Not that I’m eager to do that...
Yukinari’s thoughts were interrupted by a pounding at the door. “Excuse me—excuse me, please!” A man rushed into the room.
“What is it?” Fiona said, looking reprovingly at the man. “You’re being very rude.”
But the man clearly had little interest in etiquette at that moment. “I—I’m very sorry. But there’s something I must tell you, Miss Fiona, and quickly. If the honored erdgod is here, too, so much the better. Please, come with me to the outskirts of town!”
It didn’t really sound like a request. If he thought it would be best to have Yukinari there, that meant it was likely another attack by a demigod.
In any event, the man’s panic told Yukinari all he needed to know about the situation. He, Dasa, and the others got to their feet.
●
The first thing they heard was the ringing of steel on steel. If that had been all, it could easily have been a blacksmith or a carpenter at work. But it was accompanied by shouts and cries, summoning an entirely different scene to the imagination.
The man led Yukinari and the others to one of the gates built into Friedland’s walls, though not the one Yukinari’s party had come through earlier. There was only one primary gate leading to the main road, but there were a number of smaller ports, with paths leading to the fields and the surrounding area.
They exited through a port and proceeded along a road that led toward the mountains, and they soon came upon the site of the problem.
Arlen and the other two knights who had gone out on patrol had their backs to the approaching party. All three had their swords out and their little shields raised. Ranged against them, weapon at the ready, was... just one person.
“Who are you...?”
The opponent was wearing a heavy coat, and a hood covered their eyes, so it was hard to make out anything about them. But judging by their stance, they weren’t physically large. There was always the possibility they were wearing armor under that outfit, so it was hard to make any precise judgments, but they were probably about as tall as Yukinari, and their limbs were of average length.
In their hand was a spear—no, the hybrid weapon called a halberd. It was good not just for stabbing, but also for sweeping. The distance it established gave its wielder an advantage against swordsmen in many situations, but when fighting in confined spaces, the length could be a liability.
The figure’s overcoat had several crimson stains that appeared to be blood. A bandit, perhaps? But the person seemed to be holding three knights of the Missionary Order at bay without giving an inch, and was clearly trained in the halberd’s use.
There was shock among the combatants as Overcoat thrust.
“Hrah!”
Arlen dodged out of the way just before he was skewered by the polearm. The weapon glanced off his armor in a shower of sparks. Meanwhile, the knights to either side of him saw their opponent extended, in what must have looked to them like a very vulnerable position, and attacked.
The construction of the human body makes people quicker at moving forward than at falling back, even more so if they happen to be carrying a long spear. The two attackers were counting on this.
But Overcoat betrayed their expectations. The figure didn’t come forward or move back. They sank their body down as far as possible, striking out to the left and right. Then they pulled the halberd back, spinning on one heel while extending their body. This allowed the halberd to catch the two knights in a sweeping motion.
Both of the men had had their weight forward, and the blow knocked them to the ground. Even in full armor this gave them a pretty good shock, and they stayed down, groaning quietly.
But Overcoat didn’t finish them off, instead resuming a fighting stance with the halberd and turning back to Arlen. He attacked, but the halberd deflected his sword easily; he couldn’t reach his opponent. He made two or three attempts, during which time the other two knights got up again, but then they were back at square one.
“Who in the world is that...?”
Three knights against one opponent, and they still couldn’t win. Because the knights attacked together, Overcoat had no time to strike a finishing blow; for the moment, they were at a stalemate.
“I—I don’t know, but when I noticed the situation, they were already like this...”
Apparently, this had been going on for some time. But...
They may be evenly matched, but that person has got to tire eventually.
Just as he predicted, Overcoat’s movements were becoming ever so slightly slower. It was three against one. It was obvious that the one would run out of energy first.
“Hiyah!”
Arlen must have noticed the same thing, because he leaped in with a swing of his sword. He wasn’t aiming at the opponent, but at the halberd. No doubt he was thinking about how the enemy deflected all his blows with it.
With a screech of steel, the halberd jumped from Overcoat’s hands. That settled the matter—or would have, but before the weapon hit the ground, Overcoat pulled out a longsword that had been concealed in their outerwear and attacked.
This meant the enemy wasn’t too attached to any one weapon and had a preternaturally quick ability to react to a situation.
“Hrr!” Arlen dodged the attack, a look of shock on his face. A follow-up attack came. Somehow he managed to avoid it, drawing back. If this had been a one-on-one contest, the next blow probably would have finished it.
“Yah!” The other two thrust forward, covering Arlen’s retreat. But Overcoat saw the minute difference in the speed of their attacks and easily parried. Overcoat’s strikes were clearly quicker with a sword.
“This...”
This was no average opponent. It was a warrior with a wealth of battlefield experience, well-versed in a number of different weapons.
Yukinari had given Arlen and the others Durandall weapons like his own in case they encountered any demigods on their patrols, but the knights didn’t look like they were going to use them. Perhaps they hesitated to use an unfamiliar weapon, or perhaps they felt they couldn’t aim a gun at a human opponent.
