Academy Saintess of My Chūni Writing Days

In this world, souls are immortal.

The reason I inserted this setting—one that might not even be significant in other stories—is quite simple.

It’s just uncomfortable.

I wasn’t the type of person who sympathized with a poor past of a serial killer character upon their death. What happened in their past is tragic, sure, but murder is a separate issue. If they killed a human who tormented them, I could empathize, but if they were just going around killing innocent people because they had a sad backstory, that’s a crime that can’t be forgiven, regardless of the past.

Conversely, I felt immense empathy for the extras being killed by that serial killer character.

That person’s got a family and friends too. How sad is it to die without ever having lit up their life? Outside of the story, I was just an ordinary person living in a reality where there are no protagonists or villains, just victims.

Being murdered by a serial killer, or countless people being wiped out in an incident, or being slaughtered by invading aliens without putting up any resistance—these nameless, faceless people who crumbled to dust in collapsing buildings were just ordinary citizens.

The reason I ended up writing a middle school disease munchkin story was because I was well aware of that.

The story flows from a first-person protagonist’s perspective, the surrounding cute girls developing crushes on the protagonist, and the protagonist wielding overwhelming power that others can’t imagine.

Having such powers while believing oneself to be ordinary.

It was simple; I wanted to be like that shining being.

However, due to the nature of stories, “no one” can avoid death.

No matter how much of a protagonist they are, they can’t protect everyone. Even the munchkin protagonist, who seems capable of doing anything, needs to face crises for the story to progress.

The extras impacted by major incidents, even those few supporting characters who might have been mentioned, and even people who seem like they’d be important at least once.

Scenes of death cannot be avoided.

On top of that, I waste time focusing on unnecessary things. I thought about those characters living in slums, dying from poverty, and the victims murdered by crimes occurring somewhere.

I pondered over soldiers dying in battles against demons.

Not just the extras who don’t get named in stories, but those who will never even be described.

Well, if I were to exist inside that narrative, I would very likely be one of those people. Even if I wasn’t, my friends or family could be subjected to such horrors.

… I was, as a writer, an utterly ridiculous and overly emotional person.

That’s why I created such a setting.

That all the souls of those who died tragically can leave this world and find solace in a place free from pain.

A divine essence that no one can dare touch—even the gods can do nothing about.

May those who are innocent, those who died tragically, and those who lived unhappy lives find comfort after shedding their mortal remains.

May those who tormented others and committed unforgivable crimes receive the punishment they deserve.

Whether they believe in a god or not, whether they lived lives too burdensome to care about such matters.

I hope that one day they can wash away their sins, find solace from their misfortunes, and eventually be freed from all that pain to reunite with their loved ones for eternal happiness.

That was the best imagination I could offer.

Thus, the souls of this world are immortal.

Some might say it’s too emotional and juvenile. Others might consider it a useless setting completely unrelated to the story.

But I don’t care.

So what?

I decided it that way.

*

“…If what you’re saying is true.”

Whether they were momentarily at a loss for words or if ‘Resentment’ finally regained their composure, they said that.

Was what I said that shocking?

It doesn’t seem like they believe it much; there’s no reason to be at a loss for words—ah, maybe they thought my faith was too naive.

“What do you think about the ‘evidence’ here?”

Resentment spread their arms, gesturing around. Countless corpses of elves sacrificed as offerings lay piled high.

Are they really corpses? Can we even call them that?

“…”

Well, if they put it that way, I wouldn’t have anything to retort.

What are these things piled up?

The realm of this consciousness, possibly inside Arlil’s mind.

The way it looks inside… probably reflects how Arlil remembers or imagines it.

If not… well, there’s no clue what else it could be.

“Faith can be wrong. I know that, too.”

As I fell silent, lost in thought, Resentment took a few steps closer and spoke.

“Being wrong isn’t a fault. The key is acknowledging that your own thoughts might be wrong.”

