Epilogue

The refugee convoy to Akradist had been completed without incident, and a few days had passed since then.

With Lunéville's arena beginning to operate normally, the whole town was livelier than ever.

The second annex had been converted into a second branch dining hall, so while the place was busier than before, the abnormal congestion that used to plague the branch's dining hall was no longer an issue.

Thanks to that, Ilya could actually take breaks again and afford the time to meet with people.

If there was a problem, it was the people she had to meet.

"… Let's hear your side of the story."

York, the man Ilya had tried to address calmly, had sweat pouring down his cheeks.

In a room of the inn where the elves were staying, the three of them — the Elder, York, and Ilya — sat facing one another. Between them lay an enshrined spear with slender cones protruding from both sides of a haft slightly larger than a fist… the kind of weapon best described as a pilum muralis.

This was the weapon that had tormented (?) the divine beast Bahamut.

York, who had grown somewhat used to her gaze, looked away and bowed his head.

Then, as if steeling himself, he raised it again.

"After being entrusted with its handling, I talked it over with that fairy and the demon boy and reached a decision."

Seeing the way he was sweating, even the Elder, who was supposed to remain composed in front of the villagers, looked a little faint.

Could he really hold a calm discussion in this state?

Deciding he could, Ilya exhaled. York, who had been holding his breath, let the tension out of his shoulders and exhaled deeply as well.

"… I told you to never forget the influence of the divine weapon, did I not?"

"… You did."

After such a firm affirmation, Ilya decided to wait for him to continue.

"I-I'd originally thought that burying the divine weapon to await the moment it would truly stand on the stage of history was the proper way to let it sleep. However, there's no guarantee its power wouldn't fall into the hands of those who wish for destruction."

Then why did I tell you to bury it?

Although that was her thought, she knew York wouldn't act without reason, so she kept her mouth shut.

"I've concluded that the place where the divine weapon can wait for its moment in peace, without ever falling into evil hands, is at your side."

"You want me to keep it?"

"I-If you would be so gracious…!"

Ilya shifted her gaze to the divine weapon. The name displayed by her [God's Eyes] was Divine Spear Vishva.

How many divine weapons did this make now?

Everything in the world had a reason, a cause, and a meaning, all bound together by causality. The same applied to divine weapons, which was why they could step onto the stage of history when the time came and their bearer appeared.

(I'd really rather not get involved in any more divine weapons being wielded…)

Even so, she could understand where York was coming from.

"… I understand."

Hearing Ilya force out her answer after much deliberation, York let out a faint sigh of relief and then dropped into a kowtow.

To be precise, she had only spoken up to stop him just as he was about to press his forehead to the floor.

The reason she had spoken so curtly was to drive home the gravity of the situation, and to make clear she had no intention of being revered as a god.

"However, I have conditions."

"Y-Yes."

Ilya laughed inwardly at York's trembling.

(Fufu. Did you really think I'd take on this trouble for free?)

Too bad for him.

Ilya smiled and pointed.

"Bring the Elder back to the village."

The two of them froze at her condition.

A moment later, a ball of water formed around the Elder, sealing him in place to keep him from bolting.

"Understood!"

"York, you, you—!"

As if eager to leave before Ilya could change her mind, York and the elves departed Lunéville with the water ball in tow. The sight of the elves who had noticed the commotion all piling on to restrain the Elder as he tried to escape the water ball was surreal.

In any case, the number of troublesome matters had dropped to zero. Even her mental stress had eased.

It was a good deal, Ilya thought as she made her way back to the branch.

"Oh, Ilya, welcome back."

"I'm back, Ria."

"Pii!"

"Yes Haku, I'm back."

She stroked Haku, who had jumped into her arms.

As expected, the branch was where she felt at ease.

Was Ilya, who had been thinking such things, simply overthinking it, or was it something else?

"There are customers waiting in the reception room."

"Customers?"

Ria nodded.

Even though customers were waiting, Ria didn't seem rushed, and Ilya picked up on what she meant.

"They're really Mr. Frank's customers, but since you're back, they said they'd like to meet with you too."

"… I see. Thank you."

Though little of her break remained, she decided to head to the reception room rather than keep the customers waiting.

When she knocked, she heard Frank's voice inviting her in from the other side of the door.

"Excuse me."

"Onee-sama!"

She was tackled into a hug the moment she entered the room.

Forcibly tamping down her surprise, she looked down to see who it was and found a blue-haired human girl.

The girl's name was Sophia.

Ilya had first met her at the altar of sacrifice.

Back then she had been wearing the [Shrine Maiden's Torment] that Ilya now wore, and as the name suggested, she was a priestess who had been chosen as a sacrifice to the evil god.

"It's been a while, Sophia."

"Long time no see! I've been assigned as a parishioner of the new church!"

Her cheeks reddened as she spoke, and she stepped back to show off the clothes she had on.

The collar and sleeves of her blackish-brown robe were trimmed in green, plainly identifying it as a robe of the Lottévester Church, the construction of which had recently been completed.

"Sophia, don't be rude in front of the Branch Manager."

"Ah, I'm sorry!"

"I don't mind."

Frank responded to Sophia's repeated bowing with his usual cheerfulness.

The one who had admonished Sophia was a human man seated across from her. His attire was somewhat more refined than hers.

Noticing Ilya's gaze, the man stood and bowed.

"Long time no see, Ilya. I'm glad to see you again."

"It's good to see you again as well, Mr. Priest."

Inwardly she was even more shaken than that, but she kept her composure on the surface.

Thanks to her effort to act as she normally would, nothing seemed to change after that, and the peaceful exchange continued.

The man was Bernart Gartman.

He was the priest of the city that the sacrificial village belonged to. After the evil god had disappeared, he had begun visiting the village to spread the word of God.

His appearance hadn't changed much in the time since, save for the fact that he had aged gracefully.

However—

The only other change was that, according to the job displayed by her [God's Eyes], he had been possessed by the Evil God.