The Masked Saint

Elfitine stood in the vast expanse at the center of Blasphemers’ Garden. All of the underground tunnels led to where she stood. Most of the tunnels had been built for the transport of building materials, but a few led to terraces designed for overseeing construction work. Elfitine stood on such a terrace.

Reynard stood in front of her, gazing at the nearly complete main facility.

He called it a multi-layered, three-dimensional magic field; it spiderwebbed across the entire open area, which was three times the size of the assembly room. Countless pillars lay interlocked across the semi-spherical space in a bizarre, complex pattern. Like the tunnels—but with far more detailed planning and painstaking care—it had been carved out of the mass of rock using magic.

Dozens of oddly shaped structures of wood and metal stood in intervals across the space. They resembled giant beehives and were connected to the stone pillars with unglazed ceramic pipes and metal parts. Both the pillars and the structures were covered in mysterious carvings, which only made the whole scene seem more bizarre. Though shaped differently and on an entirely different scale, the facility bore a slight resemblance to the “booster” in Reynard’s room.

The structure, the pattern, and the arrangement were all supposed to have been chosen based on a dead science called magical engineering. Elfitine knew nothing of the details, and when she had asked Reynard how he had learned such an obscure science, he had just shaken his head in silence.

Elfitine swallowed. She had to remember that Reynard suffered from amnesia; he had no memories prior to twelve years ago. From beneath his mask, he often laughed in self-mockery that he had no idea who he was.

“Ten years, Elfitine. Finally… the day after tomorrow, we will put this into use.”

Elfitine looked up from the facility to Reynard’s familiar back. “Where… is everyone?” she asked.

“I ordered them to rest well in preparation. The only people you will see are the few guards on security or search duty.” He shifted his feet. “The activation of this magic field requires the cooperation of every islander. If we’re to fight as one, I need everyone rested.”

“So this is your secret weapon against the Mauserist church, huh?”

The sudden voice came from behind, and Elfitine nearly jumped. Reynard, however, just calmly turned toward the tunnel that led out onto the terrace.

In the faint light of the tunnel candles, a large figure emerged.

“Hello, Inquisitor.”

Elfitine took a step back. Reynard slid in front of her, blocking her from Berkens.

Berkens looked beyond them to the facility. “What is that thing?” he asked, a strangely unbothered curiosity to his voice. “I assumed you were mass producing swords and armor, but this looks like some kind of magic facility.”

“You are correct,” Reynard replied. “This is what we will use to collect the vast amount of mental capacity needed to activate long distance strategic level attack magic. Even though the islanders are not sorcerers, with eight hundred people, I will have enough capacity. Our souls will literally unite and we shall condemn the oppressors.”

Long distance strategic level attack magic. Hearing the words spoken made Elfitine shudder. It was magic rumored to have been developed approximately a decade earlier by the military of the Gyatt Empire, a country bordering the Kingdom of Linevan. However, either by coincidence or due to a leak in classified information, Linevan and two other countries were also successful in developing similar spells soon afterward. The activation of the spells required the mental capacity of more than a hundred sorcerers.

Until then, the spells had only been activated on two occasions: once, almost experimentally, the Gyatt Empire activated the spell within its own borders to subdue the rebellious lord of a remote region. The other incident took place in Linevan, when the spell was activated by accident during an attempt to improve on the spell formula. The two incidents involved different spells, and the level of their effects were said to be significantly different, but both spells lived up to the “strategic level” categorization by causing the deaths of tens of thousands. Due to their unexpectedly lethal force, the nations were cautious not to make light use of the strategic level spells. The Mauserist leadership convinced the possessing nations to enter into a treaty banning use of the spells.

Now, only military men of exceptionally high rank had access to the sealed documents outlining the spells in each of the possessing nations. Elfitine, not for the first time, wondered where Reynard had learned the magic.

“Then I’m going to guess that you’re planning to use that to attack Grendel.” Berkens sighed audibly. “You know, after all your talk about diplomacy, your biggest plan is nothing more than mass murder.”

“We’re giving prior warning,” Reynard retorted. “I already have emissaries on the way to deliver the message. Even without a single death, the destruction of Saint Grendel’s Cathedral—the most holy site of Mauserism— will deliver a tremendous blow to the Mauserist believers around the world.”

Berkens growled deep in his throat. “Without a single death?” he repeated darkly. “You know damn well that the Mauserist leadership won’t evacuate their holy city because a little nobody made a threat. Besides, it’s not even possible to evacuate the entire city in a few days—it has seven hundred thousand inhabitants.”

Berkens was right. Although not as large as the royal capitol of Sauer, the city of Grendel—the holy site of the Mauserist faith—was one of the largest cities in Linevan.

“If they don’t want to evacuate, that’s their choice. They have the freedom not to admit their errors and die for their stubbornness. But we will not hold back to spare the fools; our beliefs rest on many noble sacrifices, including—”

“People laugh when I say this,” Reynard interrupted, his voice low, “but it’s a sad thing when ideals are backed with the threat of violence.”

“We have no choice,” Berkens answered evenly. “Our words do not reach you, so we must pierce through your armor of self-righteousness. You’ve made the decision, not us.”

Berkens sighed. “You may be right about that,” he said quietly. He shrugged his shoulders, then looked up. “But tell me something. What will you do, once you’re well along your way in your own righteous mission, when somebody objects to your version of justice? You can be sure that critics will demand revisions to your brand of righteousness. A time will come when you’re the one being condemned. When that time comes, what will you do? Will your ears be open to the voices of disagreement?” Berkens snorted. “I’m sure they won’t.”

Elfitine opened her mouth to retort, but Berkens continued before she could speak.

“Once you use violence, or even the threat of it, to accomplish your goals, you’ll never be open to discussion. Someday you’ll realize that you’re doing the exact same thing the Mauserist Inquisitors did.”

“N-no!” Elfitine cried. “We won’t make those same mistakes, because we have Reynard’s teachings—”

“You don’t get it, do you?” Berkens shifted his glare from Reynard to Elfitine. “That’s your mistake right there! Any ideals you haven’t thought out for yourself are just borrowed ideas. Let me ask you something.” His gaze went cold. “What would you do if your precious Sir Ganvas suddenly said, ‘Sorry, I was wrong all along’?”

“But… that would never—”

“Happen? You really think so? That’s exactly what devout Mauserists say about their priests. They live each day according to the teachings, content in the fact that that’s the path to righteousness.”

Elfitine opened her mouth again, but no sound came out.

“I hate to say this, but I have to destroy this place and arrest you.” Berkens took a step forward. “I can’t let you destroy Grendel.”

“You’re welcome to try.” Reynard, as calm as ever, raised his right hand and began to cast.

“People of the flames, dance!”

Activated at high speed with a repeating spell, Muspell blasted toward Berkens. He easily dodged and lunged at Reynard.

Reynard pushed Elfitine aside. “Thou who stands on the battlefield, even on one leg, come swiftly out from the house of the warrior dead. Now is the twilight hour!”

Berkens didn’t bother to get out of the way; he just raised a fist, probably intending to level Reynard before the sorcerer could aim the spell. But half a moment later, Berkens stopped short and jerked back with wide eyes.

Pale, blue light clung to Reynard like translucent armor. The light was shaped like plate armor made of ice or glass, and lay as if attached directly to his body.

Berkens leapt back to gain some distance. “Not bad,” he muttered as he shifted his feet. “I’ve heard of that one, actually.”

“You thought I wouldn’t use any powerful attack spells for fear of harming the facility, didn’t you?” Reynard took a step, and the magic armor made a jangling sound as it moved with him. “You thought correctly.”

“Close combat attack magic Einherjar,” Berkens recited. “Originally developed as a supplementary combat spell for sorcerers. The field of light moves with you, but it converts the force of any incoming attack into light and sound to deflect it.” Berkens cracked his knuckles. “So now I can’t use regular weapons or attack magic on you, huh?”

“You’re quite knowledgeable,” Reynard remarked. “But I suppose I should expect that from a Mauserist Inquisitor.”

“I thought that spell was abandoned by the military during its development stages. It’s supposed to take more capacity than the average sorcerer has.”

“Does this look like a bluff to you?” Reynard suddenly lunged forward and struck with his fist.

Berkens was clearly far superior at close combat, as he shifted slightly to dodge Reynard’s punch. Missing its target, Reynard’s Einherjar fist crashed into one of the candleholders on the wall.

The fist flared up with light. All of the resistance and counteraction that impacted the fist were converted into light, and the destructive force of the blow pummelled directly into the object.

The metal candleholder was distorted beyond recognition, as though it had been struck by a giant iron hammer. It went flying through the air.

