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“Wha?!”

The knights apparently judged a charge on horseback too dangerous, because they dismounted and prepared to advance on foot. The familiars grabbed the clubs and came at them.

“Hrgh?!”

One knight took a blow from an old woman and found the sword knocked clean out of his hand. At first glance, it looked impossible, comedic, as though they were both acting.

“Why, these—!”

Another knight thrust at a little girl familiar who had come up beside him. He brought his sword down at her head, but she deflected the blow easily with her club. This was a strike offered by a fully armored knight from directly overhead with a heavy sword. The weapon didn’t even bite into the club, but stopped at little more than a shallow gouge.

It’s widely believed that wood floats in water, but in fact, some types of wood sink. Many such woods are not only heavy but extremely tough. The clubs the familiars were using must have been made of such material. They had more than enough strength to make worthy weapons.

“M-Monsters!” the knights cried out, faced with the incredible fighting power of Ulrike and the other familiars. But they were well-trained; they didn’t rout.

The missionaries cut at the familiars again and again. Since strikes from overhead didn’t work, they swept in from the side. When the familiars blocked this move, they aimed for the feet. This, too, was rebuffed, but the familiars were growing hard-pressed.

The familiars were strong. In terms of sheer physical strength, they were well beyond the knights, and quick as well. Against wild animals or untrained amateurs, they would likely have been overwhelming.

But the knights had a special skill: martial training. They weren’t as powerful, but their technique was better than that of the familiars. The inefficiency of movement that could be witnessed in the familiars was almost nonexistent in the missionaries. It gave birth to a strange kind of stalemate.

As Ulrike had told Berta, because the familiars were so far from Rostruch, they couldn’t use the kind of strength they had as they’d fought Yukinari. Nor could they control the growth of the local plant life, using it as a weapon itself. The most they could do was to set traps, but that took time. Ulrike’s mocking chatter was intended to buy that time.

“Damn, this isn’t getting us anywhere!” the commander shouted. “This calls for the guardian saint. The saint!”

A cheer went up from the knights. “The guardian saint is coming! The guardian saint is comingggg!”

The men disengaged from the familiars, falling back even as they began to chant passages from scripture. At the same time, the horse-drawn wagon turned a large circle, coming to a halt with the luggage cart in back now facing forward. Near the driver’s seat was some kind of keyboard instrument. One of the knights went over to it, opened the lid, and began to play quickly.

The deep notes of an organ filled the air. And then, slowly, it rose.

Berta swallowed heavily. It was huge. It shouldn’t have been any larger than the last one she’d seen, yet it seemed massive enough to overwhelm her. The cloth fell from around the metal giant, which was several times the height of a person, as if the statue were removing its coat.

The statue of the guardian saint. The Missionary Order’s ultimate weapon.

“Go!” one of the knights called. “Show these evil monsters the wrath of God!”

The saint moved forward, as if it were doing as instructed. The knights, in contrast, retreated somewhat, perhaps to guard against being caught up in what came next. The familiars formed a half-circle around the statue.

“Is this the Church’s puppet of which Yukinari spoke?” Ulrike asked. All at the same moment, the familiars raised their clubs and attacked the thing’s feet. The appendages rang out with booms like a ringing bell. But that was it. The giant didn’t so much as stumble. Its armor was thick, its body was heavy, and even all the familiars together could not destroy it or drive it back.

Undaunted, they continued their attacks. They always aimed at the feet and legs. The difference in height meant those were their only possible targets. When striking the feet didn’t work, they tried the shins and the ankles and the toes, places that were normally human weak points, but there was no effect. And then...

“No! Move!” Perhaps Ulrike sensed something was about to happen; at the same moment as she shouted, the familiars scattered. The instant after that, flame poured out in all directions from the guardian saint’s waist. Where the fire touched the familiars’ clothes, they began to burn. But they didn’t panic or cry out; they simply lopped off the burning part. As humans, they were already effectively dead; why should they be afraid of any of this?

“So they use fire...” Ulrike growled.

Steel and fire. Two things no animal used—these were the signs of human strength. Fire, in particular, could be said to be the one weak point of the plant-based Yggdra. The familiars did not appear to be shaken, but Yggdra’s main body must have felt something like fear.

“Behold! God’s wrath has driven back the beasts!”

Another cheer went up. It was not, of course, God’s wrath, just a little fire—but nobody there would have cared about the distinction. The statue of the guardian saint began advancing toward Friedland step by step. Apparently they were going to focus on their main goal of invading the town, rather than bothering to destroy each and every one of the familiars.

“Hrrgh...” Ulrike grimaced, and all together the familiars began to pull on the vines hidden underground. They were the same vines that had tripped the horses earlier; now they emerged from the leaf mold to trap the statue. They would catch its feet, keep it from moving. But...

“Holy, holy, holy, holy, holy, holy!”

The chanting of the knights and the somber melody of the organ rang out. The next instant, the statue of the guardian saint drew a giant sword, cutting away the vines that entrapped it.

It was going to be difficult for the familiars alone to stop the statue.

“I... I...”

Berta gripped Derrringer’s stock. It was pointless just to sit and watch. What were all those hundreds of practice rounds for? She had to shoot, here and now. Otherwise, she couldn’t help Yukinari. She couldn’t protect him.

She saw the statue of the guardian saint through the scope’s field of view, walking proudly. She held her breath, focused all her concentration on her eye and her finger, and waited for the perfect moment.

