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She was in Aldreil with the returning Civilizing Expedition. The town, which served as a base for the Expedition, had an unmistakable whiff of rusticity to it, but it was also an excellent place for the missionaries to collect themselves and rest from the road after a long journey. The influx of goods from other parts of the frontier meant that—although again, the selection was nothing like that to be found in the capital—most things a person might need could be found in the city. Be it food or other daily necessities, living in Aldreil left one wanting for little.

Angela’s unit, the Ninth Missionary Brigade, was to continue traveling even farther from the capital in order to relieve another unit. For the month or so until the switch, they would stay here.

Angela liked Aldreil, more or less, so she was assigned to guard duty, which she executed with just as much zeal as any other job. The main task of the Missionary Order was to spread the teachings of the Harris Church to places where they weren’t yet known, but they were also charged with keeping the peace in areas that had already been converted. They patrolled the town, interrogating—or rather, getting information from—townspeople to make sure nothing bad was happening and there were no faithless betrayers who might turn against the Church’s precious teachings.

“Shall we?” Angela said to the knights with her. She climbed down from the observation platform and began her patrol.

Many people stood in place, eyes down, when they saw Angela’s party. They knew any suspicious action could bring punishment from the missionaries, so they tried hard not to draw attention to themselves. Each of them wore the metal ring known as the holy mark around their neck, so none of them dared to confront the missionaries openly.

“Excellent,” Angela murmured as she and the knights walked along. “Absolutely excellent.”

They started, however, when they saw a middle-aged man standing in the middle of the street, flanked by several missionary knights.

“Captain!” They ran up to the man at a gentle jog, then bowed their heads to him in unison. It was a natural gesture of respect to their commanding officer—Richard Bateson, the leader of the Ninth Missionary Brigade.

Bateson was a robust man in his middle years. His small eyes gave the impression of being practically buried in his square face. Although he was from noble stock, like Angela, his features looked more like those of a field worker. His history included no notable military success, but the way he had tirelessly worked his way through the ranks earned the trust of his subordinates.

“Vice Captain. Anything to report?”

Angela straightened up even further, careful to remain stock-still as she answered, “Sir! Nothing unusual, sir.”

“How’s the distribution of the holy mark coming?”

“At present, almost the entire population of the city has been granted the holy mark.”

“Almost?” A note of displeasure entered Bateson’s voice.

Angela added quickly, “There’s a small handful of residents whose whereabouts are currently unknown—”

“And how is that?”

“We suspect they may be savages, still worshiping the erdgod.”

The missionaries who had felled the erdgod had been members of the Third Missionary Brigade, which had been here before Angela’s unit. They had already departed Aldreil for points more remote, but perhaps all the missionaries looked the same to the people of the city. The most devout followers of the old cult might not even understand that they had been liberated from subjection to an evil faith; they might feel they were bringing justice for their fallen god.

“Whatever the case,” Angela continued. “The situation in the city is stable. We have no end of eager disciples of the Harris Church, and there is no discord among the citizenry.”

Once the Third Brigade had defeated the erdgod, a steady flow of missionary units had arrived here from the capital, such that three units were constantly garrisoned in the city. Most of the populace had given up any thought of resistance.

“Oh, Captain, hello!”

Several of the townspeople came over when they saw Bateson. Many people kept their distance, afraid of the missionary knights, but a small handful would approach with smiles on their faces. There were some in every town. They fancied themselves smart enough to see an opportunity when it came along. But really, they were just cozying up to those in power. The way they would simultaneously turn up their noses toward those who were weaker than themselves—and act as if they were somehow keeping the equilibrium by doing so—was truly ugly.

These were the people who had been actively cooperating with the missionaries since they arrived. Now they had made themselves the town’s overseers, behaving as if they were the missionaries’ equals. Angela felt nothing but contempt for them.