Elfitine’s jaw dropped. Even Berkens, who claimed to know the spell, looked stunned at the display of power.

Reynard turned calmly back to Berkens. “Well,” he said. “What’s your next move? You don’t have much time before the others arrive. Surely they heard that explosion.”

Berkens paused. The next moment, he slipped one hand into his pocket and ran at Reynard. Reynard stood his ground.

Berkens suddenly arced his arm, and something streaked through the air. The weapon from Berkens’ pocket struck Reynard’s Einherjar arm and caused another light to blaze. Reynard lost his balance as the light emitted from his own body blocked his view. Displaying a lithe movement that was surprising for his large physique, Berkens leapt over Reynard’s head…

And off the edge of the terrace.

“NO!” Elfitine screamed, suddenly forgetting that he was an enemy.

But Berkens proved exceptionally nimble. With one hand, he grabbed hold of one of the pillars of the facility, then swung to fly and grab hold of the next. Elfitine watched in awe as the burly priest made his way to another terrace, leapt onto it, and vanished into a tunnel.

It was a spectacular get away.

“That was… interesting,” Reynard said after a moment.

Reynard deactivated Einherjar as he bent to pick Berkens’ weapon off the floor. The metal contraption was in the shape of two opposite crescents.

“A double-moon blade…”

Elfitine suddenly noticed a heavy exhaustion in Reynard’s voice. She ran to him, worried. “Sir Ganvas!” she cried. “Are you all right?!”

Reynard stumbled, but Elfitine caught him before he fell. She carefully helped him regain his footing.

“To tell you the truth,” he mumbled, “this spell is quite strenuous on the sorcerer and only lasts for a short time. Had the priest stayed for three more minutes, I might have lost to him.”

Elfitine swallowed. “Sir Ganvas,” she pleaded. “Please take care of yourself. If anything were to happen to you, I… I…”

For a brief, terrible moment, the thought seized her.

What would she do if he were gone? What would happen to her?

A part of her—a part with insight so frightening that she usually kept it buried—whispered something in the back of her mind.

You’ll be a puppet without a master. You’ll fall to the stage and never move again.

Elfitine’s breathing slowed. Voices of approaching guards called from the distance, but she barely heard them.

Reynard gathered all the islanders in the assembly hall the following day. He announced that the Inquisitor had escaped… and that he was likely to try and obstruct their plans. Because of this, they would perform the final stage of the project half a day early.

“A spell?” Shannon focused his gaze on his twin. Raquel nodded.

“Yes. And if it’s what I think it is…”

Raquel hesitated. Hesitating was very unusual for Raquel, so Shannon got nervous. He noticed Pacifica’s look of concern as well.

“It’s going to be… pretty hideous,” Raquel said.

“Hideous?” Shannon repeated.

“Hideous?!” Pacifica cried.

Raquel nodded.

Shannon sighed and leaned against a wall of the warehouse that they were once again locked inside. Several of the young islanders had demanded it; they insisted that without proof of the siblings’ lack of a connection to Berkens, they couldn’t wander freely on the island on such a crucial day. Since they had a point, the Casulls had agreed to enter the warehouse and avoid more confrontations.

“What kind of ‘hideous,’ Raquel?” Shannon asked.

“I can’t say for sure, because I haven’t seen this facility first hand… but I think Mister Ganvas is planning to use strategic level attack magic.”

Strategic level? Shannon had heard the name before, but he had no clue what it actually meant. All he knew was that such magic existed and that it was seldom used.

“As far as I know,” Raquel explained, “it’s only been used twice: the Gyatt Empire and the Linevan Kingdom used Ithaqua and Ginnungagap seven and eight years ago, respectively. They’re different spells with different effects, but both were so powerful that the Mauserist leadership convinced the nations to enter a restriction treaty.”

“Just how powerful are they?”

Raquel tapped her chin. “In theory, there’s no limit to their destructive capabilities, but the actual power of the spells depends on the number and capabilities of the sorcerers and the size and accuracy of the facility.” She paused. “Specifically, Ithaqua is said to have altered the weather, and Ginnungagap is probably strong enough to decimate an entire mountain or city.

Shannon struggled to imagine how destructive those spells could be. Even as she described them, Raquel seemed to be experiencing the same thing.

“But… hm.” Raquel furrowed her eyebrows. “Because these spells are so powerful, they require a tremendous amount of mental capacity. I’d say a minimum of a hundred sorcerers are needed.”

“You can’t find that many sorcerers easily,” Shannon argued. “It’s one thing if you have access to the Jade Squadron, but I’m pretty sure the only sorcerer on this island is Reynard.”

“That’s right. That’s why he’ll need substitutes.”

“Substi…” Shannon trailed off as something occurred to him. It was possible to use ordinary people, who were not sorcerers, to activate spells. And it was also possible to obtain mental capacity from them.

But that meant…

“Wait a minute.” Shannon straightened from the wall. “What if Reynard’s planning to use a magic field to combine the consciousness of all of the islanders? He could use that mental capacity to activate the spell.”

“But that wouldn’t that leave everyone in a coma for good?”

Sorcerers trained by learning to secure sufficient mental capacity and activate spells. If a person without the potential or training required of a sorcerer were forcibly used to activate a spell, the worst possible result would be a breakdown of his sense of self—turning him into a living corpse.

Shannon was not a sorcerer himself. He could only temporarily activate magic though the Emulator spell, and this was only because the Emulator was cast by the superbly gifted Raquel, and because Shannon himself was gifted with a mental capacity three times larger than the average person’s. Using such a spell on an individual without any training or natural talent would cause the Emulator to blend with his original sense of self, and the distinction between the two would be lost. The result would be an emotional disorder at the very least, or a personality collapse leading to a comatose state. The odds of the latter were far greater.

“Using their own consciousnesses as a weapon against Mauserism?” Shannon shook his head. “They’re crazy. Not only will they kill the Mauserists in and around Grendel and the tens of thousands of residents there who aren’t Mauserists, they’ll be destroying themselves.”

“I doubt the islanders understand the risk involved.”

“We’ve got to stop them!” Listening in silence up until that point, Pacifica suddenly jumped to her feet. “We can’t let them do that!” she cried.

Shannon frowned. “Pacifica—”

“Besides.” Pacifica clenched her fists. “If they kill all those people, that girl’s gonna become a ‘Scrapped Princess’ for real.”

Shannon crossed his arms. “Look,” he said. “I doubt it’s gonna be easy convincing them to stop.”

“Don’t count on that,” called a bold voice from behind the door.

The door opened, and Pacifica lit up. “Good old Berkens!”

Berkens made a face and rubbed the stubble on his chin. “Don’t call me ‘old,’” he complained. “I’m still in my twenties, you know.”

His free arm was wrapped around the neck of a young guard so tightly that the captive couldn’t make a sound. The youth exhaled in quick, short breaths and stared up at Berkens with a mixture of anger and fear.

“I thought you’d be showing up about now,” Shannon said unenthusiastically.

“Good! Then I don’t need to explain much. I need you to help me stop the strategic level magic from being activated.”

“Why should we bother?”

As Shannon spoke, he heard a small gasp from Pacifica. She stared up at him in shock, but Raquel held her back.

“I don’t know if you’ve heard or not,” Shannon told Berkens flatly, “but we’re fugitives of the Mauserist church. If Blasphemers’ Garden succeeds with their little plan, the church and this entire country will be in so much chaos that they’ll be too busy to come after us. We have every reason to help these guys.”

“Do you really mean that?”

Shannon shrugged with disinterest. “You must really love your job, Berkens—if you get in the way of these people, they’ll do everything they can to kill you. Why risk your life for the church if you’re a drop-out?”

“What difference does it make to you?” Berkens snapped.

“Just answer me. Maybe it’ll make me change my mind.”

Berkens glared at Shannon, an uncharacteristic fury in his eyes.

In the next few moments of silence, the tension in the air grew thick. Shannon saw Pacifica tremble out of the corner of his eye.

“That’s a difficult question.” Berkens was the first to let up. His shoulders relaxed as he made a sour smile. “I’m a drop-out, maybe, but do you know what I dropped out of?”

“I have a pretty good idea.” Shannon crossed his arms. “But I want to hear you say it.”

Berkens sighed. “The Purgers,” he mumbled.

Pacifica was the only one surprised. Shannon and Raquel didn’t bat an eye, and the young guard was too busy trying to breathe.

“Do you know just what the Purgers are like?” Berkens asked darkly.

“I’ve crossed paths with a few, yeah.”

Berkens shook his head. “When it came down to it, I couldn’t become just like everyone else. I couldn’t give up who I was. I couldn’t say goodbye to Berkens Tanhoglio and become a life form that ‘surpassed humans through faith.’”

