OMS Extra 2

This is a short story that fills in the time skipped between Zeph’s second fainting and the few months leading up to his public appearance in Chapter 9. Viirant still refers to Zeph as “Saintess” in this time.

The thin shoulders swaying unsteadily just ahead of me, the nearly dragging footsteps—seeing that, I almost reached out a hand to help but stopped myself, clenching my fist and gritting my teeth.

—This person does not want help.

I knew that much, so I couldn’t just carelessly offer assistance.

During the first purification ritual, I carried the unconscious Saintess to their bed. The second time, when dizziness left them unable to move, I forced myself to carry them back to their room. It was absolutely not permissible to act against the Saintess’s orders, but seeing their pale face, drenched in sweat, I simply couldn’t hold myself back.

Yet looking back on it now, perhaps that was a mistake.

Since then, they hadn’t pushed themselves to the point of fainting on the spot, nor had they asked for a shoulder to lean on. In fact, when I tried to help, they would simply stop me with a glance, no matter how much they struggled to breathe or how pained they looked.

Perhaps it was wrong to carry them without permission. Perhaps it was wrong to cradle them in my arms.

Though I apologized, I wasn’t reprimanded and was graciously forgiven.
But ever since then, they have stubbornly refused any assistance, leaving me with nothing but my clenched fists.

How can I help this person?

How can I get them to rely on me?

I carried that unanswered question in my heart as I quietly followed their frail figure, feeling the pain in my chest more sharply than the nails digging into my palms.

Not many know that the Saintess offers their blood during the purification rituals. Due to their wish for discretion, I always accompany them during these times. I suspect they worry that it would cause a commotion if people knew they were offering their own blood. They’re not wrong. I can’t even begin to imagine the kind of chaos that would ensue. But… couldn’t they have found a way to avoid offering blood in the first place?

As I watched the Saintess collapse onto their bed, I gently rolled up their sleeve to inspect the wrist. The bony wrist was wrapped in a frayed, poorly tied bandage. It seemed as though they cared more about keeping their clothes clean than properly tending to their wound. As I peeled the bandage away, I saw the red, raw cut that never seemed to fully heal, constantly reopening since the first purification ritual.

—It can’t possibly be painless.

I frowned as I gently cleaned the wound with a damp cloth and rewrapped it with a fresh bandage. I tied it tightly, hoping they wouldn’t be able to remove it on their own. I wanted it to serve as even the slightest hesitation before they cut themselves again. But up until now, they had simply cut the knot with a knife, and my wish remained ungranted.

After covering them with a blanket and lowering the canopy to ensure their rest wouldn’t be disturbed, I left the room. I passed my guard duty to another knight and headed to the training grounds. Once the Saintess had completed the purifications at the temple, we would embark on the journey to purify the lands. I needed to hone my skills as much as possible for that day.

The sharp sound of a blade cutting through the air echoed in the dim training ground.

A downward diagonal slash, a shift in angle to strike upward.

Exhaling lightly, I thrust forward, dodging an imaginary blow by twisting my body.

These were combat maneuvers, a fluid series of movements that every knight had drilled into them. Hundreds, thousands of repetitions until they became second nature, the foundation of every action a knight takes.

—At least, that’s what I had believed.

“…!”

The tip of my sword wavered during what should have been a sharp thrust, and my brow furrowed deeply.

I was off by half a step, the small mistake throwing off the precision of my strike. The lack of precision rippled through the rest of my movements, preventing me from putting my full weight behind the sword. Like this, I couldn’t even pierce a falling leaf. Frustrated, I raked my hand through my hair, teeth clenched.

It was then that a low voice came from behind me.

“That’s rare.”

“…You.”

Turning toward the familiar voice, I found a fellow knight, someone I had known since our days in the order. Back in those days, we often sparred in realistic combat training. At some point, he had stopped accepting my invitations to train, but his ability to approach me unnoticed showed his skill was still sharp. In my current state, if we crossed blades, I might very well lose.

“It’s unusual to see your sword waver like that. What’s wrong? Is something on your mind?”

“No, nothing… or maybe… there is.”

I almost reflexively denied it, but at the last second, I reconsidered.

He was right. My sword had faltered because I was distracted. My movements had become unsteady because there was something weighing on my mind.

Thinking about it like that, it all made sense. But at the same time, I had no idea how to fix it.

Since becoming a knight, I had never experienced this before.

No matter what happened, I could always lose myself in the act of swinging my sword.

…But now, for the first time, something had taken hold of my mind, and I didn’t know how to deal with it.

“…No way. Don’t tell me I was right. You? With worries? The guy who only cares about the sword and the Saintess? But you’ve already found her, and I heard she’s living peacefully?”

—Of course, he was talking about the proxy Saintess, Emiria. The real Saintess is living anything but peacefully… but I couldn’t say that.

Nor could I confess that my worries were about the real Saintess.

Yet, when asked what was on my mind, the answer was simple. It was her.

She was someone far more noble than anyone else, yet she chose the path of fighting as a knight.

Her delicate body bore so many wounds, and despite the frailty in her steps, she always carried herself with a quiet dignity.

Though light enough to be lifted effortlessly, she seemed determined to shoulder everything on her own.

Despite knowing that it was presumptuous of me to fret over someone so far above me… I couldn’t shake these thoughts from my mind.

“…I’m not sure how to explain this,” I muttered.

“A serious concern, huh?”

“Perhaps. How does one get someone who has always lived without relying on anyone to rely on them?”

She’s a fully grown adult, over forty years old. Someone who lost her parents at a young age and has supported herself ever since. The people of her village said that while they had been helped by her countless times, they could hardly remember a time when she asked for help in return. She managed most things herself, leaving those around her at a loss for how to repay her.

—She does not rely on others easily.

In fact, she might not even consider relying on others at all. Having lost her family early in life, she may simply be unaccustomed to depending on anyone.

…But that’s exactly why I want her to lean on me. Is it selfish to wish for that? Is it too much to hope that I could become someone she feels safe enough to rely on?

As I stared at my clenched hand, my comrade muttered in disbelief.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

I glanced at him, seeing his stunned expression. Surprised by his reaction, I blinked in confusion. What exactly was so shocking?

“Wait, wait. This is about that person, right? You’re upset because they won’t rely on you, right? And you’re so caught up in that, it’s messing with your swordsmanship!?”

“Yes, that’s correct.”

Referring to her as “that person” wasn’t exactly accurate, but otherwise, he wasn’t wrong.

It’s frustrating to want to help her, but be unable to. It’s infuriating not knowing how to be the person she can rely on.

And above all, I can’t stand feeling this helpless.

Though I hadn’t explained everything in detail, it seemed he understood. And then, he raised his voice in excitement.

“That’s love, man! That’s gotta be love! Viirant, in love!? The guy who never cared about any woman is having a one-sided crush!?”

—How did he come to that conclusion?

I quickly withdrew my previous admiration and gave him a sharp look.

It’s probably because I hadn’t mentioned her gender. If I had told him that she was seven years older than me, a man, and my superior, he wouldn’t have made this mistake. Still, it was too late to correct him now. And besides, I couldn’t reveal her true identity.

So, I just shrugged in response to his questions about who the person was, when I met them, whether they were beautiful or cute.

Silently clenching my fist again, I resolved that until I was strong enough to be relied upon, I had no right to expect anything.

With this newfound clarity, I returned my focus to the sword.

—One day, I would be strong enough to protect her back and, even just a little, ease her burdens.

That goal renewed my dedication, sharpening both my resolve and my blade.