>

“Wha? Um, sure. R-Right now...?” She put her eye back to Derrringer’s scope.

Then she fired.

This time she appeared to have missed. Maybe the first shot had been lucky, or maybe the second had been thrown off because of her surprise at Yukinari’s reaction.

“Oh, it missed,” Berta said, actually sounding relieved. There was none of the regret that Dasa had shown. It wasn’t so much that Berta had an inherently calm demeanor, she just wasn’t as buffeted by her emotions.

Still, Yukinari looked through his scope to check where the bullet had landed. She had missed, all right. But luck had nothing to do with it.

The second shot had gone almost exactly where the first had. And because the human figure was swaying slightly with the impact of the first shot, the second one would have been an order of magnitude harder.

“That’s really something,” Yukinari said. If the figure had been intact, like it was when she took the first shot, she might have hit it.

“Th-Thank... you...”

Berta still didn’t seem to understand the import of what she had done; she just seemed a little embarrassed. Maybe she was happy to be praised by Yukinari.

Well, this is unexpected, Yukinari thought.

Sniping requires patience. You have to sit and wait, still as a stone, for one precise instant to arrive. It was almost the exact opposite of a sword battle, in which you moved and sliced, trying to create an opening. Nor was it quite the same as trying to hit a moving target in close-distance combat. Your enemy was less your opponent than yourself.

Could Berta have a talent for this?

He looked afresh at the shrine maiden who had been offered to him. She was staring in perplexity at Derrringer, still perched on the mound of earth.

●

The testing session over, Yukinari and the others returned to Friedland to let Fiona know the results. After they’d eaten, they went back to the sanctuary.

Yukinari said thank you to Ulrike, who had been waiting there, and soon set up shop in the living area as usual, breaking down Derrringer. Unlike Durandall and Red Chili, which were used in largely the same way as the guns he had modeled them on, with this new one he was trying to adapt a derringer, a small handgun, to sniper use—an inherently ridiculous idea. There was a distinct possibility that parts of it would break under stress, or that other problems might emerge. He was just checking to see that everything was in good working order.

He checked not only the Derrringer they had used for shooting that day, but also the various spare parts he had prepared, making sure nothing was warped or damaged. If everything looked all right, he planned to create three Derrringers, for more efficient shooting practice.

“Doesn’t look like there are any problems,” he muttered, looking at the parts of the weapon spread out on a cloth.

For such a large gun, there were surprisingly few pieces. The largest part was the barrel, followed by the stock, then the mechanical frame, and finally the grip. Not counting the scope, there were hardly thirty parts, of which about a third were springs or screws.

“Maybe I should attach a rail or something, to make it easier to test-fire later...?” he said to himself as he set about producing the new guns. Beside him, Veronika was watching with interest. She had come to the sanctuary with Berta, who was worried that the cleaning and cooking and washing there might not get done without her. Hence she had suggested she return briefly, at which point Veronika volunteered that she would come, too. She was interested in the guns, yes, but above all, she seemed to want to see Yukinari “play god.”

“......So,” Yukinari said as he began working on the second Derrringer. “Was there something you wanted to talk about?”

“A sniper rifle, you called this?” Veronika shifted so she was looking at him. “This ‘Derrringer’... You said you made it as an experiment. That you didn’t know how it would handle. So your ‘Durandall’ that you normally use, does it handle better?”

“A little bit, I guess,” he said after a moment’s thought.

The truth was, of the three weapons he had made—Durandall, Red Chili, and Derrringer—by far the easiest to use offensively was Durandall.

Red Chili, as a small pistol, might look simple, but pistols are harder to aim than rifles or carbines. Their smaller size makes the aim less steady. That’s why, in many of the armies of ages past, pistols were carried by officers for their own protection, while the basic weapon used in combat was a small rifle.

Yukinari had initially designed Red Chili for Dasa’s personal protection, thinking he would make something small enough to fit in her bag. He had never imagined she would use it in as many situations as she did.

