear a mask is a terrifying thing.
While I was processing that, Dia sprawled back out again.
"Well, it’s what I call 'Saint Mode.' If I acted like this while on duty, it’d be a major scandal."
"...Is it really okay to drop it in front of me?"
"I don't know. I just felt like you and I would get along."
Why? Where exactly did she find common ground with an unsociable, blunt guy like me with zero communication skills? And as an ordinary person, what was the correct response when a high-ranking Saint told you she felt a "connection"?
As I struggled to find the right words, a shadow of unease suddenly crossed her face.
"...U-Um. By any chance... are you disillusioned? I guess... for a girl to act like this—"
"Ah, sorry. It’s not that."
Darn it. My typical bluntness had caused another unnecessary misunderstanding.
It wasn't that I was repulsed by her personality gap. I was a veteran who had spent years dealing with my Master’s "Master Mode" and "Little Girl Mode." I wasn't so petty that my opinion would sour over a bit of role-playing.
It was just... well, she was a Saint at the apex of the Church, while I was just a lowly adventurer. Our social standing and backgrounds were light-years apart. Was it really okay for a pebble on the side of the road like me to go along with her casual vibe? I was genuinely worried that the moment I sat down and treated her like a friend, I’d be dragged off for an Inquisition on charges of lese-majesty.
"...You won't charge me with a crime later, right?"
"I won't, I won't. Definitely not. Consider this 'Friend Treatment.'"
Hey, Lady Saint, I’m telling you I’m just a commoner! Why have I already been designated as a friend?
I endured a sharp pang of stress in my stomach and sighed inwardly. At any rate, now that it had come to this, it was probably best to just get this over with. I didn't want to make things difficult for Silvery Grey by being uncooperative. This is exactly why I hate getting involved with "noble people." My stomach felt like it was full of lead.
Steeling myself, I sat down next to her.
"Ah,"
"...Once again, I'm Wolka. Well, uh, I look forward to working with you."
For a brief moment, Dia wore a blank expression. Then, a massive, radiant smile burst across her face.
"Right, right! I knew we’d hit it off. Thanks!"
"Ow."
She leaned in close, almost throwing her arm around my shoulders, and began thumping my back with zero restraint. She really didn't care about personal space. Was this a side effect of being raised as a Saint? Her sense of distance toward the opposite sex seemed completely broken. It felt like she was treating me exactly as she would another boy.
However, her aggressive friendliness didn't stop there.
"So, you can just call me 'Dia.'"
"...No, that’s going a bit too far."
"Dia."
She thrust her face toward mine, her red eyes forming a perfect, flat deadpan stare.
"Call me Dia. Dee-ah."
I was certain now. This girl’s sense of boundaries was fundamentally glitched.
"...Alright, Dia."
"Umu, you may proceed. Hehe."
Dia smiled contentedly. I felt almost none of the emotional distance a girl usually maintains around a man. It wasn't because of some hidden agenda; this was simply her raw, unfiltered personality.
Still, being this unguarded around a man was a bit concerning. Anze, who was basically a walking lump of good intentions, almost seemed like the more level-headed one by comparison. As a Saint, she must have to meet with foreign dignitaries; I wondered if she got scammed by corrupt adults.
"So, about what I wanted to talk about."
"Yeah."
"I'll start with the light stuff first."
Apparently, there was heavy stuff coming. I really wanted to go home.
"Regarding this incident, I gathered some info on you from the guild. ...You were born in the Royal Capital, weren't you?"
There was a hint of bitterness in her tone, as if she were thinking, "Of all places, the Royal Capital..." Come to think of it, the Holy City and the Royal Capital—or rather, the Chryscles Holy Church and the Magisterica—didn't exactly have a friendly relationship. It seemed even the Saint held some prejudice against them.
"How should I put it... Do you have any plans to return to the Capital in the future? Like, to live there?"
"...?"
What was she getting at?
I understood the question, but the intent escaped me. Why would the Saint care about my moving plans?
Regardless, I saw no reason to hide the truth.
"I’m not considering it right now."
"O-Oh..."
Dia looked intrigued.
"It’s your hometown, right? Don't people usually miss that kind of thing?"