No, it’s not wrong. There’s no reason for it to be.

Besides, isn’t it a little odd for a witch to say such things?

“Think about it. How did these elves treat you when you came to help us?”

…Honestly, that was my fault for being naive. I made a mistake by not reading the contract.

Of course, the elves were wrong too. I’ll never forget that. As soon as I get out of here, I plan to drop-kick the elders in the face before discussing anything with them.

Not sure they’d just take it, but you never know, they might be losing their reflexes due to age, right?

“Didn’t the Church know this? That their saintess would be treated this way when she came to the elf village, and they sent you anyway? Using you for purely political reasons.”

Well, I knew that since I became the saintess.

But I don’t care. After five years of boasting, I’ll be independent anyway.

“If you’re with us, that won’t happen. I can guarantee that, as one who has been ‘sacrificed’.”

As they said that, Resentment extended their hand toward me.

As I had just seen, a large hole existed in their hand. Their fingers were nearly fused together, a clear gap—

Huh?

While staring at that hand, I suddenly felt a sense of discomfort.

This discomfort is—

Aha.

In that moment, an idea flickered in my mind, and I reached out to grasp the witch’s hand.

“Yeah, that’s a brilliant idea!?”

The witch’s words turned into a scream as I twisted her fingers back.

“Yow, yow, wait, what are you doing!?”

The witch shouted, wriggling to pull her hand free from mine.

I paid no mind to that, as I gazed at my own right hand, which just twisted the witch’s fingers.

My hand had a considerable hole in it. The hole was exactly that—a hole. It felt just like the broken and scattered elf corpses around.

Of course, there was no muscle or bone visible inside either.

But still, there was no hindrance to bending and straightening my fingers.

It was as if I had sustained a critical injury with my fingers completely bent backward.

Similarly, the hole in Resentment’s hand was the same.

Despite losing several fingers, they could still manage to bend those fingers back. It wouldn’t be strange if such a thin layer of skin hung pathetically on the bone.

Sure, I bore ‘stigmata’ on my hand. But it didn’t hinder my daily life too much. The scar was a bit unsightly, but the flesh and bone on my hand had healed as if no hole was ever present.

Then could it be that the witch—having her body broken but not completely destroyed—was also like that?

What was truly lost were the two fingers on each of her hands. That must be real, as her perception of herself equated to how she looked here.

However, the witch’s actual visage toward me didn’t resemble that of a ‘handless’ person at all.

No matter how many fingers remained, a little flesh connected wouldn’t be enough to save a hand. Moreover, a miraculous stigmata couldn’t heal unless given divine power. Even pouring holy energy wouldn’t suffice.

And no one would have healed that witch by miraculous means. To treat such injuries would require another miracle. Self-healing would be impossible.

That means, just like my hand, the witch must have healed to some degree on her own as well. At least enough that she could use her hand with merely three fingers left. In reality, she could be wearing gloves with fake fingers attached.

And that implies—

The angry witch was shouting something at me, but that didn’t matter in this situation. I ignored her and focused solely on the ‘corpses’ surrounding her.

There were no closed eyes among the bodies. Every corpse with eyes was staring wide open.

Once I recognized that, chills ran down my spine.

The elves I thought had ‘died’—

Those elves the witch believed had been ‘burned down to nothing’—

Were all alive.

Believing themselves to be shattered.

Consciously aware of themselves, piled up for hundreds, thousands, perhaps tens of thousands of years—

“Ugh.”

Well, lucky for me.

If I had a real body right now, it wouldn’t end with just nausea.

…
……
No, no, that isn’t right.

It might not be the case.

Isn’t it a little absurd to think they’ve believed they were dead and have just been abandoned for thousands of years?

Even if elves supposedly don’t believe in gods or an afterlife.

No matter how they don’t believe in what happens after death and lack faith,
even if they don’t know about their souls, and aren’t the type to heed tales from other races.

