“Do you have anything else to say?”
Noticing that I was glancing at my bag, the lawyer carefully asked. Compared to last time when he was overly excited to the point of being somewhat creepy, he seemed much calmer now.
Is he one of those types who gets surprisingly serious when it comes to work?
Well, to be a defense attorney, one must have at least a little bit of awareness.
It’s a different kind of awareness compared to that of investigators, like police or prosecutors, who reveal hidden truths and identify suspects like inquisitors from the church.
In my world, the role of a defense attorney is to listen to the defendant’s story and work to ensure that they receive the minimum sentence or even a not guilty verdict. To do that, they need to know whether the defendant is lying or telling the truth.
The more heinous the accusation against them, the more details they must know to defend against the prosecutor’s attacks and present their argument.
Regardless of whether the attorney is from a big law firm or a private practice, it’s essential for them to know the situation of their client. Otherwise, their defense will be flawed.
That’s why attorneys have an obligation to keep their client’s facts confidential, and the ones with higher win rates tend to be more trusted in that regard—
But then again, humans are not always logical or rational.
Even if they know that there’s an obligation for secrecy towards the opposing party, sharing personal issues with a complete stranger is something ordinary people usually shy away from.
The more certain the crime, and the more brutal it is, the more likely defendants are to lie even to their own attorneys. Especially those who claim to be innocent.
Even if it’s a crime they didn’t actually commit.
So most defense attorneys must engage in a fierce game of intuition, not only against the prosecutors, judges, and jurors but also with their clients to uncover the truth. Without at least some intuition, one cannot maintain the role of a defense attorney.
In that sense, the lawyer sitting before me was likely struggling a lot. I couldn’t tell if the church assigned such an attorney because they found him useful, or if they deemed him inadequate.
But one thing was sure: Krah wouldn’t trust this lawyer one hundred percent.
Seeing how furious Krah had been when he first saw this elf, it was hard to imagine he held any positive feelings towards him.
If he reacted by saying, ‘Even if I have to take the blame, I refuse to be defended by someone like you!’ I wouldn’t be surprised at all.
Still, he did mumble a thank you to me at the end. If a single word could completely transform someone’s image, how easily could the world flow?
The request for me to come and provide additional testimony might have stemmed from Krah’s failure to communicate properly.
For someone who knows me well, that wouldn’t have been difficult, but for most believers, the existence of a Saintess is an intimidating figure sitting at the very top of the church, making it quite burdensome to request a meeting.
Still, it was a bit puzzling that not a single government official or high-ranking cleric in the church had ever requested a meeting.
“Anything else I’d like to say…”
But I still wasn’t quite sure.
First of all, this elf is an elf. A pure-blood elf who likely doesn’t have a drop of mixed blood from other races, unlike Satsuki. Based on Krah’s reaction, it’s not entirely out of the question that he might have a hint of human blood, but this lawyer didn’t seem to hold any particular hatred towards Krah.
And the ‘truth’ I was trying to reveal was a monumental mistake made by elves centuries ago.
And there was an issue even setting aside the fact that he is an elf.
This person also belongs to the church.
From the looks of his clerical robe, it meant he had passed all the processes for priestly ordination. There’s no doubt he had proven his faith during that process.
For humans, proving one’s faith isn’t that hard. After all, a human with enough strong faith to become a priest would possess the ability to summon Holy Power.
Wow, thinking about it, that’s really a convenient power. To heal wounds, to vanquish demons, and importantly, faith is essential for summoning power. So whether it’s an inquisition or verifying faith, or proof of the existence of gods, it can all be utilized in religious matters.
I don’t know who set this up, but they really half-assed it. How did they manage to tie all that up into just one ability?
I did.
… Anyway, continuing the explanation,
If the subject of faith verification is an elf, the game changes.
If it’s a mixed-blood, that might be one thing, but a pure-blood elf wouldn’t possess even a tiny fragment of magic necessary to summon faith.
Whatever the means of proving faith might be, it would have to be a much more involved and intricate process than for a regular human priest. To logically prove ‘an unchanging faith’ is something I can hardly imagine.
Thus, if this person were truly someone who would stake their life on loyalty to the church, handing over this report would be largely useless. If the church chose to ignore it, he’d follow suit without question.
