Five Hundred Years

The moment she realized the man did not know who she was, Libitina was thrown into a brief but fierce dilemma.

If he had rescued her without knowing her identity, there was no telling how he might react if she revealed herself honestly. She was in no position to predict Asselin's response — after all, she understood nothing about the situation she had woken into.

But papering over it with a flimsy lie was impossible. One or two discreet inquiries would be enough to uncover who she was.

After hesitating, her lips flickering with uncertainty, she finally opened her mouth.

"…People used to call me Libi."

Her answer was true, but it was not the whole of it. Having offered up only a partial truth, she studied Asselin's face keenly. And sure enough, she watched his eyes go wide.

"You're… really a Saintess?"

She did not answer. It seemed her silence read to Asselin as a wordless affirmation, for he spoke again, no longer bothering to conceal his astonishment.

"Are you truly Saintess Livia?"

At the sight of Asselin pressing her for an answer, her brow furrowed.

"You already deceived me about your position, and I don't trust you. So bring me Vice-Captain Actaeon."

She retorted sharply. She had no idea what Asselin's game was in impersonating the vice-captain, but the person who would recognize her worth was not some man of dubious identity — a man whose very status as a holy knight was questionable, at that — but a high-ranking official of the Order.

She had come face to face with the vice-captain often, for any number of reasons, so the moment they met, he would know her. Better still, their relationship had never been a bad one, which would make persuading him a simple matter.

Or failing that, any other Saintess would do. Anyone who wielded Holy Power could not fail to recognize her value.

At her words, Asselin fell silent as though at a loss, then after a moment, slowly parted his lips.

"I'm sorry, but he is no longer with us."

Had the vice-captain actually been replaced in the span of a few days? She stared at Asselin with an expression of outright disbelief.

Actaeon's manner could be somewhat rough at times, but he was a knight whose steadfastness more than justified the title of vice-captain of the Holy Knights. His relations with the rank and file were smooth, and his superiors trusted him and relied on him freely — there was no way he would have been dismissed without cause. Which meant… could something have happened to him?

"Did something happen to him?"

At her question, Asselin pressed his lips together, his expression complicated. Then he explained, matter-of-fact.

"Why the entrance to the sanctuary collapsed, or how you came back out of it alive — I cannot begin to guess. But one thing is certain: five hundred years have passed since you died."

"…Five hundred years?"

She doubted her own ears.

"Yes. And so I must ask you once more. Are you truly Saintess Livia, who died five hundred years ago?"

Libi….

The woman who had introduced herself by that name pressed her lips together into a thin line. She could not properly make sense of what the man was saying, and yet he was urging her for an answer this very instant. Instinct told her that whatever she said in this moment would decide her future.

Half-stunned as she was, she strove all the same not to let it show, forcing her voice colder than usual.

"That's right."

People had called her Libi.

"I am a Saintess."

Her name was Libitina.

Five hundred years ago, she had been the personal handmaiden who served at Saintess Livia's side. And she was also the Saintess who had awakened Holy Power in the Demonic Cave.

Like the fools they were, the knights had gathered their heads together and were whispering.

"They say she's a Saintess."

"A Saintess."

"A Saintess from five hundred years ago, no less."

Libitina kept her gaze deliberately fixed on some distant point so as not to turn and look at them. But she could do nothing about the conversations that reached her ears. They were lowering their voices as best they could — regrettably, though, it all came through to Libitina with unbearable clarity. It wasn't merely her hearing; her whole body's senses had grown sharper, which suggested that her awakening as a Saintess had brought about some manner of change.

In that instant, a brief succession of scenes flashed through her mind.

"…Why?"

Saintess Livia collapsing with that single muttered word; the moment her airways opened; her vision flooding with light as though she had sprouted hundreds of eyes at once; the skin-crawling demonic energies pressing down on every nerve; the revulsion that rose in her by instinct….

Struggling to shake off the fragmentary but searingly vivid sensations of that time, Libitina took a shallow breath.

"An actual Saintess!"

"Keep it down."

"It's not like she can hear us anyway."

She could have walked over and informed them that she could hear every word, but Libitina chose not to. What she needed right now was an understanding of the situation she found herself in. Information delivered one-sidedly by a single person was hard to trust, so she had to gather intelligence from the conversations drifting her way.

