Did the missionaries notice? Notice that they were all laughing with exactly the same cadence? What they were confronted with was not what it appeared. Even Ulrike had actually been born centuries before. She could very well consider the knights to be nothing more than children.
“I am Ulrike, the most ancient familiar of the erdgod Yggdra.”
“What? What did you say...?!”
Confusion began to spread among the missionaries, and it was understandable. An erdgod like Yggdra was very unusual. She didn’t look anything like erdgods as the missionaries usually pictured them, which was basically as overgrown xenobeasts with their fangs bared, lusting for human flesh. Some might have surprisingly human-like faces, but they had never seen an erdgod that appeared as an actual human.
“Allow me to enlighten you, you ignorant cohort. We are both the erdgod Yggdra and her familiars. We are individual in unity, united in our individuality, and we live by a different law than you!”
“An erdgod?!”
The missionaries’ amazement was clear even from where Berta was watching. However, they were a group whose primary mission in new lands was to exterminate the local erdgod. They didn’t break ranks, but the men out in front retreated a little, solidifying the column.
“Her? An erdgod?”
“So maybe the Sixth Brigade really was ambushed...?”
Apparently, they took Yggdra to be Friedland’s erdgod and assumed it was she who had attacked and destroyed Arlen and the others. Ulrike was careful not to speak of Rostruch.
“I do not recognize your right to set foot upon this land,” Ulrike said, once again in her most commanding tone. “If you depart swiftly, I shall overlook this offense.” Perhaps she was hoping to intimidate the enemy, drive them away if possible, and if not, then to buy time with talking.
“An enemy...”
“An enemy...!”
“Enemy!!”
But her words seemed to have the opposite effect. Berta could feel the hostility spreading through the missionary unit. Even as they shouted, they started moving quickly, getting into formation—preparing for battle.
It didn’t look like there was any more time for talk. Perhaps Ulrike realized this, too, because she took a step back. The missionaries must have taken it as a gesture of fear, for they appeared inspired; someone who seemed to be their commander shouted, “Draw swords!”
The other knights all did so. Their silver blades glinted in the sun. Next to the trees with all their greenery and life, the swords looked cold and deadly, out of place.
Battle cries could be heard among the knights:
“Smite this freakish monster!”
“Let the light of knowledge shine in the world!”
“For our God!”
All hesitation and fear had vanished from them. Their opponent might be a child and unarmed, but once they saw her as an enemy, they would strike her down without question. All of it justified in the name of doctrine—the strength of the knights of the True Church of Harris was their ability to let circumstances dictate what was and wasn’t sinful.
Ulrike’s party, on the other hand, had no weapons to ready. Because the familiars hardly knew what a weapon was, it only made sense.
“May your foolishness be on your own heads!”
Ulrike, who had been standing calmly, now produced a tool of some kind—Yukinari had told Berta it was called a “sacred branch”— and spun around once, as if she were dancing.
In that instant, several of the knights pitched forward, along with the horses they were riding.
“Wha—?!”
All they had done was charge forward, yet the casualties were immense. The ten men up front had been thrown from their mounts, a serious fall when covered in armor. Bruises were the best you could hope for; the unlucky got broken bones. And in some cases, their horse fell on top of them.
None of the knights who had fallen got up, but lay on the ground groaning.
“What the hell?!”
“She’s got some strange magic—!”
The next group of knights had just managed to avoid being thrown, but now they were anxious. Looking closely at the ground for traps, they might have noticed—half-hidden by leaf mold, something was knitting itself together. Vines.
No one vine was very strong, but several together were enough to trip a horse. Ulrike and the others had planted the seeds ahead of time, and now they were being made to grow quickly through Yggdra’s power.
On top of that, something began to sketch a circle around Ulrike before bursting through the ground. They were wooden clubs. They were large, long, and covered in spikes. They had handles, but they weren’t two separate pieces; the entirety of each appeared to have been carved out of a single tree trunk.
“Wha?!”
The knights apparently judged a charge on horseback too dangerous, because they dismounted and prepared to advance on foot. The familiars grabbed the clubs and came at them.
“Hrgh?!”
One knight took a blow from an old woman and found the sword knocked clean out of his hand. At first glance, it looked impossible, comedic, as though they were both acting.
“Why, these—!”
Another knight thrust at a little girl familiar who had come up beside him. He brought his sword down at her head, but she deflected the blow easily with her club. This was a strike offered by a fully armored knight from directly overhead with a heavy sword. The weapon didn’t even bite into the club, but stopped at little more than a shallow gouge.
It’s widely believed that wood floats in water, but in fact, some types of wood sink. Many such woods are not only heavy but extremely tough. The clubs the familiars were using must have been made of such material. They had more than enough strength to make worthy weapons.
“M-Monsters!” the knights cried out, faced with the incredible fighting power of Ulrike and the other familiars. But they were well-trained; they didn’t rout.
The missionaries cut at the familiars again and again. Since strikes from overhead didn’t work, they swept in from the side. When the familiars blocked this move, they aimed for the feet. This, too, was rebuffed, but the familiars were growing hard-pressed.
