The Unbound World’s “Normal” is Difficult

It was a white world.

All the contours melted and the sound vanished, like a snowfield or a place in a cloud.

From one corner of the world, something like a bubble occasionally bubbles up, drifting through the space, and bouncing away.

Irregular movements that are uncertain in the heavens and the earth and back and forth. The size of the bubbles varies.

However, they all reflected on the surface of the fluttering membrane what was only a sight, and when they gently touched it with their hands, it shined brightly before they could play.

(Yes...)

Elma, a girl standing in the snow of consciousness, nodded quietly.

(This is your memory, right?... Mr. Renate)

I already knew the name of the one who was called the Spirit of Harm.

I didn't ask, but if I noticed, I already knew.

Elma and Renate shared everything in the white darkness of the spiritual world, as if they were twins sharing a mother in the womb.

Knowledge, memory, and emotion no longer lose their individual contours and mix together.

Elma shook her head with a mysterious face as she followed a blurry memory bubble with her eyes.

(This is "dialogue".... Indeed, compared to this, Irene and I, it was just a catchball of words....)

That is sufficient.

But Elma, who thought she had finally got a "normal conversation," drove her thoughts upwards in a diagonal direction.

(If Irene is looking for this level of "dialogue", all of our personalities, hobbies, and past will be out of hand... I don't mind, but the situation is generally more difficult for people just outside of adolescence. After all, it is better to wait until maturity and then "talk"....? Besides, during meditation, you are in a state of moribund, so if Irene was a beginner of "dialogue", you should prepare your surroundings.)

Common humans cannot meditate in the first place.

Elma followed Lennart's memory bubbles blurrily, while beside her, she was busy thinking about the preparations for the upcoming dialogue with Irene.

And the memory bubble that happened to touch emits a faint light.

Inside, he saw the interesting person, and Elma turned her eyes.

She's a little girl.

Around five years old?

Even though the face and body are gorgeous, the beauty has already been completed and there is an old atmosphere.

Elma felt familiar with a very similar atmosphere to hers.

(But... this girl is not silver-haired (...))

Looking at the girl's golden hair, as if spinning in the sun, Elma leans her neck and stiff.

I thought that my mother was the most beautiful person in the world, but perhaps there is only a narrow view of herself, and there are beauty owners like her in the alley.

In affirmation of Elma's thoughts, the bubbles of memory involving the girls swayed one after the other, emitting light.

So Elma learned that the beautiful girl floating in the bubble was a former Virgin Cadet.

(Virgin. Then... I'm sorry for your mother, but someone else...)

Elma's knowledge of Hydemarie is more beautiful, noble and loving than anyone else in the world, but first of all, she is not of the type of Virgin by mistake.

Concluding lightly as someone else, Elma followed Renate's past again.

Days of rigorous training as a cadet of sacred magicians.

An oath made with a friend of the same age.

His betrayal, his overwhelming anger at it.

Renate knocked on the church gate with impulse.

Late in the evening, when the chalice was withheld the next day, it was a deep darkness that sparkled no moonlight.

It was Chelsea who surprised him, but gently accepted him, with hair as young as thirty years younger than he is now.

(... it was delightful.)

The voice of a young man echoes.

No - it seemed like it could be heard from the outside, maybe it was Elma's voice.

Because "here" is equal to not distinguishing yourself from others.

(Alone, please.... nobody... doesn't need a friend.)

The voice of the young man, who had remained a little bit young, spreading around, whilst going and coming with Elma.

(I can do it alone. I don't need anybody. I have a dream by myself, and I spend it alone...)

Like him, anger was not the source, but it was easy for Elma to understand how it was.

Alone.

You don't have to rely on it.

Because I have the ability to cut through most phases.

(There's no need to bother someone... Irene)

I'm just working on it because I can handle it by myself.

Yet Irene is always angry and worried.

It was strange to Elma, and it was just a little sad.

The voice continues to echo as it intermingles from time to time.

(There is no need to support each other. Even without the Goods, I am alone, a saint, and I have the ability to defend and guide this country...)

(I just want you to be happy. Don't rely on me, don't bother me... just do what I can and please you.... even though I'm supposed to have that kind of ability.)

(Alone. I don't need a goodie. I don't depend on it. -... oh, but that's why I...)

But the voice of the youngster-Lennate makes me sad.

One of the softly soaring bubbles emitted a faint light, drawing a certain scene.

Chelsea, who promised me a sacred magician's seat, skilfully lured Renate to the temple underground.

A prayer cloth raised upside down, a statue with lost one eye.

Nevertheless, Renate starts to feel at risk in a terrible space. But his inner vow of insulation made him hesitate to scream.

Chelsea changes her attitude.

His own flesh pulled down and bound to the altar.

A suspicious team.

The Holy Sword is swinging down with momentum.

It was then that Lennart finally understood who he was seeking salvation from.

(That's why I couldn't... honestly ask for help at that time)

But sooner than he shouted his name, the tip pierced his heart.

(Ah....)

I see Chelsea laughing.

While looking at it, the flesh dries and shrinks, and only the soul becomes sand and sees Renate rising up.

His body, his words, his liberty, and his appearance became nothing but a harmful spirit to be used by Celso.

A harmful spirit is a mass of holy power that has been cut off from the body and distorted.

Elma finally understood what Renate, who had become a harmful spirit, was shouting in the holy language of speech (ancient Aurelian).

("Guy." That wasn't a scream or a roar... You've been calling your best friend's name.)

I haven't heard back.

Instead, with the shaking intensity of the world, a memory bubble stood up at once, emitting a strong light and playing it.

When the last bubble disappeared - Elma slowly lifted her closed eyelids.

…………

Feel the weight of your own flesh.

Looking around, she blurred her eyes and murmured.

"... the basement, the cathedral?

A prayer cloth hung upside down. A statue of the god Aur with one eye cut off.

Occasional rock walls that drop drops, smell of wet water.

Apparently, this is a place like a cathedral, built through a cave, not a battlefield or a clinic.

Yes. That's where Lennart was lured once.

As she frowned on the feeling that her stomach was getting heavier, Elma finally tried to wake up.

But I can't.

I finally realized that I was tied to an altar-like place with a sturdy iron chain.

"--Are you awake?

And there, you can speak slowly.

A disturbing cat whispered. Without looking back, the identity of the voice owner was clear.

"... Cardinal Chelsea"