"Hmm..."
I was taken in by Gramps right after my parents died, so I only lived in the Capital until I was about four or five. As I grew up, my memories of that time had faded to the point where the city barely felt like home at all.
Besides, in our party, almost no one had a positive impression of the Royal Capital.
Master had completely broken ties with the Magisterica, and Yulitia didn't want anything to do with her noble family for the foreseeable future. As for me, now that I had recovered my knowledge of the "Original Work," the Capital was the number one place I wanted to avoid.
The Royal Capital, thriving on the magic tools churned out by the Magisterica, was likely a comfortable place to live on the surface. However, those innovations didn't just appear from nowhere. The city had a dark underside where unethical experiments were conducted in the name of magical progress.
Specifically, human experimentation using criminals.
While the fact that they only used criminals was a small mercy, it wasn't exactly a heartwarming story. It might have been a necessary evil for human development, but it left a bad taste in my mouth.
And most importantly, the Royal Capital was the main stage of the "Original Work." From my perspective, it was a high-risk dungeon crawling with plot flags and danger.
Unless I had an absolute reason to go, I wasn't setting foot near that place. It was the same reason I had declined to get involved with Elfiette.
"Neither my companions nor I have a good impression of the Royal Capital. We might visit, but I don't think we’ll ever live there again."
"I see. Well, that’s good..."
Dia looked strangely relieved, as if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders.
"Then you’ll just live here in the Holy City until you die!"
"I didn't say that."
"Hey, if you leave, Anze will be devastated, right? I heard she became your Patron."
I wondered for a second how she knew that, but it made sense. Anze had come to the border town as an official messenger; she would have reported everything back to the Church, including her patronage of our party.
"Speaking of which, is it actually okay for a Sister to be a Patron? I haven't finalized the paperwork at the guild yet, so if it’s a problem..."
"Don't sweat the small stuff. The Church will handle the paperwork, so you don't have to lift a finger."
"Is that... allowed?"
"It’s more convenient for us. You know, since both the Church and the guild are involved."
That made sense. I had no idea how the bureaucracy worked anyway, so I was happy to leave it to the professionals.
"Thank you. That’s a big help."
"The Church will support you so you can live as comfortably as possible. Just make sure you look after Anze."
Like Arcasiel, the Saint of Fortune and Woe, it seemed Dia wanted me to stay in the Holy City after defeating the Grim Reaper. Dammit, to think I’d be scouted by the most important characters in the original story...
But even if it was partly due to my meta-knowledge, the fact remained that I had defeated that monster. There was no avoiding the spotlight now. Since the Church's support was exactly what I needed to recover, I decided to just accept it.
Besides, this was likely the only time a background character like me would ever have a private audience with a Saint.
...Right?
"...Alright, time for the serious talk."
Dia leaned her weight heavily against the pew and let out a long, weary sigh.
"Have you heard anything about the party that gave the Clear Approval for Gouzel?"
"The basics."
The party was named Flamberge. Following the incident, they had been detained for a "Judgement" to determine if their initial investigation of the dungeon had been negligent.
Dia nodded.
"I’ll be blunt. ...What do you think of them? What do you want to happen to them?"
"...What?"
"Your companions aren't here. There are things you probably can’t say in front of them, right? You can be honest with me."
Dia narrowed her eyes, spreading her arms slightly as if to offer an embrace.
"I’m a Saint. I can take whatever you have to say. You have the right to demand justice."
What was with this sudden, heavy atmosphere?
Dia had shifted again, her gaze now soft and full of compassion, like a holy mother. Despite her small stature, she suddenly felt much older and more profound. It was a suffocating kind of kindness—the kind that made you want to spill all your secrets or just bury your face in her shoulder and cry.
Even with her rough way of speaking, she looked every bit like a Saint in that moment. If I had been a man with a guilty conscience, I probably would have broken down and started confessing my sins.
I might have been in trouble myself if I weren't so detached from the situation.
"I don't really have any specific demands."
"What?"
"There’s going to be a trial, right? As long as they settle the facts of the matter, that’s fine with me."
"...Are you serious?"
Unfortunately for her, I didn't have any hidden darkness to confess. I didn't even understand why the mood had turned so grim. What was she so worried about?
