Chapter 78: The Argument
Badley was scouring the area, searching for clues regarding the missing girls.
Where could those girls be? Who had abducted them? And what, exactly, was their objective?
To him, it felt like a game of solving a puzzle—an endeavor filled with a delightful sense of intrigue.
He had recently uncovered a number of breakthrough leads, and he was confident that before long, he would be able to submit a flawless report.
That wretched little angel, Edna—she meddled even more than Lord Raziel himself! Her weekly routine of pestering him with questions was driving him absolutely mad:
"Badley, how is your investigation coming along?"
"When are you going back?"
"Does your assignment not have a deadline?"
She was utterly insufferable! It would be bad enough if she came alone, but every single time, she insisted on dragging that human along with her!
"Oh, we just happened to run into each other on the way." That was the female angel's sole explanation for why she and the human were inseparable—yet she loved to lecture *him* about his interactions with Astaroth!
Fortunately, it was all coming to an end soon. Once it was over, he would be able to return to Heaven—and with a bit of luck, he might even earn the opportunity to receive an additional pair of wings...
"Lord Badley!" A human girl hurriedly thrust a letter into his hands. "This is for you!"
Then, like a gust of wind, she vanished beyond the horizon of his vision—though, with his angelic senses, he could still perceive her figure just behind a wall; Astaroth was right there beside her.
She was Astaroth's handmaiden.
Humans had a peculiar habit of pouring their romantic sentiments into written letters. With a complex mix of emotions, Badley opened the missive.
"On this holy afternoon, I cordially invite you to meet me behind the gravel outcrop near the Sand Castle.
Sincerely,
Astaroth"
It wasn't the handmaiden!
It was Astaroth!
The annoyance he had felt earlier—when he mistakenly believed Astaroth had merely instructed her handmaiden to deliver a love letter—was now matched by an equal measure of elation upon realizing the invitation had come from Astaroth herself.
This surge of joy completely overshadowed the jealousy he had felt when Astaroth cheered for Enoch during the recent debate. In that instant, Badley completely forgot about the angelic assignment to which he had, only moments before, briefly pinned his entire career.
No—a Power Angel still loves his work! Yet, he had no desire to grow wings and ascend to the rank of a Power; the Fourth Heaven held absolutely no appeal for him.
Perhaps he could petition the Vice-Commander for permission to remain in the mortal realm indefinitely—a look of pure delight spread across his face.
Truly, sincerity had prevailed; he had already noticed that Astaroth had recently grown less distant and aloof toward him, but he never imagined she would actually take the initiative to invite him to a meeting!
From the very beginning, he had sensed that Astaroth was no ordinary human.
The young woman was beautiful, graceful, and brimming with wisdom; the moment Badri first laid eyes on her, he found himself unable to look away.
It was during the City Lord's ceremonial procession: emerging from the Sand Castle, the Princess rode atop a tall, majestic ceremonial camel, her sheer veil wafting waves of intoxicating fragrance on the breeze.
She was no canary in a gilded cage; on the contrary, she wielded true power. By the age of fourteen, she was already an astute politician, assisting her father in managing the city's affairs.
Badri could not recall what he himself had been doing at the age of fourteen; the passage of time held little significance for angels, whose epochs were measured in millennia. He knew only that Astaroth would stand upon the high platform to deliver speeches, conversing with the city's other influential figures and reading out the latest decrees to the populace.
In the hearts of the Hormah people, she was the perfect princess.
He was forever gazing at her—watching her lithe form dance before the bonfire, watching her face glow crimson in the flickering flames.
His gaze followed her from her heavy winter robes to her light, white linen gowns of summer. In this region ruled by a foreign god, it was for the sake of this one human that he found the grace to tolerate the ignorance of the entire land.
An angel, bearing a sacred mission yet wandering the mortal realm in unassuming guise, and the beautiful, haughty daughter of a human City Lord.
It appeared to be an unequal pairing—yet, in a sense far removed from human perception, it was not.
'I cherish you—yet this affection is devoid of desire or demand.'
He cherished Astaroth much as a human might cherish a beautiful, intelligent cat.
