Bluesteel Blasphemer Volume 2

by Ichirou Sakaki

  “Turns out gods have their own problems,” he muttered as he walked along the main street, heading for the gate that led out of town. Yukinari had no regrets about felling the erdgod, but he also had to admit that, excepting the need for living sacrifices, the erdgod “system” had been fairly effective. It had presumably arisen organically through long years of natural refinement, so it only made sense that it would do its job well.

  “...Yuki,” Dasa said suddenly. She pointed toward the gate. A lone man was standing there. For second, Yukinari thought it might be the gatekeeper, but his clothes were wrong. That blue outfit was familiar—priest’s robes.

  Yukinari stopped several meters short of the gate. Dasa and Berta came up alongside him and stopped, too.

  “Berta,” the middle-aged man said, walking toward them with a friendly smile. “You look well.”

  “...Yes,” she said with a quiet smile of her own. “As do you, Master Luman.”

  Apparently, they knew each other. Given that the clergy ran the orphanage, Berta might very well have known every priest in town. Yukinari had met several of the priests as well, but this was the first he had seen of this “Luman.” The priest had a square face, narrow eyes, and a large nose. The overall impression he gave was almost like a doll carved from wood—artless and unaffected.

  Yukinari looked around silently. Now he saw them: priests, emerging from the shadows of surrounding buildings, forming a large circle around Yukinari and the two girls. Each of them wore a hard expression, but none could meet Yukinari’s eyes when he looked at them.

  Hmm...

  When Yukinari had found himself involved in everything surrounding the erdgod, the priests had initially attempted to take Dasa as a hostage. This, at least, made them his enemies. But they had made themselves scarce during the trouble with the True Church of Harris, and that made whether or not they were hostile to him less clear.

  The priests were no doubt aware that Yukinari had less than favorable feelings about men of the cloth. That was why they had gotten Luman, a priest he hadn’t met before, to waylay him and his party.

  I’ve got a bad feeling about this.

  Yukinari thought about Durandall, holstered across his back. The priests knew about his power, so it was unlikely they would try a sudden attack. But as they had shown with their attempt to kidnap Dasa, they understood that a strong foe may still have a weakness that could be exploited. Even a god.

  “Berta. We come to you today with an earnest supplication. We ask that you and the honored erdgod... Lord Yukinari... come with us to the orphanage.”

  “I—”

  Berta looked to Yukinari for his reaction. She saw herself as his property, and so probably felt she had to let him decide.

  “Berta,” Luman said softly. “Are you not a shrine maiden?” The words sounded gentle, like a mild reproach, but he was clearly not expecting her to talk back. “Shrine maidens exist to intercede with the gods. It is your duty to ask Lord Yukinari to accompany you to the orphanage.”

  Berta looked at Luman and Yukinari, plainly torn. The priests had raised her like parents. Raised her to be a sacrifice, yes, but she had been indoctrinated into the idea that they must always be obeyed. She could not simply ignore Luman now.

  It was just like how Yukinari and Hatsune, his older sister in his previous world, had been unable to abandon their mother even as she slipped away into the “new religion” she had found. Their father had seemed to leave her behind all too readily, but Yukinari and Hatsune were her children, and couldn’t simply forget about her the way they might have if she were a stranger.

  The question is, what do they want?

  He resented the priests, with their insistence on making Berta their go-between, but it couldn’t hurt to find out what they had in mind. He could go along for now—it didn’t mean he had any obligation to do anything for them later. Yukinari was a god now, and as such, it behooved him to forgive arrogance, capriciousness, even hypocrisy.

  “Luman, right?” Yukinari’s eyes narrowed as he spoke.

  “Yes, Yukina—Lord Yukinari.”

  “Don’t make Berta do your work. If you have something to say to me, say it yourself. Berta—” He hesitated for an instant, but then pushed ahead: “—is mine now. She’s not your tool and she’s not your problem.”

  “Lord Yukinari...” Berta’s face was shining for some reason, while Dasa’s brow had furrowed darkly, but Luman nodded, his expression undisturbed.

