SALP Chapter 35

"Of course, we Hermeans also love the Angel Akaiel. How could we not love and revere—the messenger who manifested the Lord's word to the world through visions, the apostle who sometimes protects us and sometimes chastises us? But it cannot compare to the singular affection and meaning that the Raphlish hold for them."

The word 'Raphlish' flowed naturally from Father Conor's lips.

Lanthe swallowed softly.

He had mentioned the 'Angel of Eründel' and the 'Kingdom of Raphlang' before. But hadn't he said he only knew what he'd read lightly in books and wasn't particularly well-versed? Moreover, he'd shown no sign of noticing that these things were connected to Lanthe herself.

All this time, he'd asked her nothing. She hadn't imagined he might know she was a descendant of Raphlang.

"Perhaps this belongs more preciously with Sister Lanthe? At least for now. Rather than serving as material for 'warm comfort' to many people, wouldn't it be better for it to fulfill the role of giving strength to a single person who desperately needs it?... That's the thought that comes to me, somehow."

She couldn't say anything.

All she'd hoped for was that he'd smile and accept her thanks for gifting it to him instead of exchanging it for ten kroner.

But his words—saying he hoped it would give strength to just one person, not many—shook her heart deeply.

"Ah. I'll correct the 'just one person' part."

Father Conor added with a serious expression.

"I have a good premonition. I see a brilliant future where our Lord Vigo, moved by the beautiful sight of Sister Lanthe composing her devotions through the angel statue, switches churches. When that happens, we'll receive such abundance as compensation that we could rebuild not just the angel statue but the entire church in gold. Ahhh, if only this were the Angel Akaiel's vision rather than my wishful thinking..."

Lanthe burst into hollow laughter at his story flowing in an absurd direction.

This priest really was something else.

"If the Angel Akaiel still appeared before humans, Father Conor would get scolded quite a lot, wouldn't you?"

She embraced the angel statue again.

Had it come to her because it had meaning? If she could lean on kind Father Conor's encouragement, if it was all right for her to keep something she'd secretly wanted—

If she could shake off the guilt that had been eating away at her mind because of the fallacies and sophistry she'd spouted to argue with Vigo—

"Um... Making a proper statue, I mean. That would require very difficult skill, wouldn't it?"

She spoke half-impulsively.

Some people decorated their homes and temples with so many statues they might trip over them. Some even cast them in gold and adorned them with jewels.

But other people had to wonder if even sharing one statue among several was a sinful indulgence.

If angel statues were hard to obtain and expensive because there was no one to make them, what if she made them herself...?

"Would it take a very long time to acquire the skill for this kind of carving?"

It would be good if it was similar to making angels out of snow.

She asked quietly, looking down at the angel statue. Because she knew she didn't have time to dream new dreams and make the effort, she was cautious even about raising her voice. It was uncertain whether the freedom she'd been granted now could even fill out the rest of winter.

Still.

"I want to try it too..."

At her words spoken with flushed cheeks, Father Conor nodded vigorously.

"What would be impossible? Even in Penmark where men's physiques are exceptionally robust, there are female knights. You could certainly become a sculptor too."

Not knowing she had time constraints, he seemed to take it as caution about entering an occupation rare for women, encouraging Lanthe by citing even female knights as examples.

"You mean Dame Skaeli."

Lanthe smiled faintly.

Had Dame Skaeli also overcome difficult conditions to achieve her present position? Could she become like her?

If only she could be granted even the time to try...

The future appeared only hazily, but Lanthe responded with a bright face to the smile of the one supporting her.

"...You're right. There's absolutely nothing impossible in the world."

In fact, miracles far more surprising than women becoming knights or sculptors happened in the world from time to time.

For instance, lake water moving of its own accord to carry a person safely all the way to a very distant sea.

Or, for instance, in some old, unpopular church with only six parishioners, a surprisingly beautiful man introducing himself as Father and welcoming a new parishioner who'd come after twenty years...

"I thought I didn't deserve to have this. But now I have a goal."

Making even one splendid angel statue before winter passed.

She continued shyly, touching the angel statue.

"I was really good at making snow angels, you know."

The confession she'd also made to Fiarelle.

"Ever since I was little, I handled things carelessly and broke them easily, so I thought I had no manual dexterity, but strangely, I was good at making snow angels—making sure the large wings didn't fall off—and I got lots of praise from adults."

