Sword, Magic and Academic Society-Chapter 300Vol. 1 - - Holy Land Lunazert (3)

Mornings at the holy site begin early. 𝚏𝗿𝗲𝐞𝐰𝚎𝕓𝐧𝚘𝘃𝗲𝐥.𝐜𝚘𝕞

The priest who had entered the mountains for training would rise at three in the morning, so early it could scarcely be called dawn, and first gather in the grand hall of the Temple of Prayer to offer worship to Vanish, the god said to preside over harmony and the present.

Afterward, under the direction of the deacons, the monks would disperse both inside and outside the holy land and begin their full-scale training.

Most of the monks here were devout clergy of the Neo-Starlight Church who had come to undertake the one-hundred-and-eleven-day foundational ordeal known as the First Trial.

Through harsh discipline, they sought to refine their mastery of holy magic even a little, to contribute to the peace of the world, and to better save those wounded before their eyes.

A huge majority of the priests on this ordeal came harbouring such noble thoughts.

In practice, the First Trial resembled a warrior’s training journey.

Each day, partnered with an assigned paladins, they would fight relentlessly against the powerful and numerous monsters that inhabit the depths of the St. Angol mountain range. The slain monsters were then offered to the gods as sacrifices as they prayed for the stability of the world.

A defining feature of the ordeal was neither priest nor paladin were granted any ointment, nor any assistance should they get injured. Instead, they're to make do with the sole lifeline they'd---the holy magic.

With holy land being a place of mana convergence, granting an efficient mana recovery just by simple act of sleeping and eating, they would exhaust themselves until the limit under supervising deacon, improving their magic.

A trial of such nature was bound to bring forth gravely injured. And as a fact, such expectations were anticipated.

When the injuries turned too severe, the high-priests---who also happened to be in their Second Trial of 222 days---would provide support on rotational basis. The whole day Temple of prayer would become a gruesome medical ward, with the same individuals being carried two or three times a day for treatment.

These patients would come with different sorts of conditions, like lacerations, abrasions, puncture wounds, bite marks, contusions, fractures, burns, frostbite, poisonings as an example. They heal without rest, barely finding time to eat or sleep.

And if a monster too strong for priests showed itself, the high-priests might directly join the scene. But, surprisingly enough, providing healing or taking command of the situation wasn't even the hard part in the Second Trial.

The true challenge in that ordeal lay in using oneself's body as the test subject to train holy magic once every four days. It would start with minor cuts and bruises first, inflicted by the specialists in that field—namely the deacons trained in torture methods. With each passing day, the inflicted trial would grew more severe.

It was a process to deepen the understanding of holy magic through treating their own bodies, and hone their skills.

And then came the Last Trial. This was pure insanity from any sane person's perspective.

Except for the hours of morning prayer, the person must shuts themself away in the Tower of Genesis at the center of the holy land—cut off from all other temples—and spends four hundred and forty-four days tormenting their own body with every torture device imaginable.

There was no option to quit mid-way. They would continue to go through hellish suffering so extreme that any ordinary person's mind would collapse in a matter of days. It was seen as an ordeal that pushed one to transcend through human limits in both body and soul—a trial capable of being endured by God's chosen one.

Regardless, a regular occurrence of deaths were bound to appear as the trials continued. And everything occurred in a religious place where laws of the land were invalidated. As such, the authority of deacons supervising everything, even the disciple of paladins and priests, was paramount.

No complaints were accepted. And if anyone even carelessly made a remark, they were told that everything is the result of their accumulated virtue, dismissed with the irrefutable phrase “All is according to the will of the gods.” From the very next day, they would be sent to even more punishing duties.

Above all, the authority wielded by the Cardinal-Deacon who oversees the other deacons within this sanctuary was virtually godlike, overwhelming in every sense.

What the deacons demand of trainees ultimately depends on the personal preferences of the current Cardinal-Deacon.

At times, it could be something as straightforward as aptitude or proficiency in holy magic. At others, a noble spirit devoted to the welfare of the people. And sometimes, it would be something far more worldly, like social cunning, political savvy, or even one’s birthplace and bloodline.

The motto of the currently overseeing Cardinal-Deacon Cornal was "virtue one must habitually cultivate". So, what kind of virtue might he mean by then?

The answer was simple—money.

Quite literally, the size of donations, or more sophisticatedly how much "gratitude" one could slip into his hands, quite literally determines life or death in the current holy land.

In a sense, this system might appear objective and even fair. But of course, those who truly embody the doctrine’s ideal of standing beside the weak could never amass such wealth.

And while one might argue that collected funds could be redirected into church activities and thus indirectly serve salvation, the truth was that Cornal and his subordinates pocket nearly all of it, using it to satisfy their own greed.

It was in human nature to drift toward shortcuts. And when the path before one was such that bad luck alone could cost you your life, that temptation becomes all the stronger.

And so, anyone sly enough would avoid hardships as much as possible through the power of money. While the obtuse—no, the truly faithful ones—ended up shouldering the most unreasonable suffering.

More than ten years had already passed since Cornal assumed the post of Cardinal-Deacon. Now, the very holy land had turned into a festering wound beyond manageable.

