Academy Saintess of My Chūni Writing Days

So, I immediately realized what I had tripped over.

It was a person’s shoe.

Still worn on someone’s foot.

But I couldn’t think that it was ‘a person.’

The foot with the shoe was cut off at the ankle, after all.

No, it wasn’t so much cut off as—

crack, it was broken.

Like a porcelain doll that had fallen from a great height and shattered into pieces, the broken section was jagged and irregular.

However, I couldn’t bring myself to think it wasn’t a person.

It just looked too vividly real to be a doll; a potter couldn’t make something this exquisitely detailed.

The shoe was of the same style as those worn by Elves. So, did that mean the owner of this foot was also an Elf?

I could clearly feel my heart pounding, even though my body was far away, as if I were in a different consciousness. Was it my heart beating?

Regulating my fast breaths, I slowly bent down, squatting.

Normally, like the other parts of this place, it would be thickly covered in dust, making it hard to make out its form, but maybe because my foot had stepped on it, the dust crumbled away.

I reached out and touched the dust on the floor. It wasn’t the usual grey lump we think of when we hear the word dust. They were extremely fine particles, stacked together, resembling sand. Could it be because there wasn’t any dust rolling around? If it just piled up without rolling around, that might make sense.

Right in front of the area where my hand touched the floor, the ‘ankle’ that had gotten trapped under my foot was lying there.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.

The darkness that my closed eyes perceived was a white darkness.

I opened my eyes again. I could see the floor, illuminated brightly by the sphere of light.

The leather of the shoe peeked through the dust, and inside it, maybe there was a foot that resembled a human’s.

I slowly reached out and touched the shoe with the tips of my fingers. The leather felt smooth. If it had been left untouched for a long time, it would feel dried out and rough, but it didn’t feel that way at all. The rough texture was just because of the accumulated dust.

And—

I swallowed hard.

Did I really need to confirm this?

Should I even touch what might be a corpse?

Though I had those doubts, part of me thought, ‘I have to.’

What had happened here?

What was this ‘Great Tree’— Arlil really doing?

…What had the Elves done in the name of sacrifice to this tree?

With trembling fingertips, I lightly brushed over the pale skin exposed through the dust.

“Ah.”

A sound that couldn’t be called a scream slipped out of my mouth.

It was soft skin. Smooth and beautiful skin, like that of a well-cared-for young person.

But it was broken and cracked like porcelain.

Thud, I fell back, landing on my rear.

That was a person’s. If it was part of a doll made by someone imitating a person, then that doll would also be something indistinguishable from a human.

“…Phew.”

I took a deep breath again and exhaled. It’s nothing. Just a person who died long ago.

You’ve seen worse than this. People bleeding profusely with severed limbs, those whose chests are cut open to expose their bones. Friends whose arms and legs are broken and twisted in unnatural ways.

At least there was no smell here. If this wooden house, with dust piled up like this, was left uncared for, it should have had a musty smell. It was as if all microbes that would rot something and damp mold growing in humid corners had simply died off with no scent at all.

I regained my focus and stood up.

Whether I was to leave, or investigate this place, I couldn’t just sit here and do nothing.

I squeezed out more of my Holy Power and enlarged the sphere of light.

More, more. Bright enough to reveal this room completely. My vision, which had barely been able to see even two meters ahead, began to expand and widen.

Wider and wider, until the mountain of broken dolls was clear in front of my eyes.

*

Fine.

I’ll admit it.

If this place was some kind of illusion created to scare me, it had certainly succeeded.

No, even a haunted house wouldn’t put in this much effort.

The heap of dolls I discovered was… a mound of corpses.

A mound of Elves who died without being able to close their eyes properly. Of course, I was too scared to sift through those corpses one by one to check if there were any human corpses mixed in. At least, not visibly.

The corpses, broken in an irregular fashion, thus, at least those that had heads or only heads, all sported the pointed ears unique to Elves.

I couldn’t touch them like I did with the ankle on the floor to check if they were real corpses or not.

