“It’s Veronika.”
That was all she said. It seemed she had no intention of telling them her last name. But it was enough for now. Yukinari nodded at her again, and then he ushered everyone out of the room.
●
The remote regions, far from the capital, were frankly inconvenient.
Human settlements were scattered across the land, connected by the merest of roads. Over the generations, the king and the nobles in the capital had shown little interest in the more far-flung parts of the kingdom, not even seriously attempting territorial expansion. As long as they got their taxes, that was all they cared about. In many cases, local rulers had simply been left in charge.
Often, these frontier areas were still dominated by monsters like demigods and xenobeasts; even on the main roads, safety wasn’t guaranteed. This made it difficult for trade and communications to develop and, combined with the erdgod cults that were a frequent feature of these areas, only deepened isolation from the capital.
The result was that many of these places were cities in name only; in reality, they could practically be ghost towns.
Then again, sometimes conditions were just right, people and resources gathered in one particular town, and a measure of development would take place.
Aldreil, while obviously nothing like the capital, was a thriving city by frontier standards. It had prospered as a center of trade, attracting people and goods from all over the surrounding area.
“Well, well. Not bad.” Angela surveyed the town from a tall platform.
She was still a young woman, not yet twenty, but many things about her made her look older than she was—her strong, close-set eyes, her height, her long, black hair, her poise, and last but not least, her generous chest. It would have been evident to anyone at a glance that she was from the capital’s upper crust. She exuded a certain glamor just standing there.
Many among the nobility entered the Missionary Order of the True Church of Harris essentially to bolster their reputations. It had been generations since the wars of unification had ended, and with no more enemies to fight, the role of the military had become largely ceremonial. Nowadays the only soldiers who got real battle experience were those in the Missionary Order.
Angela Jindel had joined the missionaries for exactly that reason. But unlike most of the women in the Order, who left as soon as they had served long enough to keep up appearances, Angela had chosen to remain a knight. She was a fervent disciple—she was immensely grateful for the teachings of the Harris Church and passionate about spreading them to the sorry peasants who languished in ignorance.
She was in Aldreil with the returning Civilizing Expedition. The town, which served as a base for the Expedition, had an unmistakable whiff of rusticity to it, but it was also an excellent place for the missionaries to collect themselves and rest from the road after a long journey. The influx of goods from other parts of the frontier meant that—although again, the selection was nothing like that to be found in the capital—most things a person might need could be found in the city. Be it food or other daily necessities, living in Aldreil left one wanting for little.
Angela’s unit, the Ninth Missionary Brigade, was to continue traveling even farther from the capital in order to relieve another unit. For the month or so until the switch, they would stay here.
Angela liked Aldreil, more or less, so she was assigned to guard duty, which she executed with just as much zeal as any other job. The main task of the Missionary Order was to spread the teachings of the Harris Church to places where they weren’t yet known, but they were also charged with keeping the peace in areas that had already been converted. They patrolled the town, interrogating—or rather, getting information from—townspeople to make sure nothing bad was happening and there were no faithless betrayers who might turn against the Church’s precious teachings.
“Shall we?” Angela said to the knights with her. She climbed down from the observation platform and began her patrol.
Many people stood in place, eyes down, when they saw Angela’s party. They knew any suspicious action could bring punishment from the missionaries, so they tried hard not to draw attention to themselves. Each of them wore the metal ring known as the holy mark around their neck, so none of them dared to confront the missionaries openly.
“Excellent,” Angela murmured as she and the knights walked along. “Absolutely excellent.”
They started, however, when they saw a middle-aged man standing in the middle of the street, flanked by several missionary knights.
“Captain!” They ran up to the man at a gentle jog, then bowed their heads to him in unison. It was a natural gesture of respect to their commanding officer—Richard Bateson, the leader of the Ninth Missionary Brigade.
Bateson was a robust man in his middle years. His small eyes gave the impression of being practically buried in his square face. Although he was from noble stock, like Angela, his features looked more like those of a field worker. His history included no notable military success, but the way he had tirelessly worked his way through the ranks earned the trust of his subordinates.
“Vice Captain. Anything to report?”
Angela straightened up even further, careful to remain stock-still as she answered, “Sir! Nothing unusual, sir.”
“How’s the distribution of the holy mark coming?”
“At present, almost the entire population of the city has been granted the holy mark.”
“Almost?” A note of displeasure entered Bateson’s voice.
Angela added quickly, “There’s a small handful of residents whose whereabouts are currently unknown—”
“And how is that?”
“We suspect they may be savages, still worshiping the erdgod.”
The missionaries who had felled the erdgod had been members of the Third Missionary Brigade, which had been here before Angela’s unit. They had already departed Aldreil for points more remote, but perhaps all the missionaries looked the same to the people of the city. The most devout followers of the old cult might not even understand that they had been liberated from subjection to an evil faith; they might feel they were bringing justice for their fallen god.
“Whatever the case,” Angela continued. “The situation in the city is stable. We have no end of eager disciples of the Harris Church, and there is no discord among the citizenry.”
