“Why? Did you see something interesting?”
Snow followed the direction of Sarah’s pointing finger with a curious look. But he merely tilted his head, apparently unable to spot anything unusual.
“I don’t see anything. Maybe you imagined it?”
Frustrated that he couldn't see something so obvious, Sarah rapped insistently on the window.
“That! Over there! That pitch-black thing covering the ground!”
Beyond the window, the night sky was unnaturally black, its darkness contrasting sharply with the brilliant full moon. Along the horizon, where the two met, strange black pillars rose from the ground—or rather, had been driven into it.
Yes, driven into it. That was the only way to describe the sight.
They pierced the blue grass swaying across the fields, the flower beds bursting with vibrant blooms, and even the lake reflecting the soft moonlight…
“Oh, wait. Are you talking about the thorns?”
Snow finally understood what Sarah meant and promptly supplied a name for the black pillars.
“Th-thorns…?”
Thorns?
Sarah could hardly imagine a less fitting name for what she was seeing.
The land had been mercilessly pierced by the black pillars, leaving it devastated. The Rowd she remembered had been a far more vibrant place, where rare animals roamed the meadows day and night.
But the landscape passing beyond the carriage window possessed none of the vitality Rowd had once been known for.
A black sky, black pillars, and white moonlight falling over them.
A world stripped of color and sound drifted past the window. Even to Sarah, who had only just escaped hell, the sight was chilling, as though the end of the world were approaching.
Those things piercing the land could hardly be described by a name as delicate as thorns.
Black spears would be more fitting…
“You've never heard of the thorns? The Black Thorns of the Antares Church?”
Snow looked puzzled by her reaction, as though he couldn't believe she had never seen them before.
“…No, I haven't.”
Sarah admitted it honestly. Snow gave an incredulous laugh.
“What, did you grow up in some remote mountain village? Come on, you must have seen them. You know, when they came raining down from the sky about fifteen years ago.”
Fifteen years ago, Sarah had been burning in the fires of hell, completely unaware of what was happening in the mortal world. Naturally, she had never witnessed the Black Thorns supposedly falling from the sky.
“It's amazing you don't know about them, even after all that chaos.”
“I'm sorry. I don't know much…”
“No, it's fine. I suppose you might not know. But you've at least heard of the Antares Church, right? Even out in the countryside, people must know about them.”
“No, I haven't… What is that?”
Playing the part of an innocent country girl, Sarah blinked at him questioningly.
Snow's eyes widened in genuine surprise.
“They're a bunch of lunatics obsessed with black magic.”
Black magic?
Hearing such a familiar term from a stranger's mouth, Sarah flinched, almost betraying herself. She barely managed to keep her expression composed and waited with an air of polite interest, as though she were merely listening to a story that had nothing to do with her.
“Apparently, they're trying to resurrect some great sage who died more than three hundred years ago.”
“Excuse me…? Three hundred years?”
Black magic. Three hundred years.
The coincidence was far too striking to ignore. Sarah felt her carefully maintained smile beginning to crack.
Why does that sound so familiar…?
An ominous premonition sent a chill down her spine. She subtly lowered her eyes to the carriage floor.
“Isn't it hilarious?”
Still gazing out the window, oblivious to Sarah's unease, Snow gave a derisive snort and continued.
“As if resurrection were even possible in this world.”
There was a certain chill in his voice as he mocked his enemies for pursuing something so absurd.
All without realizing that someone who had only just been resurrected by a god was sitting right beside him.
“You're right. Resurrection is impossible.”
Nevertheless, Sarah agreed with him.
In this world, the souls of the dead belonged to the god. Whether they were cast into hell or reincarnated in the mortal world was entirely the god's decision.
There was no way for anyone to wrest a dead soul from the god's grasp and bring it back at will.
At least, not to Sarah's knowledge.
What mattered now, however, wasn't the Antares Church's impossible ambition. It was the name appearing in their ridiculous propaganda.
For some time, Sarah had been wondering who this person from three hundred years ago—the one the Antares Church sought to resurrect—could possibly be.
“By the way, what's the name of the woman they're trying to resurrect?”
“What was it again? Hmm…”
Snow racked his brain for a moment before suddenly slapping his knee.
“Oh, that's right! Sarah Rosenbaum…!”
The instant her own name left his lips—
“…!”
Sarah bit her lip. Pretending the answer meant nothing to her, she gave a faint nod and turned back toward the window.
Her trembling eyes were clearly reflected in the moonlit glass, flickering like a candle flame in the wind.
Small though her reaction was, the black thorns beyond the window now took on a far more sinister significance.
In other words, those grotesque thorns piercing the land were a calamity unleashed for the sake of resurrecting her.
Sarah clenched her teeth in despair, careful not to let Snow notice.
Those damned Antares bastards.
No wonder my punishment in hell never seemed to get any shorter, no matter how long I burned.
How dare they use my name to do something like this in the mortal world?!
“Hmm. So why are they trying to resurrect her?”
Keeping her eyes fixed on the window, Sarah continued the conversation as though she knew nothing.