Let’s be honest. If this were a real body, I would have coughed something up on the floor. Strangely enough, even though I felt nauseous, I didn’t actually vomit. My consciousness, still breathing, seemed unable to expel anything, as if it had been emptied out. Perhaps it was because the contents of my stomach didn’t really belong to ‘me.’

The mountain was massive.

As if this wide room existed just to house that mountain, it piled higher and higher with no end in sight, so much so that my glow couldn’t illuminate it all.

And as much, the height of this room was vast.

Inside Arlil, perhaps.

The identity of where my consciousness had arrived was certainly that.

Perhaps those Elves were sacrifices to Arlil.

But thinking like that felt odd.

Elves don’t have Magical Power. Without Magical Power, they cannot draw forth the miracles of the Gods through Holy Power. Thus, offering up Elves would be of no use to Arlil, who fed on Holy Power.

Ah, miracle.

“……”

In that moment, something unsettling climbed up my back. No, it wasn’t something physically sticking to me. It was merely the chill that spread across my body from realizing something in that instant.

Yes. Miracle.

What did my wounds look like, which I received through using a miracle?

It was as if something had been forced out, appearing with an irregular ‘cracked and broken’ shape.

Just like the bodies of the Elves piled up in front of me.

I staggered toward that heap of corpses, no, that wall? Mountain? Whatever that massive thing was.

And I searched.

“…Not here.”

It’s not there.
What I was looking for wasn’t present.

These Elf corpses had no arms.

Some had necks left. There were upper and lower bodies. Legs, ankles, thighs, shins, all could be found. There was no need to tug at corpses and wander around.

But there were no arms.

Those that had shoulders. But aside from that, I couldn’t find a single corpse with whole arms.

As if ‘the break began at that part.’

“…Ah.”

Now I understand.

These Elves were—

“Those sacrificed to Arlil.”

As if reading my thoughts, someone spoke from behind me.

*

“Why not take a moment to sit? There are no chairs, and the ground is covered in dust, but if you brush it off a bit, it’ll be quite okay to sit.”

Leaning against the intricately stacked corpses, that ‘Elf’ said so.

“Ah, but be careful. The broken parts can be sharp. If you’re not careful, you might get cut.”

Well, it’s only a consciousness anyway, I thought while adding that point. The Elf’s eyes were a frosty blue, as if frozen.

Naturally, I had no intention of sitting or leaning on the mound of corpses; I took a few steps back from that Elf. The sight of that Elf remaining whole among the shattered Elves was too terrifying to bear. Honestly, when I first heard that voice, I jumped back in surprise.

“Aren’t you planning to say anything? You seem to have plenty of questions. The last Saintess who came here asked a lot of things.”

“……”

As I glared in silence, the Elf shrugged.

“Well then, shall I introduce myself first? I am— as you can see, I’m an Elf, but…”

Tilting its head slightly, it showed off its ear facing this way.

“I discarded my Elven name long ago. Now, I’m known as ‘Resentment.’”

Holy Power swelled in my sphere and grew larger. If what was before me were beasts or demons, they would have been completely incinerated to the point I couldn’t even find their corpses.

But ‘Resentment’ merely whistled at the sight of my glowing orb.

“You’re remarkable for someone so young. Honestly, I want to introduce you to the Demon races. You could bear a magnificent child. I guess the highest demon pairings are just what they thought you were. Though at that time, no one knew you were a Saintess.”

Even though I hadn’t asked, it prattled on with disturbing information. Should I blast it away? As I contemplated this, the witch shook her head.

“Even if you blast me away, I’ll just return to my original body. What you see is only a consciousness, just like you. This place is Arlil’s consciousness, after all. The more you use Holy Power, the more it benefits the Elves who pushed you here.”

“……”

“Of course, they wouldn’t have told you anything, right? They didn’t explain what Remihar really is, what the ritual process is, why it’s harder to maintain with Holy Water despite the same amount of Holy Power, and how exactly Arlil absorbs Holy Power.”

The witch stretched her arms out.

“I can tell you, though. So, how about we have a little chat?”