Once the Third Brigade had defeated the erdgod, a steady flow of missionary units had arrived here from the capital, such that three units were constantly garrisoned in the city. Most of the populace had given up any thought of resistance.
“Oh, Captain, hello!”
Several of the townspeople came over when they saw Bateson. Many people kept their distance, afraid of the missionary knights, but a small handful would approach with smiles on their faces. There were some in every town. They fancied themselves smart enough to see an opportunity when it came along. But really, they were just cozying up to those in power. The way they would simultaneously turn up their noses toward those who were weaker than themselves—and act as if they were somehow keeping the equilibrium by doing so—was truly ugly.
These were the people who had been actively cooperating with the missionaries since they arrived. Now they had made themselves the town’s overseers, behaving as if they were the missionaries’ equals. Angela felt nothing but contempt for them.
The goal of the Missionary Order was, as its name implied, to convert the populace. Those who didn’t resist, but even went out of their way to help, were very useful—one might even argue she should feel a measure of affection for them. But Angela, who took her own creed so seriously, felt that anyone who would sell their faith at the drop of a hat deserved to be spat on. There was a special stink, she thought, that could be detected on those who took advantage of the chaos of conversion to play out personal vendettas or raise their own status.
“If you would be so kind, sir...” One of the men had pressed his hands together and was looking up at Bat
eson beseechingly. No doubt he was going to bring yet another annoying petition. She felt for Bateson, who was the one stuck dealing with these matters, but since the captain seemed willing to listen to the man, it would hardly do for Angela to jump in and chase him off.
Bateson continued to listen to the man, his expression as unchanging as if it had been carved from stone. Most of the other knights, like Angela, seemed to find the man and his request tiresome, because they glanced vacantly here and there.
Maybe that was why they were slow to react.
From behind the jabbering townsperson, another man approached Bateson. Angela saw that he was reaching into his bag, but she didn’t register danger. She had seen plenty of informants pull out lambskin sheets with the names of people they wanted to turn in. This was probably more of the same.
She hadn’t imagined he might pull a blade from his pouch. Nor that he would then dive at Bateson with it.
“Yah!”
“Captain!”
But Bateson was no amateur. Maybe he had sensed the man’s homicidal intent. Whatever the case, he raised one of his huge, muscled hands and slapped the blade away before it reached his throat.
If only the blow had thrown the weapon to the ground. But the attacker held on, stabbing without regard for whether the wound would be critical, and the knife buried itself deep in Bateson’s abdomen.
“Hrrgh...”
Bateson groaned aloud, but in a testament to his strength, didn’t fall to his knees. In fact, with his right hand, he grabbed the hilt of the weapon, along with the hand of the man holding it. The man tried to jump backward, but Bateson had a crushing grip on him, and he couldn’t get away.
“An attacker! Restrain him!” Angela’s shout sent the missionaries into frantic action.
They apprehended the man without difficulty. On closer inspection, he looked truly impoverished; any one member of the Missionary Order could easily have overpowered him. That made them all the angrier that he had slipped through their defenses.
“Someone accompany the captain to the infirmary!” Angela ordered, never taking her eyes off the attacker.
His clothing was tattered. Perhaps he had been camping in the wilderness recently in order to evade the knights’ roundups, because his outfit was dusty and dirty, and his beard was unshaven.
“This is the curse of the erdgod! I am the hand of justice! Do you see now, you—”
His captors didn’t allow him to finish, but smacked him soundly on the back of the head. He was slammed to the ground, groaning as his face struck the dirt.
So he was one of the supporters of the old god.
“Very well,” Angela said coldly, looking down at him. “If you’re so keen on justice, then you won’t mind an impartial trial.” She was speaking less to the man and more to the group of gawking bystanders that had formed when people started to notice the commotion. She had to send a message to these dim country types, or there might be more attacks.
“You attempted to murder Richard Bateson, the captain of the exalted Ninth Missionary Brigade. Attempted murder of a holy knight. That amounts to treachery against our God! I sentence you to death!”
This provoked a murmur among the onlookers. Her unilateral decision had frightened them.
“H-How is this impartial?” the man gasped, his face still shoved into the ground.
Angela gave him a thin smile. “Don’t worry. There’s even someone to act as your defense—right here.” She turned to one of the missionary knights beside her. “You’re his friend, starting now. Do you have any objection to the verdict?”
“Ma’am! No, ma’am!”
“And what about you?” she asked another of the knights. “You’re his friend, aren’t you?”
“No objection, ma’am!” The knights didn’t even look at the man on the ground.
The man forced his head up, shouting, “Th-This is outrageous! This is no trial!” But Angela had no interest in him.
“You there. Stop where you are.” She instructed her knights to restrain the men who had first spoken to Bateson. The moment the attacker had been overpowered, they had started discreetly backing away, still smiling, but now...
“You’re all accomplices.”
“What? B-But why—?” they protested, eyes wide.