The goal of the Missionary Order was, as its name implied, to convert the populace. Those who didn’t resist, but even went out of their way to help, were very useful—one might even argue she should feel a measure of affection for them. But Angela, who took her own creed so seriously, felt that anyone who would sell their faith at the drop of a hat deserved to be spat on. There was a special stink, she thought, that could be detected on those who took advantage of the chaos of conversion to play out personal vendettas or raise their own status.

“If you would be so kind, sir...” One of the men had pressed his hands together and was looking up at Bateson beseechingly. No doubt he was going to bring yet another annoying petition. She felt for Bateson, who was the one stuck dealing with these matters, but since the captain seemed willing to listen to the man, it would hardly do for Angela to jump in and chase him off.

Bateson continued to listen to the man, his expression as unchanging as if it had been carved from stone. Most of the other knights, like Angela, seemed to find the man and his request tiresome, because they glanced vacantly here and there.

Maybe that was why they were slow to react.

From behind the jabbering townsperson, another man approached Bateson. Angela saw that he was reaching into his bag, but she didn’t register danger. She had seen plenty of informants pull out lambskin sheets with the names of people they wanted to turn in. This was probably more of the same.

She hadn’t imagined he might pull a blade from his pouch. Nor that he would then dive at Bateson with it.

“Yah!”

“Captain!”

But Bateson was no amateur. Maybe he had sensed the man’s homicidal intent. Whatever the case, he raised one of his huge, muscled hands and slapped the blade away before it reached his throat.

If only the blow had thrown the weapon to the ground. But the attacker held on, stabbing without regard for whether the wound would be critical, and the knife buried itself deep in Bateson’s abdomen.

“Hrrgh...”

Bateson groaned aloud, but in a testament to his strength, didn’t fall to his knees. In fact, with his right hand, he grabbed the hilt of the weapon, along with the hand of the man holding it. The man tried to jump backward, but Bateson had a crushing grip on him, and he couldn’t get away.

“An attacker! Restrain him!” Angela’s shout sent the missionaries into frantic action.

They apprehended the man without difficulty. On closer inspection, he looked truly impoverished; any one member of the Missionary Order could easily have overpowered him. That made them all the angrier that he had slipped through their defenses.

“Someone accompany the captain to the infirmary!” Angela ordered, never taking her eyes off the attacker.

His clothing was tattered. Perhaps he had been camping in the wilderness recently in order to evade the knights’ roundups, because his outfit was dusty and dirty, and his beard was unshaven.

“This is the curse of the erdgod! I am the hand of justice! Do you see now, you—”

His captors didn’t allow him to finish, but smacked him soundly on the back of the head. He was slammed to the ground, groaning as his face struck the dirt.

So he was one of the supporters of the old god.

“Very well,” Angela said coldly, looking down at him. “If you’re so keen on justice, then you won’t mind an impartial trial.” She was speaking less to the man and more to the group of gawking bystanders that had formed when people started to notice the commotion. She had to send a message to these dim country types, or there might be more attacks.

“You attempted to murder Richard Bateson, the captain of the exalted Ninth Missionary Brigade. Attempted murder of a holy knight. That amounts to treachery against our God! I sentence you to death!”

This provoked a murmur among the onlookers. Her unilateral decision had frightened them.

“H-How is this impartial?” the man gasped, his face still shoved into the ground.

Angela gave him a thin smile. “Don’t worry. There’s even someone to act as your defense—right here.” She turned to one of the missionary knights beside her. “You’re his friend, starting now. Do you have any objection to the verdict?”

“Ma’am! No, ma’am!”

“And what about you?” she asked another of the knights. “You’re his friend, aren’t you?”

“No objection, ma’am!” The knights didn’t even look at the man on the ground.

The man forced his head up, shouting, “Th-This is outrageous! This is no trial!” But Angela had no interest in him.

“You there. Stop where you are.” She instructed her knights to restrain the men who had first spoken to Bateson. The moment the attacker had been overpowered, they had started discreetly backing away, still smiling, but now...

“You’re all accomplices.”