"Wait, wait, are you actually being serious right now?!"
Dia peered into my face with an expression of pure disbelief.
"I mean... the only reason you were mutilated like this is because of that party! Normally, people would be furious! They’d want revenge, or at least a harsh sentence! But you’re acting like it’s someone else’s problem!"
"Ah..."
I finally got it. She thought I was harboring a deep-seated resentment toward Flamberge but was repressing it for the sake of my teammates.
However, her concern was misplaced.
"I don't hold a grudge against them, and I’m not particularly angry."
"..."
It was the same thing I’d realized when talking to Shannon. For me, the fight with the Grim Reaper was an unavoidable fate dictated by the "Original Work." Besides, regardless of whether Flamberge was negligent, they were the ones who were supposed to die. If I hadn't intervened, the dungeon would have remained a death trap, claiming countless more lives.
It was just a messy version of the trolley problem. Should I be upset that it only cost me an eye and a leg? If I weren't the victim, then Flamberge or some other innocent adventurers would have been slaughtered. Since someone had to draw the short straw, there was no point in getting worked up over it.
Resenting them wouldn't fix my body, and it wouldn't fix my Master’s guilt. It was much more productive to stop looking for someone to blame and focus on returning to my life as an adventurer.
"If they were negligent, they should be punished according to the law. If they weren't, then the Church should protect their reputation. That’s what the trial is for. I don't need any special consideration."
"..."
Failing to punish negligence is a problem, but punishing someone just to satisfy an emotional victim is also wrong. As long as the law was followed strictly, I was satisfied.
I tried to explain my perspective, but Dia only responded with a frustrated groan.
"What you’re saying is logically sound. It’s a very calm, objective way to look at it. But..."
She looked at me as if she were grieving on my behalf.
"You’re not an outsider. You’re the victim. You lost an eye and a leg and nearly died. Your life as a swordsman was ruined. ...Do you really feel no anger at all?"
She was being a bit dramatic. Sure, things had become difficult, but resenting Flamberge because of it?
"A leg isn't worth more than a human life."
"...Are you really seventeen? How can you be so detached about your own tragedy?"
I couldn't exactly tell her it was because I was a reincarnated adult who knew the "Original Work" was stacked against me from the start.
"It hasn't been all bad. Maybe it’s because I fought for my life, but I feel like my swordsmanship has actually improved. Honestly, I’m kind of excited to see where I can go from here."
I was close to reaching a state where I could cut exactly what I intended to—the realm of turning a mental image into physical reality. My body couldn't keep up with my prosthetic yet, but the thought that I was on the verge of mastering such a peak made my blood boil. For the first time since I’d learned the Quick-draw Technique as a child, I felt a genuine thrill.
Dia’s voice was strained.
"How can you talk about it like it’s fun...?"
Because it was fun. My previous techniques were already impressive, but I was stepping into a realm that shouldn't even be possible. As a man, how could I not want to climb that mountain?
I knew I had to stay grounded for the sake of Master and the others, but I couldn't help the excitement.
"If I have anyone to resent, I suppose it would be God."
"—"
By "God," I meant the sadistic author of the original story. That guy was the real villain here. Why did a minor tutorial event have to spiral into such a mess?
Then, I noticed Dia had gone deathly silent.
Oh... crap. I’d forgotten where I was. Saying "I resent God" in front of a Saint was a massive blunder. Mocking the divine was basically a one-way ticket to the Inquisition.
I began to stammer an excuse.
"S-Sorry, when I said 'God,' I meant... it’s just a figure of speech. Not the God you worship."
"...Then what kind of God are you talking about?"
I couldn't say "the author"! I’d be demoted from a "blasphemous heretic" to a "blasphemous heretic who’s lost his mind"!
As I struggled to find an answer, Dia let out a small breath.
"I see... I guess that makes sense. If you’re going to hate someone, it shouldn't be a person. It should be God..."
"D-Dia? You’ve got it wrong! I meant fate, or the universe, or—"
"Don't worry about it. I told you I’d accept whatever you had to say."
She looked up and gave me a brave, toothy grin.
