“Yuki...!”
He heard Dasa shout, but he didn’t turn around as he called back, “Stay where you are!”
Then, overlapping with their voices, came a volley of gunfire that sounded like a thousand peals of thunder.
“Hrgh?!”
The knight who had shot Yukinari and was coming forward again now fell down, clutching his shoulder. At the same instant, bits of earth begin to dance up and down as if the ground itself were coming to a boil.
“We’ve got—We’ve got to help Lord Yukinari!” the Friedlanders beside Dasa exclaimed. They had all fired their Durandalls at once. “We’ve got to protect the town!”
“We can’t let those Church dogs do whatever they want!”
They grew more and more frenzied as they shouted. Arlen and his unit had already taken control of this town once. Perhaps that gave the townspeople an inkling of how they would be treated if the True Church of Harris took Friedland as a base. Combined with Veronika’s training, it was more than enough to inspire them to fight.
Of course, the one hit they’d scored was sheer luck; most of the bullets had buried themselves in the ground. When untrained amateurs shoot, they have a tendency to fire too low. Trying too hard to protect against kickback, they use too much strength when they pull the trigger—sometimes called “milking” it. Just hitting the target would be a huge task for these farmers.
However...
“Wh-What the hell was that?!”
“It was like last time...! Is this the erdgod’s curse?!”
“F-Fall back! Get behind the statue! Go!” Without waiting for the female knight’s instructions, the missionaries beat a retreat. They had been prepared to die in an accident with the statue, but even they found the incomprehensible attacks of an unfamiliar cult to be terrifying. They thought the gunshots were some form of dark magic.
“Send the statue forward!” the female knight shouted. “Forward!” The statue began to move. Flame wreathed its waist, and it spun the sword in its hand, making it all but impossible to approach.
“The statue! Get the statue!” The Friedlanders shot at the statue of the guardian saint with their Durandalls, but there was no effect. They had to aim upward at the monstrosity, so at least the bullets didn’t hit the ground this time, but the statue’s armor was too thick for a bullet to pierce. They simply flew into the air in a hail of sparks.
“Yukinari, now’s our chance.”
Veronika gave Yukinari her shoulder to lean on, crouching to support him as she began to retreat toward the town. But they hadn’t gone very far when Yukinari took Veronika’s hand and shook his head.
“I’m sorry. Could you pull out these arrows first?”
“You’ll only lose more blood.”
“It’s all right. Do it, quickly. I can’t concentrate with foreign objects lodged in my body.”
After a moment Veronika nodded, then set Yukinari down. The next instant, she brought the grip of her halberd—specifically, the metal butt—around with tremendous force, slamming it into the arrow lodged in Yukinari’s shoulder.
“Hrrgh!”
A bolt of pain shot through him, but the arrow popped out of his body. It was a way of getting the arrow out that would only have been possible for Veronika, with her considerable martial accomplishments. She then removed the arrow in his thigh in the same way. Blood began to flow from the wounds—although in actuality, Yukinari’s body was full of not blood, but something that looked like it.
“Yukinari!” Veronika shouted and shoved him out of the way, sending both of them tumbling. An instant later, the sword of the guardian saint statue came crashing down where they had just been.
“Veronika!”
“I’m fine—run!” she shouted as she rolled along the dirt.
Meanwhile...
“First, destroy that white-haired boy!”
The female knight was barking orders. She probably assumed that Yukinari, having been shot in the leg, would be unable to move easily.
“Yuki!”
“Lord Yukinari!”
Dasa and the Friedlanders let off another volley, but of course it was nowhere near enough to stop the armored wall that was the statue of the guardian saint.
Yukinari focused and tried to regenerate his body, but—
“Destroy him!”
In two steps, the statue had closed the distance to Yukinari and was raising its sword again. He still couldn’t find the space to transform or even heal himself.
“Thanks for driving the knights back a bit,” Yukinari muttered, and then he fired Durandall. Not at the statue, but at the ground right beside himself.
The roar shook the air around him.
“What?!” The woman was taken aback. As well she should have been—the movement of the ground had caused the statue, previously closing in on Yukinari, to pitch forward noticeably. Its right foot had sunk deep in the ground.
It was a trap Yukinari had laid ahead of time, a hole for the statue to fall into. Two full meters deep, the hole—more of a long chasm—had been covered with thin steel dusted with explosive powder, then hidden with earth.
If someone had been controlling the saint directly, it might have been possible to jump the hole despite its massive weight. But it wasn’t like someone was riding in the statue, inputting analog commands directly. It was a highly digital platform, essentially running on programming, and so, Yukinari had figured, it wouldn’t react well to sudden changes on the battlefield.
For example, if it were to get one foot stuck in a hole.
He obviously didn’t think he could destroy the statue this way. Even a human wouldn’t die from a two-meter drop, provided there weren’t spikes at the bottom or anything. But controlling a mechanical puppet, especially a bipedal one, required a certain equilibrium. If it took a stumble, it would be hard for it to get back up.