The familiars were strong. In terms of sheer physical strength, they were well beyond the knights, and quick as well. Against wild animals or untrained amateurs, they would likely have been overwhelming.
But the knights had a special skill: martial training. They weren’t as powerful, but their technique was better than that of the familiars. The inefficiency of movement that could be witnessed in the familiars was almost nonexistent in the missionaries. It gave birth to a strange kind of stalemate.
As Ulrike had told Berta, because the familiars were so far from Rostruch, they couldn’t use the kind of strength they had as they’d fought Yukinari. Nor could they control the growth of the local plant life, using it as a weapon itself. The most they could do was to set traps, but that took time. Ulrike’s mocking chatter was intended to buy that time.
“Damn, this isn’t getting us anywhere!” the commander shouted. “This calls for the guardian saint. The saint!”
A cheer went up from the knights. “The guardian saint is coming! The guardian saint is comingggg!”
The men disengaged from the familiars, falling back even as they began to chant passages from scripture. At the same time, the horse-drawn wagon turned a large circle, coming to a halt with the luggage cart in back now facing forward. Near the driver’s seat was some kind of keyboard instrument. One of the knights went over to it, opened the lid, and began to play quickly.
The deep notes of an organ filled the air. And then, slowly, it rose.
Berta swallowed heavily. It was huge. It shouldn’t have been any larger than the last one she’d seen, yet it seemed massive enough to overwhelm her. The cloth fell from around the metal giant, which was several times the height of a person, as if the statue were removing its coat.
The statue of the guardian sain
t. The Missionary Order’s ultimate weapon.
“Go!” one of the knights called. “Show these evil monsters the wrath of God!”
The saint moved forward, as if it were doing as instructed. The knights, in contrast, retreated somewhat, perhaps to guard against being caught up in what came next. The familiars formed a half-circle around the statue.
“Is this the Church’s puppet of which Yukinari spoke?” Ulrike asked. All at the same moment, the familiars raised their clubs and attacked the thing’s feet. The appendages rang out with booms like a ringing bell. But that was it. The giant didn’t so much as stumble. Its armor was thick, its body was heavy, and even all the familiars together could not destroy it or drive it back.
Undaunted, they continued their attacks. They always aimed at the feet and legs. The difference in height meant those were their only possible targets. When striking the feet didn’t work, they tried the shins and the ankles and the toes, places that were normally human weak points, but there was no effect. And then...
“No! Move!” Perhaps Ulrike sensed something was about to happen; at the same moment as she shouted, the familiars scattered. The instant after that, flame poured out in all directions from the guardian saint’s waist. Where the fire touched the familiars’ clothes, they began to burn. But they didn’t panic or cry out; they simply lopped off the burning part. As humans, they were already effectively dead; why should they be afraid of any of this?
“So they use fire...” Ulrike growled.
Steel and fire. Two things no animal used—these were the signs of human strength. Fire, in particular, could be said to be the one weak point of the plant-based Yggdra. The familiars did not appear to be shaken, but Yggdra’s main body must have felt something like fear.
“Behold! God’s wrath has driven back the beasts!”
Another cheer went up. It was not, of course, God’s wrath, just a little fire—but nobody there would have cared about the distinction. The statue of the guardian saint began advancing toward Friedland step by step. Apparently they were going to focus on their main goal of invading the town, rather than bothering to destroy each and every one of the familiars.
“Hrrgh...” Ulrike grimaced, and all together the familiars began to pull on the vines hidden underground. They were the same vines that had tripped the horses earlier; now they emerged from the leaf mold to trap the statue. They would catch its feet, keep it from moving. But...
“Holy, holy, holy, holy, holy, holy!”
The chanting of the knights and the somber melody of the organ rang out. The next instant, the statue of the guardian saint drew a giant sword, cutting away the vines that entrapped it.
It was going to be difficult for the familiars alone to stop the statue.
“I... I...”
Berta gripped Derrringer’s stock. It was pointless just to sit and watch. What were all those hundreds of practice rounds for? She had to shoot, here and now. Otherwise, she couldn’t help Yukinari. She couldn’t protect him.
She saw the statue of the guardian saint through the scope’s field of view, walking proudly. She held her breath, focused all her concentration on her eye and her finger, and waited for the perfect moment.
●
The massive sword came down hard enough to split the air. Yukinari threw himself out of the way. The blade slammed into the ground, carving a gouge. The size of the sword and the power the statue could produce were, perhaps, miracles in their own way. At the least, the blow was far more powerful than anything a human could have doled out.
Even Yukinari wouldn’t have survived if it had hit him head on. The missionaries, already aware that Yukinari had defeated Arlen’s unit, appeared to have come resolved. No sooner had they seen each other than the knights brought out their statue.
If anything, it was Yukinari who was deprived of the opportunity to bring his full strength to bear—to transform into the Blue Angel. And what was more...
“Hey, hey, hey...!” Yukinari frowned. Even though the statue was active, the missionary knights hadn’t retreated. They didn’t fear getting caught up in whatever the statue would do. Perhaps they had discussed the tactics ahead of time, or perhaps they simply weren’t afraid of dying.
