Episode 45 — The Knight Gets the Autumn Blues (8)

"Miss Hayes Roche—am I correct that you wish to enter the history faculty?"

At the examiner's question, the blue-eyed woman whose short golden hair suited her so well nodded at once.

"To be precise, theology interests me deeply. I have a dream of following the miracles of the great Light of Radiance, and of tracing the footsteps He left when He manifested in the flesh. And the place to realize that dream, I believed, was the history faculty—a department of long lineage, holding a vast archive of historical documents."

"Hoh."

The history professor serving as first-round interviewer let out a sound of open admiration. In archaeology, where a passionate junior was welcome at any hour, passion itself was a vital thing. Inwardly he was already awarding her extra marks, and he even wanted to ask whether she had any thought of becoming a graduate student.

An interview alone, however, could not tell him everything.

And so—

"Let us see you in the debate hall."

"...Thank you!"

Unlike the sword faculty or the magic faculty, practical examinations for students on the scholarly tracks were judged mostly by debate. She had, in effect, passed the first interview, and a happy smile touched her lips.

"Personally, I hope the practical treats you kindly as well."

Ordinarily the practical came first. This year, unusually, the first interview was being held before it. The content and the order of the examinations changed every year, so it was nothing especially strange. Offering that encouragement to a talent who might one day be his graduate student, the professor took his leave first, and the girl—her face flushed brighter still, a clear and sunny smile on her lips—slipped out of the interview room with her happiness still plain to see.

Afterward she made her way, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, into the washroom. And then—

"Too easy."

The look left her mouth as if she had never smiled at all. Only a chill remained on her face, thick with scorn, and she had the feeling that things were going better than she had expected.

I thought the Royal Academy would be more thorough than this. More underhanded. They're sounder, and more naive, than I imagined.

In truth, what she had prepared was enormous. And yet it was all proceeding smoothly without her needing to use any of it, so from where she stood she could only be pleased. There was, however, one thing that nagged.

To think I'd run into a Class-1 person of special watch this early...

Hayes Roche recalled the knight who had stood upon the platform. A knight who, merely by standing still, had poured out a ferocious presence and overwhelmed a crowd of thirty thousand.

...Ihan Turtle.

Most of what was known about him was carved into her head.

...it is strongly recommended that one flee.

"Ha. They weren't exaggerating."

Hayes let out a hollow laugh. Turning over the information the organization had given her, she had no choice but to agree. The man she had seen with her own eyes was indeed dangerous. A monster, and nothing short of one.

I never saw a monster like that even at the temple... ah!

No. Now that she thought about it, she had. It was only that those ones were on the same side, and so they weren't frightening. To have a monster like that among the enemy made her want to shudder outright. And so Hayes wondered whether she ought to run at once, just as the orders from above had directed. No matter how she turned it over, she could not handle him.

Of course.

At night, it would be a different story.

If she made proper use of the Mystery the organization had "blessed" her with, few would be able to beat her after dark. Men, especially.

"Hoo."

Hayes worried a little longer, then reached her decision quickly.

I have to continue the mission.

Given the nature of her assignment, she absolutely had to pass the examination.

Flight is off the table. I keep taking the exams as I am.

Running was not a bad method, but if she ran now she would lose everything, and there was every chance the organization would treat her as a useless woman. To her, the thing worse than death was to be judged worthless and discarded, and that future terrified her beyond measure.

Even if that knight suspects me, he can't do anything to an examinee. ...Surely.

He was a man who knew a knight's honor and carried an instructor's duty. He would never be able to harm her. She was certain—

Click.

"......"

"I will put questions to you from this moment. I ask, and for every second your answer is late, I pull the trigger without hesitation. Don't worry. You won't die right away. How could you, when you carry a Dream Fiend factor? ......The one extracted from me."

"Y-you..."

"Dream Fiends don't die easily to a gun. Now then. Let us begin."

Click.

Cold on the surface—yet, looked at closely, a woman who seemed to have lost a little of her reason. Judia Pierre lit a baleful gleam in his eyes and set the muzzle precisely against the back of Hayes Roche's head, and cold sweat broke over her.

"I-if you do this, you'll only make trouble for yourself, Father Pierre."

For a moment the confusion on her was plain, but she soon pressed forward with her head high. Even with the muzzle tight against the back of her skull, the fact that she said what she meant to say showed she was very much the strong-willed sort.

But.

"You don't know your place."

Bang!

She had chosen the wrong opponent for a contest of nerves.

Inquisitors. They did not waste themselves on meaningless clashes of feeling, nor on compromise. They were the temple's assassins, raised with absolute thoroughness to erase everything that stood against the Light of Radiance. The trigger was pulled without hesitation, and Hayes's head looked as if it would burst.

"Khak!?"

...It ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠looked as if it would burst. It did not, in fact, burst. It was not that the gun lacked power. A gun alone simply could not pierce a Dream Fiend's head, and so the skull did not rupture.

"A Dream Fiend's flesh is like liquid. A mysterious constitution—the substance is there, and yet it feels as if it cannot be touched."

"Nngh—!"

"And so most physical attacks are halved, and they don't die from any ordinary blow."

