A Certain Magical Index, Vol. 21

by Kazuma Kamachi

  I’ve won, thought Nikolai.

  He’d completely grasped the initiative.

  “If you follow the will of Russia, I won’t need to dismantle that fortress. Come—it’s a simple matter of priorities, Fiamma. Russia comes first. If we have time after that, you can execute your objectives. As long as that doesn’t cause issues for Russia.”

  “Ha-ha.”

  He heard Fiamma laugh quietly.

  Nikolai frowned. That wasn’t what he’d expected.

  It wasn’t a self-deprecating laugh, one with resignation in it. Fiamma’s laugh was real, as though someone had just told him an awful joke.

  In other words.

  He was laughing at him.

  “If that is truly the deepest plot you can think of, then even a bishopric was too much for you.”

  A moment later.

  A criiick, like something tearing apart a fiber, rang in Nikolai’s ears. Instantly, a bad feeling swept through him. A magical line necessary for dismantling the fortress’s construction spell had been severed.

  “A mere part of God’s Right Seat can’t use normal magic. You are right on that point—but it would be illogical. Why do you think I invaded the UK to obtain the Soul Arm to remotely control the 103,000 volumes?”

  “You…No…”

  His throat dried up.

  He thought he’d had the initiative, and now it was slipping through his fingers like a healthy fish.

  “Of the four aspects, I command fire—but not only fire. The four aspects lie at the ends of their own directions. Manipulating one aspect can be interpreted loosely as affecting the other three as well. I have everything I need in order to use sorcery.”

  “Use it…? You have power other than God’s Right Seat—? No!!”

  “Still, I should detach in order to become the kami-jo. But the usage is what’s important. I can amass the knowledge of man through prudent, appropriate usage. Of course, when all is completed, the sacred light will inevitably eliminate the petty darkness known as human knowledge.

  “What I’m trying to say is this,” Fiamma finished quietly, as if to deal the finishing blow to the shallow bishop:

  “I requested sorcerers to gain the necessary information about the spells—and to let the Russians slip into negligence. Unfortunately for you, your role is at an end. That last lifeline you were clinging to has just now broken. And I’ll deal with the two hundred sorcerers on my end. Anyway— Well, don’t worry about it. Just die in whatever way you please.”

  The communication ended.

  It had been a one-sided fight.

  He felt as though the difference in their worth to the world had been made palpable. One was the leader of God’s Right Seat, in control of the world’s fate. The other was a single dime-a-dozen bishop.

  For a time, Nikolai Tolstoj contemplated his mortality…until his anger fully erupted.

  He shoved the book-shaped communication Soul Arm off the table and grabbed a cell phone. It had an encrypted communication chip for high-ranking government officials embedded in it, and with it, he gave an order to another subordinate.

  “Send in the reserves.”

  The word had a terrifying meaning within it.

  He simply shouted, ignoring even how big of a crisis his command would place Russia in.

  “I want that fortress blown up!! Right now!!”

  8

  The battle between Index and Stiyl was still raging in St. George’s Cathedral.

  Unfortunately, that battle wasn’t even close to a true contest.

  Stiyl, a mere sorcerer, and the grimoire library freely controlling its stock of 103,000 volumes would never have been an even match.

  “Chapter thirteen, verse nine. Executing preservation of reach via projectiles.”

  Bang!! The red wings on Index’s back burst off.

  The red light, like blood splattering, shot at Stiyl like a laser. It would be more than one or two—dozens of attacks were coming at him all at once, from all different angles.

  “…!!”

  Stiyl didn’t die instantly, partly because of the location.

  Part of the floor on the ground level had collapsed, so Stiyl and Index had fallen into the underground Soul Arm storehouse.

  He grabbed a Soul Arm at once, fed mana into it, and activated it.

  The block-shaped stone, dubbed the Stone of Hrungnir, glowed with a pale-blue hue, then successfully repelled four of the red lights Index had fired.