“You’re definitely unique,” Shannon said without sarcasm. “I’ll admit to that.”

“I used to hate being unique, Shannon. I mean, look at me.” Berkens swept an arm over his huge frame and intimidating face. “Everyone was too afraid to come near me. If I tried to be friendly, they thought I was creepy. Even my own parents were afraid of me getting angry.” Berkens sighed. “I had no idea what to do. When I turned twenty, I left home and joined the church of Mauser. I figured the Mauserist church was compassionate enough to give me a chance.

“But at the end of the day, people just want to fit themselves into a mold. The mold can be made from common sense or a set of religious beliefs—everyone conforms to something, and they hate everyone who won’t join them. That’s why I refused to become a Purger, which is the extreme example of that. After hating my uniqueness for so long, in the end I couldn’t bear to give up my individuality.”

Berkens shrugged. “I’m me,” he sighed. “I’m the only Berkens Tanhoglio who exists in this world. That was my decision.”

Pacifica stared at him, concern in her expression. “Berkens,” she said sadly.

Berkens gave her a faint smile and continued. “But I still can’t bring myself to be critical of people who live lives of conformity. I know well from my own experience how hard it is to live wearing your uniqueness on your sleeve. The nail that sticks up gets hammered down, right? And when people band together because they’re weak in that way… well, we need a little of that in this world. It’s just when that band gets too big and starts to squash other groups that it gets dangerous.”

“But—”

Berkens held out a hand to quiet Pacifica.

“I want to protect those who are weak,” he said quietly. “Even the strong lose confidence sometimes. Everyone has a time when he has to be saved or comforted, or be told ‘you’re okay’ from someone else. That’s why I believe that religion—and not just Mauserism—is necessary. That’s why I want to protect both Mauserists and the people of this place. But it’s not good to be completely dependent on the peace of mind religion gives you, and I won’t let Blasphemers’ Garden make the same oppressive mistakes as we Mauserists.”

The guard finally passed out. Berkens carefully placed him on the floor.

Shannon paused a moment, then let out a breath. “Okay,” he said. “I’ve heard enough, Berkens.”

Berkens paused expectedly.

“I don’t agree with everything you say,” Shannon said in response.

Berkens sighed. “You’ve had different experiences than I have,” he admitted.

“Right. But I can understand how you feel.”

Berkens looked up.

Shannon could imagine Berkens’ position, even though Shannon’s was very different. He could imagine Berkens’ feelings, even though Shannon didn’t share them. Shannon could understand Berkens as long as he made the effort.

And I’m used to putting in effort, Shannon thought, exhausted.

“All right,” Shannon said as he turned to the door. “Let’s go stop that mistake.”

Someone was laughing in the dark.

It was a vulgar, cruel laugh. Who was it coming from? The voice was familiar, and yet somehow unidentifiable.

“Bearing the emblem of moon and stars, ye will become the beasts who rule the fields.”

The voice was casting a spell he didn’t recognize. But how could that be magic? He was the only sorcerer on the island. He was having trouble thinking; the details of his thoughts were melting, even as he tried to focus on them.

A hand reached out slowly. His… his hand. His hand was pointing at the door.

“Go. Kill the Inquisitor, and kill the family with him. Kill anyone who might disturb our plans. If that’s not possible, at least protect the cave until our ritual is finished.”

A group of islanders stood up—ten, if his quick count was accurate. Their expressions were so empty, they might have been dolls. Reynard wondered what was wrong with them.

“Ha ha ha… hee hee hee!”

Someone was laughing.

But who was it…?

“S-sir Ganvas?”

That was Elfitine. He was relieved. He wanted to tell her that something was wrong, that someone was laughing inside his head. He was moving Reynard’s body and saying things with Reynard’s mouth.

“What’s the matter, Elfitine?”

With an expression of confusion and slight fear, Elfitine backed away. That upset Reynard a little. It was as if she were bothered by something on his face.

“Sir Ganvas… is that you? Your mask…”

“Oh, I don’t need that anymore. It’s served its purpose.”

Reynard heard his own voice speak, as though he were listening to it from far away. He wasn’t wearing his mask?

“What was the matter with those people just now?” Elfitine asked worriedly. “Their faces looked so… blank.”

“Oh, that? Since we have a slight problem with that priest and those siblings, I cast a spell on them to make them stronger. Ha ha ha! Too strong, I suppose—I doubt they’ll return to normal.”

Elfitine gasped. “What?” she breathed.

What was he saying? How terrible! He wanted to beg Elfitine to have faith in him. He didn’t mean to scare her or anyone.

“It’s a lovely little spell called Berserker,” was all his voice said. “You activate it inside a person’s head, and he becomes superhuman. But the price for that strength is that his personality is destroyed, and there’s no repairing the damage. They literally fight until the moment they die.”

“Wh-why would you do something so awful?!”

Reynard wanted to something, anything, to prove to Elfitine that he didn’t mean those words. But his voice went on without him, and it only made things worse.

“What do you mean, ‘why’?” Reynard felt the crazy smile spreading across the face he couldn’t control. “To prevent anyone from disturbing all of your funerals, that’s why.”

It didn’t take much to defeat the guards and enter the tunnels. Security was light, since all but forty or fifty islanders were already inside the giant booster located inside the magic field. They assumably were waiting for the final stage of their terrible plan.

“So now what?” Shannon asked as he walked through a tunnel behind Berkens. Pacifica flanked Shannon, and Raquel brought up the rear.

Berkens glanced back at Raquel. “Any chance you could cast a spell to deactivate their spell?”

Raquel tapped her chin. “I think it’s possible… but I’d have to find out what spell was activated in the people’s minds. It may take a while.”

Berkens frowned. “That sounds complicated. We could just destroy the damn thing.”

“But if we use large scale attack magic, we’ll cause casualties.”

Shannon shook his head. “We don’t have much of a choice. We should at least be able to protect Raquel while she performs the deactivation process.”

“Yeah,” Berkens agreed. “Most of these islanders are untrained fighters, anyway.”

Berkens suddenly stopped in his tracks. “Hey,” he called, glancing back at the Casulls. “Look at this.”

Their tunnel led out onto a terrace that was the size of a small room in a residential home.

The terrace was empty, but Berkens and the Casulls still crouched as they walked to its edge to avoid being seen by anyone on the other terraces.

They looked out onto the bizarre structure in the center of the open area.

“That’s what they were building here?” Pacifica asked. “That’s kinda cool.” She glanced over at Raquel, but the older girl looked very grave.

“What’s wrong, Raquel?”

Raquel creased her forehead. “No,” she murmured. “Something’s not right here.”

“What do you mean?”

Raquel pulled a piece of paper from her pocket. She had copied something from her mother’s notebook.

“This is a multi-layered, three-dimensional magic field for strategic level attack magic, but I don’t see any component for aiming at long distance targets. The force of this spell has nowhere to go—it’ll explode right here.”

Shannon turned to her slowly. “Could you clarify that?” he asked.

Raquel stared worriedly at the magic field. “It’s a suicide spell, Shannon.”

“S-suicide?”

“That’s right,” Reynard said with a frighteningly dark smile.

Elfitine took a step back, trembling. She could no longer find any trace of the saint she revered. All she saw was a cruel psychopath, consumed with twisted joy.

“The large-scale magic is going to be used for suicide—to kill every last one of these fools.”

“But… why would you…?”

She understood. It was simple, and she knew it too well. She had seen this happen in her dreams all those nights. But her heart had refused to accept it. Even now, a part of her fought to deny the truth.

“This Blasphemers’ Garden’ project was originally started by the Intelligence Division of the military and the external affairs agency of the Mauserist church. The plan was to gather, isolate, and exterminate anyone who intended to rebel against the kingdom or the church.” Reynard laughed. “You fools have spent the last ten years digging your own grave!”

“No,” Elfitine gasped. “You’re lying! You have to be!”

Reynard chuckled. “It’s no lie,” he said smoothly. “I was originally in the royal military. But I got a little carried away with my secret hobby, and was eventually thrown in jail for it.”

Elfitine took another step back. “F-for what?” she managed to croak.

“Once you start learning magic, you can’t help wanting to experiment. Like activating forbidden spells inside someone else’s head. Ha! You should try it—it’s awfully fun. I can’t tell you what it’s like to see a smug lady suddenly start drooling and crawling on the floor like an insect!” He threw his head back for another burst of maniacal laughter. “It was so exciting, my dear! But when the military found out, I was given the death sentence. Someone named Lugar in the Intelligence Division came to me before my execution and offered me a wonderful proposal.”

