Mesugaki Tank Enters The Academy-Chapter 675: Eve (1)

The chaos that occurred in one city was resolved when the apostle of the divine herself descended.

It took only half a day to settle.

Though the delayed support from the homeland and knights from other nations helped push back the frontlines, the true reason they came to the city was because victory seemed within reach.

In reality, the city that should have been destroyed was saved by just one apostle of the divine.

It was the miracle she brought that lifted it back up. After clearing the dungeon, the apostle of the divine looked around at the cheering people with an indifferent expression, then shrugged her shoulders.

“Damn, I almost died because of this pathetic dungeon. You guys are disgustingly incompetent. Don’t you feel ashamed?”

The words, laced with profanity, came from her small mouth, but even so, people cheered.

The apostle of the divine. Lucy had become a symbol of hope to them.

However, even in the midst of this applause, those who had entered the dungeon with Lucy wore expressions that weren’t quite as cheerful.

Lucy’s friends realized she was more fragile than she appeared.

Though she stood up time and again to do what needed to be done, she was a person who silently piled up wounds in her heart.

When they pushed the frontlines, when they reclaimed the dungeon’s gate, and when they cleared the dungeon.

Those who knew how impatient and desperate Lucy had been understood that even now, Lucy wasn’t truly smiling.

She was merely smiling to grant the wishes of those before her. Deep down, she was probably rotting inside.

“Lady Arlen!”

“Apostle of the Divine!”

“Lucy Arlen!”

“Lucy Arlen!”

Joy wanted to silence the people shouting right in front of her.

Even knowing they harbored no ill intentions, she wanted to stop their mouths and take Lucy away from the overwhelming cheers.

She knew they were just happy and unsure of how to express it. But still, she thought so.

“Stop. Fool.”

Frey had similar thoughts, but the difference was that he actually intended to act on them.

Had Arthur not intervened and blocked him, Frey would have swung his sword without hesitation.

“But it’s frustrating.”

“Still, bear with it. You’ll just make things difficult for Lucy Arlen.”

“...Tch.”

Arthur wasn’t particularly thrilled by the situation either.

People only looked for the miracle and showed no interest in what was beneath that miracle.

They cheered for the apostle of the divine, who was saving the world, but they could not see the fragile girl standing beneath her.

The mad king, who was probably drifting in the darkness now, once said:

People see only what they want to see. If that’s true, then what they want to see is the hero who will save them.

“Everyone.”

A woman’s voice rose above the unrelenting cheers, overturning them.

The people, who had been shouting madly with voices full of warmth from the one who had saved them, gradually fell silent and sought the source of the voice.

“I understand the joy of victory, but we still have much to do.”

The saint of the divine church spoke firmly, her voice carrying strong emotion despite her attempt to remain composed.

“Everyone. Now is not the time to enjoy the joy of victory.”

Her voice, though seemingly composed, betrayed intense emotion, and the people couldn’t help but acknowledge their foolishness.

The saint’s words were correct.

Nothing was finished yet.

Until the tragedy that had occurred on this land was truly resolved, they could not afford to rest.

That was the duty of the living.

“Feyvi! You did well!”

“Of course, the saint is different.”

“I wanted to lay down too.”

“Please, try being a normal person.”

After the noise died down and the time came for friends to converse, they thanked Feyvi for doing what they couldn’t.

For doing the things they wanted to do instead of them.

However, Lucy, unlike the others, stared blankly into the air as if caught up in something, then turned her gaze toward Feyvi.

Then, just as she had done to the soldiers earlier, she gave Feyvi a smirk.

“You did well for a weakling.”

What Lucy said was the compliment Feyvi had longed for, but Feyvi wasn’t sure if it was sincere.

Feyvi was accustomed to this kind of situation.

She had lived surrounded by the stench of decay, the sticky floors, the gloomy atmosphere, and the constant sound of crying.

Her role, as the saint of the divine, was to give hope to those people.

The Pope, the one who created her, said that the duty of a priest was to save those in despair.

The pure, naive Feyvi never doubted those words. She had worked hard, hoping that one day everyone in the world would be happy.

She prayed that the will of the divine spread across the world so that everyone, like her, could be saved.

For that, she had no care for anything else.

Those around her told her it was right, too.

Even when she met the apostle of the Evil Gods, doubting herself.

Even when she saw the miracle performed by the god.

Even when she discovered that her birth was filled with lies.

She thought that if she could save others with her sacrifice, she would gladly do so.