That’s right, it doesn’t make sense. It doesn’t make sense at all.

To even describe them as ‘alive’ feels strange.

They are dead, with only their souls, their consciousness tied here—it would be more accurate to say their souls are bound, unable to depart.

…
Ew, creepy.

I’ve been thinking about a haunted house, and whether what I thought was true or not, it’s confirmed that this is indeed a haunted house.

Wiping the slight drool at the corner of my mouth on my sleeve, I raised my head.

The witch of resentment stared at me as if seeing something very strange.

Yeah. Even if this is an illusion crafted by the witch, it’s not implausible.

The Witch of Jealousy had transformed a tight space into an incredibly vast place with her magic. Sure, the items inside were real, but it doesn’t mean the opposite couldn’t be true.

Like, filling a moderately small area with a ton of fake items.

… Though even so, the sensation at my fingertips felt real.

“M-Mimicry has reached an artistic level.”

As soon as I spoke, the witch made a face as if to say, “What are you talking about?”

“All these things here, you made them, right?”

*

I didn’t know what they were talking about.

Ever since the saintess grabbed my hand tightly, her state had become strange.

That confident demeanor she had just moments ago while lecturing Resentment about the existence of souls had vanished, replaced by an expression of sheer terror.

As if she had stumbled upon a truth she shouldn’t know.

The words escaping the gagging saintess were,

“M-Mimicry has reached an artistic level.”

It sounded like something she desperately wanted to deny, her voice trembling from sheer fear.

“All these things here, you made them, right?”

…
Hah.

Upon hearing that, Resentment unwittingly let out a hollow laugh.

The only one capable of creating anything in the realm of consciousness is its master. An outsider can do nothing but anchor and maintain their consciousness. If that fails, their attenuated consciousness is severed and they’re expelled back into their body.

Those shells here are just remnants of elves whose souls have been burned.

The great tree, Arlil, while a sentient being, does not possess the ability to create that which humans understand. It can only provide what it has received.

This doesn’t stem from any difference in intelligence.

Humans cannot fathom a plant’s thought process. Plants’ bodies are far too different from animals. They lack sense organs, with no separate minds or nerves.

Even if plants possessed some rudimentary sense of pain, it would be drastically different from humans. Thus, humans cannot empathize with plants.

And vice-versa is also true.

Plants, devoid of eyes or ears, have no way to describe how ‘animals’ like elves and humans appear. A sentient being like Arlil might grasp that something aids them, but that doesn’t transform them into anything more than the “Giving Tree.”

No, they cannot even imagine what meaning lies behind that generous action. They can only vaguely envision it in their minds.

So indeed, what exists here is real. If it weren’t real, it couldn’t exist.

Had my beliefs started cracking?

Believing solely in my own notions, coming to conclusions on my own, then disbelieving on my own.

The very behavior of the clergy—you know, typical of those other races, elves included.

That’s why I dislike clergy.

But there are good sides to it too.

Once their faith cracks, they often adopt another blind faith instead.

And within the realm of consciousness, that ‘faith’ wields significantly more absolute power than it does in reality.

“See? I told you, so join us—”

“I understand.”

Hearing the saintess’s words, Resentment’s smile grew sharper.

“Really?”

“Yeah. I got it.”

The saintess’s once-trembling gaze locked onto the witch. From her eyes, a burning will seemed to ignite, as if embers were kindling.

Just like before.

“… Huh?”

Before Resentment could react, something came streaking in at an incredible speed.

“…!”

Resentment barely managed to dodge it.

To call it a lucky escape would be an understatement. If they hesitated even for a moment, they would most likely have soared through the air and hit the ground.

Once they gathered their wits, they saw the saintess down on the floor, pushing herself back up.

Had she kicked off the ground while flying?

But there hadn’t been any preparation beforehand.

Humans are supposed to have inferior physical abilities compared to elves, right?

“… Ah!”

