Academy’s PTSD Chaplain

25 – Martyr’s Blood (2)

Do you know what happens when a bullet penetrates a person’s flesh?

Of course, there may be exceptions, but generally, when a bullet passes through a person’s body, there is an entry point and an exit point. Just like a building with an entrance and a separate exit, a path is created where the bullet travels.

Entry and exit points. If they occur in the lungs, one can’t breathe, leading to death. If in the head, it results in shattered brain, flesh, and scattered skull fragments, causing death. If in the heart, it leads to instant death from shock or lingering for a while before succumbing.

Ultimately, death occurs. Regardless of how one rambles on about surviving and talks nonsense, if a bullet hits a fatal area, one will eventually die. This applies to Archmages and Swordmasters as well.

Of course, they would deploy defensive magic or cut it with a sword before the bullet reaches them. But most people on the battlefield did not possess such monstrous abilities.

Yes. They die. Even if lucky, unless rescued by a constantly vigilant and skilled priest nearby, it’s hard to expect the stroke of luck to survive.

However, a person who died just from a gunshot wound leaves a corpse, and even that can be considered a small blessing for the bereaved family.

Even you, who couldn’t even receive that small blessing.

If you were like that, how wonderful it would have been.

Not torn apart to the point of being unrecognizable by the shockwave of a high-explosive bomb exploding right behind, not shattered into bone fragments, not having internal organs burst out, and not scattering blood mist in all directions.

Not dying so hollowly without leaving a single cry, a last word, or even a semblance of a meaningful end.

If only I had been shot and died. If only there were remains.

If that were the case, how wonderful it would have been.

I remember the large-scale funeral held in the royal palace for the veterans who fought, leaving behind loved ones in sorrow. I remember the mourners shedding tears like the weather on that day, heavy and gloomy, as they bid farewell to those dear ones enclosed in coffins.

I recall the widow who lost her husband, crying out to the Lord, questioning why He took him so early, how He could allow such a trial, and weeping until she fell asleep with a hoarse voice.

Even in the moment when the urn containing the remains of everyone was being placed, I remember your lonely figure with only one gravestone erected.

I remember.

When faced with death, humans fervently cry out for the name of a god.

It doesn’t matter which god. Whether it’s to seek the grace of the Lord, rely on the indigenous beliefs of savages, desire the worship of heretical deities, or even casually mention the name of the devil.

I did not seek any name. I was well aware that there was no being that could help me trapped in the hellish abyss.

But I did not curse the gods. I knew how foolish an idea that was.

Rather than cursing a pitiful god, one should resent the government officials who decided on the war.

Instead of blaming the government officials, one should resent the cause of the war.

And if there is time to blame someone, discard such useless thoughts and focus on figuring out how to survive.

I faithfully put that into action, and in the end, I survived like this.

So, why didn’t you?

…Helena.

* * * * *

“Ugh…! Uwek…!”

I clutched the toilet and vomited continuously. I regurgitated everything, even the black tea I had just drunk, and now only bitter gastric juice was painfully rising up my wretched esophagus.

“Ugh! Damn it…”

Spitting out watery saliva, I flushed the toilet. I watched as the water, mixed with vomit, swirled and spiraled down the drain.

Why am I here?

I was surely in that place, talking with Father Pedro, and then…

After that, Sister Camilla said to me.

“Do you know the name Helena…?”

“Ah!”

Unable to bear the overwhelming discomfort, my shoulders involuntarily twitched. I gripped the toilet seat tightly once again.

I thought I had vomited everything out, so why is my stomach still churning?

Is it because of the memories of the battlefield? The decaying bodies that floated up in my mind?

Or is it because of the indescribable stench that has been numbing my nose?

If it were any other time, I wouldn’t have given it a second thought. No, I would have purposely ignored it.

If that smell of blood wasn’t Helena’s.

The sensation in my hands is slightly gritty. It feels like touching a pile of dirt. As I feel that sensation, the image of the bloody trench naturally emerges.

The hellish trench, made of earth, where the rain poured down due to incessant shelling that made eyes and noses tremble.

I squeezed my eyes shut and desperately tried to shake off the madness. This is not reality. I have already cast it aside. So please, stop.

“Stop, please…”

Please, stop.

“….”

In that way, how much time has passed?

I felt like I had lost my sense of time. I couldn’t grasp how long it had been since I had rushed into the restroom during our conversation. I took out my wristwatch.

Ignoring the occasional trembling in my arm, I checked the time. The hour and minute hands indicated that it was exactly ten o’clock in the morning.

I slowly opened my eyes. I saw the familiar sight of the academy chapel’s restroom.

The ringing in my ears subsided, and the trembling in my body gradually subsided as well. I slowly pulled down the toilet lid and collapsed onto it.

