“Sister, I’m so cold.”
Her younger brother clung tightly to her, rubbing his little head against her shoulder as he whimpered. Sarah clicked her tongue in annoyance, making his thin shoulders flinch from more than just the cold. She had brought the blind little boy along in the hope of arousing sympathy, but he wasn't even managing that.
“Stop whining and at least pretend to cry.”
Sarah snapped at him and pushed him away from her shoulder.
If I'd known it would be like this, I would have come alone.
She muttered loudly enough for him to hear, then glared bitterly at the imposing statue of the god.
The god, supposedly merciful to all, showed no mercy as two children slowly starved before his very eyes. Even those who professed to worship this benevolent deity merely glanced at the shivering children in the street as though they were patches of unsightly mold, then turned away.
Where was the justice in that? Where was the mercy?
Yet despite resenting the god who had given her nothing but suffering, Sarah eventually did what anyone driven to desperation would do. She clasped her hands together and prayed with all her heart.
Just give me a piece of bread. If you have any conscience at all, you owe me at least that much. But don't be stingy and give me only one. Make it two. I have to feed him, too.
She was practically grinding her teeth as she prayed.
Then, as though her plea had reached the god after all, someone stopped before her.
“Would you like some? It's freshly baked. Very tasty.”
To a child on the verge of starvation, the warmth of freshly baked bread was almost overwhelming.
“Th-thank you. Thank you so much.”
Sarah snatched the two pieces the woman offered, terrified that someone might take them away. She stuffed one into her brother's mouth and the other into her own.
She had never tasted warm bread before. It was so delicious that tears sprang to her eyes as the soft dough seemed to melt on her tongue.
“Would you like another?”
The woman had watched her devour the bread in the blink of an eye and was now offering more.
“…Can I really?”
Only then did Sarah look properly at the person who had shown her such unexpected kindness.
Before her stood a middle-aged woman with an ordinary, unremarkable face. There was nothing particularly memorable about her appearance, yet she radiated an unmistakable warmth and simplicity.
“Of course you can.”
Smiling kindly, the woman handed her two more pieces.
Once again, Sarah gave one to her brother and crammed the other into her mouth, chewing and swallowing as quickly as she could.
“My goodness. You must have been terribly hungry.”
Poor thing.
The woman sighed sympathetically and gently stroked Sarah's head as she tore into the bread like a starving animal.
At that moment, Sarah felt as though someone was finally looking after her.
She almost burst into tears.
Only moments earlier, she had been cursing the god, the world, and every person who had turned a blind eye to the suffering of helpless children. Yet a few pieces of bread were enough to melt her young heart like snow.
Perhaps the world wasn't such a terrible place after all.
Perhaps it was still worth living in.
She even found herself entertaining the noble thought that, once she grew up, she would remember this kindness and repay it by helping someone else.
“Have you finished? Are you full now?”
“Yes. Thank you so much.”
“Really?”
“…Yes?”
Ironically, it was the very woman who had seemed like an angel who would show Sarah just how fleeting that newfound gratitude could be.
“Then could you do me a little favor?”
That sweet voice. That gentle smile. The hand that had stroked her hair. The comforting aroma of bread still lingering in the air.
Sarah had no reason to distrust an adult who had given her nothing but kindness.
If she did what the woman asked, perhaps she would stroke her head again.
More than the bread itself, Sarah longed to feel that gentle touch once more.
“What kind of favor?”
And so she had agreed without hesitation.
Naively.
“…”
Was that where it all began? Was that the moment my life started sinking into the mud?
Drawing herself out of her memories, Sarah silently rehearsed the words she might use if she ever told someone her story.
She had thought her death marked the end of that miserable tale. Yet three hundred years later, she was certain she had found herself at the same crossroads once again.
And this time, she was standing at a literal crossroads.
On one side lay the relative safety of the world outside.
On the other stood the entrance to the Black Thorns.
After listening to Enoch's explanation, Sarah pointed toward the pitch-black opening.
“So all I have to do is go in there?”
“Aaah!”
At the slightest movement of her hand, the people surrounding her reacted violently.
And by reacting violently, they meant pointing every sword in the direction she indicated.
Marcus was among them.
The moment Sarah had been identified as an immune, everyone had drawn their weapons. Even after learning that she was supposed to help them, they seemed unwilling to lower their blades.
Somehow, Sarah had ended up in a position where a single movement of her hand could send an entire crowd into a frenzy.
Was this really happening? Were they seriously going this far?
No matter how she looked at it, she couldn't shake the suspicion that everyone had conspired to make a fool of her.
“Yes.”
Only Enoch remained perfectly calm, as though none of this were particularly remarkable.
Having finally received an answer, Sarah went over her instructions once more.
“Your comrade is in there.”
“Aaah!”
She raised a finger over her shoulder, and the commotion erupted all over again.