"I know the world is full of different viewpoints. There’s no law saying you have to be a believer to live in the Holy City."
"Really?"
"I won't ask what happened in your past to make you feel that way."
"...I’d appreciate that."
I wouldn't have been able to explain it anyway. "I’m a reincarnator and this world is actually a dark fantasy manga I read in my old life, so the 'God' I hate is the guy who drew it." Yeah, that would get me locked in a padded room for sure.
I felt a wave of relief as she let me off the hook. Dia stood up and stretched.
"Alright, I’m done. Thanks for the chat."
"Sure."
"I'll handle the situation with Flamberge. You can trust me on that."
I nodded. I’d voiced my opinion, and Dia seemed level-headed enough to handle the trial fairly. Despite her rough manners, she seemed remarkably responsible.
"Let’s talk like this again sometime."
"...I’d rather not. Entertaining a Saint is too much stress for a regular guy like me."
"Huh? You saying you can’t fulfill a simple request from a Saint? What’s your problem, man?"
She gave me a playful punch in the ribs. Well, if it was Dia, maybe an occasional chat wouldn't be so bad—wait, I was already falling for it. Her lack of boundaries was contagious. She was a dangerous girl in her own way.
"See ya later!"
"Yeah."
We waved to each other like school friends as I turned away from the altar. I headed toward the large doors to meet up with Master and the rest of the party.
"Oh, wait! Almost forgot!"
Dia’s voice echoed through the chapel.
"The adventurer you saved... I don't remember the name, but I heard they woke up."
"...!"
I spun around. Dia was now slumped so far down in the pew that only her head was visible.
"They said for someone who was out for so long, they're surprisingly energetic. You should stop by and see them."
"I will. Thank you."
That was great news. I’d planned to check on Ruerie anyway. If she was awake, I’d bring her along to show off our progress, just like I’d promised.
"Ask Anze for the details!"
Dia slid further down the pew until she disappeared entirely, leaving only her hand waving from behind the backrest. She looked less like a Saint and more like a lazy apprentice. Personally, I found her much easier to deal with like this than when she was acting all dignified.
The albino Saint of Hakua, the blind Saint of Star Eyes, and the floating Saint of Fortune and Woe... they were all unique, powerful figures from the "Original Work," but inside, they seemed like normal girls. They weren't distant goddesses; they were human—they put on acts, they teased people, and they liked to slack off.
Come to think of it, I hadn't met the last of the four Saints—the Saint of the Heavenly Sword. I wasn't exactly looking for trouble, but I was curious. "Heavenly Sword" sounded like the strongest title of the bunch. Maybe she was the real powerhouse of the group.
Still, the Saints were people I needed to handle with caution. I wouldn't go looking for her.
If I stayed in the Holy City long enough, I’d probably find out soon enough.
"—Resenting only God, huh? ...Just what kind of life have you been living, Wolka?"
As I pushed open the heavy doors, Dia’s quiet, somber murmur was far too soft to reach my ears.
Meanwhile, in the massive structure known as Alnas Tower, which rose like a staircase to the heavens from the Great Cathedral. Three figures returned to the Holy Sanctum—a place strictly off-limits to everyone but the Church's highest elite.
There was Arcasiel, the Saint of Fortune and Woe, floating in her cradle Getten; Yulirius, the blind Saint of Star Eyes, sitting in her wheelchair; and Roschehart, the Holy Knight acting as their escort.
The Holy Sanctum was a sprawling, opulent private living space that occupied the entire upper reaches of the tower. Access was granted only via teleportation magic, bypassing several layers of detection and anti-magic barriers.
Calling it a "living room" was an understatement. This single area was several times larger than a standard luxury home. If Wolka had seen it, he would have undoubtedly compared it to a high-end penthouse.
And this was just the common area. The tower contained private rooms for each Saint, administrative offices, a chapel, a relaxation suite, training grounds for Holy Magic, a library, a hanging garden, and massive baths. Theoretically, the four girls could live their entire lives here without ever touching the ground.
"Lady Yuli, if you'll excuse me."
"Thank you, Rosche."