●

The massive sword came down hard enough to split the air. Yukinari threw himself out of the way. The blade slammed into the ground, carving a gouge. The size of the sword and the power the statue could produce were, perhaps, miracles in their own way. At the least, the blow was far more powerful than anything a human could have doled out.

Even Yukinari wouldn’t have survived if it had hit him head on. The missionaries, already aware that Yukinari had defeated Arlen’s unit, appeared to have come resolved. No sooner had they seen each other than the knights brought out their statue.

If anything, it was Yukinari who was deprived of the opportunity to bring his full strength to bear—to transform into the Blue Angel. And what was more...

“Hey, hey, hey...!” Yukinari frowned. Even though the statue was active, the missionary knights hadn’t retreated. They didn’t fear getting caught up in whatever the statue would do. Perhaps they had discussed the tactics ahead of time, or perhaps they simply weren’t afraid of dying.

Yukinari managed to dodge an attack from the statue of the guardian saint, only to find himself set upon by a group of knights.

There weren’t that many of them. They didn’t assume any particular formation, but just came at him in a wave—yet they timed their attacks so each was striking at a different moment. With his excellent vision and physical abilities, Yukinari was able to dodge them, but he couldn’t buy himself enough time to transform into the Blue Angel.

The knights suddenly parted, and in between them the giant blade came crashing down. Yukinari twisted, ignoring the fact that this threw him off-balance, and just managed to dodge the blow. He felt the wind from the passing weapon brush his cheek. A few centimeters closer and it would have crushed his skull. For that matter, a few millimeters and it would have mangled his arm. It would have been possible to regenerate the limb using his powers, but it would have left him vulnerable for a moment. If the knights had come at him in that instant, he would have had no defense.

“I knew these things were dangerous.”

While the statue of the guardian saint could be very quick, it was only individual movements, like a slice or a kick, that were fast. If, for example, one of its attacks was dodged, the way it resumed its fighting stance and prepared for the next attack would appear sluggish. This was because the statue’s movements were actually a collection of small single motions. For example, bring down its sword, take a step forward. Because the moves were loaded in ahead of time, like a machine, it could execute them as quickly as its construction allowed. But combining these with other movements fell to the missionaries on the scene, leading to natural limits.

The result was a strangely staccato look to its motions. But as with a serpent, it also made the statue difficult to predict.

It would be simplest to go get the guy who’s controlling it, but...

There were a huge number of tuning forks all over the statue’s body, chiefly on its back, which acted as receptors. These allowed the notes that came from the organ on the transport wagon to control the statue. In other words, if he could stop the knight playing the organ, then he could render the statue powerless even if he didn’t destroy it.

But with the statue and the waves of missionaries, Yukinari couldn’t get within Durandall’s effective range. He could just shoot from the hip, hoping for a lucky hit, but he would hate for the enemy to close ranks because they’d been alerted to the gun’s power. It was the music that was giving the orders to the statue, so if they managed to hide the organ from him, he would be out of luck.

But still...

The commander this time is really pushing it.

The statue of the guardian saint, as we’ve explained, executed movements inputted ahead of time by the missionaries. Therefore, it wasn’t capable of taking delicate aim or quickly changing the direction of its attack, as a normal human would be.

This left the missionaries out front in an awfully precarious position. Even if they had discussed everything ahead of time, one wrong step could see them caught by the statue’s sword just as if they were an enemy.

Yukinari just couldn’t get close enough. For close-quarters combat, the statue was equipped with the ability to spew fire from its waist. But because of all the knights around it, it wasn’t using that ability. If he could just get past the missionaries, it would be easy for him to destroy the statue.

Yukinari was startled by the clang of swords behind him. He glanced back to see Veronika holding several missionaries at bay with her halberd. This was another group, distinct from that which had been launching wave attacks at Yukinari; this group had tried to circle around to one side to get to the town. Veronika had stopped them single-handedly.

“Yuki...!”

The voice was accompanied by a gunshot. A missionary knight who had snuck around behind Yukinari pitched forward and fell to the ground. Two of those facing Veronika also fell in quick succession. Dasa was supporting her comrades from the vicinity of the town gate with Red Chili. There were also several townspeople holding Durandalls, but they were there simply to keep Dasa safe. They weren’t remotely capable of picking the enemies out of a chaotic battlefield scene.

“Hiyah!” Veronika took advantage of the temporary confusion sowed by Dasa’s attack to spear another missionary. She was lightly armored compared to the knights, her movements quicker. Her halberd, longer than a sword, found the chinks in enemy armor, stabbed, then moved on to the next target, whether or not her enemy had fallen. She was keeping the missionaries’ hands full, and they were also shaken by the sound of the gun.

“What was that?!”

“Thunder?! But—!”

They didn’t know what a gun was. They couldn’t see the bullets, and didn’t necessarily know where their opponent was shooting from immediately. They were focused on Yukinari and Veronika nearby and wouldn’t have believed the attack had come from Dasa, standing some distance away. Or perhaps they would mistake the attack as having come from Yukinari or Veronika.

“Fall back! Move the statue of the guardian saint forward! Forward!”

In the driver’s seat of the huge horse-drawn wagon, beside the organ that rang out the melody controlling the statue, a female knight was shouting. Apparently, observing from a detached position had allowed her to recognize where the gun was—or at least to see that the attack had come from Dasa’s direction.

The missionary knights began to retreat, and the statue moved forward. Yukinari stepped up, too, sensing an opportunity, but just as he was getting in range of the statue, he was blocked by a wall of flame.

“Bring out the crossbows! Ready!” Even as the knights retreated, they took the weapons off their backs and began to fire them from beside the advancing statue.

“Feh...!”