“Give me a Durandall, then,” Veronika said. “Along with as many... ‘bullets,’ did you call them? As many bullets as possible, if you can.”

“Still set on going back to Aldreil?” Yukinari asked, not looking up from his work.

“Yes.”

“To help your friends?”

“Yes.” Her answers came without hesitation.

Yukinari was silent for a moment, then asked, “...What will you do if they’re already dead?”

“Avenge them.” Again Veronika’s reply was immediate. “That’s another reason why I need a weapon. My sword is smashed beyond use,” she said pointedly.

“When you put it that way, it’s hard to refuse,” Yukinari said with a grin. It was Dasa who had broken Veronika’s sword, but her actions could, in principle, be considered the responsibility of her guardian, Yukinari.

“Will you try to stop me, too?”

“...I don’t know,” Yukinari said.

It was easy to say that revenge solves nothing, but Yukinari was hardly in a position to lecture someone else on that point. When Jirina was killed, he had gone on a murderous rampage against members of the Harris Church. He hadn’t even counted the number of his victims; to this day, he didn’t know how many he had killed. If Jirina hadn’t asked him to take care of Dasa, he would probably have stayed in the capital, slaughtering everyone associated with the Church until he ran out of strength.

“Revenge,” he mused. “Vengeance... It’s not exactly productive.” He almost could have been talking to himself.

Revenge satisfies only oneself. If you place yourself above all else, then vengeance can be meaningful, but you have nothing concrete to gain by it. Absolutely nothing. It takes time and energy. Or at least, so Yukinari thought. He felt it all the more keenly because he was thinking it at this moment.

“The fact that you’re prepared to die for it, it’s—how do I put this? Dangerous. To die just trying to satisfy yourself... It seems pointless.”

“Satisfy myself?” Veronika raised an eyebrow. “I’m not crazy enough to do something like that just for my own amusement.”

“But what other purpose does it serve? You don’t get any reward for it, and it’s not like your friends who are already dead are going to be happy about it... I guess you could say it doesn’t have any practical benefit.”

“No practical benefit? Hmm...” Veronika seemed intrigued by this; she looked from Derrringer to Yukinari. “Yukinari, what country were you born in? How were you raised?”

“What’s this all of a sudden?” Yukinari stopped what he was doing and looked at Veronika.

“Don’t be upset, just listen to me. You seem to have been brought up very well. Somewhere peaceful, I assume, a country under wise rule...”

Yukinari looked at her, puzzled.

“It’s just common sense,” Veronika said. “If you don’t fight, your opponent will have contempt for you. All the more so if there’s no reward for fighting. That’s how humans are. Revenge very much has a benefit; it prevents the next tragedy from occurring. It says, if you hurt us, you’ll pay for it. If the other side knows you’re strong, they won’t be so eager to attack you next time.”

“That’s...”

“I agree with you, it’s better to live in peace without fighting. But if you refuse to shed blood to obtain that, you’ll never have peace to begin with.”

Yukinari was silent.

“Ahh,” Veronika said, her expression softening into a grin. “You’re wondering what right a mercenary has to go on about something like that. But I wasn’t born a mercenary, you know. What I’m saying are my personal conclusions, based on the life I’ve lived.”

“Veronika,” Yukinari said after a moment. “You were raised pretty well yourself, weren’t you?”

“What makes you say that?”

“The things you’re saying, it’s the way an educated person would think. There’s a clear logic. And the words you use, the expressions—there are some slightly more difficult ones here and there.”

Yukinari worked the second Derrringer he’d created while it was empty, making sure all the moving parts functioned.

“...Yes,” Veronika said. “It was a decent life. Years ago, though, my home was destroyed and my father was killed. My father was strong, but also kind. So people looked down on him.”

Yukinari said nothing.

“But...” For a second, Veronika looked almost melancholy about something. “You look sheltered to me, coddled by peace, but just the fact that people who think like you exist makes me happy. My mother... She left this life even before my father did, but she was that way, too.”

Yukinari couldn’t quite find the right words. “It... It sounds like you’ve been through a lot.”