“You were the ones who spoke to the captain,” Angela said coldly. “You made the opening for this man to attack. You’re as guilty as he is.”
“You—you have no proof...”
“You traded a look with this scum. I saw it.”
A chorus of Yeahs and I saw it toos came from the assembled knights. Since the captain had gone for medical treatment, that made the vice captain, Angela, the absolute authority here. If she had pointed to a bird and called it a fish, they would all have agreed that fish were quite talented fliers.
“As you see, I have witnesses. I pronounce you guilty of being this man’s accomplices.”
“W-Wait—!”
“I, Angela Jindel, Vice Captain of the Ninth Missionary Brigade of the Civilizing Expedition of the True Church of Harris, now pass judgment. All of you shall be put to death.”
It was wonderful to make that declaration. At a swoop, she could eliminate the entire group that had been nettling her.
“The sentence will be carried out tomorrow morning. A guillotine shall be constructed in the main square, and a public execution shall be held!”
“Wait! Wait, you can’t—!”
“Take them away,” she ordered her knights. Then she looked around. Everyone who had been staring in shock at the “trial” quickly looked at the ground, making themselves as small as possible so as not to draw the attention of Angela and her men.
Good. This would discourage at least some among them from plotting evil. How many birds had she killed with this stone? A firm hand was so important in education.
“All right, let’s resume our patrol,” she said to her knights, sounding satisfied. Then she set off walking at a brisk pace.
●
By the time Yukinari and the others got back to the sanctuary from Friedland, the sun had already set. Yukinari had only meant to do what he always did: see how things were going in town, offer some suggestions, and come home. But dealing with the attack (or whatever you wanted to call it) of the mercenary Veronika had made him much later getting back than usual. Typically, it would be far too dangerous to leave town after dark, but with both the “acting erdgod” Yukinari and Yggdra’s familiar Ulrike together, there really wasn’t much to worry about. He didn’t get the sense that there were any animals on the prowl tonight, anyway.
“Still, we ended up spending all day in town,” Yukinari muttered. He sat on the floor of his room, beside the map of the area that occupied some of the floor space. He had some things to think about, and it was much easier to organize his thoughts when he had this diagram to look at.
Aldreil.
Yukinari remembered correctly: he and Dasa had passed through there once, before they had come to Friedland. The city seemed like it had simply sprung up on top of the main road; it was easier to get to—and away from—than many of the towns on the frontier.
Aldreil was maybe four or five days’ walk from Friedland. With a distance like that, it was hard to decide what to do. By carriage, it was quite possible to get there in just a couple of days. It was too close to ignore entirely, but not close enough to do anything about in the immediate future. Maybe it really had been turned into a base for the Civilizing Expedition, but if so, it would be very difficult to determine the strength of their forces.
He had to think about Rostruch, too. Rostruch was several days’ journey past Friedland, so if a unit of the Missionary Order set out for that town, they would probably come through Friedland first. Officially, Arlen and his unit had already subjugated Friedland. That meant there was a good chance that any unit bound for Rostruch would pass through the already “converted” town.
Ulrike had been present for everything that day, so
there was no need to warn her again, but Rostruch was Friedland’s accomplice in conducting covert trade and might be considered to be in league with the town if it came to a confrontation with the Missionary Order. He had to consider what might happen then.
“Yukinari, might I have a word?”
He looked up to find Ulrike on the far side of the map.
“Hm? Oh, sure. What do you—” He stopped. “Ulrike.”
“Hm?”
“Don’t squat like that.”
“Why not?”
“It... doesn’t leave much to the imagination.”
Ulrike cocked her head quizzically for a second, then said, “Ah! This has to do with reproduction. Does squatting inflame your sexual desire?” For some reason, this familiar of Yggdra—a plant-based erdgod—sounded pleased about this.
“It does not.”
“It’s all right. You are fellow animals.”
“Just cover up, will you?!” Yukinari was desperately looking away from her.
Even seeing her naked somehow hadn’t seemed as plain wrong as the glimpse of her legs that peeked out from the hem of her clothes. Ulrike’s robe hung long—but, like a tail coat, was longer in the back, leaving a good deal of her legs visible from the front. When she crouched down, her robe actually covered very little.
As a matter of fact, Ulrike was wearing underwear—a garment that covered her lower body like a combination of stockings and long socks. But for some reason, it left her inner thighs exposed, and when she crouched, this normally hidden bare skin was plainly visible. Combined with Ulrike’s very young appearance, it left Yukinari feeling more than a little dirty.
“Okay. What did you want to talk about?”
“Mm. About the discussion this morning. We have had, in our way, an idea. We seek your opinion.”
“Let’s hear it,” Yukinari said, straightening up. He wanted to be at his most proper because he knew that in this conversation, he would be speaking not to “Ulrike,” but to the shared consciousness of all the humans who made up the self-awareness of the plant-based erdgod, Yggdra. In many ways, it was the closest thing to what Yukinari thought of when he imagined a “god.”
Bluesteel Blasphemer Volume 3 Page 6