Yukinari batted the arrows away with Durandall. But there were too many for him to repel all at once, and iron-tipped bolts lodged themselves in his shoulder and thigh. He may have been an angel, but he still felt jolts of pain, collapsing to all fours.

“Yuki...!”

He heard Dasa shout, but he didn’t turn around as he called back, “Stay where you are!”

Then, overlapping with their voices, came a volley of gunfire that sounded like a thousand peals of thunder.

“Hrgh?!”

The knight who had shot Yukinari and was coming forward again now fell down, clutching his shoulder. At the same instant, bits of earth begin to dance up and down as if the ground itself were coming to a boil.

“We’ve got—We’ve got to help Lord Yukinari!” the Friedlanders beside Dasa exclaimed. They had all fired their Durandalls at once. “We’ve got to protect the town!”

“We can’t let those Church dogs do whatever they want!”

They grew more and more frenzied as they shouted. Arlen and his unit had already taken control of this town once. Perhaps that gave the townspeople an inkling of how they would be treated if the True Church of Harris took Friedland as a base. Combined with Veronika’s training, it was more than enough to inspire them to fight.

Of course, the one hit they’d scored was sheer luck; most of the bullets had buried themselves in the ground. When untrained amateurs shoot, they have a tendency to fire too low. Trying too hard to protect against kickback, they use too much strength when they pull the trigger—sometimes called “milking” it. Just hitting the target would be a huge task for these farmers.

However...

“Wh-What the hell was that?!”

“It was like last time...! Is this the erdgod’s curse?!”

“F-Fall back! Get behind the statue! Go!” Without waiting for the female knight’s instructions, the missionaries beat a retreat. They had been prepared to die in an accident with the statue, but even they found the incomprehensible attacks of an unfamiliar cult to be terrifying. They thought the gunshots were some form of dark magic.

“Send the statue forward!” the female knight shouted. “Forward!” The statue began to move. Flame wreathed its waist, and it spun the sword in its hand, making it all but impossible to approach.

“The statue! Get the statue!” The Friedlanders shot at the statue of the guardian saint with their Durandalls, but there was no effect. They had to aim upward at the monstrosity, so at least the bullets didn’t hit the ground this time, but the statue’s armor was too thick for a bullet to pierce. They simply flew into the air in a hail of sparks.

“Yukinari, now’s our chance.”

Veronika gave Yukinari her shoulder to lean on, crouching to support him as she began to retreat toward the town. But they hadn’t gone very far when Yukinari took Veronika’s hand and shook his head.

“I’m sorry. Could you pull out these arrows first?”

“You’ll only lose more blood.”

“It’s all right. Do it, quickly. I can’t concentrate with foreign objects lodged in my body.”

After a moment Veronika nodded, then set Yukinari down. The next instant, she brought the grip of her halberd—specifically, the metal butt—around with tremendous force, slamming it into the arrow lodged in Yukinari’s shoulder.

“Hrrgh!”

A bolt of pain shot through him, but the arrow popped out of his body. It was a way of getting the arrow out that would only have been possible for Veronika, with her considerable martial accomplishments. She then removed the arrow in his thigh in the same way. Blood began to flow from the wounds—although in actuality, Yukinari’s body was full of not blood, but something that looked like it.

“Yukinari!” Veronika shouted and shoved him out of the way, sending both of them tumbling. An instant later, the sword of the guardian saint statue came crashing down where they had just been.

“Veronika!”

“I’m fine—run!” she shouted as she rolled along the dirt.

Meanwhile...

“First, destroy that white-haired boy!”

The female knight was barking orders. She probably assumed that Yukinari, having been shot in the leg, would be unable to move easily.

“Yuki!”

“Lord Yukinari!”

Dasa and the Friedlanders let off another volley, but of course it was nowhere near enough to stop the armored wall that was the statue of the guardian saint.

Yukinari focused and tried to regenerate his body, but—

“Destroy him!”

In two steps, the statue had closed the distance to Yukinari and was raising its sword again. He still couldn’t find the space to transform or even heal himself.

“Thanks for driving the knights back a bit,” Yukinari muttered, and then he fired Durandall. Not at the statue, but at the ground right beside himself.

The roar shook the air around him.

“What?!” The woman was taken aback. As well she should have been—the movement of the ground had caused the statue, previously closing in on Yukinari, to pitch forward noticeably. Its right foot had sunk deep in the ground.

It was a trap Yukinari had laid ahead of time, a hole for the statue to fall into. Two full meters deep, the hole—more of a long chasm—had been covered with thin steel dusted with explosive powder, then hidden with earth.

If someone had been controlling the saint directly, it might have been possible to jump the hole despite its massive weight. But it wasn’t like someone was riding in the statue, inputting analog commands directly. It was a highly digital platform, essentially running on programming, and so, Yukinari had figured, it wouldn’t react well to sudden changes on the battlefield.

For example, if it were to get one foot stuck in a hole.

He obviously didn’t think he could destroy the statue this way. Even a human wouldn’t die from a two-meter drop, provided there weren’t spikes at the bottom or anything. But controlling a mechanical puppet, especially a bipedal one, required a certain equilibrium. If it took a stumble, it would be hard for it to get back up.

“What do you think you’re doing? Get up, quickly!”

The female knight was shouting in a panicked voice, but the statue only twitched, unable to right itself. It might have had preprogrammed instructions for getting itself up off the ground if it had fallen over, but with just one leg trapped in a hole, all of its instructions became confused, and the difficulty went up considerably.

