64 The Priest Prays Silently and then Dozes Off, Visions of Fire in His Heart

Shelter the fire. Morning, noon, or night, if your heart is frozen, give it fire.

Someone is there. Beside you, behind you—even in the fire, someone is there.

-Father Felipo II-

“Hey, where are you going, Felipo? Come have a seat by the fire.”

I was wondering why he wasn’t at the camp, and now I find my best friend, son Peine, with a cup of wine in hand. What is wrong with him? We will be in sight of the palace in a few days!

“It’s a nice night. The eve of a decisive battle, you could say.”

“What are you blathering about?” I ask.

If we were facing elves, I might feel inclined to relax at night, but since it is vampires we endeavor to battle, night is when we must be most vigilant. We are marching against the night. With sunrise comes peace of mind, and during the day we rest. Then, at dusk, we rise and march during the night. Even for this brief respite, we have cavalry posted to ensure our safety. The rabbits, with their excellent night vision, are also on guard duty.

Morale is high; everyone is eager. For if we are met with defeat, it will spell the destruction of our species.

“Now, now. Don’t look so disgusted. I’m on a special mission, I’ll have you know,” he assures.

“What a bizarre thing to say. It’s a soldier’s duty to rest when given time to camp.”

“Ah, but while we are yet alive, let us drink. A cup for you, a cup for me.”

“And there he goes, spouting unscrupulous nonsense. Honestly... Hm?”

A cup is passed to me from the side—by Lady Kuroi, of all people. She’s holding a small barrel. Ah, it must be an offering from one of the refugees.

“See? Special, right?”

“Indeed.”

I suppose I can’t simply go with only one cup. I sit down.

“If you’re gonna cry, now’s the time,” he says out of nowhere.

“That was... quite random.”

“You lost most of your family recently, didn’t you? Well, so did I.”

“...You really have no filter, do you?”

“I assume the Willow brothers cried in private. We all have our own ways of dealing with grief.”

My best friend and I pray silently, facing each other, then take a slow sip of our wine.

The combined information brought to us by a speedy horse from the fort and our scouts sent to investigate the Willow Estate paint a singular picture of the truth.

“The battle at the Willow Estate was one for the ages.”

“Yes. Using the king as bait and the estate as a trap, they lured the vampires in before setting it ablaze... Three days later, it’s said to still be belching black smoke.”

“What a bold plan, using the king himself in a suicide mission.”

“...He had a tendency to fall into despair.”

“Idiot. Desperation alone couldn’t take a thousand vampires to the grave with him. I’m impressed; he even managed to drag out another five hundred in order to search the ashes. We should all be so lucky in battle.”

I have no words. Among the king’s... my father’s men that died was son Peine’s father. I recall he was an earl who loved ploys and art more than anything. He would often pay me to do little things for him.

The crown prince... my older brother was killed in the chaos at the palace, and so was his brother. He was a pure and honest sort of man, not fit for earldom or the military. The guy often had to clean up his brother’s messes after his pranks went awry.

Now they’re gone. They’re all in the flames now. Maybe if I stare long enough into this wavering campfire, I might catch a glimpse of one of their faces... The brightness is making my eyes water. I blink repeatedly to rid myself of what begins to rise.

“Let me just confirm one thing... The acolyte’s cargo, is it what I think it is?”

“Yes. It was supposed to remain enshrined under the church.”

“So that was the arrangement... am I getting this right?”

“I think so.”

I toss a dry log onto the fire and watch it be consumed. Let that which comes and goes in my heart be like this log.

Oh, how I misjudged my father and teacher both.

What son Peine is getting at is that the king and the archbishop were colluding—the king was taking great pains to control the resignation and corruption of the ruling class, while the archbishop was laboring to ease the despair and suffering of the common folk. As these desires became twisted while they worked to maintain the nation’s order, they left behind a sliver of hope: the fire treasure, the Primal Ash. The great inferno magic that resides within it, much like the other treasures, can make miracles happen... At least, that’s what’s written in the holy book. It is for this reason that we pray.

Something could have happened—or been forced to happen. This might even be the reason behind God’s manifestation. I can only hope this is true. It’s the whole reason our present lives even exist. Such beliefs have led me here. If I didn’t believe, I wouldn’t have made it this far.

Entrusted with everything, only to learn the truth later... Who would be able to bear that?

“They must have gotten a taste for arson after seeing the church burn.”

“There you go again... I bet it was the archbishop’s idea. He used to say that he wanted to be burned at the stake.”

“Ha ha, that he did. That old fart was always above us in terms of pranks.”

The chaos at the palace was most likely the result of multiple plans colliding. The Starlight Band, who wished to open the palace gates to the vampires, incited the king’s sister, the corrupt nobles, and the despairing citizens. However, they weren’t able to completely take control, which suggests that the royal knights and palace guards held quite some influence. The king and the archbishop must have been in a panic. They considered the worst outcome, and acted accordingly. The Willows were their assistants in this regard.

