Postscript: The Saint

Just before dawn, on a steel bridge spanning the Zidle River, a few kilometers from the port town of Alohz, there was an explosion. The bomb wasn’t made from black powder like the bomb in the terrorist incident in Berun. It used the newest plastic explosive, which even the military had yet to officially adopt. It was resistant against both heat and cold, capable of exploding even when wet, and extremely powerful. That power had completely destroyed one of the bridge’s supports, its blast derailing the train that just happened to be crossing above. It was a horrific tragedy, leaving no possibility of survivors among the crew or passengers, but the man who had pulled this act of sabotage was still cautious.

“All right, everyone. We have about thirty minutes until the Railway Safety Department arrives. Make sure there are no survivors.”

The man issuing instructions to his subordinates was Agent Belger of the Security Department. His subordinates were highly trained special ops soldiers, so their footfalls were silent as they entered the accident site.

“If anyone is still alive, kill them immediately. And if their wounds are light, finish them off just to be sure.”

His crisp commands sounded more like those of a trained janitor than a covert operative. But he actually was a kind of janitor. As ordered by Hitzinger, and for the nation’s justice and safety, he cleaned up any trash that soiled the nation.

Today he was fulfilling his duty to handle matters efficiently. He was eliminating the misguided people trying to reveal the slaughter of Lapchuricka that Wiltia had covered up. He would kill anyone involved, because it would teach a lesson so that no one would attempt to make the massacre of Lapchuricka public in the future. This was actually compassionate and would save others who disobeyed from being killed.

“Mr. Belger, we found the woman.”

“Oh? Was she dead?”

A subordinate reported that the real target of this sabotage had been discovered. One woman.

“No, she’s still breathing.”

“What?!”

Belger purposely made an expression of shock.

“Well, she survived Lapchuricka, too. She’s very lucky.”

The woman Belger had attempted to eliminate was Mary Ville. She had lost consciousness, but she was alive. While many of the deceased had been damaged beyond recognition, she had only suffered abrasions, so she was lucky indeed.

“Well, well... She amazes me! I’m glad we checked just to be certain.”

Belger pulled a pistol from his inside pocket. Just as when he killed Tagkinder, Belger’s gun had a silencer. It wouldn’t be a problem if a gunshot rang out here, but Belger’s custom was to avoid slipping up and making noise. He was always cautious.

“Then if you’ll excuse me...”

He would finish her off with his own hand so he could deliver a report of her certain death. He pointed the gun at her head and prepared to shoot from a distance that made missing impossible. But...

“Hm?”

He had pulled the trigger, but the gun didn’t fire.

No... that’s not quite right. He had tried to pull the trigger, but his finger hadn’t moved. So no wonder no bullet came out.

“Hmm...?”

Why didn’t his finger move? At first, Belger didn’t understand. But he soon did.

“What the...?”

His right arm, gun still in hand, fell to the ground with a plop.

“Huh...?”

Instead of feeling pain from the wound, he experienced a sensation as if he had split apart at the molecular level.

“We can still use this woman, so I’m taking her.”

Belger turned toward the voice. And the moment he did, he saw a scene even further divorced from reality.

Belger had come with at least ten subordinates. They were all exceptionally well-trained agents. But in a moment—truly in one moment—they had all been killed. They were transformed into perfectly cubical chunks of meat, as though they were made of a gelatinous substance pushed through a sieve.

Belger supposed the woman he was looking at had done this. There was no other possibility.

“How did you... kill them?”

He truly wanted to know.

Belger had undergone intense training, acquired great knowledge as a specialist with heightened perception and analytical abilities, but he had no idea what just happened.

“Oh...”

The next thing he knew, the woman was standing right in front of him. Then, an instinctive desire to fall and press his head to the ground coursed through Belger. But not to beg for his life. He wanted only to serve the being before him.

“Oh. Are you still here?”

But his offer of servitude was not accepted. In the next moment, Belger’s consciousness disappeared. Because he was dead. Like his subordinates, he had been diced. The last image that burned itself into his eyes was of a beautiful young woman—genuinely beautiful, as if she had stepped from a myth—with violet hair and red eyes.