Yukinari’s original plan had been to get close to the statue while it struggled, trapped, and then physically reconstitute its legs or torso or the like into dust. But now, he focused his concentration on his own body.

Clap. He brought his hands together as if he were praying at a shrine. A bluish-white light appeared between them, and an instant later an all-encompassing brightness filled the area. It was the light of transfiguration, born when he reconstituted physical materials.

He reconstituted his own body, into a form that would allow him to make full use of his powers, more than he could ever do in human form.

“Th-That creature...” the female knight howled in shock. “It’s the Blasphemer of Blue Steel...!”

Those who saw Yukinari’s transformed body might have thought at first that he was a strange-looking knight in blue-black armor. His outfit bore no unnecessary decoration, and it fit snugly over his body, almost as if he had skin of steel.

The only exception, such as it was, were the wings on his back. Made of black crystal, they weren’t intended for flying, but for dispersing the huge amounts of heat produced by physical reconstitution. The armor kept his body in place, and the wings dealt with the heat. By taking this form, Yukinari was able to use his powers as an angel to their fullest extent.

The cheers of the Friedlanders went up:

“Lord Yukinari has—”

“Our lord has arrayed himself for battle!”

“Lord Yukinari! Lord Yukinari!”

Yukinari could hear them cheering him on, but under his mask he gave a wry smile. He regretted to realize that he had indeed underestimated them. They weren’t powerless creatures who could do nothing without him to protect them.

Perhaps they had been, back when they were relying on the providence of the erdgod to support them. But since Yukinari had become their “god,” since they had been exposed to his thinking and behavior, they themselves had learned to approach things proactively.

The world could be changed. Destiny could be changed. If you didn’t like the way things were, you could change them. That was what they had learned, and were learning.

That was why they took up arms against those who sought to control them. It was just as Fiona had said. Yukinari had thought the defense of Friedland was something he had to handle himself, just as he had once believed he didn’t have to worry about the expansion of the Harris Church so long as he and Dasa weren’t burned by its sparks.

But he couldn’t think that way forever. If anything, Yukinari felt it was the villagers who had taught him that.

Sounds of shock and fear began to run among the missionaries. “The Blasphemer of Blue Steel—the fallen angel!”

The Blue Angel, otherwise known as the Bluesteel Blasphemer. These were the names they had given Yukinari, the monster who had ravaged the Harris Church in the capital. The incident had not been disclosed publicly, so as not to diminish the awe in which people held the Church, but many of the missionary knights knew about it. After all, many of the pillars of the Missionary Order had been killed, and the resulting reorganization had left plans for civilizing expeditions well behind schedule.

To them, the Bluesteel Blasphemer was like a nightmare. His existence could shake their very faith. But then...

“Y-You mustn’t retreat! You mustn’t be intimidated! You mustn’t be afraid!” the female knight shouted, raising her sword, still in its scabbard. “We are the Missionary Order! We punish even demigods! We have no qualms about fighting an angel! Rally! Rally!”

Encouraged by her shouts, the knights readied themselves once more for combat. The organ’s melody took on a crazed speed, and the statue of the guardian saint finally rose up with a great groan of its metal body.

“The battle begins now!”

“True enough,” Yukinari said. “And it’s gonna end real soon.”

Then he began to work.

●

The air changed. Even shut away in the storehouse, they could feel it on their skin. It was a distinctive sensation; the air set them on edge, clung to them. The makeshift jail was built up against one wall, and if they got close to the wall it put them right beneath a window meant to let in fresh air. If they listened closely, they could hear gunshots like distant thunder, and some sound of a heavy impact. Most likely the statue of the guardian saint.

The town itself was so quiet that other sounds from outside the building were unusually audible. The townspeople must have been holed up in their houses, holding their collective breath.

Arlen dropped his eyes to look at the object in his hand. If he used it, he could almost certainly break out. Then they could take back their confiscated weapons and armor, rush onto the battlefield, and execute a pincer attack against Yukinari and Veronika. However strong Yukinari might be, even he couldn’t defend against an attack from behind. If they had Fiona as a hostage, so much the better.

Admittedly, he wasn’t sure taking hostages befitted the honorable stature of a knight of the Missionary Order. But the True Church of Harris did, in essence, teach that almost anything was acceptable if it was done in the name of spreading the true teachings.

Arlen quickly set to work. The other knights watched him with surprise, but none of them said anything; they only kept an eye out.

As he cut the rope, Arlen imagined what would happen if Angela and her forces succeeded in felling Yukinari. The town would change, no doubt. The “conversion” that Arlen and the others had attempted would be completed. The people would be collared with the Holy Mark, like yokes on cattle, and any who dared to rebel would suffer. Like cattle, indeed. For things to go according to plan, the people must first of all be controlled.

Arlen remembered the looks of terror on the townspeople’s faces when he first came to Friedland. Back then, he believed this was natural, indeed honorable. It was to be valued, for it would be to the people’s benefit. Even if there was a moment of pain or fear born of their insubordination, it was necessary, in order to awaken them to the higher doctrine offered by the Harris Church.

The teachings of the True Church of Harris were wonderful. Arlen firmly believed this. But...

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!

Uh huh! Thank you, Mister Lord Lansdowne!

You’ve got my gratitude, too. Thanks. Fiona told me how you protected her, and those kids, and pretty much the entire town. I mean, while I was away.

Arlen found himself frowning. He had indeed fought to protect Friedland when that flying demigod attacked. It wasn’t from any particular empathy for the townspeople, or an attempt to gain their admiration. He hadn’t really thought about it at all. His body had acted almost of its own accord. When Fiona had asked him why he’d done it, he’d made up something about protecting those who might become believers. But he hadn’t thought that deeply about it.