  “Yes, I see. Fair enough. Then let me start again. Lord Yukinari, new god of our home of Friedland, I humbly request that you come to the orphanage and hear what we have to say.”

  Yukinari left them hanging for a moment, then said, “...All right.”

  At that, Luman and the other priests formed a line and set off walking toward the orphanage.

  Berta whispered to Yukinari as he made to follow them. “Lord Yukinari.” Her hands were joined above her head in a simple gesture of prayer. “Thank you very much.”

  “Don’t mention it,” Yukinari said, a wry grin tugging at his lips.

  ●

  “Big Sis Berta! Lord Yukinari! Big Sis Dasa!”

  Berta’s “little sisters” greeted them at the orphanage. None of the girls here had a family. Their parents had died, or abandoned them—in any case, they were children who wouldn’t be missed when they were eventually offered up as sacrifices to the erdgod. Because they protected the town by performing this “sacred duty,” their livelihood had been supported in large part by donations from the townspeople.

  In fact, “had been supported” was now the best literal description. For all practical purposes, the orphanage’s chief role—producing sacrifices—was at an end.

  “Hello there,” Yukinari said. He bent down and smiled at a girl he had met the last time he was there. “Hannah, right? How are you doing?”

  “Great, Lord Yukinari!” She giggled, snuggling up like a kitten to the hand he held out.

  “Hannah! You mustn’t be so familiar with Lord Yukinari—!”

  “Aw, don’t worry about it.” Yukinari cut off Berta as she tried to scold her younger sister, then lifted his right arm, to which Hannah had attached herself. The young girl gave an innocent shout of joy, but the first thought that went through Yukinari’s mind was how light she was. Much lighter than she looked. Under her clothes, she was probably just skin and bones. He had lifted her on his arm in part because she looked gaunter than before—and indeed, she seemed to have lost weight. Life at the orphanage had never been luxurious, but it shouldn’t have been so destitute that a growing child became a skeleton.

  “Ahem, Lord Yukinari,” Luman said, gesturing toward the interior of the orphanage. “If you will follow me. I’m sure the children would interrupt our talk out here.”

  Yukinari forced a smile onto his face as he turned to Hannah and the other girls. “...Guess I’ll see you later, then.” Then he headed for the room Luman had indicated.

  “Berta. As Lord Yukinari’s shrine maiden, we request you accompany him. Lady Dasa, if you would kindly wait out here.”

  Dasa said nothing, but a deep frown crossed her face. She reached out for her bag, which she had set on the floor—no doubt because she hadn’t forgotten their last attempt to make her a hostage.

  “It’s okay, Dasa,” Yukinari said. “You haven’t had a chance to chat with your little sisters in a long time.” He touched her silver-haired head.

  “Little... sisters...?” Dasa blinked in perplexity.

  “They called you ‘Big Sis Dasa,’ didn’t they?”

  “Oh...” It was almost as though it hadn’t registered until he mentioned it. With some confusion, she looked back and forth between Yukinari and Hannah and the other girls.

  “I’m... a big... sister?”

  “From their perspective, sure. Go ahead and play with them.” Yukinari mussed her hair.

  “...Mm.” Dasa narrowed her eyes happily.

  “I’m gonna go in and have a chat.
Just... keep Red Chili nearby, okay?”

  “Okay.” Dasa made sure the clasp of her bag was undone, and Yukinari and Berta went into the next room.

  “This way, please.” Luman ushered them into the room and offered them chairs. They seemed to be in some sort of parlor or receiving room. They sat not on a couch, but on hard, wooden chairs, six of which were spaced evenly around a round table in the middle of the room. Luman sat across the table from Yukinari; Berta took her place to Yukinari’s right.

  “So. What do you want?” Yukinari asked.

  Luman cleared his throat, then set his hands on the table, fingers interlaced.

  “Lord Yukinari, it has now been something more than twelve days since you felled our previous erdgod and took up residence here.”