“What? B-But why—?” they protested, eyes wide.

“You were the ones who spoke to the captain,” Angela said coldly. “You made the opening for this man to attack. You’re as guilty as he is.”

“You—you have no proof...”

“You traded a look with this scum. I saw it.”

A chorus of Yeahs and I saw it toos came from the assembled knights. Since the captain had gone for medical treatment, that made the vice captain, Angela, the absolute authority here. If she had pointed to a bird and called it a fish, they would all have agreed that fish were quite talented fliers.

“As you see, I have witnesses. I pronounce you guilty of being this man’s accomplices.”

“W-Wait—!”

“I, Angela Jindel, Vice Captain of the Ninth Missionary Brigade of the Civilizing Expedition of the True Church of Harris, now pass judgment. All of you shall be put to death.”

It was wonderful to make that declaration. At a swoop, she could eliminate the entire group that had been nettling her.

“The sentence will be carried out tomorrow morning. A guillotine shall be constructed in the main square, and a public execution shall be held!”

“Wait! Wait, you can’t—!”

“Take them away,” she ordered her knights. Then she looked around. Everyone who had been staring in shock at the “trial” quickly looked at the ground, making themselves as small as possible so as not to draw the attention of Angela and her men.

Good. This would discourage at least some among them from plotting evil. How many birds had she killed with this stone? A firm hand was so important in education.

“All right, let’s resume our patrol,” she said to her knights, sounding satisfied. Then she set off walking at a brisk pace.

●

By the time Yukinari and the others got back to the sanctuary from Friedland, the sun had already set. Yukinari had only meant to do what he always did: see how things were going in town, offer some suggestions, and come home. But dealing with the attack (or whatever you wanted to call it) of the mercenary Veronika had made him much later getting back than usual. Typically, it would be far too dangerous to leave town after dark, but with both the “acting erdgod” Yukinari and Yggdra’s familiar Ulrike together, there really wasn’t much to worry about. He didn’t get the sense that there were any animals on the prowl tonight, anyway.

“Still, we ended up spending all day in town,” Yukinari muttered. He sat on the floor of his room, beside the map of the area that occupied some of the floor space. He had some things to think about, and it was much easier to organize his thoughts when he had this diagram to look at.

Aldreil.

Yukinari remembered correctly: he and Dasa had passed through there once, before they had come to Friedland. The city seemed like it had simply sprung up on top of the main road; it was easier to get to—and away from—than many of the towns on the frontier.

Aldreil was maybe four or five days’ walk from Friedland. With a distance like that, it was hard to decide what to do. By carriage, it was quite possible to get there in just a couple of days. It was too close to ignore entirely, but not close enough to do anything about in the immediate future. Maybe it really had been turned into a base for the Civilizing Expedition, but if so, it would be very difficult to determine the strength of their forces.

He had to think about Rostruch, too. Rostruch was several days’ journey past Friedland, so if a unit of the Missionary Order set out for that town, they would probably come through Friedland first. Officially, Arlen and his unit had already subjugated Friedland. That meant there was a good chance that any unit bound for Rostruch would pass through the already “converted” town.

Ulrike had been present for everything that day, so there was no need to warn her again, but Rostruch was Friedland’s accomplice in conducting covert trade and might be considered to be in league with the town if it came to a confrontation with the Missionary Order. He had to consider what might happen then.

“Yukinari, might I have a word?”

He looked up to find Ulrike on the far side of the map.

“Hm? Oh, sure. What do you—” He stopped. “Ulrike.”

“Hm?”

“Don’t squat like that.”

“Why not?”

“It... doesn’t leave much to the imagination.”

Ulrike cocked her head quizzically for a second, then said, “Ah! This has to do with reproduction. Does squatting inflame your sexual desire?” For some reason, this familiar of Yggdra—a plant-based erdgod—sounded pleased about this.

“It does not.”

“It’s all right. You are fellow animals.”

“Just cover up, will you?!” Yukinari was desperately looking away from her.