I quietly observed the elf sitting in front of me.
He was sitting upright against the back of his chair, as if preparing to listen to my words. He wasn’t saying anything, allowing the noble elf blood in him to show through.
Alright, let’s ask a question for now.
If I let my doubts fester without finding out whether what’s in front of me is an opportunity or a crisis, I’d miss out on something important. Even if it ends up slipping through my fingers, I have to grab it once to see whether it’s a sturdy lifeline or a rotten one, right?
“By the way, I realized I didn’t catch your name. Since it seems like we will be facing each other often in the future, wouldn’t it be nice to formally introduce ourselves?”
Saying that, I slightly leaned forward while still sitting.
“My name is Clara Anderson.”
It was a moment that could draw a “What now!?” or a similar reaction from anyone watching, but we hadn’t introduced ourselves. My face is pretty famous, so while he might recognize me, I didn’t even know this elf’s name.
Whether I hand over the report or not, I should know the name of someone I might encounter frequently during the trial process, right?
“Eh? Ah…”
Upon hearing my introduction, the elf lawyer’s pupils slightly widened. He seemed to have just realized he hadn’t introduced himself.
Staring blankly for a moment, the lawyer exclaimed, “Gasp!” and made a cartoonish sound before suddenly sitting up straight.
“I’m so sorry!”
The chair went tumbling backward with a loud bang.
… Ah, I think I can see that moment.
Does he revert to his true self when he gets flustered or excited, I wonder?
It certainly seemed more genuine this way.
“My name is Remir Kihmuhir. I should’ve introduced myself first….”
He twisted uncomfortably as he introduced himself. Well, there’s really no need to react that strongly.
I just wanted to know his name.
So, this elf’s name is Remir Kihmuh—
Wait, Kihmuh what now?
“Kihmuhir…?”
As I muttered with a dazed expression, Remir broke into a bright smile and replied.
“Yes, Kihmuhir. My younger brother goes to the same school as the Saintess. Do you happen to know her?”
Whether he noticed my blank expression or not, Remir asked me, his face pure as could be.
*
Did I ever set something like that up?
Of course not.
I had some general settings in place for elves, and I’d made some rough sketches about Ramihi Kihmuhir, but since he hadn’t appeared in the main story, those details weren’t particularly thorough.
Because of that, I hadn’t specifically defined Ramihi’s family relations. Except for the setting that they belonged to an important lineage, nothing else was established, so I accepted that ‘Kihmuhir’ was part of the elder council with little issue, and I could somewhat understand their snobbish behavior.
Thinking about it, Ramihi’s younger brother existed even though I had never established him as a character.
This world’s settings are defined by what I’ve written, but conversely, the pieces I left unwritten became defined by either natural causation or at random. Probably Remir’s family circumstances were determined by such causation.
…Could it be that Ramihi’s obsession with perfection stems from having a not-so-perfect elf sister?
I’ll have to investigate that slowly from now on.
Seemingly worried that I found his last name amusing, Remir started rummaging through excuses.
“So, even though we share the same last name, I am a member of the church. Of course, now that I’ve taken on the role of defending the elder, I will remain faithful to that duty, but I won’t betray the church. I took oaths as a priest and as a lawyer, so…”
“No, no, you don’t need to say anything like that.”
To be honest, it was really a matter of no consequence to me. Sure, considering that he willingly became a human priest, despite the privileges of being Kihmuhir, there wouldn’t be a chance for his lineage to imperil the trial. It was clear that both giving up the privileges of Kihmuhir and becoming a nearly impossible priest was something he could only do if he wanted.
Now I understand why Krah exploded in anger at the sight of him.
But that does raise a question.
Why would he abandon the power that naturally comes his way and leave the elven village?
Why voluntarily choose the path of a priest?
“Hahaha, right? I’m sure you’re curious about how I ended up here. Um…”
Seeing my face exposed to a range of emotions he could hardly put into words, Remir looked a bit troubled.
After contemplating for a while, he exhaled a deep sigh that seemed to pull the earth along with it.
“If I just ignore this and move on, you won’t believe me, will you, Saintess?”
Actually, that’s not particularly the case.
What I don’t trust is not the Kihmuhir name but the fact that he’s from the church.