Elfitine covered her ears with her hands. She didn’t want to listen. She couldn’t bear to hear any more! But Reynard showed no sign of stopping, and his voice carried through her hands.

“He told me I should use magic for even bigger goals. I could kill several hundred people at once! He showed me strategic level spells, the kind of spells an ordinary sorcerer would never have access to in a thousand years. I can’t tell you how excited I was! That’s when I realized that that was what I wanted to do with my life!”

Then, suddenly, Reynard’s expression became more serious.

“A man has to pursue his dream, Elfitine. It’s only fair, don’t you think?”

Elfitine opened her mouth to reply, but she was too horrified to do more than gurgle a few sounds. Reynard laughed as his face twisted into its earlier psychotic grin.

“Just kidding! Ha ha ha! But with the way I look, I knew the average fool wouldn’t be able to recognize my greatness, so I had them do a little number on me. A fake personality, a persona. I assumed a fake identity to play the role of the ideal leader.”

“B-but.. .”

Reynard’s smile turned even crueler, if such a thing were possible. “You had a thing for me,” he murmured. “Didn’t you, Elfi? You had a little crush on Sir Reynard.”

Reynard’s vulgar voice faded as Elfitine’s system began to shut down. Her vision blurred and her brain grew hazy. Why? She wondered as her mind spun. How had this happened? Why had she assumed the role of Scrapped Princess for so many years? All that time, all that effort, all that pain to receive this.

Reynard slowly moved toward her. A voice in the back of her mind told her to run as fast as she could, but she was too consumed by shock and despair to move.

“Come here, Elfitine,” he purred. “I’ll give you what you want. The fools will be blasted to bits, and we can enjoy our own little trip to heaven.”

He laughed again and reached for her. Elfitine could only stare weakly at the grasping hands of the psychopath who had ruined her.

There was a whizzing noise, followed by a squelch, and Reynard cried out.

Elfitine turned her blank, wide eyes to the weapon embedded in Reynard’s arm. It looked like two opposite crescents soldered together.

“Wh-what is this?!” Reynard shouted. He yanked the weapon from his flesh and threw it to clatter on the stone floor. He turned to the two men who had just entered with their female party members behind them.

“You’ve been screaming your plans at the top of your lungs,” Berkens called flatly. “You’re the real fool here, Reynard Ganvas.”

Reynard gritted his teeth. “Damn you,” he hissed as he took a few steps back. “Listen well, Inquisitor! I’m with the military and the church of Mauser—”

Berkens glared at Reynard so coldly that the sorcerer fell silent. Elfitine registered the shake to Reynard’s knees.

“What good is the military or the church going to do you when you blow this place to bits?” Berkens asked. “And did you ever stop to realize how many years it’s been since your project here was launched? That idiot leader of the second external affair agency who put you up to this has been dead for a long time—he hanged himself after being ousted from office. Nobody remembers you now. I was sent out to investigate!”

“What?” Reynard breathed.

“Now we finally know what you were up to,” Berkens snapped. “You should’ve stayed in the shadows!” He strode up to Reynard and effortlessly drove a fist into the sorcerer’s stomach.

“Oof… !”

Reynard flew backward so easily it was almost comical. His body crashed into the booster in the back of the room, knocking the lids off of several cylinders to hit the floor with a clang. Elfitine watched in horror as an inanimate boy and girl rolled out of those cylinders.

“Cuphon!” she cried. “Quart!”

Their drooling mouths were half open, and their empty eyes stared out into space. The children were still alive, but Elfitine wasn’t sure they would ever walk or talk again.

“So you were using communication spells to connect with them and increase your mental capacity.” Raquel’s quiet voice carried throughout the cold room.

Reynard coughed from his position on the floor. Raquel stared evenly at him.

“You used either magic or drugs to put these people in a coma. You made their minds blank and took over their consciousnesses, then used communication spells to connect that to yourself. That’s how you secured enough mental capacity to activate blocking spells permanently. And that’s how you activated Fenrir, right?” Raquel’s expression was unreadable. “And the story about the people traveling off the island was a lie. With these methods, the people whose minds you’ve taken over wouldn’t last for more than a month. You must have used and disposed of hundreds of islanders over the years.”

“W-wow,” Reynard gurgled. “You know more about magic than I do, little lady.” Clutching his stomach, Reynard crawled along the edge of the wall. Berkens ignored him to kneel down by the girl lying still on the floor.

He stared at Cuphon a moment, then reached for her. His rugged hands gently closed her dry, blank eyes. “Reynard Ganvas,” Berkens said in a frighteningly chilling voice, “you are a dead man.”

Shannon and his sisters glared at Reynard. Shannon started forward, and Raquel raised her hand.

“Stop it!” Elfitine jumped to her feet and ran toward Reynard. She stood in front of him and threw out her arms.

Shannon furrowed his eyebrows. “What are you doing?” he hissed.

“Sir Ganvas isn’t like this!” Elfitine cried, her heart thundering in her chest. She wouldn’t give up hope. She wouldn’t. “This has to be a mistake! Someone must have hypnotized him and ordered him to do all this!”

“Get out of the way,” Berkens warned.

“No! I won’t let you kill Sir Ganvas!”

Footsteps sounded from behind Pacifica. Shannon and Berkens jerked around, and Shannon dropped his hand to his sword.

“Did you notice those before?” Elfitine heard Shannon murmur to Berkens.

Berkens shook his head.

“Raquel!” Shannon ordered. “Pacifica! Get inside the room. There’s something—”

In the few moments of distraction, Reynard had leapt. He grabbed Elfitine from behind and held his personal dagger against her throat.

“Stay back!” Reynard cried, so close to Elfitine’s ear that she shut her eyes. “Unless you want to see a fountain of blood spurt from her throat!” Reynard threw back his head and laughed, just as a great boom sounded.

“Shannon!”

Shannon, standing by the door, was suddenly thrown back to the center of the room. Pacifica screamed as he crashed into the stone floor.

Several men burst into the room. They were as expressionless as dolls, and bore an eerie resemblance to Cuphon and Quart. The men moved and attacked with some skill, but there was no sense of human will in their motions.

“Say hello to your opponents!” Reynard declared. “They’re a fine group of fighters I created. They’re dying to meet you!”

Chuckling, Reynard edged toward the door with Elfitine in his grip. Berkens tried to jump at him, but Reynard pushed the knife harder against Elfitine’s throat.

Berkens stopped. Elfitine wanted to scream.

Reynard gave a final, manic chuckle as he and his captive slid out the door. “Have a nice fight!” he called behind him.

The special attack magic, Berserker, transformed a person into a fighting machine.

For the Berserker spell, communication magic was used to plant a compressed spell inside his target’s head. The spell used the mental capacity of the target to decompress automatically, activating another spell.

The spell removed the self-preserving limitations of the human body. This resulted in the target using tremendous force without regard for personal safety.

That tremendous force had just sent Raquel’s brother flying.

“What’s with these guys?” Raquel heard Berkens cry out as he punched another attacker. He didn’t go into detail, but he didn’t have to—-Raquel knew what the spell could do. The skin of the islanders had probably grown hard under Berkens’ fists.

“Don’t bother attacking with normal blows!” she called. “It’s not going to work on them.”

Berkens stopped his next attack midway. “Why not?” he called back as he dodged his opponent’s lunge.

“The more a Berserker is attacked, the more his body transforms in reaction to those blows. Any struck part of the body becomes hard, or fills itself with a buffering liquid; if slashed, the body grows scales or thorns to prevent the blade from penetrating.”

Raquel hurried to Shannon and helped him to his feet. “The body evolves and specializes depending on the type of attack it encounters.”

“Can the human body do that?”

“Not without dying,” Raquel said calmly—perhaps more calmly than was kind. “The body can’t undo the changes, so the person becomes a disposable weapon. The activation of the spell leaves a minimum capacity for control and destroys the personality of the target. That’s why the spell was banned as soon as it was developed.”

Raquel knew the spell was supposed to be sealed— officially, at least. Reynard had probably learned it from General Lugar of the Intelligence Division.

Shannon shakily raised his sword, taking his place next to Berkens. He spat blood on the floor.

“So they’re strong and impenetrable.” Shannon grimaced. “Great.”

The Berserkers reached out to grab them, but Shannon’s sword and Berkens’ double-moon blade knocked the enemy arms away. The two men maneuvered carefully to defend against the Berserkers while delivering non-lethal blows. Their movements were both precise and impressive; Raquel knew the attacks would have defeated lesser foes.

But the longer they fought the Berserkers, the worse the situation got. Pieces of their bodies grew harder with every blow, and every slash immediately healed and grew dangerous thorns. Each morph was accompanied with an eerie crackling sound.