Click.

Judia Pierre spoke flatly of what he knew of that power, but unlike the flatness of his voice, fire seemed to surge in his eyes. It was only natural. He knew the power had been wrought as the fruit of experiments that tortured him. Recalling the years of anguish and pain he had thought forgotten—no, had forced himself to ignore—he felt his anger only grow.

"You merely don't die of physical attacks. The pain, you feel in full. In particular, the bullet lodged in your head is coated in poison. The pain will likely double."

"—!"

"Beginning to feel it? Good. The worse that pain becomes, the better a wretch like you will learn her place."

"Aaaagh!"

"Want the pain reduced? Then drop the cheap bravado and answer my questions obediently. Where you belong, and how you obtained that power. All of it. Do only that."

Click.

"—and I'll kill you without pain."

The greatest mercy Pierre could offer. Certainly, if an inquisitor set his mind to it, he could inflict every pain that could be given to a body still alive. Pierre's proposal was, in that sense, a merciful measure.

However.

"D-don't—don't talk nonsense! Y-you call that a proposal? Right now!?"

Unfortunately, Hayes, meeting an inquisitor for the first time, did not know this was mercy. Writhing in the pain and still wearing a sneer, she clenched her teeth.

"D-don't make me laugh! The likes of you can't dare treat me this way! Betraying even Bishop Raphael, your own benefactor! A human butcher who only plays at being a hunting dog...!"

"......"

"Ah, and now that I think of it, you're not even human, are you? You're just a manufactured personality. Isn't that right, Father Pierre..."

Bang. Bang!

The reports rang out one after another. It was not exactly that Pierre fired in a rage. Simply—

"You don't know your place. You were raised soft in the temple."

"Aaaaagh!"

"This reaction, to pain of this degree.... So you weren't raised as an assassin."

"W-who said I was an assassin! I-I'm someone who's going to be a Saint! I'm going to be a Saint—, eh?!"

For an instant Hayes's eyes flew wide.

......Why had she said that?

"The drug must be taking hold."

"!?"

"There are those who mistake inquisitors for nothing but murderers, but an inquisitor's true duty is to put down those who threaten the temple and draw the information out of them. Truth-serum recipes alone, we have dozens. What I put into you is one of the stronger ones. You may find it difficult to tell a lie for the rest of your life."

"L-lies...!"

"Think of it as a lie, if you like. If that sets your mind at ease."

Pierre threatened her as if toying with her, and the veins stood bloodshot in Hayes's eyes. She was vicious. The poison and the rest of the pain must still have been tormenting her whole body, and yet she clung to her stubbornness even so.

Brainwashing. No—someone convinced she is one of the chosen.

Pierre knew this sort well. Education at the temple had likely been used to pour into her the belief that she was truly a special person. It was a method heretics favored, and inwardly he clicked his tongue.

Heretic bastards!

He burned with anger that there were more heretics inside the temple than he had thought.

Then—

"Y-you'll regret this. I-if anything happens to me, 'they' are set to move...!"

"They?"

"Th-the house of Holy Knights that works with the temple! Y-you've heard the name, haven't you?"

"......"

Because of the truth serum she was spilling everything without resistance, and at the words holy knight house Pierre recalled one family. A house that had produced holy knights since long ago, and a house more loyal to the temple than to any command of the crown.

"Loengrin..."

The count's house of Loengrin. One of Pendragon's founding-merit families, said to have served the Knight King. That they were inside the Academy now hardened Pierre's expression.

"S-see it now? Y-you touched someone you should never have touched!"

Hayes hurled the threat as if spitting a curse. It was vicious. Even inside the pain, an obsession with destroying him hung about her, and it seemed as if everything would come to pass exactly as she said.

......Except.

"Loengrin, is it. Have they pushed in toward the east?"

"...H-how?"

"They have? Then that's fortunate. I thought there must be a reason he headed that way."

"...?"

"Heh."

For the first time, what touched Pierre's mouth was not a sneer but a delighted smile. The situation struck him as rather funny. She seemed to have prepared the best move available to her, and yet before one particular man, possessed of senses superior to any beast, it was powerless.

"Foolish apostate. Remember this well. In this Academy..."

Krrrk-crack!

"...?"

All of a sudden Ihan's ears itched, and the bridge of his nose tickled as well. Was a cold coming on?

"No? I don't catch colds easy, though...?"

Then was this the autumn blues? True enough, he had taken the seasons in a strange order this time. He had suffered like a dog in a winter blizzard, and now he was meeting autumn weather. Passing through the seasons backward had probably left his body a little run down.

"Getting old is a frightening thing. In my twenties I was flying."

Krrrk—!

"Sheesh. You lot look after yourselves while you're young. Horse around for no reason and you'll be in real trouble."

"......"

"Well. This cocky brat is the exception."

Above Ihan's head, the waist and back of a man who stood three meters tall were folding over.

And if one asked where the virtue of the technique lay, it was nothing other than this.

"I told you. Dump trash, and I fold your spine."

Crrrrrrack!

A technique admirably suited to ripping a spine free, one might say.

Ihan was a man who kept, without exception, every word that once left his mouth.