That day when she'd faced marriage to Derek—

Words thrown out like a confession before death.

Words spoken with self-mocking laughter, assuming no one would understand anyway.

"So I hope I can make wooden angels or marble angels well too."

But now her confession took on a different meaning.

Words dreaming hopefully for permission.

Words of a small wish just born.

"Oho. So the budding artisan has finally found her way back."

Father Conor laughed admiringly.

"Artisan is too much."

She smiled brightly, delighted by his expression 'found her way back.'

The sensation of 'returning' that she'd felt the first day she came here to meet Father Conor revived.

There was someone she wanted to share this feeling with. Even now he was very close by, but...

"...Vigo, you know. He was a really kind, pretty child."

Lanthe spoke with the feeling of having returned to old Roas.

"Vigo was the most gentle and cute child in our hometown. When we played together and I caused trouble, Vigo would get scolded instead. He always spoke prettily, cared for others, and even with adults' tedious nagging, far from complaining, he'd thoughtfully consider what he should reflect on... That child was truly like an angel."

The one who should have received an angel's blessing was Vigo.

Surely some of that era's expressions remained even in twenty-year-old Vigo.

"A gentle, cute child..."

Father Conor's lips quirked with a subtle expression.

"You don't believe it either, Father?"

She smiled playfully too.

As if it was unbelievable that he'd become a bad adult who toyed with people, saying 'Should I release you? No. I'm going to sell you.'

"Yes. It's rather hard to imagine easily."

He made an elderly-sounding chuckle unsuited to his young face.

Then he spoke quietly with eyes that seemed to gaze at something distant.

"However, Sister Lanthe, the Lord is still now..."

"Father Conor!"

Just then someone called him loudly and threw open the office door.

The person took exaggerated steps backward, startled, seeing Lanthe look up in surprise.

"Oh my! I didn't know there was a guest. I thought this was a place Father Conor always kept alone—I'm truly sorry."

It was a middle-aged man with a genial-looking face. Seeing him wear the same clothes as Priestess Mari, he seemed to be a priest from elsewhere. He bowed his head while adjusting the bag he'd been about to set down from his shoulder.

"I'll wait outside. Please take your time talking."

"No, I'll be going now. I'm sorry for taking so much of your time when you're busy."

Lanthe quickly rose from her seat.

"...Then I'll see you again the day after tomorrow, Sister."

Though he seemed regretful as if he'd had something to say, Father Conor also bid farewell and saw her off.

"Oh, I'll lend you another book."

What he offered was a book titled <Craft Fundamentals for the Cultured>.

Lanthe shouldered her bag, heavy again, and conveyed her thanks to him with a bright smile.

"I guess everyone studied from this to make wooden statues."

She opened the book as soon as she returned to her room.

Even if Vigo suddenly kicked down the door and drove her out saying, 'Well, Gebimonde has come for you, so off you go,' that would be then. Since she'd found something she wanted to try for the first time since coming to Penmark, she should at least start.

"Tools? Where would I get these?"

Should she ask Father to lend them later? Come to think of it, didn't he say that in their church, only Father and the priests could read? Did the priests teach carving to the parishioners directly?

"I'll eat and come back to read more."

Even while eating alone in the dining hall, she kept giggling thinking about the church people carving. The knights' faces, blackened from harsh training, poured questioning glances at her, but she smiled cheekily at them too.

And so, when she'd finished dinner and returned to her room—

"Sister Lanthe!"

Nina welcomed her with intense enthusiasm. Rix, who'd disappeared without a sound at some point while she'd been reading during the day, was there too.

"Come along for a moment, Lady Lanthe."

"Where to?"

"You'll see when we get there."

Rix's excited appearance was suspicious. His nose, not small even normally, seemed to expand in square footage, and his manly-looking cheekbones had risen to an unusual degree. Nina, exchanging glances with him while grinning, was even more sinister. What was this?

The place they took Lanthe was a spacious, quiet reception room.

"Good evening. Is this the young lady who will be fitted for clothes?"

People she'd never seen before—neither knights nor servants—were waiting there.

Moreover, inside the reception room was a long clothing rack that should only be in a dressing room, hung thick with clothes, and various types of fabrics and unidentifiable tools were also laid out in abundance.

"Yes. Please fit her with the finest things. Haha!"

When Rix spoke with an expectant face, Nina also bobbed her head vigorously, eyes sparkling.