Yukinari decided it was time to jump in. “Your qualms won’t do you any good if you’re dead! Use the Durandalls!”
His shout seemed to remind Arlen and the others that they were carrying powerful weapons, because two of the knights fell back and drew the guns from the holsters on their backs.
But Overcoat didn’t stop.
It made sense, in its way. Guns had been unknown in this world until Yukinari brought them here. Overcoat probably thought the Durandalls were just crudely made swords. In fact, the firing position for a gun probably looked extremely vulnerable.
Overcoat closed the distance in an instant. The speed of it prevented the two gunners from aiming carefully, and they pulled the triggers in a panic.
Two explosions caused by .44 Magnum bullets traveling faster than the speed of sound rent the air. Even an experienced marksman, though, would find it very difficult to hit a moving target. And when one fires in a hurry, without taking time to aim first, the shot can hardly be expected to hit.
Indeed, both shots missed. The fact that one of them actually grazed Overcoat’s hood was something of a miracle. It tore the fabric and pulled the hood back, leaving Overcoat’s face exposed, but they showed no sign of being intimidated by this. A little surprised by the huge noise, but because Overcoat hadn’t seen the bullet, they didn’t realize how frightening—how dangerous—it really was.
Yukinari made a sound of surprise when he saw Overcoat’s face. “It’s...”
The first thing he noticed was the hair, so red it seemed to be on fire. It fell into tails on either side of the face, but for the most part the hair was short, so as not to interfere with movement. Overcoat’s almond eyes were clear, the features of the face arranged symmetrically around the high bridge of the nose. Even in the midst of battle, the face showed neither panic nor anger; it looked as calm as if its owner
were doing some daily chores.
But there was something still more striking about this person.
“...a woman?”
Yes. It was undeniably a woman’s face. She looked to be about twenty years old.
Yukinari wasn’t the only one to be surprised. Two of the knights froze, shocked to discover that the person who had gone toe-to-toe with the three of them was female. As they stood there, petrified, Overcoat—the woman—closed the gap to them, giving two quick slashes. The knights got their Durandalls up in time to block—barely—but they must have been heavy blows, because the guns flew out of their hands and onto the ground.
“Why, you!” Arlen jumped at the woman from behind. But she kicked off one of the knights, using the momentum to spin herself around so she was facing him.
Arlen was agog at the speed of her movement. The woman swept upward with her sword, toward his jaw. From chin to brain case: she meant to kill him with a single blow.
But the instant before she would have turned Arlen into a human shish kebab, she stopped.
That was because Yukinari had appeared with his own Durandall.
The woman immediately interrupted her attack on Arlen, taking up a stance against Yukinari. She made two or three swipes, testing him. He was startled when the next blow came, much heavier than the others, full of the intent to kill. She had aimed at his calf. People rarely think to defend their legs during a fight, and a major artery runs up the inside of the calf, so a wound there can be fatal. This woman really did know how to fight—how to face someone down on the field and kill them.
Instantly, Yukinari dropped Durandall in an effort to deflect the blow, but he was too late.
Instead...
“Yuki!”
There was a roar.
It was Dasa. She had drawn Red Chili and fired. Unlike the knights, she was used to using her gun, and her pistol was intended for sniper work. It was inherently more precise than the Durandalls. Her bullet found the woman’s sword and tore it out of her hand.
“Hrgh?!” The woman used her left hand to cover her right, a shocked expression on her face. Maybe her wrist had been injured by the force of the impact. “What in the blazes was that?!”
It seemed she had finally comprehended just how dangerous a gun could be. But that, too, lasted just a moment. With astonishing speed, the woman slid her left hand into her overcoat. She must have had yet another weapon in there. On the battlefield, swords can break or be twisted; it was only common sense to bring along a backup weapon.
But Yukinari already had Durandall’s blade at her neck. “Enough.”
“...Grr...” For the first time, the woman looked upset. She turned hostile eyes on him. “You aren’t a missionary knight! So why are you trying to stop me?”
“A missionary knight? Huh, now I get it.”
She must have attacked Arlen and the others on the assumption that they were part of the Missionary Order of the True Church of Harris. And in their minds, perhaps they were—but he’d save that for another time.
“Anyway,” Yukinari went on, “I want to talk to you. Put down your weapon.”
“You want... what?” The woman looked at him, her amber eyes suspicious. No normal enemy would ask to talk after such an intense battle.
“You’ve got to be just about spent, right?”
A good look showed the woman to be panting, as if she were breathing with her shoulders. Considering that she had held off three missionary knights for quite some time, it actually suggested she had far more endurance than one might assume at first glance. But she could hardly go on forever.
And the blood on her overcoat. A close look revealed that it wasn’t a splatter, but must have been her own. Her clothes underneath the coat were also spotted with blood in several places.
This made it all the more amazing that she had held her own against Arlen and his friends.