“Well, thankfully, it’s given me the strength to survive,” Veronika said, and then she smiled.

●

Berta and Veronika decided to simply stay at the sanctuary that night. By the time Yukinari had finished what he was doing with Derrringer, it was full dark outside, and returning to Friedland would have been dangerous. There were many obstacles along the mountain road, and the cloudy sky meant no light from the moon or stars. And a handheld lantern alone didn’t inspire much confidence.

Berta went back to her own room for the first time in several days and prepared an additional sleeping place. The sanctuary wasn’t built to receive guests; there was a spare room, but Ulrike was in there now. Veronika wasn’t especially set on having her own room, so she would sleep in Berta’s.

It was obviously too late to create a bed, so Berta set up an improvised sleeping place with sheets and a pillow. Still, she hesitated to simply lay them out on the floor, so she put a wooden board underneath the bedding.

“Sorry about this,” Veronika said, coming into the room just as Berta finished setting up. She glanced around, then set her belongings next to the just-completed bed without a moment’s hesitation. Then she took off the armor she was wearing. And then, to Berta’s consternation, she got in the bed.

“U-Um...”

This “bed” was just a wooden board with sheets and a pillow, spare items she’d found around the sanctuary. It couldn’t possibly be comfortable. Berta had intended to use it herself, but now...

“Yes, what?” Veronika cast a dour look at her.

“Oh, uh, I just thought you could... use my bed...”

“No, that’s all right,” Veronika said with a small smile. “I’m used to sleeping outdoors. As long as I can stretch out, that’s enough. I’ve even got a pillow here. A freeloader can’t ask for more than that.”

“I see...”

Berta could hardly press the point. Instead, she dutifully got into her own bed, and then, after an okay from Veronika, doused the lamp by her pillow.

Immediately, the room was filled with darkness. It was so dark, she couldn’t see her hand in front of her face. The inability to see naturally sharpened her hearing. She could detect the sound of her own breath and her heartbeat, as well as the breathing of Veronika, just nearby, and the rustling of cloth each time she shifted under her sheets.

Berta lay in silence. For once, she couldn’t sleep. Every night she would lie down in the darkness, close her eyes, and simply drift off. Back at the orphanage, it had been perfectly normal to share a room with someone else. Yet now...

“Can’t sleep?” Veronika’s voice suddenly drifted through the darkness. Berta had thought Veronika had fallen asleep immediately, but apparently she was still awake.

“Oh... No.”

“...Can I ask you one thing?”

This was rather sudden, but Berta replied, “Y-Yes, I’ll answer if I can...”

“Do you like that boy Yukinari?”

Her answer was immediate: “Yes.”

Veronika, though, didn’t seem to like this answer. “No, I didn’t mean it that way.”

“I’m sorry...?”

“I’m not talking about, do you respect him as a comrade or feel some kind of solidarity with him. I simply mean do you, as a woman, have feelings for him, as a man?”

Berta couldn’t think of what to say. She didn’t really understand what Veronika meant. “I’m the shrine maiden who’s been offered to Lord Yukinari, and—”

“Yes, I remember you saying that. But you also said that despite that, he’s never touched you. He doesn’t strike me as being totally uninterested in women. So that means either he’s not interested in you personally, or he feels some kind of duty to that girl Dasa.”

“Well, uh...”

“Or is it you yourself who’s holding back because of Dasa?”

Berta was silent. She hadn’t given it much thought, but maybe it was true.

“Your feelings for Yukinari—are they because you’re his shrine maiden? Or because he saved your life? Either way—if that’s all—then there’s no problem. If Yukinari doesn’t seek anything from you, then you don’t need to try to get him to make love to you out of some feeling of duty or indebtedness.”

“You... You think not...?”

“But if you love him as a woman, then you’ll want something more.”

Berta said nothing.

“Are you happy with things the way they are? Or not? If you forever hold yourself back because of Dasa, you’ll never gain Yukinari’s affections—is that all right? I know it doesn’t sound nice, but if you want something, sometimes you have to fight for it, take it. I’m not saying you should get rid of Dasa, of course. It’s a question of your own feelings.”