But one day, Feyvi realized.

That the word “sacrifice” could be cruel.

When people hear about sacrificing oneself to save others, most would think it noble.

But those who are close to the one sacrificing themselves, those who hold the one sacrificing dear, would say:

“Why does it have to be you?”

“Why must it be you?”

“Why do you have to sacrifice yourself?”

“Why can’t someone else do it?”

“Can’t you rest for just a moment?”

They would keep asking.

Feyvi asked that too.

She asked it over and over as Lucy kept moving forward.

Others did too.

Directly and indirectly, they kept asking Lucy.

“Must it really be you?”

And Lucy’s answer was this:

It must be me.

Lucy wouldn’t know.

She wouldn’t know how cruel the word “sacrifice” was to those who loved her.

And Lucy shouldn’t know.

She shouldn’t know how much she was tormenting others.

That’s not something that can be solved by belief alone.

Even if the end is happiness, if the process is painful, it torments those around her. They feel the pain not through reason, but through emotion.

Despite that, the reason why those around Lucy can’t stop her, why they can’t get angry at her, is because Lucy is kind.

Lucy is good.

She is so good that the divine chose her as an apostle to save the world.

That’s why, if she knew that her sacrifice was tormenting those around her, she would hesitate.

Everyone knows this.

They know that saying “I’m in pain” would only add to her burden.

So, they say they believe in her, push her forward, and try their best to do what they can.

If she keeps moving forward, at least they will carry some of her pain.

Feyvi did the same.

She did her best for Lucy.

She tried to lighten her burden, to do anything she could.

But if that action increased Lucy’s burden, if it added to the things Lucy had to worry about...

I...

When I came to my senses, Feyvi was back in her room.

She didn’t quite remember if she had acted correctly that day.

But looking around, it seemed she had acted like usual, with no one around her worrying about her.

Perhaps the training to act like a saint helped.

Feyvi, looking at her trembling hands, tried to gather her hands as usual, but stopped.

“Do I deserve to pray?”

She wondered if it was okay to pray, given how much she had acted beyond her place and made things harder for the apostle.

Not only had she failed to save everyone, but she had also caused many to sacrifice, even bringing sadness to Lady Arlen. How could she possibly pray?

No, she thought.

She needed to focus on fixing things.

She had to correct her wrongs and not cause any more trouble for Lady Arlen.

Knock knock.

At the sound of the knock on her door, Feyvi flinched and absentmindedly glanced at her reflection in the mirror.

Sweating profusely, her hair sticking to her cheeks, and breathing roughly, the way her eyes trembled was not something she should ever show anyone.

Just as she was about to speak, feeling the urge to rest, she felt the divine presence of the Lord outside her door.

The warmth that had saved her. The warmth of the one who had rescued her.

“Pathetic saint.”

And Feyvi couldn’t answer.

She doubted if she even had the right to respond. In silence, she hoped Lucy would just go away.

Bang!

“I’m coming in, you idiot.”

And as usual, Lucy did exactly what Feyvi had secretly wished for and entered.

“My lady.”

“If you’re struggling, just say it.”

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“...What?”

“I don’t care what you weaklings think. It’s obvious. Why should I care about the thoughts of idiots like you?”

If she doesn’t tell me, I won’t know how hard it is.

“So, say it. I want to laugh at you while listening to your ugly words.”

So tell me how hard it is. I want to help you.

“...Do I have the right to do that?”

“You don’t, so you should talk more. I can laugh at you as much as I want, can’t I? Pathetic.”

The suffering must be shared.

“Yeah, but I... I don’t want to cause trouble for Lady Arlen.”

“That’s what pathetic people always say. That’s why I’m enjoying this. I can tease you as much as I want.”

And then I can laugh.

“And this way, you won’t be able to complain when I torment you, right?”

Because I can repay you for sharing my burden.

Lucy, understanding the meaning of her words and seeing Feyvi shed tears, smiled as she pulled Feyvi’s cheeks, just as usual.

“You’re a pathetic pig, Feyvi, and that’s why it’s like this. You idiot.”

“...Uh, Lady Arlen? What did you just say?”

Feyvi, who was so shocked she had stopped crying, was met with Lucy’s light laugh, as she glanced back and continued speaking.

“I’m so cute, that’s why I like you and obsess over you. But look around.”

“Please don’t say too much about the saint. I’m incompetent and unreliable, so what can I do about it?”

Bishop Johan was there.

“Saint, may I help you with your burden?”