Chapter 24

“Are you not feeling well? Can I not visit you?”

“I’m sorry, but the young lady needs to rest now. Maybe next time…”

“Cough, cough. Mom… Louis, let me in…”

“…Sigh, I guess there’s no other way.”

*

024

No Other Choice (Part 2)

*

The condition was much worse than when I first opened the Scripture.

My body felt heavy, my head throbbed, and my feverish gaze blurred and wavered even before I opened the book. Is this how a child who hates studying feels?

No, it must be much worse than that. Along with the faint sound of a light turning on behind me, the already painful light stabbed at me even more.

The dripping candle wax would soon collect in the dish, but if Anne tilted the candlestick even slightly, it would spill all over me.

“Still, I know Louis isn’t feeling well, so, um, today…”

Maybe not?

“Today, let’s take it slow and read just a little. Consistency is more important than quantity.”

…As if that would happen.

Even though I didn’t want to, my body, not forgetting the pain, moved sluggishly as if being chased. I didn’t want to endure the pain of being drenched in candle wax again.

Even if the wounds on my body healed, it would take much longer to forget the memories etched in my mind.

However, reading the Scripture was just as much of an ordeal, albeit in a different way. The Scripture here wasn’t a simplified version that commoners could read—it was the original text.

What tormented me more than the content of the book was the situation itself. Not only was I helplessly dragged here and imprisoned, but now I had to endure this meaningless task under the threat of pain.

After pulling a chair and sitting down, my body refused to move, like a foolish beast that only takes a step after being whipped. As the wait dragged on, from behind me…

Drip.

A sound of something falling.

My body, anticipating pain from yesterday’s trauma, convulsed as if having a seizure. But contrary to expectations, the searing pain didn’t come even as time passed.

Drip. Drip. The sound of something tilting and flowing continued, but the absence of pain felt more strange than relieving. I should have been glad, but for some reason, I wasn’t.

When I tried to turn my head, Anne, pressing down on me like a living torture device, firmly held my head in place. For some reason, her gestures were more urgent than usual.

“Now. Focus on the Scripture, okay?”

Her tone was as calm as ever, but I could sense something different.

I couldn’t quite define it, but there was a slight change in her demeanor. I pretended to read the Scripture for a while, then stopped again at some point.

Naturally, the candlestick tilted, and drip, drip, something flowed down. But the wax didn’t fall on me—it hit something and stopped.

As I tried to focus on the Scripture again, I suddenly turned my head at a moment Anne didn’t expect.

“…”

“Gasp.”

And then, the scene Anne had been trying to hide came into view.

The tilted candlestick, Anne pressing down on me tightly. But the candlestick was held far away by her unnaturally bent arm, pouring wax not on me, but on herself.

It couldn’t not be painful. Anne hurriedly tried to hide the candlestick, but the violent movement caused more wax to splash onto her.

“Ugh.”

She showed superhuman endurance, but a short groan escaped her lips as she couldn’t fully suppress the pain. Seeing that, I felt more bewildered than angry.

“What on earth are you doing…?”

“I told you.”

Her cute scream earlier and the slight hint of her old self showed as Anne grumbled.

“I said I wouldn’t push you too hard today.”

“Then why not just not light the candle?”

“That’s not allowed.”

Even as she said that, Anne frowned and peeled off the wax stuck to her neck. She seemed to have composed herself, as her fingers no longer trembled.

But it couldn’t not hurt. The fallen wax didn’t disappear but hardened and piled up.

“Because it’s the ‘rule.'”

“Rule?”

“Yeah. The sacred candle is not just a ritual tool but also a tool of punishment.”

It made sense. No, not that I could guess the use of the candle, but that Anne was following some kind of rule.

Compared to the torture methods of that Inquisition Judge, Anne’s way of inflicting pain on me was excessively inefficient and traditional. To an outsider, it would seem like pointless ritualism, one of the evils of religion.

But how could I have thought that Anne, who sometimes jumped fences with me, would be this inflexible?

“So I can’t not light the candle. I can’t not let it drip. If the punishment for sin isn’t given, it goes against the word of God.”

“…And blocking it with your body is okay?”

“Yeah. Specifically, only blocking it with my body is allowed. Nothing else.”

The giant wall of logic I often face when talking to fanatics. Knowing it was meaningless, I still threw a stone at it.

“Why?”

“No matter how much of a sinner you are, if there’s a bond like this, it should be respected.”

The dripping wax. Not just any object, but wax from a candle burning with holy fire. And she was catching it with her bare hands.

In a way, the rule touched on the most fundamental part of Ailim’s doctrine: rewarding good and punishing evil. The logic was simple but absolute.

And the rule, which accepted this doctrine to an extreme, was even more rigid.

“But… it hurts.”

Even though it was just Anne and me here, she followed the rule with stubborn determination. Who would know if she cut a few corners? It wouldn’t be a sin to spare herself some meaningless pain.

If only she could show a bit of flexibility, like that ‘teacher’…

“It hurts.”

Of course, I couldn’t expect that from Anne.

Still stained with an extreme level of affection, yet maintaining a fanatical coldness. All of it was for me, as she resolved herself even more fiercely.

“But Louis was in pain too.”

“…”

“Even if it’s unavoidable, I don’t want to justify it with such words.”

Her hand gently brushed the back of my neck, where the wax had touched yesterday. Her fingers, cool and entangled, softly caressed me.

“Since I hurt Louis, I should hurt just as much.”

“You could just… not do it.”

All this madness. I swallowed the rest of my words.

It’s not like Anne would listen anyway.

“That’s not allowed. I told you.”

I could guess what Anne would say next.

“It’s unavoidable?”

“Yeah. Louis really knows me well.”

I wonder. I’m not sure if I know you well now. How could I have guessed you’d become a madwoman pouring wax on yourself because you didn’t want to hurt me?

“I won’t always do this for you. So, Louis.”

And if I think about it now, Anne still knows me better. All those harsh words I spat, the screams I let out, the curses I hurled.

They couldn’t not reach you.

“If you want to take revenge on me, today…”

Through all those words, Anne was still Anne. You were still devoted, still fanatical. But that didn’t mean you had completely lost your sanity.

You still loved me, grieved for me, felt sorry for me, and yet, you didn’t stop.

“Do as you please.”

With those final words, Anne tilted the candlestick again.

Drip. Drip. The clumps began to fall one by one. Her body showed no tremors as she caught them, but I realized it wasn’t because she didn’t feel pain, but because she had superhuman endurance.

“Stop it.”

“…”

“Just pour it on me instead.”

The brief conversation ended there, as Anne didn’t even respond. Still motionless.

Drip. Drip. Drip. The wax fell. It was hard to watch, so I started reading the Scripture again. My head still throbbed, my chest still churned, but…

Compared to the sound coming from behind me, it was nothing.

“Yet even after offering the cunning Laube as a sacrifice, the sleeping god did not awaken.”

Though the lingering effects of my illness hadn’t fully subsided and my condition was worse than yesterday, my reading speed was faster.

I had no choice. Every time I hesitated even slightly, something like tears fell from behind me.

“Just as the first king became the first executioner, it was fitting for the second king to become the second executioner.”

“One became a king and died, the other became a king and lived.”

“What the crowned prisoner first taught was the longing for freedom, and the second taught the method to break the chains.”

Yet, inevitably, every time I turned a page, every time a headache struck, every time my tongue twisted, every time my reading paused, the sound came.

The falling drops sounded just like our tears.

As Anne said, this was one of the few chances I had to inflict pain on her, but instead, I was more fervent than when I was the one in pain.

It wasn’t particularly strange. We had always been like that.