“I’m sorry... I don’t... really understand...”

That was her immediate response. But Berta realized that somewhere inside, she was nodding along to Veronika’s words. If Berta wanted Yukinari’s love—not out of debt or duty, but genuinely—then she couldn’t simply wait.

It was hard for her to say what her real, unfettered feelings truly were. For as long as she could remember, she had been taught that she would one day be offered up to an erdgod. She had been taught that she wasn’t like the other village girls, who dreamed of falling in love, marrying, bearing and raising children. Such a future, she was told, was not in store for her. So she had always tried not to think about it.

Now, suddenly, she was being told that it was all right for her to love someone as the object of her own desires, and she didn’t know what to make of it. She had never been allowed to want something for herself, and it left her with the sense that perhaps her desires were wrong. But...

Lord Yukinari...

Yukinari was kind. He was truly kind. If he hadn’t saved her— If he hadn’t taken on the role of the god—

If he hadn’t done those things, would Berta still want to offer herself to him? If she hadn’t been put here by circumstances, would she still want to be by his side?

She thought about it, and... yes. She believed she would.

So this was love she felt for him. Perhaps it had begun as duty, or because she owed her life to him, but from the moment she had this realization, it became real love.

It was okay for her to actively pursue him.

But... How? What could she do? She wasn’t smart like Fiona. She lacked Dasa’s intelligence, to say nothing of the sheer time the girl had spent with Yukinari. She didn’t have absolute power like Ulrike did. Even if she didn’t intend to shove these other girls aside, at this rate Berta would get lost in the crowd.

“It’s a mistake to think things will go your way without your doing anything. Sometimes, by the time you realize that, it’s already too late.”

Veronika seemed to have read her mind. Her tone was somber—but also empty; it sounded somehow as if she were looking far into the distance. Her words seemed to spring from her own experience. Clearly, there was something she regretted. A time when she had done nothing, or had been unable to do anything.

Something Veronika had said flitted through Berta’s mind.

I’m tired of leaving people behind.

“Sorry,” Veronika said, a hint of a smile in her voice. “Maybe it’s none of my business. You’ve done a lot for me, and I’m grateful. It’s not much, but I thought maybe it would help you. If you don’t like it... Just think of it as the babbling of a passing stranger.”

“No, I—”

“Good night again, for real this time.”

“Right. Good night...”

Berta closed her eyes once more. The night and her eyelids formed two layers of darkness enveloping her. She lay there, turning Veronika’s words over in her mind again and again.

●

Morning. Waking up was the worst these days.

He would wake to find himself in a room vastly inferior to the one he’d had in the house he had grown up in. It wasn’t even as good as the lodgings he’d had in the barracks after he entered the Missionary Order. Wind got in through the cracks, the night was dark, the bed creaked, the pillow was thin. This was less a home than a warehouse. The building had, in fact, originally been intended for storage. It was at least better than camping out, in that it kept most of the elements off him.

Pitiful. It was an utterly pitiful place to live.

Finally, though, he put on a familiar shirt—he had packed plenty of extras into the carriage when the Civilizing Expedition set off—and he began to feel human again.

He thought about the day’s work. When shipments of goods went to Rostruch, he acted as a guard. On other days, he generally patrolled around Friedland and looked after public safety. That was basic. He wasn’t sure about guarding merchant caravans, but looking after local stability was part of the job he had originally been sent here to do, so he didn’t have any specific objection. Still, it bothered him that when the townspeople looked at him, there was no awe or respect in their eyes. Depending on the day, he might even be put to sundry chores.

Truth be told, that was what he resented the most. Knights of the Missionary Order trained hard, but fighting and farming use the body in fundamentally different ways, so he was always more tired than he expected to be. The unfamiliar work made his joints ache. And if he took even a moment too long to do something, the townspeople didn’t hesitate to yell at him. He had been born to the nobility; he had never been shouted at by commoners.

“I’m supposed to be a knight!”