Raquel quickly ran through ideas. The spell inside a Berserker’s brain analyzed the attacks of an opponent and used preprogrammed information to make continuous improvements to the body. Attacks also made the body swift enough to parry, and gave the Berserker the ability to learn from an opponent’s techniques.

Raquel was stumped.

“What do we do, Raquel?” Shannon called as he parried a Berserker’s grapple.

“This is the first time I’ve ever seen a Berserker,” she said by way of apology. “If mother’s notes are correct, there’s no way to stop them. Unless…” Raquel stared at the floor, her mind racing.

She could imagine an answer. But she knew Shannon wouldn’t like it.

“You have to end their vital activities completely,” she said gravely. “Before they can transform into something too powerful.”

“We have to kill them?”

“Yes.”

It was a painfully simple conclusion, but one that was completely final. Shannon took a deep breath, then pushed a Berserker back and gritted his teeth.

“Raquel!” he ordered. “Raquel, take Pacifica and get out of here. We’ll keep these guys occupied; I need you to either stop Reynard or deactivate his spell.”

“What do you mean, ‘keep them occupied’?” Pacifica asked.

Shannon shouted over whatever she said next. “Move it, both of you! If Reynard activates that spell, we’re gonna die along with this entire island!”

Shannon was right. Raquel gripped Pacifica’s wrist and ran to the edge of the terrace. As Raquel pulled a thin wire from the pouch on her back and tied it securely around an outcropping on the terrace, Pacifica squeaked out a sound of alarm.

“Raquel,” she said quickly. “You’re not gonna—”

Raquel hefted a surprised Pacifica onto her back. Since Pacifica was still protesting, Raquel locked her sister’s arms around her neck.

“Hold on,” Raquel advised as she jumped off the terrace.

Pacifica’s descending scream mingled with the sound of Raquel’s leather gloves sliding down the wire. Shannon felt the visceral concern in his gut whenever Raquel did something odd, but he forced himself to ignore it.

“Whoa!” Berkens exclaimed, glancing back as he ducked under a Berserker punch. “Did you see that? She jumped!”

“They’ll be fine,” Shannon murmured as he dodged another lunge. “She’s just eccentric.”

“I kinda expected her to use magic.”

“Can we just focus on the problem at hand?” Shannon kicked off another attacker. “She said we have to kill these guys. Do you really wanna go through with that?”

Although the Berserkers retained their human form, they were no longer human beings. A person whose body was covered in a shell with slime excreting from thorns all over could hardly be called human. The Berserkers had undergone so much transformation at that point, that neither Shannon’s sword nor Berkens’ double-moon blade could inflict any damage.

Since Berkens didn’t say anything, Shannon swallowed. They had one option left, as much as Shannon hated to admit it.

“Let’s run away,” Shannon said.

Berkens jerked his head to Shannon. “Are you serious?!”

“All we need to do is keep them busy. We can figure out how to finish them off later.”

Berkens dodged an attack and rolled his eyes. “You don’t want to kill them, do you?” he asked.

Shannon parried. “Do you think I’m a hypocrite after what I said earlier?”

Berkens chuckled. “Hey—sparing lives is hypocrisy I can get behind.”

Shannon took a breath, then buried his sword into the nearest Berserker and used the leverage to jump backward out the door. Berkens followed, knocking another Berserker aside with his shoulder as he ran into the tunnel.

Shannon and Berkens split off into separate directions down the tunnel. The remaining Berserkers came out of the room in pursuit.

“Hey!” Berkens called as he took a tunnel off the left. “When this is all over, let’s grab a drink.”

“I haven’t been on a wagon for a month,” Shannon called back as he ran down the right tunnel. “I can’t drink and drive that thing.”

“Oh.” Berkens picked up speed as five Berserkers ran after him. “Either way!” he called from the darkness. “Let’s meet up again after this!”

“If we survive.” Shannon had four Berserkers to handle himself. He pounded his boots faster against the stone floor.

I’m counting on you, Raquel.

As soon as her soles hit the floor, Raquel released the wire. Pacifica scrambled off her back.

“I thought I was gonna die,” Pacifica gasped, clutching her chest.

“You wouldn’t die from that height, even if you did jump.” Raquel paused to think. “Of course, you would probably shatter both kneecaps.”

“Can you not go into details?!”

Raquel trotted up to one of the structures that resembled a beehive. She removed the metal fittings; the lid to what would have been the comb holes opened. A coffinlike structure made of metal and wood slid out.

“Now, let’s see…” Raquel opened the coffinlike container and dragged out a middle-aged woman who lay inside. After placing her flat on the floor, Raquel examined the speed of the woman’s eye movement, her rate of breath, and other such factors.

Raquel was pleased to find that the islanders’ minds hadn’t yet been completely wiped. They’re most likely dreaming, she thought. And people with erased personalities couldn’t dream—they didn’t have anything with which to dream. Raquel considered that a good sign.

She gave the woman a gentle slap on both cheeks. Her lack of response added further evidence to Raquel’s hypothesis—that the islanders had been drugged. She paused again to think.

“What are you gonna do?” Pacifica asked.

“Hmm.” Raquel touched her chin. “Well, this structure is connected to the central amplifier through a voice pipe and a cylinder filled with water that has the same salinity as blood. This maintains a simulated life pulse.”

Pacifica furrowed his eyebrows, clearly confused. “Uh… okay? So what?”

“Let’s say the islanders are like cells,” Raquel explained. “This magic field works like a brain. In this setup, they can build a shared-consciousness space without using communication spells. All that’s necessary is some hypnosis and a few drugs, since the islanders are already united in a single cause.”

“A shared what?”

“A compressed spell is placed inside the islanders’ heads in advance, and when the strategic spell is activated, all the other spells will decompress automatically and activate inside their heads. If we trace the route back, we can find out whose head is storing the core of the spell.” Raquel pursed her lips. “At least, in theory that should work. Then we can trace the spell back to the central facility and destroy it.”

At the word “destroy,” Pacifica’s eyes lit up. “Oh!” she said. “I get it. Sounds good.”

“Now, Pacifica,” Raquel said, looking directly into her sister’s eyes. “I’ll need you to help me with this, okay?”

“Uh, okay. How?”

“Protect me.”

Pacifica blinked. “Huh?” she blurted. “But… I can’t fight for beans!”

It was true. Comparing Pacifica’s combat ability to her siblings’ was like comparing a toddler to a seasoned warrior. They could protect Pacifica, but to expect the opposite was ridiculous.

“Don’t worry,” Raquel assured her with a smile. “I’ll cast a combat spell on you. I’m going to try to dismantle this spell, but while I’m doing that, I won’t be able to move.” Raquel pointed beyond Pacifica. “And we have to deal with them.”

Pacifica turned. Through the forest-like structure of the magic field, several figures lurched toward the girls. Raquel could tell they were Berserkers; apparently there were more than the nine that Shannon and Berkens had been fighting.

“Since you’re not trained to secure mental capacity for activating spells,” Raquel explained, “I’ll activate the spell in my head. But that means the spell will lose effect if you stray more than ten paces away from me, Pacifica.” She smiled. “So the combat will be in close quarters, okay?”

Pacifica stared at Raquel in disbelief for a moment. Then she looked to the ground, as she often did when she contemplated something, and gave a quick nod.

“Okay.” Pacifica looked up with determined blue eyes. “You and Shannon always take care of me, so now it’s my turn to take care of you.” She clenched her fists, looking almost excited to take the challenge. “Let me have it, Raquel!”

Raquel raised her hand.

“This is pointless!” Berkens snapped. He slid to a halt on the stone floor and whipped around to face the Berserkers. “I’m not running anymore.”

The technique Berkens had to employ with the zombified Berserkers was frustrating; they would chase him, he would run, and then he would slow down to make sure the lurching opponents didn’t lose him. When they caught up, he deflected a few of their blows, and then ran off again. A strategy that passive didn’t suit Berkens at all.

I never used this against ordinary humans, he thought, because I knew it would be lethal. But these guys aren’t ordinary humans.

Carefully changing his breathing, Berkens pulled his right hand back by his side and gripped the wrist with his left hand. He used a special breathing technique to increase the pressure inside his body, then focused his mind on his self confidence until it reached a peak. The two actions worked together to converge into a single, tremendous force.

“Hnnh!” His muscles ripped through his priest’s garb as they bulged. They appeared to change color, but the skin hadn’t changed; his fighting spirit had become a quasi-substance, surrounding his body and diffusing the light around it.

It was a destruction technique that Berkens had developed while training to become a Purger. He called it Gauntlet.

He channeled the fighting spirit that surrounded his body into his right hand. As that hand filled with energy, it trembled so severely that he had to grip it with his other hand.

