Chapter 15: The Fear of Death
I was originally a timid person. If I were to say this, would you laugh and dismiss it as a lie?
Since childhood, I have been involved in the treatment of injuries and illnesses. During those times, I always had dreams on the nights after treatment. In those dreams, I would invariably fail in my attempts to heal.
Families clinging to their loved ones who had succumbed to pain, their faces twisted in despair. In front of them, I stood speechless, repeatedly muttering “I’m sorry,” paralyzed by my own helplessness.
I tell myself that dreams are just dreams. Yet, this was a dream that could easily become reality.
I found myself reflecting on when I had stopped dreaming. Strangely enough, it coincided with the time I began to feign calmness for the sake of the people.
Following the bishop’s teachings that one should not display too much emotional fluctuation, I unconsciously suppressed my feelings, protecting my timid self in the process.
It was only after meeting you that I became aware of this. The days spent with you were warm, and each day sparkled in a way I had never experienced before in my life.
Do you remember?
As a clergyman, it isn’t considered good to express likes and dislikes regarding food. So, I never mentioned my fondness for sweets. Yet somehow, you seemed to sense that I loved them. Being understood by others is a sign of immaturity, something to be ashamed of, but your insight came from pure kindness.
You would often invite me to the sweet shop whenever you found the time, and sometimes you even made treats for me with your own hands.
You might say it was no big deal. But your kindness always warmed my heart.
Moreover, the day after we returned from exploring the Labyrinth, we would train together until dusk, saying, “We must not forget our senses.”
You were always the one taking care of me, but during training, you would become so engrossed that you would forget to eat. So, I would prepare meals after finishing early. Being poor at cooking, I struggled in the kitchen of the inn, trying my best to make something delicious.
Cooking for someone else felt like lighting a candle in the darkness, gently illuminating my heart in a way that nothing else could.
You also taught me a lot about the world you were born and raised in. You shared stories of tragic romances, thrilling adventures, moral fables, and supernatural horror tales. You also talked about your daily life, the school you attended, and sweets that didn’t exist here.
It was too embarrassing to admit, but every time I heard about your world, I would imagine that night how wonderful it would be if I had been born in your world.
Attending the same school as you, sitting next to you, living a peaceful life without conflict day after day. You might think that’s nothing special, but it was my dream—a dream that could never come true.
Of course, life with you wasn’t all fun and games. The most significant challenge was exploring the Labyrinth. After all, we had come together to do just that, so it felt a bit contradictory.
It wasn’t that I disliked relying on each other’s backs. On the contrary, exploring the Labyrinth allowed me to touch your heart more deeply, making it an invaluable time for me.
But there was one thing. I was afraid. Afraid of you getting hurt. I was scared that you might die.
I told you that as long as you didn’t die, I could heal any injury. While I did say that, it didn’t mean I was okay with anything as long as you survived.
Yet, you were always covered in wounds—no, it was beyond that; you were battered and bruised beyond description. You would grin at me and say, “The healer is the key to the party, you know?” as you led the way.
Watching you step forward into uncharted territory, putting your body on the line, my fear began to grow little by little.
As the days passed, my fear intensified with each moment spent with you. Seeing you get hurt every day, I would tell myself, “The healer must be protected,” while you were the one protecting me. My fear was undeniably growing.
The fear of someone getting hurt. It was an emotion I thought I had long discarded.
The despair I felt when my father was gravely injured resurfaced every time my precious you dove into danger and got hurt, tormenting me time and again.
How I felt. How much I cared for you. You would never understand.
But perhaps that was for the best. Looking back, I’m truly glad you never knew how I felt.
I believe in your world, there’s a term called “Life Flashback” that refers to the visions one sees from birth to death in their final moments.
Then, in this moment, as I contemplate my impending end, I must be something akin to that “Life Flashback.”
This may be the last time, but still,
“Ichiro, are you okay… I’m so glad you’re safe.”
This time, I’m truly grateful that you weren’t hurt. What I wanted to convey was—
“Ah, Ichiro… I’m sorry…”
So, farewell.
As Ashley rushed to her side, Saintess Mika left her final words. Ashley felt all the strength drain from her hand.
It was a fleeting moment. She had lost an arm to the final strike of the Treasure Sword, and her side had been gouged from her ribs to her navel.
Angelica, without hesitation, used all the Healing Potions she had on hand, while Holy Knight Ashley poured all his Mana into casting Healing Magic.
It worked, restoring her body to nearly perfect condition. Yet, her soul was already absent from that body. Both of them understood this clearly. Unable to accept it, they cried as they repeatedly called out Saintess Mika’s name.
The Holy Knight Boy was still far away. The path to her was—