This place is a realm that transcends the material world.

Only consciousness exists here, the consciousness of someone—only one person’s consciousness.

Reality’s physical capabilities hold no sway. Here, the size of one’s consciousness dictates everything.

Their self-awareness must be at a remarkable level!

Consciousness is, in other words, assurance. Confidence in oneself and one’s beliefs. The more doubt you harbor, the more your conscious avatar in this realm fades away from reality. Without assurance in your appearance, strength, or movements, your consciousness can’t even use half of the strength of your original form.

So, this means that the saintess possesses an ‘absolute unwavering confidence’ in herself and ‘hasn’t even considered doubting her own soul,’ destined to believe she can defeat the witch in front of her.

“Oh, I should have brought my weapon along.”

Muttering something terrifying, the saintess clutched and released her fist repeatedly.

Then, she shot a fighting spirit-laden glare towards Resentment.

What on earth is going on…?

*

Alright, I’ve organized my thoughts.

Let’s not jump to conclusions on unconfirmed matters. First, deal with the immediate issues right in front of me.

Let’s give that witch a good thrashing. If I wreck her consciousness or force her out, the corpses she’s fabricated will likely disappear.

If not, well, that would mean those things are indeed real.

So I leaped high towards the now-flustered witch.

Ah, consciousness sure is nice.

In reality, I wouldn’t be able to jump that high.

Choosing this kind of space to confront her was a mistake.

If it were real, I might have had to resort to using miraculous powers to fend off her attacks, to take her down.

But wait, this is just imagination, right?

The probability of my victory depends chiefly on how firmly I believe.

So the method of winning here is exceptionally simple.

I’ll plunge my consciousness into a frenzy of attacks, ensuring the witch can’t conjure any winning strategy!

Pouring certainty into every single strike! With the belief that I could take her down with a single blow!

Because this is a space shaped by my imagination!

WHAM!

With a horrific sound, the space the witch stood on shattered.

“EEK!”

The previous composure vanished as the witch rolled away to the side.

“Where do you think you’re running off to!?”

I pursued her, stomping down multiple times. THWACK, THWACK, the wooden floor was utterly destroyed.

“What the heck is this!? Who the hell are you!?”

Was she close to crying now? The witch frantically shouted while escaping. As she cast her magic, I wondered what her magic could do against the saintess?

The holy power emanating from me obliterated her spells effortlessly.

“Can’t you just surrender quietly? After all, this is the realm of consciousness. Even if you surrender, you won’t die!”

“Why is the saintess saying that!?”

The witch shouted in reply. Of course, I didn’t respond and charged after the witch.

“Lack self-confidence, do you? You’re a witch, aren’t you? Didn’t you come this far thinking you could win?”

“Gah…!”

The witch grit her teeth. Suddenly she slammed brakes and slid to a halt. I, oblivious to this, didn’t catch the shift in her movement and was a moment too late to halt my charge, embedding my feet into the ground instead.

CRACK, splinters of wood flew up like waves behind me.

“You just wait. When we meet in reality, you won’t be so cocky…”

Before she could finish, I whirled around to face her again, aggressively grabbing the witch’s gradually faded collar.

“EEEPS!”

Seeing the witch, nearly tearful and not acting akin to a witch, was genuinely gratifying.

I headbutted her forehead.

With our foreheads nearly touching, I stared into her eyes.

“Wait for me, okay?”

The witch’s eyes shifted wildly.

The collar I was holding began to fade slowly, the sensation of grasping her fabric dissipated.

“I’ll definitely come back one day and make things comfortable for you.”

Her mouth moved, yet no sounds reached me.

And just like that, the witch vanished.

As if she had never existed there at all.

“Hah.”

I exhaled, calming the ragged breaths that had accompanied my excitement, and got back on my feet.

… The mountain of bodies remained as they were.

“So in the end, it was real…”

I muttered, pressing my palms against my eyes.

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