If he had to explain it, maybe all he could say was that he couldn’t stand to see that hideous monster destroying humans. What he had been given as a result was not money, or goods, or even honor. It was only a succession of sounds that didn’t last any longer than he had stood there, something he could show to no one.

Words of thanks.

It’s easy enough to say thank you, even if you don’t mean it. Words are really just sounds, so they don’t mean anything. There’s no need to pay them any mind.

Arlen had cut through several strands of rope. He had created a space large enough that a single person might be able to push aside the wood slats and shove through. What happened next would be simple. The storehouse door could be opened easily from inside, or they could climb out the window, if they could reach it.

“Ahem, Mister Lansdowne...?” One of his companions spoke up hesitantly. “Surely you don’t mean to... leave...?”

He looked back at the knight. “Shouldn’t I?”

“But... That’s...”

Reluctance was written all over the missionaries’ faces. Apparently, they had been completely taken in by the Friedlanders’ treatment of them in this brief time, so much so that they even hesitated to break out of this jail out of consideration for their captors. Unlike those who had refused from the outset to cooperate in any way, among those who had been doing patrols and guarding trade caravans were many who felt no qualms at all about working with the locals.

Arlen stared down each of the knights in turn.

“I will follow who is strongest,” he told them. “That’s the path I believe in. As you know, the True Church of Harris is strong. Now, even kings and nobles can do nothing without first asking the view of the Church. The Harris Church is the strongest force in all the world, without question.”

“That’s...” The other knights looked at each other, but Arlen didn’t have to repeat himself. They all knew.

“That’s why I joined the Missionary Order.”

Those who were weak might howl or struggle alone, but they could change nothing. There were limits, too, to how strong a single individual could become. In order to remain free, it was necessary to seek the protection of someone stronger.

“Yet the Harris Church, although the strongest, is not invincible.”

“Wha...?”

This was unexpected, and the missionaries looked on in puzzlement.

“The Dominus Doctrinae was killed, as were many of the most important members of the Missionary Order. The culprit hasn’t yet been caught. He lives at his leisure, suffering not even the punishment of heaven.”

“You’re talking about—”

“Depending on how you look at it, it’s possible to see the Church as having lost.”

Silence from the others.

“I prefer those who are strong, and will follow them. It’s an article of faith for me. So—” Arlen looked around again. “I will join the side of the Bluesteel Blasphemer.”

After a befuddled second, a buzz ran among the missionaries. None of them had imagined that Arlen might be breaking out in order to fight on the side of Friedland.

“If anyone wishes to argue the point, let him come forward now. I’ll knock him out here, before we become enemies on the field.”

Nobody moved.

“I don’t demand that any of you follow me. If you feel this is apostasy, unbearable, then stay in here with your eyes shut and your ears closed!” He shouted as loudly as he could, from the bottom of his lungs.

He was as good as announcing that he was going to betray the True Church of Harris. He had to put all his strength into it, or he could never have said the words. It was only natural that the other missionaries continued to look at him with confusion. It was not for nothing that they had read the scriptures avidly, chanted prayers morning and evening. The teachings of the Harris Church underlay all that they were.

Without waiting for their reaction, Arlen crawled out of the jail and set off running toward where he expected the weapons were being kept. If they hadn’t been moved, they wouldn’t be far from the storehouse where Arlen and the others were.

The day might come, sometime in the future when he regretted his actions. He might be embarrassed by them, consider them a momentary loss of sanity. But for now...

“To be thanked feels wonderful!”

Now, for no reason he could understand, a bright and clear expression was on Arlen’s face.

●

She turned the gun sideways, opening the long body of the weapon in the middle; she pressed in new rounds and closed the stock again. She righted the gun and then looked down the sights, bringing the scope’s crosshairs to bear on the statue of the guardian saint.

She held her breath, preventing the motion of her inhales and exhales from transferring to the gun. And then, just as she had practiced time and again, Berta pulled the trigger.

Boom.

The bullet was spat out with an earsplitting gunshot. According to Yukinari, the round was far more powerful than that in either Dasa’s Red Chili or his own Durandall. The gun kicked back hard against her body as the bullet went flying.

It was more than powerful enough to tear through the puppet she’d used for target practice. But...

“Oh...” Berta breathed.

She had hit the statute. But it produced only a spark on the surface; the giant didn’t so much as stumble. She could see through the scope that there was a small scratch on its armor, but that was all.

“It... It didn’t work...?”

She wasn’t targeting a person, a living being. Hence Berta was able to pull the trigger with comparatively little reluctance. But if her shots had no effect, then it was all pointless.

“No...”

She held her breath, pulled the trigger again. Another bullet sped toward the statue, leaving another forceful recoil and thundering gunshot in its wake. And it produced only another spark.

Berta tilted the gun again, opening the stock, loading new rounds in place of the empty ones that had been automatically ejected. Thanks to all the practice she’d done, she hardly had to think about the process anymore. But it looked likely that no matter how many hits she landed, she wasn’t going to bring down the statue of the guardian saint.

Derrringer, as a weapon, worked on the same principle as Yukinari’s Durandall. Maybe he, or perhaps Dasa, might have been able to use it more effectively. Maybe she really was incompetent, incapable of helping.

The thought caused a profound sadness to well up in her chest, but she had no time to indulge it. The situation around the observation tower was a matter of one step forward and one back. Ulrike and the other familiars were giving battle well. They still weren’t able to use Yggdra’s full power, and their weapons and attacks weren’t powerful enough to destroy the statue. But the team of familiars had quickly adapted their thinking, targeting not the statue, but the knights beyond it.