Sarah regarded the crowd with a look of weary resignation.
She wasn't particularly angry about the situation itself, but when she turned toward Enoch, her irritation was beginning to show.
As the leader of these guild members, shouldn't he be doing something to calm them down?
He was the one who had brought her here. Yet he stood watching the commotion as though it had nothing to do with him.
“Master's.”
And still, he had the audacity to correct her form of address.
“Yes. So, Master's…”
With a deadpan expression, Sarah obediently repeated the title and tried to piece together everything she had been told.
“…M-Master's comrade is stranded inside.”
“That's right.”
“And you want a complete stranger like me to go in and find him?”
“That's right.”
“But I can't very well go anywhere with all these people pointing swords at me.”
“That's right.”
She had deliberately laced her words with sarcasm, hoping to prick his conscience.
Unfortunately, Enoch appeared entirely untroubled. If anything, his answers sounded almost cheerful.
“…”
Sarah fell silent, her expression weary.
Then, reluctantly, she brought up the reason he had chosen her for the task.
“Because I'm an immune, and the mist inside the thorns won't affect me?”
So that was what being an immune meant.
After hearing the word so many times, she had finally learned what she was supposedly immune to.
The Black Thorns contained a strange mist that could beguile anyone who entered.
And Sarah, apparently, was unaffected by it.
“Exactly. You've got a good memory.”
Enoch nodded approvingly, looking genuinely impressed.
“But you've forgotten one thing.”
He shook his head with the air of someone marking an answer just short of a perfect score.
Sarah knew perfectly well what he meant.
She had deliberately omitted that particular detail, but now she repeated it through gritted teeth.
“Yes! Yes! I'm an immune who can't be beguiled by the mist, and nobody would miss me if I dropped dead at any moment!”
Even Sarah, who was accustomed to hearing all manner of insults, found that statement morally outrageous.
Surely anyone with the slightest conscience would feel at least a twinge of guilt upon hearing their own cruel words repeated back to them.
But Enoch merely nodded in satisfaction, as though she had finally given the correct answer.
“That's right.”
Sarah was too exhausted even to get angry.
She looked up at the ominous Black Thorns looming before her.
She hated admitting weakness, but she had little confidence that she could survive whatever awaited her inside.
Especially now that she could no longer use black magic.
“Don't you have a weapon I could use? You said there are monsters in there.”
“It would only weigh you down. Besides, you don't remember anything, do you? Have you ever even swung a sword?”
His answer crushed the last shred of hope she had been clinging to.
In other words, Enoch had brought someone who supposedly suffered from memory loss all the way here, only to tell her to march straight into the jaws of death simply because she happened to be immune.
And not one of the people watching seemed inclined to stop him.
If demons really existed, they'd probably look just like these bastards.
Faced with what seemed to be a gathering of demons in human form, Sarah let out a hollow laugh.
At last, she understood.
“So that's what being immune means.”
In practical terms, she was a meat shield.
To put it more politely, a scapegoat.
But Sarah kept the rest of her thoughts to herself. There was no point making the atmosphere any more hostile than it already was.
Disgusting.
She dwelled briefly on her revulsion, then pretended to examine the area surrounding the thorns.
Go in alone? Fine. Why should I care if someone else is stranded in there? What does that have to do with me?
Without black magic, encountering a monster would almost certainly mean death. Being immune to the mist wouldn't save her from being torn apart.
And then it would be straight back to hell.
But if I pretend to go inside and quietly find another way out…
“It's unlikely, but if you're thinking about escaping once you're inside, don't bother.”
Before she could even finish the thought, Enoch spoke in an infuriatingly casual tone.
“There's only one entrance to the thorns. And even if you're immune, stay trapped in there too long and the poison will kill you just the same.”
“…”
Her escape plan shattered before it had even taken shape.
Sarah glared at him in exasperation.
How were his instincts so sharp? How could he possibly have guessed?
“I was just trying to see whether I could make out anything inside.”
She gave an awkward little laugh.
“Ha… ha…”
Then she averted her gaze and peered intently into the darkness.
“…Huh?”
Her eyes suddenly widened.
This time, she really had noticed something.
Something was beginning to emerge before her eyes.
Sarah had no idea why she could see it, but her vision seemed to divide, and beyond that strange division, the pitch-black interior of the thorns came into startling focus.
Deep within the mist-filled maze, an enormous black mass crouched and writhed.
Even from a distance, she could make out its shape distinctly.
It was larger than anything she had ever seen.
Why is that one so much bigger than the others?
As she watched the black mass shift, two eyes suddenly snapped open, just as they had before.
“Kyuu?”
Despite the distance, she heard the sound perfectly clearly.
The black mass met Sarah's gaze and unmistakably let out a small, questioning cry.
“Kyuu.”
And at that very moment, her vision split apart.