Yukinari managed to dodge an attack from the statue of the guardian saint, only to find himself set upon by a group of knights.
There weren’t that many of them. They didn’t assume any particular formation, but just came at him in a wave—yet they timed their attacks so each was striking at a different moment. With his excellent vision and physical abilities, Yukinari was able to dodge them, but he couldn’t buy himself enough time to transform into the Blue Angel.
The knights suddenly parted, and in between them the giant blade came crashing down. Yukinari twisted, ignoring the fact that this threw him off-balance, and just managed to dodge the blow. He felt the wind from the passing weapon brush his cheek. A few centimeters closer and it would have crushed his skull. For that matter, a few millimeters and it would have mangled his arm. It would have been possible to regenerate the limb using his powers, but it would have left him vulnerable for a moment. If the knights had come at him in that instant, he would have had no defense.
“I knew these things were dangerous.”
While the statue of the guardian saint could be very quick, it was only individual movements, like a slice or a kick, that were fast. If, for example, one of its attacks was dodged, the way it resumed its fighting stance and prepared for the next attack would appear sluggish. This was because the statue’s movements were actually a collection of small single motions. For example, bring down its sword, take a step forward. Because the moves were loaded in ahead of time, like a machine, it could execute them as quickly as its construction allowed. But combining these with other movements fell to the missionaries on the scene, leading to natural limits.
The result was a strangely staccato look to its motions. But as with a serpent, it also made the statue difficult to predict.
It would be simplest to go get the guy who’s controlling it, but...
There were a huge number of tuning forks all over the statue’s body, chiefly on its back, which acted as receptors. These allowed the notes that came from the organ on the transport wagon to control the statue. In other words, if he could stop the knight playing the organ, then he could render the statue powerless even if he didn’t destroy it.
But with the statue and the waves of missionaries, Yukinari couldn’t get within Durandall’s effective range. He could just shoot from the hip, hoping for a lucky hit, but he would hate for the enemy to close ranks because they’d been alerted to the gun’s power. It was the music that was giving the orders to the statue, so if they managed to hide the organ from him, he would be out of luck.
But still...
The commander this time is really pushing it.
The statue of the guardian saint, as we’ve explained, executed movements inputted ahead of time by the missionaries. Therefore, it wasn’t capable of taking delicate aim or quickly changing the direction of its attack, as a normal human would be.
This left the missionaries out front in an awfully precarious position. Even if they had discussed everything ahead of time, one wrong step could see them caught by the statue’s sword just as if they were an enemy.
Yukinari just couldn’t get close enough. For close-quarters combat, the statue was equipped with the ability to spew fire from its waist. But because of all the knights around it, it wasn’t using that ability. If he could just get past the missionaries, it would be easy for him to destroy the statue.
Yukinari was startled by the clang of swords behind him. He glanced back to see Veronika holding several missionaries at bay with her halberd. This was another group, distinct from that which had been launching wave attacks at Yukinari; this group had tried to circle around to one side to get to the town. Veronika had stopped them single-handedly.
“Yuki...!”
The voice was accompanied by a
gunshot. A missionary knight who had snuck around behind Yukinari pitched forward and fell to the ground. Two of those facing Veronika also fell in quick succession. Dasa was supporting her comrades from the vicinity of the town gate with Red Chili. There were also several townspeople holding Durandalls, but they were there simply to keep Dasa safe. They weren’t remotely capable of picking the enemies out of a chaotic battlefield scene.
“Hiyah!” Veronika took advantage of the temporary confusion sowed by Dasa’s attack to spear another missionary. She was lightly armored compared to the knights, her movements quicker. Her halberd, longer than a sword, found the chinks in enemy armor, stabbed, then moved on to the next target, whether or not her enemy had fallen. She was keeping the missionaries’ hands full, and they were also shaken by the sound of the gun.
“What was that?!”
“Thunder?! But—!”
They didn’t know what a gun was. They couldn’t see the bullets, and didn’t necessarily know where their opponent was shooting from immediately. They were focused on Yukinari and Veronika nearby and wouldn’t have believed the attack had come from Dasa, standing some distance away. Or perhaps they would mistake the attack as having come from Yukinari or Veronika.
“Fall back! Move the statue of the guardian saint forward! Forward!”
In the driver’s seat of the huge horse-drawn wagon, beside the organ that rang out the melody controlling the statue, a female knight was shouting. Apparently, observing from a detached position had allowed her to recognize where the gun was—or at least to see that the attack had come from Dasa’s direction.
The missionary knights began to retreat, and the statue moved forward. Yukinari stepped up, too, sensing an opportunity, but just as he was getting in range of the statue, he was blocked by a wall of flame.
“Bring out the crossbows! Ready!” Even as the knights retreated, they took the weapons off their backs and began to fire them from beside the advancing statue.
“Feh...!”
Yukinari batted the arrows away with Durandall. But there were too many for him to repel all at once, and iron-tipped bolts lodged themselves in his shoulder and thigh. He may have been an angel, but he still felt jolts of pain, collapsing to all fours.
Bluesteel Blasphemer Volume 3 Page 16