“What do you think you’re doing? Get up, quickly!”
The female knight was shouting in a panicked voice, but the statue only twitched, unable to right itself. It might have had preprogrammed instructions for getting itself up off the ground if it had fallen over, but with just one leg trapped in a hole, all of its instructions became confused, and the difficulty went up considerably.
Yukinari’s original plan had been to get close to the statue while it struggled, trapped, and then physically reconstitute its legs or torso or the like into dust. But now, he focused his concentration on his own body.
Clap. He brought his hands together as if he were praying at a shrine. A bluish-white light appeared between them, and an instant later an all-encompassing brightness filled the area. It was the light of transfiguration, born when he reconstituted physical materials.
He reconstituted his own body, into a form that would allow him to make full use of his powers, more than he could ever do in human form.
“Th-That creature...” the female knight howled in shock. “It’s the Blasphemer of Blue Steel...!”
Those who saw Yukinari’s transformed body might have thought at first that he was a strange-looking knight in blue-black armor. His outfit bore no unnecessary decoration, and it fit snugly over his body, almost as if he had skin of steel.
The only exception, such as it was, were the wings on his back. Made of black crystal, they weren’t intended for flying, but for dispersing the huge amounts of heat produced by physical reconstitution. The armor kept his body in place, and the wings dealt with the heat. By taking this form, Yukinari was able to use his powers as an angel to their fullest extent.
The cheers of the Friedlanders went up:
“Lord Yukinari has—”
“Our lord has arrayed himself for battle!”
“Lord Yukinari! Lord Yukinari!”
Yukinari could hear them cheering him on, but under his mask he gave a wry smile. He regretted to realize that he had indeed underestimated them. They weren’t powerless creatures who could do nothing without him to protect them.
Perhaps they had bee
n, back when they were relying on the providence of the erdgod to support them. But since Yukinari had become their “god,” since they had been exposed to his thinking and behavior, they themselves had learned to approach things proactively.
The world could be changed. Destiny could be changed. If you didn’t like the way things were, you could change them. That was what they had learned, and were learning.
That was why they took up arms against those who sought to control them. It was just as Fiona had said. Yukinari had thought the defense of Friedland was something he had to handle himself, just as he had once believed he didn’t have to worry about the expansion of the Harris Church so long as he and Dasa weren’t burned by its sparks.
But he couldn’t think that way forever. If anything, Yukinari felt it was the villagers who had taught him that.
Sounds of shock and fear began to run among the missionaries. “The Blasphemer of Blue Steel—the fallen angel!”
The Blue Angel, otherwise known as the Bluesteel Blasphemer. These were the names they had given Yukinari, the monster who had ravaged the Harris Church in the capital. The incident had not been disclosed publicly, so as not to diminish the awe in which people held the Church, but many of the missionary knights knew about it. After all, many of the pillars of the Missionary Order had been killed, and the resulting reorganization had left plans for civilizing expeditions well behind schedule.
To them, the Bluesteel Blasphemer was like a nightmare. His existence could shake their very faith. But then...
“Y-You mustn’t retreat! You mustn’t be intimidated! You mustn’t be afraid!” the female knight shouted, raising her sword, still in its scabbard. “We are the Missionary Order! We punish even demigods! We have no qualms about fighting an angel! Rally! Rally!”
Encouraged by her shouts, the knights readied themselves once more for combat. The organ’s melody took on a crazed speed, and the statue of the guardian saint finally rose up with a great groan of its metal body.
“The battle begins now!”
“True enough,” Yukinari said. “And it’s gonna end real soon.”
Then he began to work.
●
The air changed. Even shut away in the storehouse, they could feel it on their skin. It was a distinctive sensation; the air set them on edge, clung to them. The makeshift jail was built up against one wall, and if they got close to the wall it put them right beneath a window meant to let in fresh air. If they listened closely, they could hear gunshots like distant thunder, and some sound of a heavy impact. Most likely the statue of the guardian saint.
The town itself was so quiet that other sounds from outside the building were unusually audible. The townspeople must have been holed up in their houses, holding their collective breath.
Arlen dropped his eyes to look at the object in his hand. If he used it, he could almost certainly break out. Then they could take back their confiscated weapons and armor, rush onto the battlefield, and execute a pincer attack against Yukinari and Veronika. However strong Yukinari might be, even he couldn’t defend against an attack from behind. If they had Fiona as a hostage, so much the better.
Admittedly, he wasn’t sure taking hostages befitted the honorable stature of a knight of the Missionary Order. But the True Church of Harris did, in essence, teach that almost anything was acceptable if it was done in the name of spreading the true teachings.
Arlen quickly set to work. The other knights watched him with surprise, but none of them said anything; they only kept an eye out.
As he cut the rope, Arlen imagined what would happen if Angela and her forces succeeded in felling Yukinari. The town would change, no doubt. The “conversion” that Arlen and the others had attempted would be completed. The people would be collared with the Holy Mark, like yokes on cattle, and any who dared to rebel would suffer. Like cattle, indeed. For things to go according to plan, the people must first of all be controlled.