Her hands had massive holes in them. No, it wasn’t merely holes. It was as if her entire hand had been eroded, her left pinky and ring fingers entirely gone. The edges of the wounds were thin, barely connected by little bits of flesh, with only the thumb, index, and middle fingers barely hanging on.

Her right hand was in a similarly poor condition. This side, however, lacked the thumb and index.

The broken marks beginning at both hands extended right up her wrists and continued nearly to her elbows. They looked as if they could shatter at any moment.

“Even like this, I was once a ‘Saintess.’”

…Damn.

To be honest, it’s such valuable information that I feel I can’t refuse.

*

Elves cannot wield magical power.

Though their physical abilities are remarkable and they don’t particularly fall behind against other races in battles, not being able to handle anything that others can handle to some degree is quite inconvenient. If they could, Elves would have grown even greater.

One day, an Elf discovered Arlil.

And the Elves learned that by receiving Arlil’s energy, they could live for incredibly long periods and live in peace.

At first, the place was just an ordinary size tree; a settlement of Elves formed around it. There, the Elves could excel and enjoy a great culture.

However, that didn’t last long.

After a hundred years of thriving, Arlil began to wither suddenly at some point.

No method could revive the tree. Even if they cut down surrounding trees to secure sunlight, or brought the clearest spring water to pour, or stripped everything around it to leave only Arlil, it still gradually faded.

It was by chance they eventually learned that the best thing for Arlil was Holy Power.

After observing for years without extracting Arlil’s Holy Power in order to investigate its cause, they found that placing Arlil’s fruit near it was best to help maintain it.

By placing the fruit next to Arlil, they could somewhat lessen its withering pace.

So they discovered. Ah, Arlil feeds on Holy Power.

“And thus, a war occurred.”

The witch recounted coolly.

“They invaded surrounding regions and captured races that could use Holy Power. Especially, they kidnapped priests and force-fed them Holy Power, through all kinds of threats and temptations.”

The moment the Elven ‘Empire’ was born.

“Thus, they could slow down Arlil’s withering even more.”

The witch scoffed, as if mocking those Elves.

“But you, being from the Church, would know this well.”

The races in that world, no matter how great their Holy Power was, were not on par with humans. Even if they tried to pour forth Holy Power, the amount of people who could pour it and the total amount wouldn’t be enough to save Arlil.

The Elves researched and researched again. They, who created and skillfully wielded the most complex language in the world, could quickly figure out the cause.

The total amount of Magical Power they possessed was low.
And their sensitivity to Holy Power was weak.

Gnomes, beastfolk, even the dwarves that had yet to face extinction back then, all shared the same plight.
With merely enough Holy Power to cast a light, nothing could change.

Thus, the Elves recalled the Demon races far away, sleeping in the frozen wasteland.

“…But Demons are weak to Holy Power.”

“Right, they are. So—”

The witch lifted one of the Elf heads from the pile she sat on.

“They sacrificed Elves.”

Disguising it as noble sacrifice.

“But the Elves are weak to magical power.”

When I questioned her, the witch chuckled.

“Yep. They are weak. Typically, their bodies can’t endure the magical power emitted by Demons and perish. They die on the first night. However, however…”

The witch let go of the head. It shattered into pieces upon hitting the ground.

One of those pieces fell right by my feet. It was an eye. Not an eyeball, but like a shell left behind, that eye— ironically looked less horrifying. In the light, it sparkled, appearing just like broken glass.

“Elves are tenacious.”

Until it works. They endlessly seek out the reasons for failure, modifying and improving along the way.

They create beings that, somehow, can last through the ‘first night’ by even modifying their own bloodline.
And then they ‘sacrifice’ that Elf, who endured the first night and was intoxicated with magical power, to Arlil.

“Now, do you understand? Those Elves speaking of holiness and such, when they say ‘Remihar’—”

The witch watched my face with amusement.

“‘Sacrificial Ceremony’ is what it means. Isn’t it surprisingly convenient that the words are different? If you don’t teach them, no one will know that meaning.”

Even if it’s an Elf, after all.
So that heap of broken Elf corpses filling my vision,

Means they all were sacrificed from that ‘sacrificial ceremony.’