Just being a Kihmuhir and leaving elven territory isn’t enough to cast aspersions on the elf, as I said before, unless he sets his mind against it, it’s very hard to give up that privilege.
But I kept my mouth tightly shut.
Why, you ask?
Ahahaha, how can I hold this in?
Just the fact that a person who’s almost a princess from the elven village stepped out into the world is fascinating, but if they’re willing to share that story themselves, it’d be strange to refuse.
Right? Or not?
*
The story that Remir shared with me had parts that were both absurd and funny. Furthermore, as he openly revealed the emotions he felt while narrating it, I had to bite my teeth together to suppress my laughter.
At least, the introduction of the story was quite compelling.
It was the tale of a girl who lived her entire childhood without knowing anything about the outside world and eventually left to face a whole new and wondrous one, becoming captivated by it. I’m not sure if it exists in this world, but if Disney heard this story, they might very well deem it suitable for the opening of a lengthy animated film.
Moreover, this girl even fell in love with a boy she clicked with!
“It was truly a dreamlike time…”
Clasping her hands together and sparkling with excitement, her face was so exaggeratedly cartoonish that it triggered the first crisis. I pinched my thigh hard to hold back my urge to burst out laughing.
The part about falling in love with the boy was fine. The problem was that the boy didn’t take things seriously with Remir.
Before that, she had never known what love felt like, raised in a stern and conservative household of elves, firmly believing that those who love must do so eternally.
And she believed she must keep her virginity until marriage.
Naturally, the boy, who was meeting Remir with a light heart, didn’t share that mindset.
“It felt like you don’t love me, or something like that,” he said.
The exaggerated way she dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief was a bit over the top. But since the substance of the story was quite serious, it didn’t rise to any notable crisis—
“That bastard!”
The sudden exclamation almost made me burst out laughing. I was lucky to have bitten my teeth together. Thanks to that, my response ended up being a tiny kuhp sound.
Anyway, continuing the story.
Ultimately, Remir went through a long, winding period of wandering. In reality, she hadn’t engaged in anything physical with that boy, so returning to the elven village would have been no problem. She hadn’t been set on going back at all. But…
“The elven village is technologically so behind~ There’s no cars, just self-sufficient vegetables and fruits to eat, no electricity, no telephones! No airplanes! No cafés! There’s no coffee either, and the village is so cramped!”
But I thought elven food was quite delicious.
When I looked at Remir in astonishment at how someone called ‘Kihmuhir’ could say such things, she nodded vigorously, seeming to think I understood her.
Well, it’s not that I couldn’t relate…
But isn’t it pretty charming in its own way? Setting that aside, isn’t Arlil quite beautiful?
Wait, why am I defending elves?
“But when I tried to survive out here, I realized I had no one to lean on. So I wandered until I discovered it.”
A priest preaching on the street.
“Honestly, I needed someone to vent to.”
It was raining that day.
Having been betrayed by love, unwilling to go back to her village, and with no one she knew to talk to, Remir found herself aimlessly wandering the streets, soaked to the bone, without an umbrella. At that moment, the first person to approach her was a priest passing out pamphlets in front of the cathedral.
“Looking back now, that must’ve been a revelation from the Goddess. Someone with nothing to give such kindness to a stranger from a different race couldn’t have just been coincidence. I thought about that meeting throughout my time at the cathedral.”
And she began to be more curious.
“How could these people be so kind to a stranger? How could they take in children they didn’t know, feed them, and house them? Why does everyone believe that all people are equal, and that everyone has the right to be loved?”
… Whatever the region may be, that area’s priest must be a much more saintly person than I am.
“So thanks to that study, I discovered it. Ah, this is my calling! Just like how I was saved that day, I need to help others find salvation!”
That was the story of how this Kihmuhir turned to religion.
Huh.
Huhuhuhuhuh.
What can I even say?
Should I call it hollow, or pitiful? Or perhaps commendable?
At least the sparkle in Remir’s eyes revealed that she was completely sincere about her story.
To be honest, I can’t help but be curious about what happened to the boy who dumped her. Could he have survived unscathed? No, if he was perfect enough to make an elf fall in love, he must’ve been an exceptional person… Whatever, it doesn’t matter.