“Don’t hold this against me,” Berkens muttered as a Berserker leapt at him. Berkens thrust out his glowing fist.

His knuckles penetrated flesh.

The Berserker’s body, now as hard as armor, managed to stop Berkens’ blow. But that was all it managed to stop—the next moment, a substantial portion of the body’s cells died. The spell inside the Berserker’s brain immediately tried to repair the damage, but then it suddenly stopped.

Berkens stared at the faltering Berserker. If his guess was correct, the Berserker’s spell couldn’t determine whether its body had been burnt, slashed, or crushed. Neither the spell nor the animal instinct of the Berserker’s body could understand the damage it had just received.

There was nothing to understand. Part of the body had simply died.

It was the pure will of destruction, channeled through Berkens’ fighting spirit. Without wills of their own, the fighting Berserkers couldn’t comprehend the “will” to destroy. The Berserker couldn’t defend against it, and so it dropped to the floor like a stone.

Berkens licked dry lips. “I guess it works,” he breathed as he prepared for the next opponent. His eyes focused on the next Berserker, then widened when he noticed something.

“Huh?”

The remaining Berserkers had completely stopped moving.

Shannon panted, his sword drawn, his eyes boring into the Berserkers. But the men had stopped. Shannon furrowed his eyebrows suspiciously.

“What the hell is this?” he wondered out loud.

Suddenly, a red vapor began spraying out of the Berserkers’ bodies. It took Shannon a terrible moment to realize that the spray was blood.

One by one, the men who had transformed into something inhuman dropped into large puddles of their own blood. Their bodies continued to break down until all that was left was a slimy, muddy substance.

Shannon swallowed. I guess they reached their limit, he thought slowly. Although the Berserkers had healing powers, the body’s resources had limits. They eventually lost the ability to heal and succumbed to the torture they’d been put through.

An unfinished spell, Raquel had said. Disposable.

Shannon closed his eyes and angrily turned away.

“… heavenly Mauser.” Gazing at the Berserkers on the floor, Berkens made the holy sign with his finger.

“Though they were of a different faith than ours,” he murmured, “kindly deliver their souls to peace.”

As though relieved at the words, the Berserkers decomposed into a shapeless, melted mass.

Reynard stood on the terrace opposite his room and gazed out at his magic field. This particular terrace was much larger and higher than the one on his room; he wanted as good a view of the magic field as possible. He could activate the spell from any location, but he felt there was only one suitable location from which to complete the mission he had built for a decade.

“Excellent.” His psychotic smile twisted his features. The islanders were already placed in their boosters, so all that remained was for him to send the activation order via a communication spell. The spell would unfold by chain reaction, causing the strategic level attack magic to take effect automatically.

“Please…”

Reynard looked to the sobbing girl behind him. Elfitine had her head buried in her hands, her body trembling as she pleaded with him. “Please, Sir Ganvas … please return to your kind self!”

Reynard chuckled. “You fool,” he said darkly. “What part of this don’t you understand? What you were seeing was a facade—a fake. I’m the real Reynard Ganvas. You were following the orders of someone who never existed!”

Laughing maniacally, Reynard grabbed Elfitine’s arm and yanked her closer. He gripped the collar of her shirt in both hands.

“Well, Elfi,” he cooed as he ran a finger over the fabric. “Are you still feeling romantically inclined? Why don’t we enjoy ourselves in the short time we have until we die?”

Suddenly, Reynard’s hand froze. His entire body froze. He couldn’t tell what it was, but something like a scream flashed across his mind.

Elfitine’s eyes widened. “Sir Ganvas?” she breathed.

Reynard felt something wet in his eyes and on his cheeks. But… that didn’t make sense. He wasn’t bleeding, and nothing had dripped onto him. For him to feel that wetness would mean he was…

Crying.

“Huh…? What… why am I…?” Reynard could barely speak. Tears didn’t make sense—he was filled with exhilaration on that fateful day. He had never felt so good in his life. He was about to burst with his ecstasy.

So why was he crying?

“You should have kept your mask on,” a voice called from deep inside the tunnel.

Reynard, his body still trembling in shock, turned to face the voice. A tall figure emerged out of the darkness, his outline blurred in Reynard’s tear-filled eyes.

Shannon Casull. He strode forward with clear conviction in his steps.

“You? Wh-what happened to the Berserkers?” Reynard was afraid. He didn’t know what was happening to him.

Shannon ignored Reynard’s question. “Everyone wears a mask,” he said instead. “It’s how you can hide yourself from your problems. But if you decide to wear it, and keep wearing it, that mask can become your real face.”

“No…” The tears kept flowing from Reynard’s eyes, and he couldn’t make himself move. He just stood there, staring, as Shannon stepped onto the terrace.

“D-don’t come any closer!” Reynard cried. “Or I’ll…”

Shannon glared at him. “You’ll what?” he asked darkly. “You can’t fight me. Now you’re the fake.”

Reynard trembled. “No!” he shrieked. “I’ll… I’ll…!”

And then he started to move. But not in an attack, like he wanted—he just slowly released Elfitine and started walking toward Shannon. Reynard was terrified.

He wasn’t moving. His body had broken free of him and was moving on its own. It was following another will. The will of the mask, Saint Reynard.

Reynard started sputtering in confusion, but was interrupted by other words. He spoke from the same mouth with the same voice, but his words didn’t match up with his thoughts.

“What’s happening?! Why am I… kill me, Shannon. I can’t… no! Don’t say that!”

Mere steps away from Shannon, Reynard stopped and threw open his arms. More words spilled out of his mouth—more terrible, conflicting words.

“Kill the murderer, Shannon. I was only a mask… no, shut up! Are you me?! Shut up!”

Somewhere in the background, Elfitine cried out.

Reynard shouted as if in prayer. “Kill me!” he cried. “Before I disappear into this man’s consciousness again! Kill me, Shannon!”

“Sir Ganvas!” Elfitine screamed.

Without a word, Shannon unsheathed his sword.

“Ow!” Pacifica groaned. That attack had hurt.

The pale blue light of Einherjar cradled her body, blocking any attacks on her and amplifying any blows she delivered. Unfortunately, the “armor field” around Pacifica’s body was not the true Einherjar; Raquel had explained that she had adjusted it, making it require significantly less capacity to activate at the cost of being less effective. She had said she needed to save some energy for her communication spell.

Pacifica had figured that being able to simultaneously activate two spells like that was probably pretty impressive, so she hadn’t complained about the weaker armor.

“Raquel?” Pacifica called as she took a quick look behind her. But Raquel still remained with one hand on the booster, probably focusing every nerve in her body on the communication spell. She had said she needed to destroy the core of the gigantic magic field before Reynard sent the activation order.

If she doesn’t, Pacifica reminded herself, we all die, right? The girl swallowed and prepared to take on the next Berserker.

Like Shannon, Pacifica had learned basic self-defense from their late father. Since her skills were too basic for ordinary combat—and since Shannon said that weak techniques in a battle were more dangerous than going in blind—Pacifica normally didn’t do any fighting. Pacifica had always been wretched at fighting, and knew better than to take on someone more talented.

But with the Berserkers, her rudimentary technique was somehow helping her get by. Her opponents were powerful but devoid of will, so their attacks were uncreative at first. And Einherjar, even in an imperfect form, was an important aid. The biggest problem with the Berserkers rested in the transformations of their bodies—with every blow they took, the Berserkers seemed to memorize the speed, strength, and angle of the opponent’s attacks in order to transform their bodies into whatever made the best personalized defense.

That meant that Pacifica had managed quite easily at the beginning of the fight, but grew less effective over time. She eventually had so much trouble blocking the improved Berserkers’ blows that she had to resort to defending her sister with her whole body.

“Ow!”

Yet another fist connected squarely with Pacifica’s face. Without the magic, the blow would have knocked her brains out, but even with the magic, the impact still hurt. Pacifica stumbled back a few steps and planted her feet.

“Damn you!” Pacifica gritted her teeth. Forcing herself to ignore the pain, she grabbed her opponent’s arm and twisted it as hard as she could.

To her surprise, the Berserker’s arm broke effortlessly above the elbow. Even though it had lost its personality, the Berserker still seemed to feel pain, because her attack made him back away.

Pacifica figured she had twisted in an unnatural direction or something. She clenched her fists confidently. “Not bad!” she declared.

The victory was short-lived. Before her very eyes, the Berserker’s broken arm started to move, with the break acting as another joint. The Berserker had essentially gained a second elbow.

Pacifica’s jaw dropped. “What?! Ew!”

The Berserk’s bizarre new movements no longer resembled a human’s. Her knowledge of basic self-defense didn’t help against an attacker that had a creepy multi-jointed arm.