*

“And, well, yeah. I am the last Elf who was almost sacrificed, the last ‘Elf Saintess.’”

While saying that, ‘Resentment’ carefully examined the face of the Saintess before her.
She was already the Saintess who had dealt with two witches. If she wasn’t careful, she could end up like them.
Resentment came to visit the remnants of her own consciousness left in this horrifying place, as part of that ‘caution.’
She resented the Elves she sacrificed. The reason she survived was solely thanks to the Demons’ mercy. The fact that her name had become Resentment, with corresponding power was also due to the Demons.
Remaining alive until now was a wonder.
The expression on the Saintess’s face revealed nothing.
To be frank, I can’t tell whether this is a good or bad situation. Resentment was meeting the Saintess for the first time.
But what was it like when she encountered the previous Saintess?
She couldn’t placate her. But she could discover many things.
Thanks to that, she could manage to handle the Saintess without major damage, and Arlil could no longer grow.
If placation wasn’t possible, this time, the same methods could be utilized.
“What do you think? Don’t you feel sorry for these children here?”
Those who burnt their spirits for a miracle, leaving only their shells behind.
It was a scene anyone, not just a Saintess, would pity.
Even Resentment herself, despite deciding to resent all Elves, couldn’t help but feel compassion for them. They were at least not within the bounds of resentment.
“……”
Seeing the Saintess who said nothing, Resentment stood up.
“Don’t you have one? They say you caused a miracle while killing a witch. Didn’t you have a huge hole in your hand?”
The Saintess slowly lowered her head and lifted her hands.
In her two hands, there were gaping holes. The gloves she had been wearing had already disappeared.
Right, this is the ‘inside of consciousness.’ A space where one perceives oneself based on one’s thoughts.
Of course, in reality, those wounds would have healed. But the Saintess likely understood as well. With every use of miracle power, those wounds would reopen and splinter again. And at some point, it would become impossible to heal.
Just like the massive holes in Resentment’s hands.
The Saintess remained silent.
Well, fine.
Resentment possessed power.
What is needed to resent someone?
There are some resentments without reason. But those aren’t deep. If refuted by someone, their justification disappears.
To not give up, no matter how many rebuttals one faces, there has to be a fundamental reason.
To understand such feelings, the Demons granted her the ability to see someone else’s past. The eye to observe the path they have walked against the cycle of fate.
“Even outside of here, if you use a miracle numerous times, your soul will burn away. In the end, only the shell remains. You wouldn’t want to become that, would you?”
While trying to stall for time with words, I took careful steps toward the Saintess. And I peered into her past.
A space perfect for unearthing someone’s mind, where consciousness meets consciousness.
“Do you still believe in the Goddess? Has she ever appeared before you? Maybe she’s merely using you?”
This girl, this Saintess has no family.
All she has are friends she met at school.
The first friend she made while living in the convent was merely two watchers attached to keep an eye on her.
“Do the people you consider friends think of you as one? Are you not just being used? One of your friends seemed to have risen in status due to you becoming a Saintess. Wasn’t that their goal?”
This girl, didn’t—
kill the Witch of Jealousy?
“…Huh?”
As the words ceased, and Resentment halted in her tracks, the girl asked.
“Have you said everything you wanted?”
The girl killed the Witch of Jealousy.
She killed her, but— did not.
She has ‘no memory.’
As if someone replaced her in that specific part.
“…For now, let me correct a certain glaring inaccuracy among the ‘settings’ you mentioned.”
And the girl—
Before she became a Saintess—
Was no girl who lived before coming to a convent—
There was none.
Such a girl didn’t exist.
Before entering the convent, the past of this Saintess,
Simply, doesn’t exist.
As if she just popped out of thin air.
“A miracle doesn’t burn one’s soul. It sacrifices one’s body.”
—As if someone made it happen.
“The souls in this world are immortal. The dead souls inevitably return to the deities. Whether they can meet the gods or not depends on how they lived.”
The girl, no, the Saintess raised her head.
Those eyes appeared to burn fiercely, the witch thought.

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