The frustrated words slipped out of him, but nobody responded. Griping was common enough in the unit, but nobility was rare even in the Order, so there were many who quietly accepted what had happened to them. There were so few with whom he could commiserate.

Still, the human body was an astonishing thing; even he could see that, despite circumstances he would never have wished upon himself, he was adapting day by day. Sometimes the girls from the orphanage would give him words of encouragement as they passed by. It wasn’t much, yet now it was one of his greatest joys. If his younger self, from even a year ago, could see how far he had fallen, what would he think?

With those thoughts in his head he left the hut and headed down the street, whereupon someone called out to him.

“Well, aren’t you a hard worker, Arlen.” He—Arlen Lansdowne—turned to see Fiona Schillings, accompanied by what appeared to be a maid. “Starting your patrol so early?”

“...Hrmph.”

Arlen had met Fiona at the academy in the capital, and she had always been the same: very intelligent, the trade-off being that she was strangely stubborn and impertinent. Since they had met again in Friedland, he thought she had only gotten more pompous. Truly a hopeless woman.

“Maybe you’re getting used to helping this town?” she asked. “I see the girls from the orphanage stopping by your place. Don’t teach them anything weird, okay?” Maybe Fiona thought this passed for light banter, but Arlen was only further incensed by the note of mockery.

“Y-You are a vulgar woman! A truly vulgar woman!”

Fiona was unfazed by Arlen’s outburst. “What are you so upset about? And what did I say that was vulgar? Here I thought I was encouraging you.”

“To think I would so much as touch such young children!”

“Touch them? ...Heh, is that what this is about? I was talking about trying to indoctrinate them into Church teachings or your twisted way of looking at the world. So which of us has our mind in the gutter?”

“Hrk...?” Arlen, who had indeed misunderstood Fiona, had no response.

Still, Fiona had a composure beyond her years, and he couldn’t stand it. He simply couldn’t help feeling that she was making fun of the depths to which he’d fallen.

“Y-You want to encourage me? Well, actions speak louder than words! Do something about that hovel, for a start!”

“What, you want us to build you a mansion?” Fiona was smirking. “What are you up to? Is your brain still asleep? You can’t talk in your sleep when you’re wide awake, you know.”

Arlen went silent. Fiona had always been like this. She was such a quick thinker, she could make a case for anything and make it stick. He had gotten into more than a few arguments with her in his time, but he’d never won.

“Okay,” she said. “Get moving. You went to all the trouble of getting up early—don’t waste it!”

“Hrmph.”

Having anything more to do with her would only make him even angrier. It would be better just to get to work, even if he didn’t want to. He set off walking, but Fiona’s voice came from behind him.

“It’s true that I’m grateful to you, though. I’ll make you something sweet for when you’re done working today—savor the anticipation!”

Arlen felt his cheeks twitch upward of their own accord and pointedly forced them back down. He didn’t think Fiona could see him, but just in case. He could hardly call himself a knight of the Missionary Order—or even a grown man—if he could be bought off with a few treats. Fiona must have thought she was very clever, Arlen told himself, using the carrot and stick this way. But Arlen Lansdowne would not be so easily brought to heel.

Yes. He was Arlen Lansdowne, knight of the Missionary Order. Perhaps he was doing menial work in Friedland, but it certainly didn’t mean he had turned his back on the teachings of the True Church of Harris. He was no apostate.

Truth be told, what Arlen and the other knights were doing in Friedland now was not, in principle, so different from their original plan. As the local garrison, they would have protected the town. Because Yukinari had already defeated the erdgod, the creature supported by the area’s barbaric customs, the missionaries’ job could be considered half-done already. Probably. He thought.

If there was anything in particular that was a problem, it was that Yukinari had destroyed the statue of the guardian saint...

“But that’s over,” he whispered to himself. “There was nothing we could do about that.”

They had never for a moment thought that they might find the Blue Angel when their expedition came here. Nor had they expected that the angel’s fighting abilities might be greater even than the statue of the guardian saint. Angels were originally created to perform miracles when converting people; they were never intended for use in battle. Arlen had never even considered the notion of pitting an angel against a guardian statue.