  “Yeah. Twelve days since your barbaric tradition of living sacrifices went out the window. Bet everyone’s feeling pretty good about that.” He didn’t bother to hide the note of contempt in his voice, but Luman’s expression didn’t waver.

  “Barbaric... Is that how you see it?”

  “Damn right it is. What else would you call living sacrifices?” From the bottom of his heart, Yukinari believed it was awful.

  Luman was silent for a moment, as if looking for the right words. Then he said:

  “Very well. Everyone has their own opinion about our tradition, and it will do us no good to argue about it now. But at the very least, please understand that not everyone is ‘feeling good’ about the demise of our custom of sacrifices.”

  “Good point. You guys, for example.” Yukinari kept Luman fixed with his glare. The erdgod no longer demanded sacrifices. That meant no more ritual, which meant no more need to raise sacrifices, which meant all these priests were out of a job.

  “Your appearance here,” Luman went on, ignoring Yukinari’s jab, “has upset the order of things in this town.”

  “Oh, the order of things, huh?”

  “Yes. The money to support this orphanage, for example. It was previously provided by donations from the townspeople, but with no need for sacrifices, donations have gone down. The attitude among the citizens is that they can barely afford to support themselves—let alone some mere orphans.”

  Yukinari said nothing. It wasn’t just the orphanage, but the orphans—former candidates for sacrifice—who had lost their reason for being.

  “And, yes, we priests have no ground to stand on, either. Now that the veneration of the erdgod is over, there is no need of priests to conduct the ritual.”

  “...Figured.”

  “You, Lord Yukinari, are the erdgod of this land now. ...And we have one request we would humbly make of you.” Luman leaned in ever so slightly as he spoke. Apparently, he was coming to his point.

  Truth be told, Yukinari had come in with a pretty good sense of how the conversation would go up to this point. But he wanted to hear the priest say it himself.

  “At present, you deliver all of your instructions to the townspeople through the deputy mayor, Miss Fiona Schillings. We ask that, in the future, you allow us to act as your intermediaries.”

  About what I expected, Yukinari thought. The erdgod no longer demanded sacrifices—but there was a new source of power and authority. It was Yukinari himself. He had felled the erdgod and held off the Missionary Order the True Church of Harris when it had invaded the town under the guise of evangelism. And this evoked from the townspeople a feeling of devotion—almost of religious fervor. This came out in the way everyone but those closest to him referred to him as “honored erdgod,” despite the fact that Yukinari was not an erdgod in the strict sense.

  He had, in effect, replaced the erdgod. As such, he was the new banner the priests could rally to, and thereby protect their status. They saw that they had to put themselves between Yukinari and the townspeople in order to assure their position.

  “You think getting between me and the citizens will let you keep your power—right?” Open hostility entered Yukinari’s voice, but Luman nodded calmly.

  “In broad terms, I suppose, yes.”

  Yukinari squinted at Luman. Why had the priest insisted on having this conversation not in the sanctuary where he and the other priests lived, but in the adjoining orphanage? Most likely, he had wanted Yukinari to see Hannah and the other orphans before the talk began. It would make him that much more open to their pleas.

  But wasn’t that, in essence, taking the children hostage? There was no weapon, but the threat was the same. If you don’t do what we want, these poor children will starve to death.

  No doubt they had wanted Berta present for a similar reason. Yes, she was his “shrine maiden” now, and if she added her voice to their own, it would be that much easier to persuade him. And Luman, of course, knew Berta’s personality full well: she would never turn away from her little sisters at the orphanage.

  Indeed, at that very moment Berta was nervously switching her gaze from one of them to the other, looking as if she might burst into tears. She may not have understood the nuances of the power they were negotiating for, but she at least grasped that Luman wanted something from Yukinari.

  I guess I don’t lose anything by letting them play my representatives, Yukinari thought, picturing Hannah’s smiling face. Luman and the others weren’t asking anything exceptional of him. All he had to say was “Sure,” and they would once more be the god’s spokesmen.