There were definitely doubts that arose while listening to her story, but I decided to set those aside for now. If I started to pick apart each one, it would be night before I could even broach the topic of the report.
“Hmm…”
I paused for a moment and nodded.
“I see.”
In fact, apart from that statement, I couldn’t think of anything else to say about this story.
*
After talking, I refilled the empty teacup and brought some more cookies from the shelf in the reception room. I wasn’t sure whether elves could eat cookies with dairy products in them, but Remir seemed to be flustered yet calm as she casually grabbed one since the Saintess was personally serving her.
…Is it possible that the notion of elves not being able to eat meat is merely a prejudice?
Well, you can say they ate meat and dairy during their childhood, so it makes sense if their tastes haven’t changed at all.
“I have a question to ask.”
As I spoke, Remir hastily shoved the cookie she was holding into her mouth and straightened her posture. She tried to get serious, yet her cheeks were still stuffed, so it didn’t quite come off as serious.
Since I was the one who brought the cookies, I didn’t intend to say anything about it.
“Let’s say there’s a highly useful item. Just having this item would enable healing of injuries and warding off enemies. It could boost the quality of life exponentially.”
Remir nodded seriously at my words.
Thinking about it, the Kihmuhir family has held the position of elder for generations. Perhaps Remir might know something about Arlil’s truth?
No, I immediately dismissed that idea.
If it were important information, it likely wouldn’t be disclosed simply because of family ties. Only someone who became or was supposed to become an elder would know. No matter how low the probability, there would probably be cases where someone renounced their status to flee elsewhere, just like Remir here.
“But, what if to create that item, human sacrifices were necessary? Perhaps hundreds or even thousands of lives? Should we still continue to use that item?”
“No, we should never make it!”
Remir shouted.
“Even if it could be useful in the future, if it costs human lives, that’s something we shouldn’t do! It means it should never be created in the first place.”
“But what if that item already exists?”
I asked her again after she firmly rejected it.
“Let’s say that item is already made, and in use. If using it requires no further sacrifices, can we continue to use that item?”
“Well…”
Remir began to ponder deeply with a serious expression.
“However, regardless of that, if it was created through human sacrifices…”
It’s a difficult question.
Opinions would undoubtedly be divided. Some might remember the past sacrifices and argue for its continued use without further sacrifice. The logic adopted by the Allied Forces to extract scientists from post-World War II Germany was similar. Regardless of how many soldiers from their countries perished due to those technologies, these technologies were useful for survival, hence pursued supporting research to obtain them.
Auschwitz continues to stand today. The victims were remembered, and harsh measures were taken to ensure this wouldn’t happen again, even designating the site as a world heritage site to preserve memories.
On the contrary, there would be those who argue that all such sites should be completely erased.
Just keeping those memories in existence brings trauma to victims. Sometimes these places, merely existing, become sanctuaries for followers, leading to further desecration. Hence, many would argue it would be better to eradicate their existence entirely, leaving enough documents behind for future generations to remember.
In both arguments lies a common point: these events must always be remembered.
Indeed. If there’s any reason for something to exist, it should be remembered irrespective of how it got there. It doesn’t matter if it happened years ago, decades ago, or centuries ago. Many perished to create it. It was an unconscionable thing to allow.
Such things must never happen again.
That fact must be remembered.
At the very least, there should be no elf holding Arlil in high regard. It cannot be worshipped.
Every time it’s looked upon, it should evoke thoughts of tragedy, or at the very least bring forth feelings of discomfort.
The truth must not be allowed to become buried in history.
Whether Arlil is destroyed or not, that should be the first course of action that must be carried out.
“…”
I lifted the bag that was lying beside the chair.
Then I retrieved the report from inside. It was thicker than the one sent to the church and held my opinions.
“Could you read this, please?”
I handed the plain white cover report, which bore no title, to Remir.
*
“…”
Whether it was because he’s an elf or simply because he was a lawyer, Remir read at a surprisingly quick pace.
That was a relief. I wasn’t planning to hand the report to anyone just yet.
Remir took the report and put on a round pair of oversized glasses. They looked odd on most people, but it was more evidence that his appearance surpassed the norms.
After quickly skimming through the report, Remir lifted his head. His expression had solidified.
“This is…”
He opened his mouth, then closed it again. It would probably take him a bit to organize his thoughts.