With the knights, the familiars could fight on even footing, or perhaps even have the advantage. And precisely because the missionaries were under attack, the statue couldn’t ignore the familiars and move forward. The statue couldn’t move on its own, and in order for the organist who gave it its orders to advance, the huge wagon bearing the instrument would have to be brought forth, along with all its guards.

However, the battle between the missionary knights and the familiars was almost at a stalemate. At this rate, neither side looked likely to gain the upper hand. Right now, the only one who could act freely was Berta.

That meant she had to do something. If that statue succeeded in reaching the town, executing a pincer attack against Yukinari with the other statue, it wouldn’t matter how strong her lord was. He would never win.

“If I don’t... If I don’t do something...!” she murmured, and returned to sniping. Even if it wasn’t very effective, this was everything she could do. It was the job she’d been given. Clinging to that fact, she continued to work.

“Calm down... Calm down...” She repeated the words to herself over and over. Panic only caused you to miss things you should have hit. That was what Yukinari had taught her. So Berta dedicated herself to doing as he had said. Calm down. Don’t panic. Don’t worry. Don’t think. Only load, aim, fire, eject, as if you were a part of the gun.

But then...

“Hey, woman!”

“Wha?!”

She cried out as a voice suddenly came from behind her. Had the missionaries snuck around her position without her realizing it? Terror made her body go stiff; she let go of Derrringer and turned around. Turning the long, heavy gun around with her was impractical; Berta didn’t even think about it.

“M-Mister A-Arlen...?”

To her surprise, it was Arlen standing there. Sweat pearled on his forehead, and his shoulders were heaving with his breath; he had obviously run as hard as he could to get here.

“What’s the situation?!”

“Y-Yes, sir!”

“No, not ‘Yes, sir!’ I’m asking you what’s going on!”

His fervent shouting only caused Berta to freeze up again. She knew Arlen, of course, but she had rarely spoken to him herself. So to find him exclaiming angrily at her was terrifying enough.

“Ahhh, fine, get out of the way!” Arlen didn’t have time to wait patiently; he shoved Berta aside and knelt at the edge of the platform, observing the battle.

“So they did bring out the statue of the guardian saint—I knew it!”

His muttering made Berta think: Arlen had also had a guardian saint statue when he had come to Friedland. He knew the weapon well. Perhaps he could tell her where to aim—where its weak point might be.

“E-Er, L-Lord... Lansdowne...?”

Arlen spun. “Woman! Is this the ‘sniper rifle’ or whatever Yukinari called it? The gun that can strike an enemy even from this distance?”

“Oh! Y-Yes, it is! B-But that giant is too strong... When I hit it, nothing happens...”

“Of course not! Do you know how thick the armor is on those statues?!”

“I—I’m sorry...”

“You can’t just shoot them anywhere and hope something will happen!” Arlen held up a hand to shield his eyes, squinting into the distance. It looked like he had something in mind. Berta looked at him expectantly, but...

“If you need a target, aim at the organist controlling the statue!”

“Wha?”

“The statue of the guardian saint is controlled by the music of the organ. If there’s no one to supply the melody, it won’t be able to move—so shoot him! The man on the seat on that wagon!”

Berta could say nothing.

The organist was a human.

“Shoot... Shoot a person...?”

“What’s wrong with you?! If shooting the statute doesn’t work, you shoot the person controlling the statue! It’s obvious!”

“But—But he’s a... a person...!”

A living thing, with blood running through his veins. A human, just like her.

And she was to shoot him. To kill him.

“That’s... That’s awful...!”

“Then why did you bring that thing here?!” Arlen asked angrily. “Those who aren’t prepared to kill shouldn’t have weapons! They shouldn’t be in battle!”

“I—I’m sorry... But...”

“Hrr—”

Arlen wasn’t listening to Berta’s excuses; he had turned back to the battle between the missionaries and the familiars.

“Those fool familiars of Yggdra’s! They call that fighting? What are they, animals?!” he spat, then turned and began climbing down from the observation platform. “If I can get close, bring down the organist—”

“U-Um, Lord Lansdowne...”

“You do what you can do, woman! What only you can do!” And with that, Arlen was gone from the platform, running with his sword in his hand toward where Ulrike and the others fought. Perhaps he felt that if Berta couldn’t kill the organist, he would do it himself. Arlen was, of course, a knight of the Missionary Order. Chances were good the other side would think he was a friend and wouldn’t attack him.

But what would the missionaries think of Arlen, carving a path past Ulrike and the familiars directly toward the man at the organ? Would Ulrike and her companions even recognize Arlen as an ally? It might be very difficult for the young man to reach his objective.

“But...”

Feeling she had no options, Berta picked up Derrringer and looked through the scope. She could see the missionaries, beyond the statue of the guardian saint. She could see the man playing the organ, too. But the massive statue out front sometimes blocked her line of fire.

“I...”

Would she do it? Could she do it? She felt her stomach knot tighter as she asked herself these questions.

In front of her, Ulrike and the other familiars were fighting for all they were worth.

Ulrike had said they had to fight, lest their own town of Rostruch find itself in danger. Lest Yukinari be killed. Veronika had said that sitting and waiting sometimes just made a situation worse. She had been talking about the relationship between Yukinari and Dasa, but it was just as true of what was unfolding before Berta’s eyes.

She might be scared, yet in silently waiting for the problem to fix itself, she might find herself in a situation she regretted far more. There came a moment when she had to do something by her own hand, whether she wanted to or not.