“Phew…”

I took out a handkerchief from my pocket and wiped my forehead. The handkerchief was slightly damp with cold sweat. I wiped off the sweat that flowed down my neck and came out of the restroom after quickly rinsing my face with cold water at the sink.

Unlike most enclosed restrooms, overwhelmingly fresh air filled the bathroom. I felt slightly better.

“You’re finally out.”

I looked around for the source of the voice. Next to the entrance of the restroom, Camilla the priestess was leaning against the wall.

“Camilla, the priestess.”

It was only now that I realized, but my voice was quite dry and hoarse. My throat seemed slightly irritated from the process of vomiting gastric acid.

Camilla the priestess also seemed quite startled upon hearing my voice like that. Her eyes shook for a moment, then she turned her head.

“At least rinse your mouth. Your voice doesn’t sound like human speech.”

“….”

Following her advice, I rinsed my mouth and came out. Camilla the priestess was still waiting for me in front of the restroom.

“Father Antonelli.”

I looked at Priest Camilla. Her hazy grayish-white eyes were directed at me.

“Yes, Priest Camilla.”

“Do we have something to talk about?”

Priest Camilla said with a smiling expression. Due to her naturally sharp impression, she seemed to be smiling fiercely in my eyes.

I averted my gaze from her and replied.

“What do you mean by talk?”

“… It’s difficult if you pretend not to know.”

“Priest Camilla, please observe etiquette.”

Priest Camilla’s behavior was subtly aggressive. Without realizing it, my brow furrowed slightly.

After staring at me silently for a moment, Priest Camilla lowered her head and spoke.

“I’m sorry. I always speak that way.”

“I understand.”

“But, it seems different from usual now.”

Priest Camilla approached me briskly. Ignorant of the appropriate distance between people, she stopped just a step away from me, walking provocatively.

“Father Antonelli, you are taller than I expected.”

“Priest Camilla, what are you doing?”

“I’m sorry. I have something I’m really curious about.”

With her already sharp impression, she began to look at me with even sharper eyes. I dumbfoundedly met her gaze.

“Father Antonelli, you know Priest Helena, right?”

Hearing that name again, my head became slightly dizzy. I looked at her while holding my throbbing head.

Could it be that Priest Camilla was familiar with Helena?

Even if they were acquainted, there was no reason for her to have such disrespectful and aggressive attitude towards me. I still replied in a calm tone.

“…Yes. I know her.”

“I see…. Then, let’s get to the point quickly.”

“How did you know that I know Helena?”

“Father Peter asked earlier whether you were involved in the war, and you undeniably gave an answer that made people think you were involved. And also, you took on the position of head priest in the Academy’s main hall and professor in the theology department as Helena’s successor. I asked just in case, and it turned out to be true.”

The eyes of Priest Camilla looking at me narrowed slightly. Priest Camilla opened her mouth.

“Father Antonelli, were you there when Priest Helena passed away?”

“…Yes. I was there.”

“If that’s the case, please tell me honestly. Why did Sister Helena go back?”

“She sacrificed herself. Unfortunately.”

“I’m not asking about that. Sister Antonelli.”

I noticed Sister Camilla clenching her fist tightly. I met her gaze.

And, in that moment when her mouth opened.

“Why on earth did Sister Antonelli do nothing when Sister Helena was dying right in front of her?”

So, at the moment I heard those unbelievable words.

In my mind, something… snapped.

Thud—!

* * * * *

Sister Camilla looked up at the man standing right in front of her. Those rough eyes, I didn’t like them from the first time I saw them.

‘I asked just out of curiosity, but it turned out to be true…’

That he knew Sister Helena was a bit of a shocking revelation. No matter how small the world is said to be, could there be another encounter as coincidental as this?

On a whim, Sister Camilla decided to ask deeper questions.

“Sister Antonelli. When Sister Helena went back, were you there in that place?”

The dead-fish-like eyes shook for a moment.

Sister Camilla didn’t miss it.

“…Yes. Unfortunately.”

Anger boiled inside Sister Camilla. When she heard the story of Sister Helena sacrificing herself, she felt as if the world was crumbling.

But, the one who was there with her. A fellow sister, nonetheless.

“Why on earth did Sister Antonelli do nothing when Sister Helena was dying right in front of her?”

Did she let her die?

And, right after she uttered those words.

Sister Antonelli’s eyes changed dramatically. In his eyes, there was a kind of emotion that she saw for the first time.

Something like a fiery force engulfed the pupils. The hottest flames swallowing up those usually dry eyes like a desert.

It was clearly anger. No, more than anger, there was a desperate intensity. The veins on Sister Antonelli’s hand bulged.

Thud…

However, when Sister Camilla noticed it.

Whoosh—.

‘…Huh?’

Clang!

It was already too late.