For that matter, where had this woman even come from? If she was from some other town, that would mean she had traveled alone through areas rife with xenobeasts and demigods, to say nothing of dangerous wild animals. It suggested an audacity unusual for a woman.
“Just who are you?” Yukinari asked, just a hint of frustration in his voice.
She stared at him a moment longer, still panting. “I... am...”
But she must have reached her limit, because before she could tell him her name, she lost consciousness and collapsed to the ground.
●
In the dark, a frenzied contest of steel on steel was taking place. Sparks flew in every direction, but the light they generated was far too meager to push back the all-consuming darkness. The place was in utter confusion; it was impossible to say who was where.
“Yaaaaaaah!”
A cry sounded through the forest. Was it ally or enemy?
They had agreed they would escape at midnight. Everyone wore black so as not to be seen. A guard, gold gleaming in his hand, quietly opened the back gate for them—that was how they got out. No matter how closely you were being watched, an escape could always be found if those watching you were corrupt enough.
But this guard turned out to be even more corrupt than the party had counted on. No sooner had he taken the money from them than he made a covert report to the captain of the town watch. Presumably he said nothing about the bribe he had received, playing the part of a loyal official.
They were less upset about his betrayal, however, than the fact that they had been forced to turn to someone so faithless in the first place. If they had had power enough, this whole ridiculous ploy could have been avoided.
The group got out of town, and for a while they had no problems. They kept to side roads, getting some distance from the village. When they judged they were probably safe, they went back to the main road—and right into an ambush.
The True Church of Harris. The iron fist of the Civilizing Expedition—the Missionary Order. A more fearsome enemy than any erdgod or xenobeast, perhaps the worst thing they could have run into.
“Hold fast! There aren’t many of them!”
As she tried to inspire her comrades, she drew her own weapon, a halberd, and advanced.
It should have been impossible for the knights to guess exactly where she and her escort would come back to the main road. That meant the Order couldn’t commit all its forces to any one potential ambush, but must have spread itself over several possible locations. The most worrisome thing was that the fight might drag on, allowing these knights’ friends to reinforce them.
“These sweet little knights aren’t used to a down-and-dirty fight! The conditions favor us! Stay strong and aim true! Cut them to shreds!”
On the one hand, she had merely said the first thing that came into her head, hoping to encourage her allies. On the other hand, she was right. The Order wasn’t prepared for a night battle; their movements would be imprecise.
The woman and those with her, however, always did the dirtiest work, and they were used to engaging in the dark. Although they were usually the ones setting the ambushes, not the ones being ambushed.
She was just starting to think they might survive this. But then, moonlight poured down through a break in the clouds, and in the cold, pale illumination, the knights gave a cheer. They were looking back at something.
“The saint has come! The saint fights for us!”
Just below the shouting, a sharp noise could be heard, piercing the night. It drifted across the battlefield ceaselessly, weaving a melody.
And then, as one, the knights began to chant.
“Holy, holy, holy!”
“O our august forebear! O saint who guarded the revered teachings!”
“Be incarnate now in sinews of steel, and come forth thyself to battle!”
Saint, they called it, but in the moonlight it seemed a giant, looming up as if to make the darkness darker still.
The group was in trouble. The reinforcements had arrived, and in the worst possible form.
“Men, fall back!” s
omeone called from behind the giant—the statue of the guardian saint. “Whoever remains in front of our saint, be they friend or foe, will be destroyed!”
That was the instant the battle turned. The knights retreated like a receding tide. In their place, the massive metal figure came forward. A single glance was more than enough to tell that no ordinary human weapon would have any effect against it. It was like a man-made, metal god.
It approached them, its footsteps booming. It moved strangely; each individual movement was quick, but they didn’t flow together. Each step was sickeningly fast, but there was a brief pause before the giant stepped again. Most likely, this was because the Missionary Order had to instruct it to make each movement. The result was that it was very difficult to predict what the statue would do.
And so, when its fist came down with a whumph of splitting air, her subordinates were unable to react immediately. The thing had been lumbering along just a second before, and now her friends were trapped in a ball of metal that moved so quickly it nearly left an afterimage.
“Hrgh—!”
“Gyah!”
Two of her men were sent flying with noises that were not quite screams, not quite cries. They disappeared into the grass by the side of the road. Chances were, they were dead. She could see the unnatural angles of their limbs and necks even as they tumbled through the air. They looked like they’d been struck with a battering ram. It might have been less disturbing if they’d had no limbs at all.
“Run!” someone shouted. “They’ve got the advantage!”
This brought her back to reality. The missionaries had fallen back. If anything, that opened up a chance for them to escape. The statue might be huge, and it might be powerful, but there was only one of it. If they ran as hard as they could, there was a good chance they could get away.
She and her subordinates began to flee their hunters. But then—
“Holy, holy, holy!”
This time the chanting was coming from ahead of them.
“Wha...?” She froze. Another guardian saint, coming from the other direction, was clearly silhouetted by the moonlight. In fact, there was a second statue next to it. And then...
Bluesteel Blasphemer Volume 3 Page 4
