Chapter Three Hundred and Twenty-Three: Observing the First Signs
“…She seemed like a pretty normal person, didn’t she?”
“She looked kind, but still—”
The children had been on the verge of opening up all at once, like a dam breaking—but Harald cut them off:
“I don’t pity any of you.”
At the words of Harald, the only adult left in the room, the children immediately fell silent. Unlike when Karen had been present, faint resentment showed on their faces. They already knew who Harald was—he had told them himself. That he had once had no magical power.
Yet Harald was now an alchemist. To the children, he was someone far beyond their reach. But at the same time, he remained a beacon of hope—and one of their own.
So the children looked at Harald differently from the way they looked at Karen. He met every look—the resentment laced with a kind of neediness, the longing tangled up with awe—with the same unhurried gaze, and continued:
“I assume every one of you is familiar with the recent incident in the royal capital.”
“…Of course we know.”
Someone murmured it—no one in particular. Everyone in that room, when they heard the words “recent incident in the royal capital”, thought of only one thing. It was the reason their persecution had begun. Not that they could have honestly said they hadn’t been persecuted before. But because of Horst—because of the crimes committed by adults without magical power—they, who had committed no crime themselves, had been thrown into circumstances far harsher than before.
“Because of those people…!”
Among the children simmering with resentment, only Michael looked away with an uncomfortable expression. The target of the commoner children’s hatred—Horst—had been something like a lifeline for Michael, who came from a noble family.
Harald glanced in his direction, then said:
“Because of that incident, all of you were given a stroke of luck.”
“Huh?”
While ninety percent of the room reacted with resentment, Michael alone looked genuinely surprised.
“It was precisely because that incident made life harder for people like you that Lady Karen took you in. If that isn’t luck, what would you call it?”
The children didn’t argue back. Not because they had swallowed Harald’s words—they had long since learned that arguing with him was pointless.
“I am living proof.”
When it came to Harald as a real, breathing example, the children couldn’t help but feel something stir in them. Having drawn their attention, Harald repeated what he had told them many times before—the same doctrine he had shared again and again:
“All you need to do is believe in Lady Karen. If you do, the path will open for you in time, as it did for me. If your path does not open, it will be because your faith in Lady Karen is lacking. That would be your failing. But if you truly believe in Lady Karen—with your whole soul—then surely the day of your salvation will come.”
Harald spoke with a rapturous expression, as though delivering a prophecy. Then he walked unhurriedly to a corner of the room and removed a cloth from a painting that had been set aside there.
It depicted Karen standing before a grand, majestic staircase. A halo of light poured down from above, bathing her in brightness. To the children who had just laid eyes on the real Karen, it was clearly subject to considerable artistic embellishment.
Harald held the painting up at the center of the room and smiled at the children.
“Now then—let us offer our prayers to the goddess today as well.”
The moment he said it, the door flew open with a bang.
“HA. RA. L. D!”
“Wh—Lady Karen!? I thought you had returned to your work!?”
Karen, who had appeared to have left, had suddenly reappeared in the room. Harald faltered. The children stared wide-eyed at the expression on his face, one they had never seen before.
“Teacher Harald is… panicking…?”
“He’s usually off in his own world…”
Michael’s comment made Mark blurt out one of his own.
Harald had always been strict and impassive in front of the children. Despite being of common birth, despite having once had no magical power, he carried himself with complete confidence before the servants of the Ehlertt family’s estate and even noble-looking gentlemen of high status. He never lowered himself before anyone.
That was why the children resented him, yet admired him all the same. They were wary of his cold, unsparing manner—and yet they respected it. They recoiled from the unsettling fervour Harald displayed toward his master, and yet they burned with longing for the miracle that had given rise to that fervour.
The image of Harald—composed, untouchable—came crashing down before their eyes.
“I came back quietly to see how you all behaved on your own! What exactly are you doing!? That’s not a goddess—that’s me, isn’t it!?”
“W-Well, a goddess needn’t take any one particular form… and everyone has the right to hold their own image of a goddess in their heart…”
Harald fumbled through his excuses. Karen glared at the painting and said:
“Even so—making children who don’t even know me bow down to it is just wrong!”
The children’s inner voices all agreed: she’s absolutely right.
The staircase represented the way to the divine, and the woman standing before it represented a goddess. Day after day, the children had been made to pray before a painted image of a goddess who was modeled after the alchemist Karen—the woman who had gathered them all—while wondering what the real Karen might actually be like.
“This is basically a cult! I’m confiscating this painting too!”
“No, please…!”
Seeing Harald’s crestfallen expression, Karen let out an exasperated sigh.
“If it were just something you were doing on your own, I’d say fine—though that would still be strange… Normally, you’d compare someone you’re in love with to a goddess, wouldn’t you? You’re not in love with me or anything like that, right? Because I have Julius, and that sort of thing would be a problem.”
“Ah—nothing of the sort, I assure you, please don’t worry.”
“Right, didn’t think so. You’re more of a son to me, Harald.”
“I am your apprentice.”
The children watched the exchange in silence.
So Karen was a person with normal sensibilities—unlike Harald. Understanding that Karen was not the sort of person who would demand to be worshipped as a goddess, the children let out a collective breath of relief.
Furthermore, it was clear that Harald had gone against Karen’s wishes. And yet she had simply confiscated the painting—a light punishment—and forgiven him without any further fuss. They now understood that Karen was not the sort of person to fly into a rage over a minor misstep.
“I’m sorry for making you all put up with Harald.”
“It’s all right…”
Karen’s apology left the children giving uncertain nods.
“If Harald ever does anything strange again, let me know. I’ll put a stop to it.”
Even so, the children all thought the same thing in silence. Harald was a figure of authority. If he did something wrong and they reported it—would Karen believe him, or them, children with no abilities whatsoever? Their lives so far had already taught them well enough how that would go.
“Since Lady Karen has said as much—if you think I’m doing something strange, report it. In fact, I may occasionally do something strange on purpose to test your loyalty.”
“Don’t do that, Harald, you’ll only frighten them.”
“Yes, Lady Karen.”
The children blinked at how quickly he’d turned around. Perhaps it really was safe to report him after all. If anything, it looked like not reporting him might be the thing that got them in trouble.
Some children were swept up in the easing of the atmosphere. Others nearly let their guard slip, then caught themselves and pulled it back into place. Karen smiled down at the assortment of children before her, then marched Harald out with her.
Watching them go, the children arrived at one final understanding.
“Lady Karen is the most important person here.”
No one could say who said it first—but they all shared that one, most essential piece of information, and nodded together.
“…Still, she didn’t really feel like a goddess, did she?”
“Yeah, not really.”
Mark smiled and nodded at Michael’s light, laughing aside. Then a bang came from the corner of the room, and both of them jumped.
If Karen had come back to check on them again, she might not let their whispering go unpunished. Tense and bracing themselves, they looked toward the source of the noise—and found it was only the easel that had been holding the painting, toppled over.
Both of them, and all the children together, let out a breath of relief.
With the tension broken and with the sense that the future ahead might not be so bad after all, the children began to laugh softly among themselves.
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