Logically, Berta understood that. But she was scared.

But...

You do what you can do, woman! What only you can do!

Those had been Arlen’s words. He had been her enemy once, but he had said those words and then gone to do what he felt only he could do. Berta didn’t know what had caused this change of heart. But...

“What... only I... can do...”

This was the first job Yukinari had ever given her. The first object, Derrringer, he had ever given her. And the first expectations anyone had ever had of her.

Ever since she had been offered up as a living sacrifice, ever since she had been assigned to serve as a shrine maiden, she hadn’t once been able to be of real use. She didn’t feel that doing menial chores was really being of use to such an exalted entity as a god. And if she had no other way of serving her lord, she was prepared to give herself to him as a woman—but then he never laid a finger on her.

The profound concern Yukinari had shown for this town while Berta fretted about how to be helpful was truly worthy of being called the glory of a god. It meant so much. Her “little sisters” at the orphanage would most likely be able to go without starving—even though they were no longer to be living sacrifices. They would be able to live their lives—be it tomorrow or in the far future—without fear.

Berta profoundly respected Yukinari. She wanted to repay him, even if it wasn’t much. That was why she had offered herself up: her body, her spirit, her life, everything she was.

This was what brought Berta to realize that she had been thinking only of herself. Because she was afraid, because she didn’t want to hurt other people, because she wasn’t confident in herself, she thought she couldn’t do it.

Even though she had sworn to give herself to Yukinari. She just needed to give these feelings of fear to him as well. If she felt she would lose something in doing so, that was itself proof of her sacrifice to him.

Without a word, Berta looked down the scope once more. She was still afraid; she fought to keep herself from crumbling. She inhaled deeply, trying to calm her breathing.

But then she swallowed heavily. Through the scope, she could see that the statue was getting closer to the town; it blocked her field of view more frequently now. This made things worse—while Berta had been arguing with herself, the difficulty of the shot had gone up exponentially.

I knew it, Berta thought, ashamed. I knew I was a worthless little girl.

But just as she was thinking this—

“You shall not pass!” Ulrike bellowed. There followed a boom.

To Berta’s shock, the statue disappeared from the scope. Without really thinking about it, she closed her right eye, which had been looking through the scope, and opened her left. She found the statue tilting crazily. She thought it must have been the effect of an “anti-guardian-saint-statue trap” that Yukinari and Dasa had set up, as the god had explained to her ahead of time. In simple terms, it was a shallow hole that the statue could fall into. In order to prevent Ulrike and the other familiars from falling into it, there was a “lid” on it. The boom must have been them removing the lid.

Quickly, Berta looked back through the scope. She could see him—she could see the man playing the organ.

Now she could hit him. She was sure of it. Just where she wanted.

She stopped breathing. She stopped feeling.

And then she pulled the trigger.

Boom.

The bullet reached its target in an instant; in the scope’s narrow field of view, Berta could see red blossom on the organist’s shoulder, and he tumbled from his chair. The bullet then passed through the organist and struck his instrument: Berta saw a bullet hole appear in the frame, cracks spidering away from it.

With a wumph, the statue of the guardian saint stopped moving.

The other knights near the driver’s seat hurriedly tried to reach the organ, but...

Boom.

The second bullet was a direct hit on the organ. White keys flew up into the air.

Panic began to run through the missionaries. “The statue! The statue of the guardian saint—!”

The missionaries were put on the back foot, but the familiars were inspired. An instant later, they attacked.

●

Once he assumed his angel form, Yukinari could use all the power that was within him. But the situation wasn’t so easy that he could simply walk away with the victory. He had tried to bluff the female knight, but chances were she’d seen through it.

“Now, what to do, what to do...?” Yukinari muttered behind his mask.

The angels had been created by the True Church of Harris in order to perform miracles to promote conversion; they hadn’t been intended for battle. The reason Yukinari could fight so effectively was because he consciously used the angels’ power of physical reconstitution. Though its true offensive power came not from physical reconstitution itself, but from the weapons he produced with it.

And most of those weapons—whether the .44 Magnum bullets of Durandall or the rifle rounds of Derrringer—simply weren’t able to pierce the thick armor of the statue of the guardian saint.

If Yukinari could touch the statue, he could break it down with physical reconstitution no matter how thick its armor was, but because of its ability to spew flames, he couldn’t get too close. The knights of the Missionary Order, for their part, were starting to recover from the shock of the incomprehensible weapon called a gun.

The Friedlanders were continuing their attacks with their Durandalls, but they had little practice with the weapons and even less hope of hitting moving targets; the missionaries had begun to realize that despite all the noise, casualties were relatively few.

Dasa, of course, was able to exert some control using Red Chili, with which she could accurately hit the missionaries’ legs or shoulders, but she was just one person.

Above all, the enemy were trained, professional warriors. They had been taught how to suppress their fear. They took the shields from the fallen to double their own defenses and began closing in on Friedland’s main gate.

This was more or less the way things had happened during the fight with Arlen’s unit. Dasa’s gun wasn’t capable of punching through two shields at once. And once they knew they were protected, sheer numbers did the rest.

“Didn’t you say this was going to be over soon?” the female knight who appeared to be leading them said triumphantly. “An angel you may be, but there’s only one of you; the rest are a flock of sparrows. It was madness to think you could defeat me.”

Yukinari didn’t respond, even as he dodged the massive sword that came crashing down at him. Whatever the commander felt about this, she smiled like a cat playing with a mouse and said, “Blitz them! Destroy them in a single breath!”