By all rights, their paths should never have crossed. Were it not for this letter—it felt almost like a dream. Badley felt exhilarated; Astaroth was no longer polite and distant—it was as if a cat had suddenly sheathed its sharp claws and exposed its soft underbelly to a human.
"Just three days left!"
Now, his mind was consumed with thoughts of how to make the Holy Day arrive sooner.
The Holy Day of the Yana people occurs once every fourteen days. On this day, they set aside all their tasks: merchants do no trade, blacksmiths forge no iron, and tailors cut no cloth. The people of the North typically follow a similar custom, though they observe their day of rest every six days instead.
Time passed amidst Badley's restless anticipation, and in the blink of an eye, the Holy Day arrived. Under the care of his butler, the angel was groomed to look both neat and dignified.
"Is this quite alright? Miss Edna is expected to visit later, is she not?" As a competent butler, he had already arranged every detail; indeed, he was even more abreast of the household's comings and goings than his master was.
In the butler's eyes, Badley was a fine man in every respect—save for his incorrigible philandering.
Given that he already had Miss Edna, why bother keeping an appointment with the City Lord's daughter?
"What does this have to do with Edna?" Badley asked, looking utterly bewildered. "If she shows up, just tell her to wait a while. At a time like this, Astaroth is obviously the priority!"
In any case, Enoch would likely show up eight times out of ten; Badley held no fondness for that human boy, and trying to converse with Edna at a moment like this would be a complete waste of time.
"As you wish." The butler bowed slightly, seeing his kind-hearted yet naive master out the door, though inwardly he mused:
"Miss Edna hardly strikes me as the sort of person who takes kindly to being kept waiting."
Compared to the lofty and unattainable family of the City Lord, Miss Edna—the master's distant relative—seemed a far more pragmatic choice.
He had a premonition that she would make for a truly exemplary mistress of the house.
Thus, on this day, a pragmatic human found himself contemplating the nature of "unrealistic reality"—a concept of which the angel, of course, remained blissfully unaware.
Amidst the scorching, arid heat of summer, Badley moved silently through the swirling dust. Then he spotted her—just behind a sandcastle—and walked straight toward her. Astaroth sat upon the sandy ground, the sunlight tanning her skin to a uniform honeyed hue—a color as alluring as the nectar itself. Grains of sand swirled gently around the hem of her long skirt, framing her as if she were their queen.
Her graceful silhouette cast a dappled shadow, and Badri gazed at her, utterly transfixed.
Hearing a sound, she closed the scroll she held in her hands, lifted her head to look in his direction, and offered a smile.
"You've arrived."
Oh! That voluminous hair seemed to possess a life of its own, ceaselessly—and quite literally—tugging at his heartstrings. Badri grinned foolishly; he stepped forward and leaned in with curiosity.
"Good afternoon, Astaroth. What are you reading?"
The young woman made no attempt to hide it; she openly and generously showed him the title page.
To his surprise, she was reading the *Legends of the Holy Canon*.
It was not the kind of book the locals here typically read—tales concerning the Beast God. Indeed, the locals rarely read at all; for them, the Beast God alone provided all the guidance they needed.
The men of this region revered predation, dominance, and absolute obedience as their innate virtues. Rather than reading, they preferred—even craved—the mastery of cold steel; to them, even idly twirling a wooden stick was infinitely more entertaining than reading a book.
Were it not for the older generation—still influenced by their ancestral beliefs and convinced that becoming a priest was the most honorable path a person could take—the Andris Academy would never have risen to become the preeminent institution in the region.
Even so, over the years, the books available to them had been subtly—and insidiously—rewritten to reflect only what their current leaders wished them to see.
The volume Astaroth held in her hands, however, was a text of the orthodox Creation Myths from the North—the kind of book that, in this region, would typically earn one the label of "bookworm."
Although the text itself was riddled with inaccuracies, a look of pity crossed Badri's face.
For humanity, after all, understood very little about the gods.
"This book tells the story of a human who journeyed to Heaven," Astaroth said, pointing to a jutting rock formation and gesturing for Badri to take a seat. The angel, however, declined the invitation; he remained standing right beside her—as close as he could get.