Even seeing her naked somehow hadn’t seemed as plain wrong as the glimpse of her legs that peeked out from the hem of her clothes. Ulrike’s robe hung long—but, like a tail coat, was longer in the back, leaving a good deal of her legs visible from the front. When she crouched down, her robe actually covered very little.

As a matter of fact, Ulrike was wearing underwear—a garment that covered her lower body like a combination of stockings and long socks. But for some reason, it left her inner thighs exposed, and when she crouched, this normally hidden bare skin was plainly visible. Combined with Ulrike’s very young appearance, it left Yukinari feeling more than a little dirty.

“Okay. What did you want to talk about?”

“Mm. About the discussion this morning. We have had, in our way, an idea. We seek your opinion.”

“Let’s hear it,” Yukinari said, straightening up. He wanted to be at his most proper because he knew that in this conversation, he would be speaking not to “Ulrike,” but to the shared consciousness of all the humans who made up the self-awareness of the plant-based erdgod, Yggdra. In many ways, it was the closest thing to what Yukinari thought of when he imagined a “god.”

“Concerning the matter of trade,” Ulrike said. “Are Friedland and Rostruch not somewhat distant from each other? To travel from one to the other periodically is one thing, but they are perhaps too far to transport goods on a daily basis.”

Yukinari didn’t reply immediately. He had been assuming she wanted to talk about what to do if the Missionary Order attacked, and now he had to reorient himself. “Well, that’s true, but...”

Sprouts and seeds were one thing; a relatively small number of them could be brought to Friedland and used to grow more. But if they had to transport a large number of bags stuffed with wheat, they would need guards, and the amount of labor required to conduct commerce would increase dramatically. Yukinari had determined that even so, there would still be enough benefit to both parties to justify the effort. That was why he had initiated trade in the first place.

“On that note,” Ulrike said. “What about a mode of transport that does not use guards or carriages? The amounts that could be moved would be limited, but it would require fewer resources as well.”

“No guards or carriages? There’s no way—”

“There is the way I delivered you from Rostruch to Friedland before, is there not?”

“Delivered me? You mean—”

Finally he saw what she was getting at. When Yukinari had gone to Rostruch to investigate the possibility of trade, a demigod had attacked Friedland in his absence. He had needed to rush home to protect the town, but the distance was too great for even Yukinari to cover it very quickly. On that occasion, he’d received help from Ulrike’s “mother,” Yggdra.

“I’m not sure most things could handle being ‘delivered’ that way.”

He remembered the experience, and it struck him as much too violent for most things or people. Yggdra had returned Yukinari, and Dasa as well, to Friedland by draping a vine across the branches of two huge trees and launching the pair of them back home. They had, in essence, traveled by the world’s biggest slingshot.

Needless to say, for this method to be remotely safe, some way of slowing down upon reaching the destination was required. When Yukinari was in his “angel” form—the body that allowed him to use his powers to the fullest—wings sprouted from his back. They weren’t intended for flight, but they made it possible to control his attitude, and so he’d managed to land in Friedland with some semblance of grace.

But a load of goods with no way of controlling its own flight path would simply smash into the ground. Even if the contents came through intact, they would be scattered everywhere, and collecting them again would be a major chore. To say nothing of the danger to anyone the delivery happened to come down on.

Ulrike, however, had a way around these concerns.

“Could we not make a large lake and drop the deliveries there? To ensure the contents do not scatter, we could use a shell such as you made before.”

“I see what you mean...”

The “shell” Ulrike referred to was a half-globe of metal Yukinari had produced as a defense mechanism when he was fighting Yggdra. He could simply make a complete globe along the same lines, and the seeds or any other deliveries could be put inside and safely launched. When the globe came down in the lake, they would retrieve it. Problem solved. If they could ensure the globes would be fired with enough accuracy, they didn’t even need water. A huge net could be used to catch the deliveries.

Ulrike’s suggestion certainly had some appeal. But...

