...

The knights uttered inarticulate screams, nearly tripping over themselves as they fled. Yukinari turned toward them, picking up Durandall, which he had cast aside. He took aim—

“Yuki!” Dasa came running up, wrapping her arms around the blue armor. “Yuki, Yuki, Yuki!”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine, just—stop shaking me,” he muttered as she rattled him with her embrace. By the time she stopped, though, the missionaries were out of range.

And then he was confronted with the shocked expressions on Fiona’s and Berta’s faces.

“Who, or... what... are you?” Fiona breathed.

It was understandable. The “angel” had begun as a man-made human, one of the miracles intended to be trotted out to convert the populace. A tool for evangelism. Behold, the missionaries could say, the wonders of the power of our faith! This rock has become bread. Or, In response to our faith, God in Heaven has sent unto us a messenger to work mighty deeds among us.

Of course, the existence of this creature was a secret to all outside the Church, and the angel itself lacked any will of its own. Even its human form owed much to its purpose as an object of display. Consciousness or selfhood could only make a tool harder to use. Thus, while ten or so “angels” besides Yukinari existed, they were really no more than puppets made of flesh. They only functioned when used by the missionaries—in that sense, they were much like the statue of the guardian saint.

Of all the angels, only Yukinari had a sense of self. Jirina had made him, and the Church had killed her for it; his creation, they said, was an act of rebellion against the highest echelons of the Church.

But Yukinari, for his part, simply gave a rictus grin under his mask.

“That’s a damn good question.”

●

Yukinari and the others loaded the wounded knights onto the huge wagon and went back to Friedland. The remaining soldiers of the Missionary Order were there completing the “conversion” of the people—that is, giving them the Holy Mark. But at the sight of Yukinari in his blue armor, they took fright, and in terror surrendered. All he had to do was show them a piece of the statute he had destroyed. If he had defeated their most powerful weapon, then there was no way the knights, with their reduced numbers, could control this town.

“Th—This is not over!” one of the knights, who had been gathered in the town square, said hatefully. He was one of those who had come to the sanctuary; according to Fiona, his name was Arlen. She said they had been classmates when she studied in the capital. But for all their acquaintance, she seemed perfectly disgusted by him.

“N-Next time, we’ll—we’ll bring something even more awesome! Staggering beyond belief! Five guardian statues—no, ten!”

“So,” Fiona said to him, sounding more exasperated than angry, “you’re going to go back to the headquarters of the True Church and tell them you’re an incompetent who let their ultimate weapon be destroyed by one boy?”

Arlen goggled at her, lost for words.

Fiona whispered to him: “How about we make a deal, you and I?”

“A—A deal?”

“Mmhm. You send back a false report to your superiors. You get to save face, and we don’t get bothered by anymore ‘civilizing’ armies. If you promise not to do anything untoward, we’ll let you knights live here.”

If they simply chased Arlen and the rest out of the village, the Missionary Order would make other attempts to convert the area. Of course, the same went if they were to kill the knights in their custody. If the Friedlanders could convince the men to send a false report, though, it might work out to everyone’s benefit.

But Arlen responded, “Who are you s-slaves to make such offers to us?!” He pointed at the rings that everyone but Fiona wore around their necks. People are quick to show their true colors under duress, and despite his euphemisms and speeches of earlier, it was now clear that to Arlen and his companions, these country people were little different from servants.

“That’s right!” the other knights began to chime in. “You cannot defy us, so long as you wear the Holy Mark...!”

It seemed a special tone had to be sounded in order to release the rings.

“Are these the collars you were talking about?” Yukinari walked over to a young child—one of those he had met at the orphanage—and touched her neck.

“Sorry. I just need you to hold still for a second.” Then he touched the ring she wore. No sooner had he done so than it turned to a dust like sand that drifted to the ground.

The knights of the Missionary Order could only gape.

“So now we’re all equals here, right?

“We... We could never...!”

Arlen and his knights were deeply unsettled. An unpleasant smile came over Fiona’s face.

“Well then,” she said, “what do you propose we do?”