Arlen remembered the looks of terror on the townspeople’s faces when he first came to Friedland. Back then, he believed this was natural, indeed honorable. It was to be valued, for it would be to the people’s benefit. Even if there was a moment of pain or fear born of their insubordination, it was necessary, in order to awaken them to the higher doctrine offered by the Harris Church.
The teachings of the True Church of Harris were wonderful. Arlen firmly believed this. But...
It’s true that I’m grateful to you, though. I’ll make you something sweet for when you’re done working today—savor the anticipation!
Uh huh! Thank you, Mister Lord Lansdowne!
You’ve got my gratitude, too. Thanks. Fiona told me how you protected her, and those kids, and pretty much the entire town. I mean, while I was away.
Arlen found himself frowning. He had indeed fought to protect Friedland when that flying demigod attacked. It wasn’t from any particular empathy for the townspeople, or an attempt to gain their admiration. He hadn’t really thought about it at all. His body had acted almost of its own accord. When Fiona had asked him why he’d done it, he’d made up something about protecting those who might become believers. But he hadn’t thought that deeply about it.
If he had to explain it, maybe all he could say was that he couldn’t stand to see that hideous monster destroying humans. What he had been given as a result was not money, or goods, or even honor. It was only a succession of sounds that didn’t last any longer than he had stood there, something he could show to no one.
Words of thanks.
It’s easy enough to say thank you, even if you don’t mean it. Words are really just sounds, so they don’t mean anything. There’s no need to pay them any mind.
Arlen had cut through several strands of rope. He had created a space large enough that a single person might be able to push aside the wood slats and shove through. What happened next would be simple. The storehouse door could be opened easily from inside, or they could climb out the window, if they could reach it.
“Ahem, Mister Lansdowne...?” One of his companions spoke up hesitantly. “Surely you don’t mean to... leave...?”
He looked back at the knight. “Shouldn’t I?”
“But... That’s...”
Reluctance was written all over the missionaries’ faces. Apparently, they had been completely taken in by the Friedlanders’ treatment of them in this brief time, so much so that they even hesitated to break out of this jail out of consideration for their captors. Unlike those who had refused from the outset to cooperate in any way, among those who had been doing patrols and guarding trade caravans were many who felt no qualms at all about working with the locals.
Arlen stared down each of the knights in turn.
“I will follow who is strongest,” he told them. “That’s the path I believe in. As you know, the True Church of Harris is strong. Now, even kings and nobles can do nothing without first asking the view of the Church. The Harris Church is the strongest force in all the world, without question.”
“That’s...” The other knights looked at each other, but Arlen didn’t have to repeat himself. They all knew.
“That’s why I joined the Missionary Order.”
Those who were weak might howl or struggle alone, but they could change nothing. There were limits, too, to how strong a single individual could become. In order to remain free, it was necessary to seek the protection of someone stronger.
“Yet the Harris Church, although the strongest, is not invincible.”
“Wha...?”
This was unexpected, and the missionaries looked on in puzzlement.
“The Dominus Doctrinae was killed, as were many of the most important members of the Missionary Order. The culprit hasn’t yet been caught. He lives at his leisure, suffering not even the punishment of heaven.”
“You’re talking about—”
“Depending on how you look at it, it’s possible to see the Church as having lost.”
Silence from the others.
“I
prefer those who are strong, and will follow them. It’s an article of faith for me. So—” Arlen looked around again. “I will join the side of the Bluesteel Blasphemer.”
After a befuddled second, a buzz ran among the missionaries. None of them had imagined that Arlen might be breaking out in order to fight on the side of Friedland.
“If anyone wishes to argue the point, let him come forward now. I’ll knock him out here, before we become enemies on the field.”
Nobody moved.
“I don’t demand that any of you follow me. If you feel this is apostasy, unbearable, then stay in here with your eyes shut and your ears closed!” He shouted as loudly as he could, from the bottom of his lungs.
He was as good as announcing that he was going to betray the True Church of Harris. He had to put all his strength into it, or he could never have said the words. It was only natural that the other missionaries continued to look at him with confusion. It was not for nothing that they had read the scriptures avidly, chanted prayers morning and evening. The teachings of the Harris Church underlay all that they were.
Without waiting for their reaction, Arlen crawled out of the jail and set off running toward where he expected the weapons were being kept. If they hadn’t been moved, they wouldn’t be far from the storehouse where Arlen and the others were.
The day might come, sometime in the future when he regretted his actions. He might be embarrassed by them, consider them a momentary loss of sanity. But for now...
“To be thanked feels wonderful!”
Now, for no reason he could understand, a bright and clear expression was on Arlen’s face.
●
She turned the gun sideways, opening the long body of the weapon in the middle; she pressed in new rounds and closed the stock again. She righted the gun and then looked down the sights, bringing the scope’s crosshairs to bear on the statue of the guardian saint.
Bluesteel Blasphemer Volume 3 Page 17