  “No, thanks,” Yukinari said. “I grant I’m the god of this town—but I’m not doing it for priests like you. I’m doing it to take responsibility for what I did, and to protect the people I need to protect. I couldn’t care less whether you guys get anything out of it or not.”

  He remembered how the religion his mother had joined would always squeeze money out of her on one pretext or another. It served no purpose, didn’t change anything; it only supported the people who made their living from being connected to the organization. It was no more and no less than that, and yet his mother had given gladly, and even seemed grateful for the very act of giving money to these people. She believed fervently that the amount she gave reflected her devotion, that she was somehow storing up virtue by these gifts.

  And... Yukinari began thinking through things again. If I let these guys speak for me, yeah, they’d probably keep their power.

  But it was hard to believe that donations to support the orphanage would continue now that sacrifices were no longer necessary. It was possible, of course, that with their safety and livelihoods guaranteed, Luman and the other priests would use their extra resources to take care of the orphans. But their willingness to use Hannah and her sisters as a bargaining chip suggested a high probability that the priests saw the girls as nothing more than a means to an end. Even if Yukinari went along with their request, it was unlikely to solve the real problem.

  “Are you quite sure? Is there no way you will reconsider?” Luman cocked his head with just a hint of questioning. Or was it that he sensed the hesitation and conflict within Yukinari, saw that with one more push, he would give in...

  “Forget it. I said no.”

  There was a silence from beside him. When Yukinari glanced over, he found Berta looking at the ground, trembling. She was caught between him and Luman now and had no idea what to do. Yukinari took her hand and stood, then turned once again to the priest. “I want to be clear. Like I told you: I’m not playing god to put food in your mouths.”

  “And most clear you are. A shame, my Lord. A terrible shame.” His tone was detached. His calm did not seem shaken despite being so thoroughly rejected. It would only make things harder on Berta to stay there. Leaving Luman sitting in the room, Yukinari gave Berta’s hand a firm tug and led her out.

  ●

  No sooner had they returned to the “sanctuary” where they lived than Berta threw herself on the ground in front of Yukinari.

  “My humblest apologies!”

  “Whoa! What are you doing?!”

  “Berta...?”

  They hadn’t even all made it inside; they wer
e still at the entrance to their house. Yukinari and Dasa had walked in as normal, whereas Berta was now prostrate behind them, offering a stream of apologies. Apparently, she felt she wasn’t fit to set foot inside the sanctuary until she had received Yukinari’s forgiveness.

  “Please... Forgive me...”

  “Forgive you for what? Is this about the orphanage?” In his mind’s eye, Yukinari saw Hannah and the priest, Luman.

  “Yes, my Lord!” Berta didn’t even pull her face out of the dirt as she answered.

  “It wasn’t like that was your fault or anything. Now, get up. You know I hate this kind of thing.”

  “But...” To Berta, it was entirely because of her that Yukinari was angry, and she wished desperately that he would spare Hannah and the priests any punishment.

  “All right, look,” Yukinari said, crouching in front of Berta and taking her by the shoulders. He forced her to stand, sighing a little as he asked, “What exactly do you think I am?”

  Did she take him for someone who would murder everyone who annoyed him a little bit? What was he, some kind of evil monster?

  “You... You are my most revered god, Lord Yukinari.” Her eyes swam with tears as she looked at him.

  “Yeah,” he said with a hint of exasperation, “that’s what I thought.”

  Gods could dispense divine punishment on a whim. To Berta, it must have seemed obvious that Yukinari would lash out at Luman for his infuriating request. Unlike Yukinari’s previous world—unlike modern Japan—this world lacked any legal code or universally accepted social conventions. Even if such things had existed, they presumably wouldn’t have applied to gods, who transcended mere humans.

  Here, souring the mood of a god was reason enough for a person to die. Anger a deity, and it would kill you: this was as unshakable a reality as the fact that things fell when you dropped them, or that standing in front of a light produced a shadow.

  “Anyway, I’m not gonna kill those guys.” Yukinari took Berta by the hand and pulled her into the sanctuary. “And if it doesn’t bother me, it definitely shouldn’t bother you.”