“Over such a long distance...”

Accuracy would become the main problem. It was the equivalent of doing sniper work, albeit with gigantic plants instead of a gun.

The environment was constantly changing; it was never really stable. Temperature and wind direction could vary from day to day, to say nothing of season to season. Trying to consistently land the “bullet” in one specific spot was a very tall order.

Even if Yukinari was able to create a lake or a net large enough, they would need a more detailed map than they currently had in order to make fine adjustments, along with measuring devices to tell them the ambient temperature and wind direction. If they got the angle even a little wrong, it could result in being several hundred meters off target.

“Anyway,” Yukinari said. “Aren’t you worried that the globes might be attacked by flying demigods or xenobeasts?”

“I don’t know,” Ulrike said, looking equally puzzled. “This has never been tried.” Well, that was fair enough.

At some point, though, they might need defenses against an enemy who came from overhead. The birdlike demigod they had encountered before was able to escape in one of their battles because it had gotten out of range of both Yukinari’s Durandall and Dasa’s Red Chili. Both weapons fired bullets, meaning they weren’t accurate over extremely long distances.

They might need some kind of gun and ammunition that could be used over massively longer distances than what they had now. This had been on Yukinari’s mind ever since his encounter with the flying demigod, but he’d been too busy to give it much thought.

And if it really comes to a battle with Aldreil’s garrison...

In that case, long-range weapons would probably be an asset.

“I’ve got to make... some kind of sniper rifle...”

“Sni-per-ri-fle...?” Ulrike said, tilting her head like a bird.

It wasn’t a word she would know, coming from the world she did. Here, bows and arrows constituted the extent of ranged weaponry, and guns that fired using black powder didn’t exist at all. At least, Yukinari had never seen anyone carrying a gun.

“It’d take forever to explain,” he said with a half-smile. “When it’s done, I’ll show you.” Then he added, “I like your idea. Thanks,” and patted Ulrike on the head. It was something he always did with Dasa, and it had become a habit.

Ulrike looked startled for a moment, but then her eyes squinted like a cat, and she smiled. It was outrageously adorable.

“Anyway, I’ll think about if there’s a way to make it work.” Yukinari felt his heart rate jump, and he mentally repeated, She’s just a plant, she’s just a plant...

Maybe Ulrike noticed this, or maybe not, but she nodded happily and said, “I see. Understood. I shall not hesitate to aid you if I can, Yukinari, for you are my friend.”

●

After he was done talking to Ulrike, Yukinari went back to his room, where he found Dasa sitting on his bed, waiting for him.

“Yuki... Exam.”

“Sure, I know.”

Dasa’s eyes weren’t exactly the ones she’d been born with. She’d had cataracts since birth, leaving her largely unable to see. Yukinari had put in artificial lenses, and now she had normal vision. But the treatment he’d given Dasa was based on what the doctor in his previous world had said when Yukinari’s sister was going to undergo cataract surgery. Yukinari himself had no specialized training.

He hadn’t even had a sterile room to do the surgery in. He tried to clean and sterilize things as best he could, but an amateur could only do so much. As a result, he had to regularly check Dasa’s eyes to make sure everything was still normal, especially that there was no inflammation.

He sat down next to Dasa and reached over. “I’m going to take off your glasses.”

But Dasa took Yukinari’s hand and gently lowered it.

“Dasa? What’s wrong?”

“Today it’s my... turn to do the ex...am,” she said haltingly, still holding his hand.

“What do you mean?”

“Yuki, your... body.” She let go of his hand and touched his chest.

Strictly speaking, Yukinari’s body wasn’t human. It was a homunculus, created using alchemy. He was an angel—the word meant messenger—a living alchemical device originally intended for the True Church of Harris to use when converting a populace. The “miracles” the angel could perform would convince the people of the truth of the church’s teachings.

The person who had built Yukinari’s body was Jirina Urban, an alchemist under confinement by the Church. She had taken it upon herself to create an angel with a sense of self—that was Yukinari. For this, the church had purged her, meaning there was no one left who could examine him with complete confidence.