The missionaries had been staying on the defensive, judging Yukinari’s powers—but at the woman’s orders, they instantly went on the offensive.

A knight’s primary offensive tactic is the charge. Obviously, it works best from horseback, but they can also stab or trample the opponent to great effect. Faced with a brigade of knights executing their most cherished tactic, the Friedlanders began to panic.

Green soldiers had no hope of victory. It was one thing to fire Durandalls from a distance, but if it came to crossing swords, they would have no chance without years of experience. If things got too chaotic, it would also be difficult to keep Dasa safe. If she got caught up in melee combat, she wouldn’t be much better off than the farmers.

Perhaps the best thing Yukinari could do would be to produce a giant cannon and use it to shoot the statue of the guardian saint, as he’d done during the battle with Arlen’s forces. But unlike that time, the enemy was bearing down on him now, and Yukinari was too busy for such ploys. He could have created a cannon in five seconds, but it was time he just couldn’t find.

But then...

“Yargh!”

“T-The enemy is—hrgh?!”

The shouts came not from the front line of onrushing knights, but from the rear, where the female knight accompanied the huge wagon.

Yukinari squinted and looked in the direction of the noise. There he saw Veronika, laying waste with her halberd. When had she gotten there? Maybe she had moved in using the dust as cover when the statue fell into the hole.

“Yaaaaaaaaah!”

To attack a fully armored knight with a bladed weapon required finding the chinks in his defenses. But Veronika wasn’t concerned with killing her enemies; she spun around, using the centrifugal force of the halberd’s butt to slam into helmets and smack into knees. She clearly intended to confuse the enemy and buy her allies time. Then Yukinari, or perhaps the Friedlanders, might be able to come up with some way to change the situation.

Sweeping missionaries out of her way, Veronika closed in on the female knight.

To her surprise, though, when she stabbed at the woman’s midriff, the knight pulled out her sword and deflected the thrust.

“Hrr!”

The move was stronger than she expected, and Veronika was thrown ever so slightly off balance. In contrast, the female knight was able to assume a better fighting stance as she jumped down from the driver’s seat. With a mad smile, she shouted, “You underestimate me! I may be a young woman, but I’m commanding this army on merit!”

Veronika frowned and began to drop back. She wasn’t going to insist on defeating the woman. Yes, she had entered the enemy formation of her own free will, but the situation was exceptionally dangerous. If the missionaries were able to collect themselves, Veronika would be completely surrounded, and that would mean the end for her.

“Hah!” Still smiling, the female knight struck out with her sword again and again.

Normally, in a battle of halberd versus sword, the person with the longer reach would have the advantage. But the knight’s movements were nimble and quick, and she was deliberately getting close to Veronika, pushing her back. Most of her attacks were stabs; she would move just enough to avoid the mercenary’s ripostes and then resume her attack with vigor.

Veronika was unmistakably hard-pressed. Her wounds had only just healed, and her strength wasn’t completely recovered yet. The fact that she had been able to go toe-to-toe with the missionaries all this time was amazing, proof that she was a genius soldier. But even so—

“You decided to fight me when this was the best you could do?” the female knight crowed.

For each attack Veronika meted out, two came back. The woman had obviously been telling the truth when she said she had earned her position. She understood exactly the difference between her weapon and her opponent’s, and had chosen the best tactics to deal with it. She deflected the halberd, causing Veronika to drop it. Sensing an opportunity, she closed in, stabbed at Veronika—

But to the woman’s surprise, Veronika met the blow. In her hand, which had held her spear just seconds ago, there was a sword.

She hadn’t been forced to drop her halberd after all. She just wanted it to look like she had so she could switch weapons. Her opponent had been so confident that Veronika was unarmed; now, her attack hesitated. In that instant, Veronika closed distance and began a sword battle.

Nonetheless, the female knight continued to mock her enemy. “You are a fool!” she exclaimed as she met Veronika’s challenge. Now blade met blade in shower after shower of sparks. “You couldn’t win with a halberd—but you think you can beat me with a sword?”

It was true, Veronika was in trouble. Her weakened body could summon the strength for a stab, but lacked endurance. She was being put more and more on the defensive.

“This—is the end!” The female knight brought her blade down from above. Veronika caught the blow with her sword; the two weapons locked against each other. In this position, however, Veronika, with less physical strength, was at a disadvantage. The female knight must have known that as well, for she pressed her attack with a triumphant expression on her face.

And then—

Boom.

The woman’s body shuddered with the sudden, tremendous violence of the sound. Veronika’s sword was not just a sword. It was a Durandall. Obviously, she hadn’t been able to aim, so the bullet just flew off in a random direction. But the knight was clearly shaken by the sound of a .44 Magnum bullet being fired right next to her head. Or perhaps the noise had done something to her semicircular canals, so necessary to humans for maintaining their sense of equilibrium.

Veronika seized the opening.

“Yaaaaaaaaaaaahhh!”

She spun, throwing her momentum into the slash. She was looking for the woman’s neck, but a hastily raised sword blocked the blow. But from her unbalanced position, she couldn’t fully resist the force of Veronika’s attack. The knight pitched forward where she stood.

“Hrrgh?!”

The sole of Veronika’s shoe caught the woman in the solar plexus. With the knight unconscious at her feet, Veronika stared at the men of the Missionary Order all around. They had been attempting to encircle her, but now they stopped. So did those attacking Yukinari, and so did the organist on the wagon.

“...Thanks,” Yukinari grunted, and then he stepped back, planting his right fist in his left palm.