In any event, they hadn’t planned for any of this. There was nothing they could have done. Their enemy had turned out to be overwhelmingly powerful.

To confront a vastly more powerful enemy, one against which there was no hope of victory, was a fool’s errand. Arlen was doing the smart thing. He was protecting himself, maintaining a modicum of freedom, and accomplishing some part of his charge as a knight—even as he pretended to obey his captors.

Under the circumstances, this was the best choice. So he kept telling himself.

And then...

“—ed. —y, are you listening?!”

The voice snapped him back to reality. He looked around in a hurry and realized he was already outside of town.

During the day, several of the town gates were left open, making it comparatively easy to go in and out. Arlen had been walking along, lost in thought, and had left the walls without even linking up with his fellow missionaries. The guards at the gate knew Yukinari had asked Arlen and the others to do patrols, so they wouldn’t have stopped him even if they’d noticed him.

Even so...

“Arlen Lansdowne?”

The voice said his name again.

A female knight stood in front of him. She was wearing a light outfit—no plate armor, but her clothes bore the insignia of the Missionary Order in several places. She was perhaps about twenty years old, and despite her youth, three men were following her.

Oh yeah... I never did hear how old she was, he thought.

Many young members of powerful noble families entered the Missionary Order, so it wasn’t unusual to see a young woman in a position of authority. Arlen himself was in a relatively high position for his age, thanks to his aristocratic background.

“Oh—Oh! It’s been a long time, Angela Jindel.”

He was a knight of the Missionary Order. That was what he reminded himself of as he hurriedly straightened up and greeted the woman.

Angela Jindel. They knew each other’s names and faces because they had entered the Order at the same time. Angela was so passionate about the teachings of the True Church of Harris that he suspected she hadn’t joined just to make herself look good, and she had very much held her own against other members of the Order despite her gender.

Now that he thought about it, he’d heard rumors that she had been assigned to the Ninth Missionary Brigade.

“Is that the town of Friedland over there?” she asked, looking at the walls that rose behind Arlen. “Where the Sixth Missionary Brigade is posted?”

“Oh, um, yes. Of course.” He nodded, trying to hide the shudder that ran through him.

“How’s the conversion coming?”

“Nicely. We’ve made no errors.”

It sounded almost like he was making an excuse for something. A doubtful look passed over Angela’s face, but she didn’t pursue it. It didn’t seem that she had been sent by Church headquarters in the capital just to see how things were going with the Sixth Brigade. But what, then?

“I see. Would you show me to Friedland, then?”

“Right, leave it to—me?!”

“Is there any trouble here?”

“U-Uh, no—not at all!” He frowned seriously, trying to cover the crack in his voice. “Why would you ask that...?”

“You’d be surprised how many towns appear to be converted, but still harbor rebel elements,” Angela said. She sounded somehow self-deprecating. “We’re looking for someone. As I said, many of these ignorant frontier folk refuse to cooperate with us, so I just wanted to know upfront how things were going. Forgive me.”

“I-Is that so? Pay it no mind.” Arlen somehow managed to regain the bearing of a knight of the Missionary Order, even as a cold sweat trickled down his back.

●

The mansion had gotten rather lively. Fiona, attending to the day’s work in her office, frowned and looked up.

“Huh...?”

Using formulae she’d created in consultation with Yukinari and Ulrike, she was trying to determine what kind of crop yields they could expect from the new fields and irrigation measures. But it was hard to focus on her calculations when the house was so noisy.

With a sigh, she set down her pen and stood up—and as if this were some sort of cue, the door to the office was opened without so much as a knock.

“Wh-What’s going on? Who are you?!” Fiona asked, surprised.

She found herself confronting a woman wearing the uniform of the Missionary Order. She was only wearing light armor, the design somewhat different from that Arlen and the other men wore, but Fiona had seen female knights in the capital. Not that she remembered there being a woman in Arlen’s unit...