But Dasa was Jirina’s little sister. She’d been Jirina’s assistant for as long as she could remember, so she had a fairly extensive knowledge of alchemy. Her impaired vision meant she hadn’t read any books on the subject, but by talking constantly to her sister, she had become quite knowledgeable.

As noted, the Church kept alchemists and their families under confinement—outwardly, the True Church condemned alchemy as heresy—so Dasa had known almost nothing about the outside world until she met Yukinari. The result was that much of what she knew was secondhand, or rather, it had no practical experience to back it up.

“I feel fine.”

Dasa said nothing, but only looked at Yukinari in displeasure over the rim of her glasses, her hand still on his chest.

“Okay, I get it,” he said with a shrug.

Dasa was normally quite willing to do what he said, but once in a while she became possessed of a great stubbornness. Especially when it came to “her” field—alchemy, where, after Jirina died, Dasa had been something of a teacher to Yukinari. At times like these, the best course of action was just to go along with her. Yukinari had learned this from experience during their travels. When she felt wronged, Dasa could pout for very long time.

“Take off your shirt.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“You only need to say... it once.”

Yukinari removed his shirt, and Dasa put her face close to his chest.

“Hey, what’re you—”

“Hold... still.”

“I—I don’t think this is an exam!”

“It is,” she said, turning her head as if she were going to rub her cheek against his bare chest.

It took Yukinari a moment to realize that she was conducting the exam with her senses of hearing and touch. Because Dasa had spent so long unable to see, her auditory and tactile perception were highly developed. And although she could see with no problem now, she still seemed to have some trouble relying on her sight—she preferred to confirm what she saw using her hearing and touch, and even her sense of smell.

“Close your... eyes, and lie... on your side.”

“R... Right...”

He got the idea, but this was the first time she had ever examined him at such length. It was confusing. But when Dasa got into her “little sister of an alchemist” mode, he knew it was best not to contradict her. So, with some hesitation, he lay down on the bed.

She is just... using her hearing and touch to check me out, right?

He remembered doctors in his previous world doing something similar. So he closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and let the tension out of his body.

The first thing he felt was a thin, cold finger. It traced a line along his chest. At first it felt ticklish, but soon the chilly digit felt comfortable. The touch had a certain tenderness, but from time to time the finger would press down firmly or tap gently. That meant she really was examining him.

Simultaneously, Dasa pressed her ear to Yukinari’s chest, listening carefully to his heartbeat. Her silver hair and the breath leaving her mouth tickled, too, until he thought he might actually laugh out loud.

If anyone else saw them like this, what would they think? Ulrike seemed to have gone to sleep early, and Berta had stayed in Friedland to look after Veronika. There shouldn’t be anyone else at the sanctuary who might see them.

Yukinari opened his eyes a little bit. Dasa’s face was at his chest again; she was rubbing her nose against it gently. Checking the smell, perhaps. Come to think of it, he had once heard that it was possible for animals to detect people in ill health by their body odor.

“...Yuki.”

“Oh, uh, yes?” he said, quickly closing his eyes again.

“You’ve been... working a bit too hard recent...ly.”

“I don’t really think so.”

“Don’t... overdo it, okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“I’m... not.”

Yukinari was lost for words. For better or worse, it seemed she had seen through him.

Yukinari had decided to stay in Friedland, to act as its god, for Dasa. When she lay dying, Jirina, to whom he owed everything, had asked him to take care of Dasa, and in order to protect her, the two of them had been living on the run ever since. But for Dasa, who had only ever known life inside an isolated Church facility, the constant travel was becoming a burden. For her sake, Yukinari had wanted to settle down somewhere.

This was hardly lost on Dasa. She was forever anxious about the fact that it was her fault Yukinari was forcing himself to take the role of a god like this; it hurt her to watch.

“Yuki, you’re... tired.”