Great, she thought in frustration. What am I supposed to do now?!

Reynard mustered every last bit of strength to force aside the second personality that had emerged within himself. He squeezed shut his eyes.

“SHUT UP!” he screamed.

The “Saint” in Reynard was putting up a good fight, but it wasn’t strong enough to push back the full force of the original personality. Using all his inner control, Reynard suppressed the second personality and cast a spell.

The communication spell Gardor activated. Connection to booster established.

Mental capacity connected.

Inside the mental capacity, which was forcibly expanded by invading the islanders’ consciousness, the spell began to activate. The spell had originally been developed for individual use, but all the necessary functions in the spell ended up requiring too much capacity for the average sorcerer. Only a few steps short of completion, the spell had been abandoned.

… Einherjar.

“Ha ha ha!” Reynard’s mouth twisted into its ugly grin as he focused on the Casull before him. Pale blue armor clung to his trembling body.

Reynard swung a lit fist. “Die!” he cried.

Shannon jerked to the side; the fist brushed his hair, narrowly avoiding his ear.

Reynard’s pale blue knuckles slammed into the nearly wall and sent a large crack through it. “Ha ha ha!” Reynar cackled, his voice higher-pitched. “Strong, isn’t it? I’ll crush your skull in no time!”

Screaming, Reynard lunged at Shannon.

Shannon dodged and swung his sword in a counter move. His blade was sharp enough to slice through most armor, yet now it bounced back, causing a fierce burst of sound and light.

“You’ve got nothing!” Reynard laughed as he swung his arm. His backhanded blow, which normally would have been a simple jab, ripped through the air at a murderous speed. It grazed Shannon’s forehead and seared a few strands of his hair.

Pleased with himself, Reynard unleashed a barrage of punches. The complete version of Einherjar increased the quickness of its user; afterimages trailed behind his fists. As a result of the tremendous speed, the air was scooped out of the way to leave a vacuum that sucked Shannon in.

At the same moment, Shannon flipped his coat up to disturb the air and divert the attack. His boots slid across the smooth stone floor as the broken vacuum spun him and Reynard 180 degrees. Before they had even stopped moving, Shannon’s sword met Reynard’s fists.

The terrace was filled with flashing light and rippling sounds. Shannon deflected Reynard’s attacks despite his lack of magic, but his own sword blows were all deflected by Reynard’s defense field. Reynard knew the swordsman wouldn’t last. After a few intense exchanges at close range, Shannon and Reynard pulled away from each other.

Panting and grinning crazily, Reynard watched red drops roll from the cut on Shannon’s cheek. “What’s the matter?” he asked. “Can’t hurt a bare-fisted man with your sword? Ha ha!”

“That’s impressive, I’ll admit,” Shannon said unenthusiastically. But he didn’t appear afraid or anxious—if anything, his black eyes looked even colder than usual.

For a moment, Reynard felt a shiver go down his spine. He had never seen Shannon so focused, and the feelings radiating off him were almost murderous.

“But,” Shannon added, raising his sword, “you have nothing to brag about.” He pulled his right hand above his left shoulder, and placed his left hand behind the pummel of his sword, as if in preparation to push it into something. It wasn’t his usual stance—the tip of his sword, held parallel to the ground, was pointed directly at Reynard’s chest.

A piercing blow. Reynard swallowed and trembled, but tried to calm himself down. No matter how much strength Shannon could put into the blow, he’d never get past Einherjar. But he’s probably already realized that, right? So why is he taking that stance?

Panic gripped Reynard. “Sh-shut up!” he cried, lunging forward out of instinctual fear.

Shannon, in a terrifying instant, reminded Reynard of the massive Berkens. His fighting spirit had flared up like Berkens’ Gauntlet spell, concentrating on the tip of his sword. He wasn’t planning to penetrate with his sword—he would penetrate with his will.

“NO!”

With a burst of will, Shannon’s sword tore through the air. The tip slammed into the defense field, but with such speed and force that the field couldn’t function. No light flared—the sword just punched through, digging deeply into Reynard’s right shoulder.

“AAGH!”

Reynard cried out, more due to surprise than pain. He jerked backward to free his shoulder, and blood spurted out where the blade had been. He stumbled back several steps.

Shannon followed. “Any more tricks?” he asked flatly.

Reynard’s face twisted in fear. He reached out to grab Elfitine as a hostage, then suddenly stopped.

The Saint. Reynard’s suppression had been loosened by pain and terror. The other Reynard pushed, and Reynard lost control.

“Very w-well done, Shannon,” Reynard heard himself say.

“No!” he managed to interrupt. “Damn you again! I’m not…”

“… I can do no more with this man. Finish us off. Please.”

Reynard’s saintly personality deactivated Einherjar. Terrified, he once again spread his arms out, as if inviting a deathblow. Blood dripped down his shoulder.

Stop! Reynard thought.

“Stop!” Elfitine screamed.

Elfitine crossed Reynard’s vision. She dove at Shannon and clung to him, her eyes wide and desperate. She threw back her head to plead with him.

“Please!” she begged. “Don’t kill Sir Ganvas!”

“Don’t… Elfitine,” Reynard heard himself say. “Let me die as you knew me… not as Reynard the murderer. I wasn’t aware of my actions, but I killed my own followers. There’s no… going back.”

“But—”

“Shannon,” Reynard said, despite how he fought, “do it. Now.”

“No.” Shannon’s lips barely moved, but the word was still cold. There was no intent to kill in his dark, leveling eyes.

“If you can’t go back,” he said evenly, “then move forward in the direction you always meant to go. Don’t turn away from your atonement. Who says you’re not the real Reynard?” Shannon glanced at Elfitine, her hands bunched in his cloak. “To this girl, and to the people of this island, you’re the real Reynard Ganvas.”

Reynard staggered on his feet. “I…” he gurgled. “I…” The murderer and the saint fought in his body, twisting his face from terrified and vicious to calm and resigned. A battle of good and evil raged inside him.

And the murderer emerged.

“Damn… you!” he screamed. “I’m the real Reynard Ganvas! I’ll never let you take control! I’d just as soon…”

Pushing Elfitine aside, Shannon lunged forward.

But it was too late. Reynard’s body had already elevated high into the air, and elation had filled him. He threw back his head and laughed.

“Ha ha ha!” he cried crazily. “All things, return to the abyss! Activate, my masterpiece! Strategic level attack magic Ginnungagap!”

The repeating spell activated.

And the destruction began.

He felt his body falling. Reynard realized that much.

So I’ll die, he thought. So be it, then.

He knew that the bloodlust of a murderer was never slaked. Yet strangely, he no longer felt that urge. The ultimate murder—the taking of his own life—seemed to sublimate all of his desires.

And he was afraid. Reynard had never realized that before.

He had been afraid all along. So utterly afraid, he hadn’t known what to do. He’d been afraid of anyone outside of himself, anyone with whom he could never reach a complete understanding. He was afraid of every other human that lived on Earth.

He was afraid of the whole world. To him, everyone was an alien, an enemy. That was the reason why he had wanted to kill as many as possible. By decreasing the number of his enemies, he had created a false sense of security for himself. But now…

So this is what it feels like to die.

There were two ways to part with the world. One was to destroy the world—the other was to destroy himself.

Reynard the murderer closed his eyes, feeling a strange sense of peace. He had a flash of insight. People died when they accepted their own deaths, didn’t they? When they recognized that they had died, their lives ended.

There was the short sensation of floating, and then the shock of impact.

Reynard had already accepted it.

A loud roar shook the island.

Something—some pure, gargantuan force—was swelling up at a tremendous speed. One didn’t need to be a sorcerer to sense the gathering power.

“Dammit, where are you?! Raquel! Pacifica!”

With a stupefied Elfitine cradled in his arms, Shannon ran through the stone tunnels. He knew there was no time left to escape from the island; everything depended on whether Raquel could stop the activation of the spell. At the very least, in the time since Reynard had sent the activation order, the spell still seemed to be in the process of activating, and Raquel was probably doing something to prevent it.

But that hideous roaring was a bad sign. Shannon ran faster.

The magic field inside the cave was starting to crack. Numerous fractures had already appeared in the stone pillars, and small pieces of stone rained down from the ceiling and walls. Even if the spell didn’t fully activate, Shannon was afraid the shaking of the island would still bury them all alive.

I have to find Raquel. He knew that if he found her, he could help her. And right then, they all needed as much help as they could get.

Due to luck, coincidence, or sheer emotional connection, he found her much faster than expected—-in the massive cave. He sped up when he saw she was surrounded by several Berserkers. He blinked when he saw who was protecting her.

“Pacifica?”