◆ (PART 2)

Lying at the heart of the Holy Land, the Final Trial was said to be take place at the second floor of Tower of Genesis, its main hall equipped with staggering array of instruments of torture.

"Kukuku... we finally met again, Jeuri. You know how long I had been waiting for? To part from the master you served for nearly three years without even paying a visit, don’t you think that’s rather cold? I was quite hurt, you know.”

Dolittle fixed his gaze, dark and clouded, on Jeuri, and raised a vulgar grin across his face.

The room's windows were constantly hidden behind curtains of thick fabric, illuminated by the flickering dim light of the mana lamp. At the main hall's centre sat the statue of Vanish, its expression tinged with quiet sorrow.

And there was Jeuri, draped in a thin silk dress with translucent texture, cuffed by the heavy chains dangling from the ceiling.

The chains were the «Lock of the Mana Sealing», and much like Choker of Virtue, its possession was illegal. The chains were capable of hindering a mage's attribute conversion ability.

The robe she wore was modeled after the celestial mantle described in the Hydrangea family’s founding legend, attributed to Saint Agathe, one of the Original Five.

The tale tells of a heavenly maiden, a retainer of Vanish, who fell from a divine sky-vessel and wandered through the harsh mortal world, only to fall in love with a simple, honest youth named Agathe.

Forsaking her return to the heavens out of love, the maiden chose to wed Agathe, pledging her entire life to him. Through that vow, she gained a mortal body and was transformed from a celestial maiden into a saint.

Incidentally, the legend includes a passage in which the maiden swears her lifelong devotion to Agathe upon the celestial choker that symbolized her purity as a divine retainer. This is said to be one reason why the Starlight Theocracy still clings so fiercely to customs that obsess over a woman’s chastity before marriage.

Blessed abundantly by the saintess’s devotion, Agathe was believed to have founded the Hydrangea family, which continues to this day.

Since then, it has become tradition to revere priests who receive a saintess’s devotion as Holy Man, granting them the honorific 'Holy' before their names.

“...It has been some time, Lord Doolittle. I must apologize for what happened then. After all—”

Jeu raised her limid hand, squeezing what little strength she could muster, making her chains clatter as she lifted her downcasted head and turned an innocuous, child-like smile toward Dolittle.

—I hated you so much that I never wanted to see that maggot’s face again for the rest of my life.”

"Kuhahaha," Dolittle's expression twisted momentarily, however he quickly burst into laughter, and slowly approached Jeu.

"......Of course, you did, Jeu. You really do know how sensitive I am to other's gazes. Of course, I noticed the way you gazed at me as though I was some hideous being. ...I am looking forward to our meeting."

He slowly reached for the jet-black choker on Jeu's neck.

Dolittle channeled his mana into it. The mana stone embedded shone faintly, and with a *click*, the choker came off.

As soon it came off—*SMACK*

Dolittle struck Jeu hard across the face. A dry, echoing smack rang through the silent hall.

“Kukuku… how very entertaining. The moment your spirit finally breaks and you swear wholehearted obedience to me. Kneeling at my feet, eyes moist with pleading, licking my boots in delight like a dog—ah, how I look forward to seeing you like that.”

Jeu's expression remained unchanged despite the vulgarity of Dolittle's words. She lifted her face and chuckled, fixating her eyes on him once more.

"...Pfft. Giving yourself to anger, and filling mana into that slap, and yet this is your strength? I had thought I could take this as an opportunity to experience the so-called training of the Holy Land, but this is utterly disappointing. It didn't even ring, neither on my flesh, nor my heart. Anymore is a futile, so why don't you bring the deacon instead|

"...Ha, kuhahaha! ...Have some patience, Dear Jeuri. I will personally see *your* «Final Trial.» Fret not, I wouldn't immediately start with hammering five nails on your body. It wouldn’t do if you died of shock, after all.”

Dolittle reached for a short riding crop hanging on the wall.

“…Don’t worry. No matter how badly I hurt you, I’ll heal you each time with my own magic.”

He drew in a deep breath, held it, then channeled mana into the crop and brought it down mercilessly across Jeu’s body.

Smack!—a ruthless sound rang out as fresh blood sprayed, staining the pure white, sheer robe she wore with crimson.

“…You’re not at fault. You’re not, Jeuri. Over and over… again and again, as you receive my sacred healing magic, anyone’s body will eventually become unable to live without that pleasure. That’s how humans are made. …Before long, your instincts will crave me, no matter how your reason resists.”

“…Could you scratch a little farther to the right? I haven’t had the chance to bathe lately, you see… My skin's a bit itchy. As expected, you and I have the worst possible compatibility.”

Jeu said this with a cold, utterly emotionless gaze and a mocking smile. In response, Dolittle burst into raucous laughter once more.

“Kuh! Kuhahahaha! That's the spirit, Jewelry! With you and me together, we’ll surely overcome this trial! I can see it now, Jeuri! A future where I—blessed by a saintly grace surpassing even the legendary heavenly maiden—leave my name in history as Holy Dolittle himself!”

At that point, Dolittle wiped the smile from his face, once again poured mana into the short whip, and lashed out three times in succession.

“…So please… don’t break on me, will you?”

As he spoke those words like a plea, Dolittle’s eyes were filled, utterly and completely, with madness.