  All of the rest rushed at him, destroying the Soul Arm along with its pale-blue light.

  Twisting himself, Stiyl barely avoided the lethal rays.

  …From what I can see, the physical control itself uses her brain. The remote-control Soul Arm is only sending her the necessary signals—the parameters needed for actions use what’s inside her already. Which means if I can knock Index out, she’ll stop.

  It pained him to put any more of a burden on her, but it was his only choice. He checked the runic cards in his clothes. They weren’t only flames. He had many other cards ready that could produce other effects, centered around Opila to drive others away. Depending on how he combined them, he could create a myriad of effects, and among them was one to mentally bind a targeted person.

  He’d postponed doing this because he couldn’t predict the risk—he didn’t know how compatible it would be with the remote-control Soul Arm—but he didn’t have any more time to hesitate. He would swiftly disable Index and mentally restrain her.

  The issue was…

  How am I supposed to get close to her under this continuous barrage?!

  That was when a huge ba-boom went off.

  It was the sound of the door to the basement Soul Arm storehouse flying open and several Sisters stepping inside.

  “Stiyl, we’re here to assist!! Please regroup—”

  “Stop!!”

  By the time Stiyl shouted in reply, it was too late.

  “Chapter eight, verse forty-three. Mana refinement detected. Identifying those drawing power as hostile entities and eliminating their ability to act.”

  Pop. Sparks appeared near Index’s brow.

  Immediately after, a large, fan-shaped shock wave billowed out from Index. It knocked over all the Sisters, who were most likely protected to an extent with Soul Arms, then destroyed an entire wall of the underground Soul Arm storehouse before carrying the hostile parties far away like a bulldozer.

  Our main combat personnel are all deployed at the Strait of Dover and overseas. Most of the people remaining here are for communication and correspondence. At this rate, she’ll wipe us out!!

  Index’s head twisted to look around.

  Detecting mana in the walls, the ceiling…and beyond them, she said, “Chapter eight, verse forty-seven. Continuing to eliminate factors with high probability of becoming hostile.”

  Boom!! Bang!! One after another, thick beam-looking things fired out. They easily penetrated the walls and ceiling, guarded by magical barriers, then continued, destroying one of St. George’s Cathedral’s magical mechanisms after the next.

  Not good. At this rate, she might affect the large-scale Soul Arms supporting our forces on the front lines!!

  Then it happened: Someone walked up to the edge of where the ceiling had collapsed.

  It was Laura Stuart, archbishop and leader of the English Puritan Church.

  …Reinforcements…? he wondered in slight anticipation before realizing he was wrong a moment later.

  She shook her hand, displaying something.

  As if to show it off.

  That’s…her remote-control Soul Arm!!

  She was far from reinforcements.

  Her silent gesture meant something very simple.

  Do something quickly, or I’ll use this.

  Stiyl clenched his teeth.

  Index was clearly already under massive strain. It was easy to see what would happen if that woman used her remote-control Soul Arm on top of everything else.

  He removed r
unic cards from his inside pocket and forced mana through them.

  A sword of flames appeared.

  Index’s eyes turned his way, as if drawn to it.

  “Chapter twenty, verse six. Reestablishing priority targets. Reevaluation of dangerous factors complete.”

  After waiting for her to have her attention on him, Stiyl dashed to the exit of the underground Soul Arm storehouse. If they stayed here, it would only increase the damage. For now, he had to start by luring her into an optimal battlefield.

  As Stiyl withdrew, the girl’s unfeeling voice followed after him.

  “Preparations complete. Commencing attack.”

  INTERLUDE FIVE

  On the white snowfield, Mikoto Misaka looked overhead.

  It seemed like the giant fortress with that spiky-haired boy on it was still floating, even now. She’d come all this way to Russia, but at this rate, no matter how long she waited, she’d never reach him.

  …Come on!! I came all the way here to be left out in the cold?! That’s not possible!! I have to think of some way to get to him!!