"That sounds like a truly fascinating story," he remarked.
"Do you believe this story is true?" she asked, gazing at him with keen interest—her dark eyes sparkling like the starry night sky. "How do humans get to Heaven?" Badley asked with a smile—a question that was also a statement.
"The book doesn't say," Astaroth replied, lowering her eyes. "I think it's all made up."
"Whether it's Heaven or the angels, it must all be a fabrication," she asserted. "Otherwise, how could angels remain suspended in mid-air, just as humans stand firmly upon the ground?"
"Because angels are spiritual beings; only a pure spirit can remain suspended in the air," Badley answered.
"You're just humoring me," Astaroth chuckled.
"It says right here that the First Ancestor of humanity came from Heaven. He possessed a heavy physical body—so why didn't he simply plummet from the sky?"
"After God created the First Ancestor of humanity, He did indeed devise a 'Second Method'..." Badley abruptly cut himself short, realizing he had let slip something he ought not to have said.
Astaroth appeared not to have heard him; propping her chin in her hand, she seemed still engrossed in that fanciful tale conjured by human imagination. Yet, she suddenly fell silent; she looked unhappy—so much so that even her long golden hair seemed tinged with melancholy.
"What does it matter if it's true? What does it matter if it's false? Most people don't care about such things. Humans are simply too insignificant; day in and day out, they are besieged by worries," she said.
"Why do you say that?" Badley asked; to him, humans seemed to live with such unbridled freedom—their lives were far more interesting than those of angels.
Perhaps that might be true for humans down on their luck—much like the human who had insisted on becoming his butler. Forced to struggle along the razor's edge between life and death, such people had no choice but to pin their own fates upon the good fortune of others. But Astaroth—as the City Lord's daughter, wanting for nothing in terms of food or clothing—could she truly have any worries of her own? "Everyone has their troubles—the common folk have theirs, and the City Lord has hers," Astaroth remarked faintly. "I, for one, never have to worry about where my next meal is coming from."
"But every night as I drift off to sleep, I find myself wondering if the sun will truly rise again from the eastern horizon of Hormah City."
"War and calamity—no one knows when they might strike and destroy it all. The commoners, at least, stand a chance of escaping with their lives; but me? Who would ever spare *me*?"
As she spoke, her face remained utterly devoid of expression. Bradley fell silent; he could not quite grasp the feeling she described—that heavy, oppressive emotion lay far beyond the scope of his own experience.
"That won't happen," was all he could manage to say. "I will protect you."
It was merely a human war, after all; surely, protecting someone like Astaroth amidst such a conflict would be a simple enough task—or so he thought, though not without a flicker of uncertainty.
"I was only joking! Who could possibly breach Hormah's defenses?" Astaroth let out a sudden, lighthearted laugh. It was as if ice and snow had melted away in an instant, sweeping the heavy, somber atmosphere completely aside.
"Even if that day were truly to come, I wouldn't need anyone's protection," she said, gazing down at her own hands. "I can protect myself."
And even if all else failed, at least she could count on a swift, clean end.
"I said I would protect you, and I meant it," Bradley declared firmly.
Astaroth looked at him and smiled. "You really are a good man."
"I'm truly glad to hear you say that," Bradley said, scratching his head sheepishly. "So, Astaroth—what was it you wanted to see me about?"
"Must I have a specific reason to seek you out?" Astaroth asked, tilting her head to one side.
"Ah... no... of course not!" He was taken slightly aback by the question.
"You're welcome to seek me out as often as you like—though perhaps it would be best to keep it to a minimum for the time being," he added, gesturing unconsciously with his hands.
"You know... I've heard rumors that in the main city... young women have started going missing there, too."
His words began to tumble out incoherently, and his entire face flushed crimson as Astaroth reached out her hand toward him.
Acting on pure instinct, he took it in his own—left utterly entranced by the soft, delicate touch of her skin.
With a graceful leap, Astaroth sprang down from the sandy platform—moving with the lightness of a butterfly fluttering across the desert sands.
A creature that had no right to exist in such a place—yet was, against all odds, breathtakingly beautiful. "Badley... you're an angel, aren't you?"