Their reasons were undoubtedly sinister, but she couldn't deny a certain curiosity.
What kind of grand scheme are they plotting that they need to dig me up after three hundred years?
“…”
Snow regarded her curiously, as though she were the first person ever to ask him such a question.
After studying her in silence for a while, he spoke with renewed interest.
“…You seem awfully interested in Sarah Rosenbaum.”
“…!”
To Sarah, the question sounded deliberately probing, as though he were testing her reaction.
“No, not at all. I'm sorry for bothering you. It's hardly a pleasant subject…”
Instinctively choosing the safest response, Sarah closed her mouth, making it clear that she had no intention of asking anything further.
“Is that so?”
But an overly emphatic denial often suggested the opposite.
Snow didn't seem convinced by her insistence that she had no interest in the subject.
“Then how did you know it was a woman?”
The reason for his suspicion became clear a moment later.
“I hadn't even told you her name yet~.”
Snow's eyes gleamed like those of a child who had just discovered a fascinating new toy.
Despite his carefree, singsong tone, Sarah caught the sharp flicker of suspicion that crossed his face.
Damn it. My subconscious is getting me into trouble again…
Realizing her mistake too late, Sarah hastily searched for an excuse.
“Did I… say something like that? Oh my goodness…”
She widened her eyes dramatically and covered her mouth with both hands. Then she glanced around in exaggerated bewilderment, feigning panic as though she herself couldn't understand what she had just said.
“I-I'm sorry… H-hic!”
And then, as though suddenly overwhelmed, she burst into tears.
The abrupt shift in her emotions would have struck anyone watching as distinctly unnatural.
Huh?
Sure enough, Snow looked thoroughly perplexed.
Sobbing loudly, Sarah buried her face against her knees, her shoulders trembling as though she were struggling to compose herself.
Once she judged the atmosphere sufficiently sympathetic, she confessed in a sorrowful voice.
“The truth is… I've lost my memory…”
She claimed to have lost her memory and no longer knew what she was saying.
***
When she woke up, she had been locked in an iron cage. Slave traders had tried to harm her, and she had been trembling with fear when Enoch appeared and saved her.
She had thanked him for helping her, but he had told her that if she was so grateful, she should repay him with her body.
And that was how she had ended up here.
She had no idea who she was, where she had come from, or how she had found herself in such a predicament…
Once Sarah began lying, the story quickly grew into something remarkably convincing.
It was a pitiful tale that would have stirred anyone's sympathy, but Sarah refused to lower her guard.
If she suspected someone of hiding something and that person suddenly claimed to have lost their memory, she would immediately question whether they were telling the truth—
“Really? That's terrible. You honestly don't remember anything?”
—apparently, Snow had no such reservations.
To her surprise, he seemed to believe every word.
“No… Nothing at all.”
Seizing the opportunity, Sarah lowered her eyes mournfully and nodded.
“Ah, then…”
Snow gazed at her with pity. Suddenly, his eyes widened as though something important had occurred to him.
“Then you don't even know what an immune is, do you?”
At those words, Sarah, who had been pretending to wallow in misery, immediately pricked up her ears.
“No. Please, tell me. What exactly is an immune?”
Come on. Tell me. Hurry up!
Suppressing the urge to seize him by the collar and shake the answer out of him, Sarah looked up at Snow with a pitiful expression.
“Well, you see…”
Perhaps pleased by her eagerness, Snow smiled with satisfaction and deliberately drew out his words.
For the first time since their conversation began, Sarah devoted her full attention to his answer.
“Immunes are incredibly important and valuable people. They're so rare that they're welcomed wherever they go.”
Lowering his voice as though confiding a great secret, Snow whispered with utter seriousness.
“…?”
Sarah listened intently, then tilted her head in confusion.
For people supposedly so rare and warmly welcomed, the reactions she had received hardly made sense.
The slave traders who had first found her, Enoch, his subordinates, and even Snow himself had all greeted the discovery that she was an immune with something considerably less than enthusiasm.
“But why—?”
Just as Sarah was about to ask why everyone had reacted to her with such indifference—
“Oh? We're here.”
Glancing out the window, Snow promptly opened the carriage door and jumped down.
“What are you waiting for? Hurry up and get out.”
He stood outside, waiting for her.
Swallowing her frustration, Sarah struggled down from the carriage, her shackles clattering with every movement.
Despite the friendly conversation they had just shared, Snow didn't lift a finger to help her.
“So, what's our immune slave's name?”
Instead, the moment her feet touched the ground, he asked her name.
“My name is…”
Sarah frantically searched for a suitable name to give him.
“Sarah.”
Someone spoke her name from the darkness.
The low, steady voice was as cold as a finely honed blade cutting through the night.
Sarah knew only one person with a voice like that.
Slowly, she turned and met the gaze of a man leaning against a lamppost beneath the faint glow of a streetlamp.
For some reason, Enoch had arrived ahead of them.
He held her gaze without looking away and repeated himself for emphasis.
“Her name. It's Sarah.”
Sarah drew in a sharp breath, as though her secret had just been exposed.