Rosche lifted Yulirius in a practiced "princess carry," moving her from her wheelchair to a plush sofa. Whether it was due to his training as a Holy Knight or his own natural charm, his movements were perfectly graceful and entirely respectful.
"I’m always such a burden on you."
"Not at all. It is one of my most cherished duties."
"Fufu. Do you say that to every woman you meet?"
"Lady Yuli, you’re teasing me."
"Yaaaawn... God, I’m wiped."
Arcasiel’s cradle drifted over, coming to a halt next to the sofa. Yulirius chuckled.
"Alka, we were only downstairs for a few minutes."
"That counts as heavy labor for me..."
"But surely it was worth the effort?"
"I suppose..."
Rosche, standing respectfully by the sofa, spoke up.
"What were your thoughts on Wolka?"
"Well... he certainly lives up to the reputation of someone who killed the Grim Reaper. He’s already stepped beyond the realm of normal humans."
"He is like a blade itself," Yulirius added. "But he is neither a holy sword nor a cursed one. He wasn't forged by a legendary smith or imbued with divine power. He is a nameless blade that seeks to rival the gods through nothing but sheer, honed sharpness."
"...Yes, that sounds exactly like him."
Rosche smiled proudly. He seemed genuinely pleased that the Saints recognized his friend’s worth.
"And about our plan to support him?"
"Proceed as scheduled," Arcasiel muttered. "I’ll be... rooting for him from back here."
"Personally, I find him fascinating," Yulirius said. "If he can overcome his physical limitations... I wonder just how high he will climb."
"I wonder the same," Rosche agreed.
He knew the road ahead would be brutal. No matter how advanced the prosthetic, it could never truly replace his original body. Even among the knights, those who lost limbs rarely returned to their former glory, let alone surpassed it.
The loss of an eye was no small thing either. Depth perception was the lifeblood of a swordsman.
But Wolka was different. He was the man who had defied death itself.
Rosche truly believed that Wolka would pull it off.
"It’s a shame we don't have an expert like Elfiette, the Canon of Creation, here in the Holy City."
"Is it even possible to get her cooperation?" Rosche asked.
Yulirius shook her head.
"Building an equal partnership with her is impossible."
Elfiette, the Second Seat of the Sevens and the Canon of Creation. She was the woman who had contributed the most to the progress of magical history, but she was also the country’s most notorious eccentric.
Arcasiel rested her chin on her hand, looking bored.
"She’d definitely have the answers, but getting them out of her is the problem."
"She’s the type who would experiment on her own body to find a solution," Yulirius noted.
Elfiette wasn't a Saint chosen by God or a being with magical blood. She was a pure human who had lived for over sixty years while maintaining the appearance of a teenager.
The fact that she achieved this by remodeling her own body through countless experiments was a secret known to very few.
"She only moves when her curiosity is piqued. There is only one way to get her help: Wolka would have to capture her interest himself."
"Well, that plan fell through anyway. It’s better this way," Arcasiel said. "Owing her a favor is never worth the price."
If Elfiette were even slightly more sane, the relationship between the Church and the Magisterica might not be so strained.
"I’ve heard the rumors, but she sounds truly difficult to deal with."
"Difficult isn't the word," Yulirius said.
"She’s selfish. Exhausting. And annoying," Arcasiel added flatly.
As they were disparaging her, far away in the Magisterica of the Royal Capital, the woman in question let out a massive, violent sneeze.
"Hah-chew! Someone’s talking trash about me! I can feel it! What do you think, Non-chan?"
"Yes, Master... This month, you have received thirty-nine official notices from the Magisterica. Twenty-four of those are formal grievances and complaints. That is a fifty percent increase from last month, so I can confidently speculate that someone is talking trash about you at any given moment."
"Aha! The jealousy of commoners is so ugly. What about the other fifteen?"
"Mostly invoices for equipment and facilities you destroyed during your experiments. The total comes to—"
"Boring! I’m almost out of test subjects. Isn't there anything fun happening in the world?"
"On that note, Master."
"Yeah?"
"Non-chan’s recommendation for today: 'Appropriate Mana Control.' Explosion in three, two, one..."
"Aaaaagh!!"
An accidental explosion triggered by her own chatting—and the subsequent arrival of another invoice—was a story for another time.