“What if we publicize this? Is that even possible?”
“…”
Remir, deep in thought, finally opened his mouth heavily after contemplating his hand on his chin.
“Honestly?”
“Please be direct with me.”
Seeing him nod, Remir inhaled softly before he spoke.
“I trust what the Saintess has said. I doubt most people in the church could take this matter lightly, either. However, as you’ve written here, if it was reported to the Central Church in the past and didn’t get publicized…”
Even if I speak, it won’t matter.
I know, and that’s also in the report. This is not about reporting it to the church; it’s about persuading others.
“And there’s also the fact that the only person who can testify is the Saintess herself. While it may be possible to find evidence in elven texts, we can’t be sure about that.”
Remir’s statement coming from a prominent Kihmuhir was sensible.
Assuming that Remir was seeing this for the first time, it indicates that even born into such a notable family, one could not access these matters unless certain conditions were met.
“Most importantly, we can’t do anything based on mere testimonies. We’ll need substantial proof, won’t we?”
That’s true. If just testimonies could imprison someone, that would be a mad world. In modern society, even confessions without tangible evidence cannot hold as direct evidence. If it’s the only evidence against someone, it cannot be accepted as proof.
A murderer might brag about being a killer, but without any solid evidence, they remain untouchable.
But I’m not looking to punish anyone.
I don’t intend to seek justice legally. No one alive today can clarify the crimes that happened long ago. All of them are long gone, having died hundreds of years ago.
What I want is undeniable public awareness.
“If someone exists who can testify about those times, would we be able to bring them to court?”
“Eh?”
Remir blinked in confusion at my words.
“But that was centuries ago, right? There can’t be any survivors among the victims or perpetrators!”
“There are.”
I spoke decisively.
Someone who retains clear memories of that time, has lived until now, and possesses the potential to be taken to court if captured, is alive.
I knew of a being that could stir enough turbulence with just their presence in court.
“Such a being…”
“The report mentions it.”
I reached out and tapped the report resting in front of Remir with my finger.
“A person born as an elf, offered to the demons, used as a sacrifice to Arlil.”
“… Huh?”
Remir’s eyes widened.
“But that person…”
“Perhaps one of the crucial aspects of investigating a crime lies in ‘motive,’ right?”
When looking into a murder case, one tends to investigate those with motives first.
Conversely, when a murder case goes to trial, motive can also impact sentencing. Factors like who started the fight first or whether it was a matter of self-defense or revenge can vary the sentence.
If the defendant is a being that has lived for about 500 years and the reason behind the crime occurred 500 years ago, it could unveil that history during the trial.
“Ah…”
Remir seemed to finally realize.
That’s right.
I was proposing a public trial for the witch.
The Witch of Resentment.
A being sacrificed 500 years ago who escaped and came to invade this world.
With all the criteria for both a criminal and a witness fully satisfied, that being is none other than the witch.
“…”
Remir looked as if he had lost his words at my proposal.
But I was utterly sincere.
“But for that to happen, we’ll need some time. I want to have other elves attend that trial. Especially the elder elves who are likely to know a lot more.”
Of course, there would be fierce resistance. After all, that witch would be the one who toppled their empire.
So what?
Those elves sacrificed countless lives and stomped on others to build their empire. Even now, they proudly display symbols of that empire in the heart of their lands.
If only they were ignorant of these truths…
If they lived without knowing any of this, then it wouldn’t be possible to hold them accountable.
But at the very least, the elders must have a high chance of knowing the truth.
Krah’s words to me. In retrospect, his insistence that I keep myself safe revealed his genuine concern for my wellbeing.
That cannot happen.
Absolutely not.
“So, I have something to ask of you. You’ve been appointed to the elder’s trial. If possible, please help me see the elven records.”
For that to happen, thorough preparation is necessary.
Proof and logic capable of tearing apart any lies they may concoct.
Unquestionably solid and dense evidence, ensuring they can’t escape no matter how hard they try.
We must have all that ready before stepping out recklessly.
Cautiously, at the most crucial moment, as swiftly and grandly as possible.
“Will you help me?”
An uncommitted crime isn’t a crime.
But if one has committed a crime, it must be revealed.
That has been my unwavering belief, passed down from those on the other side.
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