“Are you the leader of this town?”

The words were polite, but the tone was arrogance itself. Anyway, it reminded her of how Arlen had sounded when he first came to Friedland. The contempt for Fiona and her fellow barbarians was unmistakable.

“Quite young, aren’t you?” The knight didn’t look so old herself.

“I don’t know who you are,” Fiona said, “but you’d do well to remember your manners.” She had been shocked at first, but now she scowled at the other woman’s imperious attitude. Fiona didn’t care if she was a missionary knight or the Dominus Doctrinae; she had no obligation to smile at someone who barged into a woman’s room without even knocking and started asking rude questions.

“I believe a mercenary fled to this town. Hand him over.” The woman didn’t even give her name, but simply stated her demand.

“Mercenary? I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean.”

No doubt she was referring to Veronika. Fiona couldn’t have handed her over even if she’d wanted to—Veronika had already left. But what were the chances the knight would believe her if she told the truth? And on top of that, this woman was probably part of the Aldreil garrison Veronika had been talking about.

Meaning...

“You have no idea at all? No guesses?”

“No. And if I did, I wouldn’t feel compelled to share them with someone who doesn’t even know how to knock when she enters a room.”

“Goodness. Pardon me,” the woman said, shrugging. “I never thought a barbarian in this part of the world would have heard of the custom of knocking. Maybe the civilizing effort has gone better than I expected.”

She seemed to be speaking over her shoulder to someone. A moment later Arlen appeared, out of breath.

“Jindel...!” he said to the woman. At the same time, he caught sight of Fiona’s piercing gaze and froze.

What in the world is going on here?! her glare seemed to say.

Arlen’s mouth worked open and closed, and he shook his head vigorously.

No, you’ve got it all wrong! You’ve got it utterly wrong! she thought he was saying. Probably. He followed this up with a series of incomprehensible gestures, trying desperately to tell her something, but without having worked out a code in advance, she couldn’t for the life of her tell what he was saying.

“I see,” the woman said, almost to herself. “Well, perhaps the mercenary died somewhere before he got here. The corpse then eaten by scavengers, no doubt.”

It appeared Arlen’s false report to Church headquarters in the capital hadn’t been discovered; this woman wasn’t from another unit dispatched specifically to deal with the matter. But...

“That aside, why are you not wearing the Holy Mark?” She seemed to sense the momentary relief and spring on it.

“The Holy Mark?”

Behind the woman, Arlen was once again doing his strange little dance, although he probably thought he was making meaningful gestures. Fiona stared at him, trying to come up with a good excuse as fast as she could.

“In this town, we’ve had many passionate believers in the Church’s teachings since before the honored members of the Missionary Order arrived.”

“Oh, my. Is that so?”

“Yes, ma’am. Arlen Lansdowne and I were classmates at the academy in the capital. I actually sought to enter the Order myself after graduation, but then I received word that my father’s health was deteriorating rapidly, and I rushed back here.”

“Th-That’s true,” Arlen sputtered. “Completely, utterly true.”

Quiet, you, Fiona glared at him, then resumed lying through her teeth. “When I spoke to the villagers about the True Church of Harris, they were quite taken with it. I’m not clergy, so I couldn’t perform baptisms, but the Church’s teachings spread like wildfire. Just when we were considering whether we should request clergy to be sent to us, the noble Mr. Lansdowne appeared.”

“I see. Quite a story.”

“Yes, ma’am. The only problem is, the erdgod in this area was a wily creature. It shamefully attacked Mr. Lansdowne and his comrades from behind, destroying most of their equipment... including the device used for the ritual of the Holy Mark.”

Fiona was amazed by the lies that came fluently out of her own mouth, but she kept a gentle smile on her face. The trick when telling a huge lie like this was to pepper it with small truths. It was, of course, true that the Holy Mark device had been destroyed. Although it was Yukinari who had done it.

“The missionaries later defeated the erdgod, but as so many of the townspeople were already believers, it was decided there was no need to rush the ceremony of the Holy Mark. Repairing the device and ordering new parts was put off while Mr. Lansdowne helped repair the damage the erdgod had done to our town.”