Having no way of knowing the intent behind Libitina's silence, the knights carried on chatting, steadfastly convinced their voices carried no further than their own circle.

"You think she really came out of the sanctuary?"

"Would our vice-captain lie about something like that?"

"Fair point."

"Could be a tomb robber, actually. Maybe she found some other entrance we don't know about."

"A tomb robber? How would anyone even get into that sanctuary in the first place?"

"…Dug a tunnel, maybe?"

"Ugh, you…. Never mind."

From the snippets she'd caught, Libitina gathered that they were Asselin's aides. The only reason she let their conversation run on was the faint hope that aides, unlike ordinary knights, might produce conversation of somewhat higher quality. Apparently that hope had been nothing more than her own wishful thinking.

The commander was perfectly sound — so why were his aides' conversational standards such a mess?

"But how do you even prove someone's a Saintess?"

"If the vice-captain says she is, that's good enough for me."

Regrettably, the knights' chatter yielded little usable information. One thing, however, was beyond doubt: Asselin commanded his subordinates' deep trust. They harbored questions about this Saintess who had appeared out of nowhere, yet accepted her without much agonizing over it — on the strength of Asselin's word alone.

So he really hadn't been wearing that vice-captain title as mere decoration, then.

Libitina recalled the blond man. Vice-Captain Actaeon had been a middle-aged man, and the vice-captain before him had also been a grizzled old knight. As far as she knew, nearly everyone who held a position of influence within the knightly order had years of experience behind them. Yet Asselin, at the most generous estimate, looked to be her own age. Early-to-mid twenties at the outside, perhaps?

For a man that young to become vice-captain of the order meant he must be exceptional in some respect or other — outstanding skill, a powerful family, or some hidden ability nobody knew about.

Well, one thing at least seemed certain: his looks were extraordinary.

In the very instant that thought crossed her mind, Asselin abruptly reappeared.

"Preparations for departure are complete. Are you certain you will not rest any longer?"

After hearing her confirmation that she was indeed a Saintess, Asselin had immediately summoned Hina to examine Libitina's condition. Hina reported that while Libitina had some bruising, there was no sign of internal injury — and added, with evident astonishment, that her recovery rate was remarkably fast, far quicker than at the initial examination. Upon hearing that, Asselin had at once begun making ready to bring Libitina to the Order.

He asked nothing about how she had brought down the entrance and escaped, nothing about whether she had truly survived five hundred years within. He made no attempt to pry out any other information whatsoever. He seemed to have no particular interest in Libitina as a person, wrapping up every explanation with the single statement that he had received orders to bring her in.

Libitina, of course, was not content to leave it at that.

"You say five hundred years have passed?"

"Yes."

"You're not mocking me? It really has been five hundred years?"

"It has."

By any reasonable standard, no matter how long one had spent in the Demonic Cave, the claim that five centuries had gone by was utterly absurd. How was a human being supposed to live five hundred years in the first place? A Saintess was chosen by God, but even her lifespan was no longer than anyone else's. If anything, hers might well have been shorter.

"Could the vice-captain perhaps have miscalculated?"

"Have you considered doubting your own memory? It is entirely possible that you are mistaken even about your own name or identity."

"Five hundred years passing makes no sense."

"And I confess I find it hard to believe I am standing before the Saintess of five centuries past."

Whether it truly had been five hundred years — and if so, how the world had changed in the meantime, why they were now calling this place a sacred ground…. Libitina had countless questions, but seeing Asselin's stonily reticent manner, she held her tongue.

She judged it better to speak directly with his superiors than to cling to an unhelpful functionary in hopes of extracting information that might not even be true. From start to finish, Asselin had exuded a subtle pressure whenever he dealt with her — like a man confronted with something he could not trust.

With neither side able to trust the other, a long conversation would only compound the exhaustion. Libitina was hardly sociable to begin with, so she resolved not to go out of her way to win Asselin's goodwill.

"Very well."

"Then we will delay no further."

Once they reached the Central Diocese, she would surely find someone more flexible and better disposed — someone with whom she could actually talk. Even in the unlikely event that five hundred years had truly passed, the Order would still be the Order, and that meant she had value to leverage.

It would be no different even if the church's influence had waned. She knew the Order would never turn away someone like her.

Whatever she had been in the past — in the here and now, she was a Saintess.