"Ah... ah!" He realized what she had said, and his hands recoiled as if he had been burned.
"No! What are you saying?!"
"Isn't it true? My guardian angel—just like in the fairy tales of the North. Didn't you promise that you would protect me?" Astaroth walked along the silent road on this holy day, speaking without ever turning her head.
It seemed she was merely joking... Badley breathed a sigh of relief. Why had he been so tense?
He shook his head, casting aside the aberrant thoughts swirling in his mind, and followed closely behind the human maiden.
From the Ninth Heaven, God looked down upon the angel and the human below. He had already offered His final guidance; whether the Power could redeem his fallen destiny now rested entirely in his own hands.
Within the poplar grove, both human and angel instinctively steered clear of their previous topic, returning once again to the stories found within that book.
"I know it's merely fiction, yet how I wish it were true."
So spoke Astaroth. She was growing into womanhood, and the gazes of those around her—especially those of the men—had become unbearable.
She confided her troubles to Badley—troubles stemming from her identity, her social standing, and her beauty.
Those who approached her invariably harbored ulterior motives; possessing her would grant them benefits beyond their wildest dreams.
"They look at me only because I am a woman—never for who I am as a person."
"That is outrageous!" This time, the angel fully grasped the nature of her distress; he instantly flared with righteous indignation, as if he could physically feel the leering gazes of those men coveting the maiden's beauty and wealth.
"Rest assured: *I* look at you precisely because you are Astaroth!"
Astaroth offered a smile, though it seemed somewhat hollow—as if she were utterly weary.
"To be born human is to be bound by limitations and constraints of one kind or another. I yearn for perfection."
"But you are already perfect," Badley praised her.
"Yet I do not wish to marry," the human maiden declared. "Rather than bearing children, I would prefer to remain forever chaste."
"But God created women specifically so that humanity might multiply and flourish upon the earth..." Badley replied, sounding somewhat perplexed. "No! I refuse to believe it," Astaroth said, her face hardening. Sensing Badley's alarm, she paused for a moment before speaking again in a gentle tone.
"Even if that were true, surely there are other women to fulfill such obligations."
"You... you're right..." Badley was terrified; Astaroth's sudden shift in expression had been truly frightening—even though she now wore that same gentle, affectionate demeanor once more. He took a step back, watching as she advanced upon him, tears streaming down his face.
"Can you understand me?"
"To be nothing more than a man's appendage... I refuse to become such a mediocre woman!"
"I..." Badley stammered, unable to form a coherent reply, for he truly could not grasp what Astaroth was saying.
"Just look at things now... No matter how well I perform, whenever people speak of me, they will still think of me only as my father's daughter. My future holds but one destiny: to be married off to some man."
"That man might be someone I know well, or—more likely—a complete stranger..." She gazed at the angel, whose eyes were filled with both confusion and fear. "I do not want that."
"I don't want that either," Badley wept.
Since time immemorial, even humans have struggled to truly empathize with one another; how, then, could one possibly expect an angel to empathize with a human?
After a long silence, Astaroth wiped her face and turned to ask the tearful Badley:
"Tell me... does Heaven truly exist in this world?"
"It does," Badley replied obediently, wiping the tears from the corners of his eyes.
"And there... can humans live just as angels do?" she asked.
"There are no humans in Heaven."
"Why? Can not even those humans who worship the Creator God go there?"
He then recounted to her the tale of how humanity, having partaken of the forbidden fruit, had been forever severed from Heaven.
"Perhaps, once their sins have been fully atoned for, they may return to Heaven. Yet, I still believe that humanity's true home lies here on earth—within the soil."
Such lofty hopes serve only to render one's desires forever out of reach; yet humans—Astaroth included—persist in clinging to such foolish notions.
"And if a human *were* to go to Heaven... what would they have to do?"
"Humans cannot go to Heaven," Badley reiterated once more. "Surely there's another way, isn't there?"
"I don't know. Why are you asking me that?" Badley looked at her in bewilderment. Could it be that Astaroth had discovered his true identity?
He grew wary, yet at the same time, felt a sense of disappointment.