  No matter how she thought about it, that spiky-haired boy was at the dead center of this disturbance. Being positioned in the middle of World War III made her wonder how much bigger things were for that idiot, but she could lecture him on his foolishness after she’d dragged him somewhere safe.

  And then the Sister next to her offered, “What in the world is that frog strap hanging out of your jacket pocket, asks Misaka, brimming with curiosity.”

  “Eh? He’s called Croaker. I got it from the cell phone campaign when I dragged that idiot there on September 30.”

  “…First, Misaka number 10032’s necklace, and now this strap…The girls in Academy City certainly seem to have the advantage, says Misaka, implying a rethinking of her strategy. Boy, being long-distance is tough.”

  “Er, what strategy?”

  Mikoto blinked in confusion, but the Sister, hugging her Russian assault rifle like a stuffed animal, didn’t provide any further answers.

  She glanced above, toward the fortress. “I would like to somehow support him, says Misaka, presenting an impossible problem.”

  “…Same, but the issue is how exactly we’ll get there. It’s probably gone up five thousand meters, yeah? Not even my magnetism can reach that far.”

  “Would it be possible to increase your altitude in stages by preparing several relay points in midair? asks Misaka, haphazardly suggesting an idea.”

  “How would we do that?” asked Mikoto.

  The Sister took a look around, then pointed to a Russian short-range missile launcher mounted onto a vehicle. “First, we’ll fire one of those missiles—”

  “I’ll die!” interrupted Mikoto, rejecting it. “But a regular military helicopter wouldn’t reach that high, either. It’s not airtight, and the fortress looks like it’s still rising. If we really want to go, I guess we’ll need a plane…”

  “(…Appearing gallantly when it should be utterly impossible to do so might be my biggest chance to overturn my long-distance handicap, says Misaka, with a low laugh, beginning to discharge devious fantasies into the network.)”

  “Hey, you’re leaking something, you know,” said Mikoto, appalled.

  But then, the Sister’s face quickly rose.

  Partially attentive to her wireless headset device, she said, “I’ve intercepted a Russian communication, reports Misaka. The encryption format is different from regular military correspondences. The name Nikolai Tolstoj appears multiple times; it must be from some sort of independent unit, estimates Misaka.”

  “?”

  “They seem to be on the verge of launching a large-scale attack from the ground against the fortress floating in the air, says Misaka, summarizing the essential details.”

  “Hmm. That’s not good. That would mean that idiot up there would get caught in it.”

  She didn’t honestly care what happened to that strange fortress, but even she’d have a bad aftertaste if an acquaintance of hers blew up along with it. It was important to find a way to get to the fortress overhead, but maybe she needed to stop the attack from the surface first.

  “So—what weapons are they going to use? They’ve been firing short-range surface-to-air missiles for a while now, but it doesn’t seem like they’ll even dent it.”

  “Nu-AD1967.”

  “What’s that?”

  “The American name for it, says Misaka, continuing her explanation. Apparently, it is referred to here as Opasnosti, says Misaka, listening to the communication.”

  “What does that all mean?”

  “A strategic nuclear warhead developed by the old Soviet Union, reports Misaka.”

  CHAPTER 8

  Their Multilateral Counterattack

  Combination.

  1

  Misha Kreutzev.

  The size of the angel’s body by itself wasn’t that unusual. Two meters, give or take. Perhaps its consistently feminine silhouette was because this being stood as the only female angel in legend.

  The details of the angel’s form, however, were clearly distinct from humans.

  Instead of skin, a silky fabric covered its body; and it had no face to speak of—no eyes, nose, or mouth. Those organs were all depicted solely by unevenness in the cloth. In place of its hair was a cloth spread in the shape of a trumpet, flowing from the back of its head.

