Owari no Seraph – Kyuuketsuki Mikaela no Monogatari v2c2

Virtuous People, Scoundrels, and…

Europe of the 13th century was a world where death was a lot closer to every human than it is now. When someone died, profound grief a death is accompanied with nowadays could hardly be expected.

But still, on that day, everybody cried, because someone they all loved, the man, essential to the Templar Knights, who was to shoulder the future of the Order, died.

Gilbert Chartres died.

And not just died, but was murdered in the Templar Knights’ HQ in a highly bizarre way, and the news struck fear and sorrow in the hearts of the town residents.

“…”

Crowley was in his house, rocking in the loudly complaining chair and waiting, as time ticked away.

He didn’t attend the funeral service. The fact must have caused tremendous indignation among those who did. Everybody adored Gilbert, after all, so it was only to be expected. Gilbert was a flawless man. A man who kept believing in God no matter what despair he laid his eyes upon.

It was men like him that were loved by God, Crowley thought. No, should have been loved by God.

Except in the end, Gilbert was killed. God didn’t see what kind of man Gilbert was, didn’t watch him.

Crowley gently touched the cross on his chest, hanging from his neck, and whispered barely audibly, “…If You don’t love Gilbert, then who do you love?”

Just then a knock on the door came.

Today, the aristocrat named Ferid Bathory was supposed to visit. He appeared to hold clues that could lead them to Gilbert’s murderer. Except he promised to come before noon.

“It’s almost evening already,” Crowley remarked with a wry smile.

The place of their destination lay a whole day and night away by carriage, so they were supposed to depart as early as possible.

“You’re late, Ferid-kun. With you being that late, we probably can’t depart today.”

With that, Crowley opened the door.

It was raining outside. Heavily so. With the weather being this bad, Gilbert’s funerals ran into a lot of trouble, no doubt. God wouldn’t even grand the sun on the day of His pious believer’s funerals.

“…”

The one standing at his doorstep wasn’t Ferid, however. It was a man of large build and with a rich mustache.

Crowley knew him. Roy Rouland was the man’s name, and he was Crowley’s comrade in arms, a participant of the Crusade and one of the Templars Crowley went through hell together with.

Back at that last battlefield, he was among the group Gilbert led that managed to escape to Damietta. Since then, his position among the Order had been secured as one of the members of Gilbert’s faction. But well, that was yet another thing that had passed into nothingness now, with Gilbert’s passing away.

Crowley simply looked at his guest, while Roy glared at Crowley, saying in no uncertain terms, “Crowley Eusford. Why are you still here.”

“Answer me! Why didn’t you come to Gilbert’s funerals?!” Roy yelled. He looked to be terribly angry.

And Crowley knew how he felt. Why he didn’t come to the funerals of his old comrade, huh.

Crowley gave Roy an answer. “I have no right to be there. I’ve distanced myself from the Knights Temp—”

Roy interrupted him mid-sentence. “Me and the other knight only survived thanks to you. And all our comrades are waiting for you to return!”

“Well, late Gilbert was the one who waited for you the most. He also believed that you must be the next Master of the Order,” Roy went on.

So it looked like now that Gilbert was dead, he came looking for the person set up as the next candidate.

Crowley’s eyes narrowed. “Hah. Is this a politics talk, Roy?” he asked.

Roy, though, stepped inside with a look of fury, raising his fist. “Don’t screw with me, Crowley!”

He threw a punch at Crowley with all his strength. Crowley stopped his fist.

Roy roared, “I don’t care about politics! Our comrade is dead! Don’t you feel anything?!”

Oh, Crowley felt alright. And that was the reason why he didn’t go to the funerals. If he had, there could be no doubt that the Templars, looking for the next Gilbert, would discover him, and his name would come up the same instance. A political fight would break out, and searching for Gilbert’s murderer would take a backseat to it.

That was why Crowley could not attend Gilbert’s funerals.

“Answer me, Crowley! Why didn’t you come to the funerals?!” Roy drew the sword strapped to his hip.

At that, a voice squalled from somewhere behind Roy. “P-Please wait, Roy-sama!”

It belonged to Jose, the squire assigned to Crowley. Apparently, he accompanied Roy here.

Jose tried to pin down Roy’s arm, but Roy kicked him flying. Roy was a big man, and his kick packed a lot of force, sending Jose flying across the room and through the door.

Roy turned to Crowley, sword raised. Crowley only gazed up at its tip.

“Aren’t you taking the farce too far, Roy?”

“I’m not ru—”

“Gilbert wanted you to return,” Roy said. “The Knights Templar need you. And that is a divine revelation, I’m sure. For you to come to your senses and take notice of God’s will again…”

Hearing that, Crowley frowned, his words coming out rougher and ruder than before. “Don’t screw with me, Roy. Are you saying that Gilbert died for my sake?”