His baby sister was locked in combat with monstrous attackers. He noticed the Einherjar spell cast on her, but knew it was probably modified. She could hardly put up a fight with her novice fighting skills and weakened armor.

“Pacifica!” he shouted as he ran. Distracted by the sight of Pacifica being overpowered, and burdened with the girl he already carried in his arms, Shannon didn’t notice the stone pillars crumbling nearby.

Several of the larger fragments fell down toward Shannon. He saw them a bit too late, and his dodge suffered. One of the hurtling stones scraped across his back and threw off his balance.

Shannon choked in pain as he was knocked off his feet.

As Shannon fell, Elfitine was thrown out onto the stone floor. She hit the ground and skidded a bit, but she barely even noticed. She was still in a daze.

Reynard Ganvas. The kind, masked saint. The man who had given Elfitine hope and a reason to live. The man she… loved.

But the Reynard she loved was a fake.

The earth had fallen out from beneath her. Everything that had kept her going now sank into an ocean of meaninglessness. What would she do? What could she do? Reynard had inspired her life and dictated her choices. Without Reynard, she had no plans or wishes or dreams of her own. She had had his dream. He had been her dream.

She was exhausted. Reynard was dead. As she closed her eyes, the sound of crumbling rocks ringing in her ears, she made a silent wish.

Please, she thought. Just let it all end.

A sharp cry pierced through the rumbling. It took her a moment to recognize the voice, but when she did, a small flicker of feeling lit inside her heart.

“Pacifica?” she breathed.

Elfitine opened her eyes. Not far away, Pacifica struggled in the grip of a Berserker. Elfitine slowly registered the armor of light on Pacifica’s body—Elfitine had seen that same armor on Reynard—but it didn’t seem to be strong enough, as Pacifica was grimacing in pain. The young girl snarled and lashed out.

“Let go, you stupid… AGH!”

Pacifica was fighting. She was young, and small, but she still fought multiple opponents. Her sister’s aid was wrapped around her body, and her own fierce will drove her to keep battling.

The will… to fight. In a startling moment, Elfitine realized that she lacked that.

Had Elfitine ever fought? Had she ever once put up a fight? As her wide eyes locked on the struggling Pacifica, memories rushed through Elfitine’s brain. The final one was Reynard’s last personal struggle.

Pacifica suddenly seemed to notice Elfitine.

“Elfitine!” the girl screamed as she disappeared behind a Berserker.

Elfitine found herself jumping to her feet. A new daze gripped her—a surreal, sudden realization of what she had to do.

“Stay back!” Pacifica called from somewhere. “These guys are—AGH!”

The Berserker, it seemed, was squeezing Pacifica’s tiny body. Raquel was seated nearby, but she was focusing so deeply on something that she didn’t move a muscle. Shannon must have been hit hard, because he was sprawled on the ground nearby, looking anguished.

At that moment, the only one who could move was Elfitine. And she knew what she had to do.

I do want it to end, she thought. But I’m going to end it.

“Pacifica!”

Elfitine ran toward the girl who had offered her such kindness. Elfitine knew she was going to die, and she was ready to join her beloved, but she wouldn’t go down without a fight. That was what Reynard had done, hadn’t he? He had fought the enemy within.

She had to die fighting. If she didn’t, he would be disappointed in her.

Elfitine threw her body against the Berserker who held her dear friend.

The place was nowhere.

Anti-Mauserist beliefs; Elfitine’s speeches; communal living—the combination of them all had formed a group will—and with drugs and hypnosis, it was molded into a shared-consciousness space. The minds of hundreds of people were shaped into a single mass and connected to the magic field to create a purely inner world.

If one were to ineffectually compare the scenery of the world of consciousness to an actual visual scene, it would resemble a desolate desert.

The islanders awaited their activation order in a sleep so deep, they could not dream. Their thoughts and emotions were temporarily frozen. If their minds were wiped blank, as had happened to Cuphon and Quart, the desert would be gone—replaced with absolutely nothing.

But that hadn’t happened. The people could still be saved. If Raquel could stop the activation from fully taking place, she could save their bodies and preserve their minds.

She began by using a communication spell to inject her own consciousness into the shared consciousness. A moment passed, and then a ripple shot through the islanders’ collective mind mass.

Waves of rejection washed up on all sides of her. Harsh winds blew, carrying emotions of denial. It was a reaction to foreign matter. Inside the shared consciousness, Raquel’s essence was foreign.

…You’ll have to excuse me. I promise I won’t be long.

Withstanding their pressure, Raquel began a detailed investigation of the world she had invaded.

The strategic level attack spell. It was most likely separated into parts, like the pieces of a puzzle, and stored inside the islanders’ heads in a compressed state. They were like seeds planted in the desert: until activation, the spells had no effect and thus didn’t interfere with the islanders’ minds. The islanders probably hadn’t noticed that the spells had even been there.

But once the activation order was made, the spells would decompress and go into action. Each part would fit into another, filling all the spaces that were missing, until a giant spell was formed.

There was no time to go around and erase the individual spells. Even if she could destroy pieces of the spell, the backup spells would just fill in the gaps that she created. She had to find the core—if she could find the central command of the spell and work backward, she could send an order to shut the entire spell down.

Suddenly, the shared consciousness began to rumble.

Oh, dear. Is it starting?

All of the compressed spells had started to activate. It was as though countless plants sprouted up in the desert, and hundreds of flowers were beginning to bloom. Petals unfolded in the shape of geometric patterns, brushing against one another as they grew into a large flower, bumping into surrounding flowers as they formed a giant garden. It was beautiful and terrible. And Raquel was running out of time.

I hope this works.

Raquel scattered around several Arborheim block spells. For a moment, the numerous flowers trembled. The flowers stopped growing as if covered in poison.

Raquel knew they would only be stunted for a short time. The flower garden Ginnungagap was too enormous, and Raquel was too small. She wasn’t sure she could find the core in time. It was a gamble with poor odds.

It’s inconvenient not to have a God to pray to in times like these, she thought as she searched the garden of hell.

“Pacifica!”

Elfitine knew she wasn’t very strong, but she still threw herself with all her might. She hit the Berserker with such force that she was afraid she’d snapped something inside her.

The Berserker lost his balance. Surprise, it seemed, had been an effective weapon. The Berserker lost his grip on Pacifica.

Unfortunately, Elfitine and the Berserker then crashed to the floor together.

Elfitine vaguely heard Pacifica cry out her name. Her eyes blurry, Elfitine looked up as the Berserker lurched to his feet. His attention was now on her. He raised a fist.

With his muscle capacity clearly at a maximum, the Berserker’s blow would probably break her neck. She didn’t have the speed to dodge it. She no longer even had the will.

I fought, was all she thought. I fought, didn’t I? As the fist swing down at her, the girl was overcome by an absolute calm.

She had fought of her own will. Not under anyone’s orders, and not for anyone’s sake. She had fought because she chose to.

That was all she needed.

“Good, Elfitine.”

Silver flashed across Elfitine’s vision. The fist plummeting toward her was suddenly removed from its arm, sent spinning through the air.

Her world still surreal, Elfitine turned her head. Shannon stood behind her, drenched in sweat. He raised his sword again.

A blade began to grow out of the Berserker’s bloody wrist stump. Shannon took a fighting stance, clearly ready to clash blades. He gritted his teeth.

But then, the rumbling halted.

Elfitine didn’t know what that meant. Had Raquel stopped it somehow while the rest of them had protected her? Shannon’s expression registered relief, but the soulless Berserker didn’t falter, still slashing him.

Shannon barely blocked in time. He was in an awkward stance, and he looked pained when his back twisted, so the Berserker’s attack threw off his balance. He stumbled to the ground as the Berserker advanced on him.

“Shannon!”

Pacifica screamed from somewhere. As if in slow motion, Elfitine watched as the girl sprinted for Shannon. The armor of light vanished from Pacifica once she reached a certain distance from Raquel, but that didn’t stop her from throwing her body over her brother’s.

The Berserker’s blade streaked through the air, now falling toward Pacifica’s shoulder. Elfitine’s breath caught in her throat.

“Blanketing my enemy is the queen of frost!”

Something whistled in the wind—the sound of air crying out as the pressure suddenly plunged. A white sparkle covered the Berserker.

It was snow… and frost. The frost multiplied at full speed, covering the Berserker’s body entirely. Before he could respond, the Berserker came to a full halt.

A moment. And then, after teetering, the Berserker fell to the ground with a thud. He had abruptly become a block of ice.

“Boy,” Raquel said as she brushed dirt from her cloak. “That was awfully close.”

Surprisingly—or unsurprisingly—she didn’t sound very concerned.