I can almost see it in the flames now: a series of battles, starting in the palace. People being whipped into a frenzy and resisting. Lighting the church on fire was a diversion to allow the king and the treasure to escape to the Willow Estate. When they received word of a thousand vampires following them, the plan turned to using the king as a bait to allow the treasure to make it to the fort... The guts to make such a decision is astounding.

Their priorities were truly a prayer for the future. Such a suicidal plan, all to grant us a bit of hope... it is truly a revolutionary’s mindset.

“I’m losing all lingering attachment to this world. A pity. Everyone’s acting so cool,” he says.

“What foolishness are you spouting? God does not bless those lives that do not wish to live.”

“...I guess. Yeah, you’re right. Forget I said that.”

Fire is nice. It warms my cheeks, meaning there are no droplets for the night wind to chill. It also softly, ever so softly, invites sleep.

“What do we have here?” This voice... Lady Ange? Zakkow follows close behind, holding a pot. “Two loquacious men, drinking before a battle from cups poured by an Apostle? Talk about fortunate.”

“Mm.”

“Oh, I wasn’t asking for... Fine, fine. I’ll have some.”

“Mm.”

“For me too? Thank you.”

Both Lady Ange and Zakkow receive a cup as well.

We keep coming, one after another. Perhaps this is the magic of a campfire. It gathers people together, lights and warms them, and then captures their hearts... Religion and magic are mere unintended byproducts.

“Come, cozy up by the fire, you two.”

“And who made you the boss of this campfire?” Ange protests.

“Well, I made it,” son Peine replies.

“...Fire-starting techniques?” asks Zakkow.

“Yes, exactly. I’m neither a flame-resistant soldier nor a Bomber Knight; I’m still struggling to find my own path.”

“You always were a jack of all trades but master of none, going wherever your curiosity took you,” I remark.

“Felipo, is that a compliment or criticism?”

“From my point of view, you’re both equally silly. The son of an earl and a royal prince? There must be some mistake. You’re mischief-loving children in adult bodies,” Ange slaps us with her words.

“Pfft!”

Zakkow, that was cruel, spraying a mist of unsanitized wine all over us. But what can we do? Children do not choose their parents. On the other hand, parents often choose their children, which is why I ended up banished to the northern reaches of the Frontier... Or at least, so I had thought. Thinking back on it now, that might have been a strategic move as well. My siblings, save for the crown prince, were all sent to different parts of the country. I’d believed we were hostages to some powerful noble, but to think my father had thought this far ahead... No, even so, I was the only one sent north of the fort. I was just too handsome, perhaps.

“Hm, Sira’s already asleep,” points out son Peine.

“Of course she is. And you should be too,” Ange scolds him.

The departed, eh? My father and siblings... All those who bore a passing resemblance to me... were burned to ash. My teacher as well—that old man who used to sing so clearly of the holy book, and of chronicles of burning at the stake when he was drunk—is nothing but charred bones now.

“That’s right. As a soldier, you should learn from the commander and Marius. They’re resting peacefully as we speak,” remarks Zakkow.

“Ah, then, is it Origis that’s on patrol duty now? If we hold out, do you think he’ll come?”

“Don’t think of it. Riding tires the whole body out. His time lying down is precious.”

Are the people I’m thinking of in these flames? Do they still burn?

“You’re so uptight, Captain. I know you’re petting the fluffy rabbits in secret,” son Peine makes fun of him.

“Bfft!”

“Is that true?” Ange asks, sneering.

Did God watch over their final moments? Did He take in their wills?

“What are you all doing? You’re so loud,” says a voice approaching.

“Now Odysson’s here! Come, sit by the fire.”

“Mm.”

“O-Oh, wine, huh? That’s a treat... So, what’s with the noise?”

“You’ll never believe it; I know I didn’t. Apparently the captain is shy.”

“Wait! How did we arrive at this?!” Zakkow cries.

Will I... go there, too? Will I be welcomed in the flames when I fall in battle? One day... One day.

“Hey, the priest’s looking sleepy. Whoa! Don’t want to waste wine,” he says as he takes the cup from my hand.

“This is why Felipo could never become a corrupt priest: just a little wine turns him into this.”

“It’s exhaustion. He’s taken it upon himself to negotiate with all of the people that have joined us along the way.”

“You there, something-Peine. Drag him to bed.”

“Miss Ange, must you wound me so? Why not just say son Peine?”

“Ep! He almost dove headfirst into the fire!”

It’s so strange. I feel like they’re so close. It’s so familiar, warm, and somewhat sad... No, lonely I guess would be more correct. I’m sure I’ll remember this moment over and over in the future. And that thought... makes me lonely. It makes me want to cry.

I’m being carried away; away from the flames. To where, I do not know.

It’s lonely. I’m lonely.