“Then I don’t need such a God. Gilbert was a man worth far more than me. And Victor, too, and Gustavo… and Commander Alfred… ”

Roy caught hold of Crowley’s hand at that. “Come back to us, Crowley. The Lord’s side is where you belong.”

Crowley gazed at Roy for a few moments before sighing, “Nonsense,” and lowering the blade. Picking up the scabbard lying on the floor, he sheathed the sword.

He couldn’t bring himself to serve a God that killed Victor and Gilbert any longer.

Getting up from the floor, Roy didn’t give up, “Crowley. I feel the same way. Ever since that war, not a day goes by without me wondering why such a useless, worthless man like me disgracefully survived.”

“The Commander was a great man. Victor was a nice guy. Gustavo had a bit of a mean streak about him, but he didn’t deserve to die. And Gilbert held steadfast while waiting for you to return some day.”

“But in the end, they all died. And we’re still alive. Think about the meaning of this. God is by our side. Watching us from upclose.”

Crowley didn’t think He was.

“Watching you.”

No, Crowley couldn’t bring himself to believe He was, at all.

“It’s time for you to move on. Don’t lend your ear to the Devil’s whispers, Crowley, and just push straight forward.”

The Devil… Hearing that word triggered Crowley’s memory again, of that battlefield where God didn’t show Himself to them no matter how much he wished for Him to, only a monster appeared in His stead.

The monster that sucked human blood.

And even Gilbert that had survived the worst of it and was supposed to keep living died from getting all of his blood drawn out. Something bad was afoot. Something very bad.

Without his realizing, Crowley’s hand touched the cross hanging from his neck. That rosary was what was left of Commander Alfred.

“You haven’t lost God yet. You just strayed from the path a l–” Roy started.

“Everybody is waiting for the hero to return.”

“…”

If an Inquisitor heard that utterance, execution would be what Crowley would likely have to face. But Roy only kept gazing at Crowley as he reiterated, “…In any case, Gilbert will be laid to rest very soon. The place is the church’s inner cemetery. I’ll attend. And I’m sure Gilbert would be glad if you—”

“Then pray at least. Pray for late Gilbert.”

With that, Roy returned his broken sword to its sheath and exited the house. “Let’s go, Jose. Crowley will come to the cemetery.”

“Then, let us go together, Crowley-sama.”

“Uh…” For a while Jose, wearing a troubled expression on his face, stared at Crowley, then ran off.

Crowley watched Jose’s retreating form.

It was still daytime, yet it was dark as ever outside. The heavy downpour showed no signs of abating.

Crowley rightened the chair that fell down to the floor earlier, and sat down on it again. Watching the rain outside the door with grim intensity, he whispered, “If You do exist, answer me: did you love Gilbert?”

God didn’t answer.

“Did you call him to Your side because You love him?”

No reply from God came.

“Or did You pay him no heed at all? A knight that loved You died. Make the rain stop for him, at least.”

But God didn’t grant even that wish.

That sealed it: God didn’t exist after all. At least not anywhere near Crowley.

Instead, there existed—

“…"Thou shall not test God’s love”, Crowley-kun.“

—not God, but an exceedingly frivolous man, singsonging the words like he was reciting poetry as he answered Crowley from the darkness of the rain where no sun shone.

The deviously beautiful man materialized at the other side of the open door. The noble with long silver hair, supple build and a bewitching smile playing on his lips, Ferid Bathory.

Coming into the house, the first thing he uttered was something as ridiculous as, "Come on, come on, what are you doing sitting around and dillydallying? It’s already time for us to depart, you know?” even though it was a few hours past the time when they were supposed to meet up.

Exasperated, Crowley replied, “You’re the one who’s late.”

“What a poor excuse.”

“That has nothing to do with the rain, don’t you think?”

“Meaning?”

“Naturally, I qualify as a virtuous person, right?”

“Yeah.”

"Haha, that makes you immortal, eh.”

“Never.”

“Then we just need to ride slow,” Ferid replied. “I have wine and food prepared in my carriage. Are you done with your preparations? You may not be back for quite a while, you know?”

When told that, Crowley shifted his gaze to what lied outside the door that was left wide open. There, the inelaborate practice grounds sprawled. The children of nobility came here every day, seeking Crowley’s lessons, but this morning, Crowley informed his students that there would be no lessons for a while due to him going on a trip. Knowing about Gilbert’s death, everyone accepted the announcement without a fuss.

Well, there were a few students that said that they would come here every day to practice while they waited for him to return.

In any case…

“Yes, I’m done. I’m prepared not to be back until I catch Gilbert’s murderer,” Crowley said, picking up the bag left in the entryway with his things that should last him a few days and the sword.

“Let’s go. Time to hunt down a bloodsucker.”

With that, the two departed.

Chapter end