  No strict distinction could be made between skin and cloth; they were one and the same. Gold-colored veins, like that of a leaf, ran through the white cloth’s surface, held in some places by pins of the same color. On the whole, it was closer to a white or gray, but the faint-blue light emanating from its body caused its impression to morph into something more radiant.

  Its wings were ice.

  They numbered around a hundred.

  Their sizes were anywhere from a dozen inches or so to three hundred feet.

  The countless wings, towering like a massive pin frog turned to the heavens, possessed a beauty unique to crystalline structures. A gemstone beauty, one which would confront any who tried to reproduce it with the disparity between them and nature.

  However.

  Those from Academy City, their units deployed across Russian lands, could not watch in fascination.

  They knew of its horrors.

  No—they were forced to know.

  Roar!!!!!!

  The countless wings of ice caused the snowy lands to shake.

  The action Misha had taken had been simple.

  It had descended, straight down, from the air to the center of the tightly clustered, tank- and powered suit–laden enemy ranks. During its meteoric impact, it swung its three-digit wings protruding from its back wildly down in all directions.

  That was all.

  With no more than a giant stamping-like movement, the Academy City teams who had been sweeping through the huge nation of Russia were scattered like an ant line trampled on by a child.

  “Whooooooooaaaaaaa?!”

  “Get away from it! It’s too close for bombardment!!”

  “Does it look like we have time for that?!”

  As the tanks retreated with enough force they nearly ran over their allied powered suits, they rotated their turrets with precision.

  Fire spewed from their muzzles.

  With the organ-scrambling boom of their bombardment, the artillery, made to dig deep inside armor before igniting, ripped through the air.

  The angel didn’t even turn its head.

  Its wings, giant as steel towers, simply swung—faster than the speed of sound, stirring the atmosphere, and even leaving trails of condensation in their wakes. With overwhelming force, the unleashed wing attack easily shot down the paltry tank shells.

  There was no counterattack.

  To begin with, Misha hadn’t even viewed this action as a hostile one with a winner and a loser.

  “anhwrNEXTnxdp”

  By the time anyone had heard the bang, Misha’s body had already soared up
thirty thousand feet into the air.

  Academy City’s unit deployment spanned far more than merely three hundred feet.

  Misha set its sights on its next landing point, away from the crater in the crowd.

  A moment later.

  In the same way as before, Misha Kreutzev plunged straight toward the middle of a unit.

  “nipsergNEXTnsig”

  “sbrgNEXTsnmtph”

  “nithgNEXTgbsvrfl”

  Bang!! Boom!! In rapid succession, Academy City units were gouged and hollowed. It wasn’t certain whether Misha had a sense of friend or foe. Brought into the melee, the Russian tanks and armored vehicles moving about in confusion were mowed down at the same time.

  It was an overpowering sight to behold.

  The Academy City tank crewmen crawling out of their tanks, which were now like shredded empty cans, locked eyes with the sunken Russian troops then. But they never pointed their muzzles at one another’s chests. The Russian troops simply shook their heads in dumb amazement. The Academy City tank crewmen could understand how they felt.

  This was far more than a war now.

  Even the act of war was nothing but part of a life cycle that humans had created between themselves.

  This was a true catastrophe.

  And faced with that, human agency had no way to continue.

  “hbsugzevnzfNEXTsboisngrger”

  Words, sent forth.

  A language indiscernible to the human ear, incomprehensible to the human mind.

  The soldiers looked to the skies, feeling like blade tips had been thrust at their throats. The angel of destruction reigned supreme. Misha’s movements didn’t change. And it never altered its method of attack on a whim. Did it feel like this was a tedious job? An instant after Misha’s face pointed in their direction, its body had slammed into them like a meteor, without hesitation.

  They were done for next time.

  It was a miracle they’d lived this long.

  Their luck had hit rock bottom.

  “…”

  Energy drained from the Academy City tank crewmen, and for some reason, smiles came to their lips.

  The Russian troops were probably making the same kind of expression.

  And a moment later, the archangel descended.