“I see. That makes sense,” the woman said with a pronounced nod. “Well, our only business here was to deal with the escaped mercenary. If he’s not here, we’ll withdraw.” The woman—rudely never having given her name—calmly turned on her heel and made to leave. “Mr. Lansdowne, would you kindly see me out of town?”

“Y- Er, um, yes, of course,” Arlen said with a strained smile. He looked back to see what Fiona was thinking, but she shot him a glance that silently said, Hurry up and get your nosy little friend out of here! He nodded eagerly and ushered the female knight from the room.

For a long moment, Fiona listened to their footsteps recede down the hall, trying not to breathe. Only when she could no longer hear them did she let out a long exhalation.

“Ahhhhh... What in the world just happened...?”

The anger at the woman’s tremendous rudeness, as well as Arlen’s brainless way of handling the situation, didn’t bubble up until a few moments later.

●

Both of them were silent after they left the Schillings mansion. They gathered up the three knights who had been waiting outside, Angela exchanging nods with them, after which they headed directly for the town gate. She had a soft smile on her face, but Arlen knew this was a permanent expression with her, even when she was boiling mad, and he honestly wasn’t sure he was going to survive the trip out of town. If she found out now that his unit hadn’t done their job, all the humiliation he had endured would be for nothing.

Once they were past the gate, Angela stopped and turned back to him. “Mr. Lansdowne. I thank you for seeing me off.” Had they really managed to trick her? Arlen was just letting out an internal sigh of relief when Angela said, “If you don’t mind, there’s a few things I’d like to ask you before I go.”

“Such as?” he replied, straining to appear calm.

“Where are the other missionaries?”

“They’re... patrolling the area right now.”

“I’m sure they are. Yet I didn’t see a single other knight the whole time I was in town. Surely you don’t send every man out on patrol at once?”

Arlen didn’t speak. That was exactly what they did.

Of the personnel in Arlen’s Sixth Missionary Brigade, half had been badly wounded in the initial battle with Yukinari and were still recovering. Of the remaining half, some had flatly refused Yukinari’s proposal and were currently in confinement. The handful who were left over, including Arlen, had all been slated to go out on patrol today. Presumably they had gone ahead and started their sweep, albeit wondering why Arlen wasn’t at the meeting point. He had been careful to plot their route to the Schillings mansion so as not to run into the patrol, so it was only natural that Angela hadn’t seen any other missionaries.

“And where is your guardian saint statue? And the wagon used to transport it? The only path around here large enough to accommodate it is the town’s main road. Yet I don’t see so much as ruts from the wheels.”

Now Arlen was really stuck. The statue of the guardian saint was traditionally placed in the most eye-catching spot whenever a garrison was posted to a new town. From there it could gaze out over the entire village. Not to see it would certainly strike a fellow missionary as strange.

“Don’t tell me it’s been damaged...?”

“Y... Yes, I’m afraid it has. In the fight with the erdgod, part of it...”

Come to think of it, Fiona had made up some nonsense about Arlen and the others losing much of their equipment when they were ambushed by the erdgod. If he drew on that, he might be able to get through this.

She would never believe that the statue had been completely destroyed, but it was conceivable that a part of it might have been damaged. Even a sword, with enough use, might crack and need to be repaired. Weapons were always subject to wear and tear.

“In that case, wouldn’t you request replacement parts from the Order’s headquarters?”

“Well... there are utterly... c-complex circumstances... involved...”

“Circumstances. Circumstances, you say?” Angela looked at him, still smiling.

“Well, you see...” But Arlen’s wits weren’t quick enough to provide him with any further excuses. Sweating profusely, he fell silent.

“...Really? Very well, then.” There was no telling what Angela thought of this, but she didn’t pursue the matter any further. Instead, with a smile, she said, “Let me give you this. Consider it a sign of my confidence that you retain your unwavering faith in our God.”

She handed him a small leather pouch.