A Knight's Valor Holds No Recklessness (12)
…A thick smell of burning spread, the reek of something flaring and being eaten away by flame.
Thin as the veil looked, the instant the great evil spirit touched it the thing answered with a violent rejection, and his hand began to burn as if some chemical reaction had taken hold. Even while that hand was burning he remained perfectly expressionless, and simply lowered it as though he had only been testing, letting it recover by degrees.
"So this is how one uses spiritual power? A novel approach. To think it could damage even my god's body…. Hm. This is no power permitted to humans. It will not last long. It will collapse of its own accord."
A brief touch, and the observation was finished. The great evil spirit watched, at his leisure, as the Hundred Ghost Shield restored itself.
"You do spin out a lengthy excuse for being unable to pierce this veil."
Cain stood a single step from him, close enough to reach out and touch, and mocked him for it. The great evil spirit answered in kind.
"Yes. I cannot pierce it. Forcing a way through would only damage this body. I have already lost one arm and cannot show my face before my god. What use would there be in adding another wound?"
"……."
"But do not worry. The moment this veil falls, I shall pull off your impious head first."
The threat was calm, and cold. Cain let out a hollow laugh.
"For one once called a god, you stoop to petty threats, Ninshubur."
"…So. It was Mordred who taught that dangerous hero my name."
"Know your enemy, and you can win."
In truth, Mordred had invested long years in sending people to the continent of the West. They had hired countless archaeologists, explorers, and alchemists, and studied the lost history of the ancient world. Along the way they recovered ancient knowledge and relics that even the people of the West had forgotten, and through them Mordred reaped no end of gains. Chief among those, they found the hints that let them invent a new method of making gunpowder and a cannon of flame; further still, they succeeded in claiming powers entirely their own, now among the prides of present-day Mordred—the Soulsteel Armor, the Ghost Horse, and the Hundred Ghost Shield.
They had grown stronger in proportion to the long labor spent on killing a mighty foe. In a sense, it was not unlike Tristan, gathering hunting secrets scattered across the continent, and with them countless poisons and medical arts.
"All of it was to kill you. Not Inanna, that damned thing—no. You, fouler still: the Warrior of Betrayal. You."
"…You truly run your mouth without care."
"Why? Regretting the past, now that it's come to this? You cowardly traitor…."
BOOM!!!
Unable to endure it, Ninshubur struck the veil with all his strength.
Of course—
HISSSSS!!
His hand burned away again for it. But the tremendous impact hammered the fortress and drove the cracks wider still. Even the footing began to grow unstable, as if the whole of it stood a single step from collapse.
"Do not provoke me too far. I am only proceeding safely, lest my god's body be harmed. It is not that I fear a veil such as this."
"Good. That means the provocation landed cleanly."
"!!"
The corner of Ninshubur's eye twitched. That his opponent knew his origin was a far more unpleasant sensation than he had expected.
"Ngh…!"
Pleased, perhaps, to see the other shaken, Cain deliberately provoked him further.
The proper way to handle an evil spirit was—
"Limb of the great evil spirit Inanna—among the mysteries that govern abundance and war, the mystery of war itself—Ninshubur. You betrayed the master of the sky, your original lord and king of the gods of the South, and clung to Inanna, and for drawing that sky-master's wrath you died young at the age of fifteen. Looking at that alone, one might call it a life of many turns. But even in death you became Inanna's limb, and at Inanna's command you slaughtered countless people, never sparing that cruel hand of yours. A butcher who hears only a god's orders and has not a thought of his own. You are no god of war. You are nothing but an evil seed that was a man and became a demon! You wicked demon of massacre!!"
"Silence—!"
KRAAAANG!!
Because one tears into the opponent with Truth.
Yes. This is what I was waiting for.
Ninshubur, who had kept a shred of composure even while being miserably beaten by Sir Santa, flew into a rage for the first time. Cain's fist clenched of its own accord.
It worked!
The gamble staked on his life had landed.
Yes. Call him a god if you like. In the end, he is a spirit.
One of the vital things in an exorcism was none other than learning a spirit's true name. A low-grade spirit grew confused and could be subdued merely by being called the name it had borne in life, and even a spirit of somewhat higher standing was already half-beaten once its true name was known. Know, as well, what people commonly called one's personal particulars, and it might not be checkmate, but it was check.
The greatest Word Command of my life.
To a medium, language was a blade, and that blade was called a Word Command. But to use one, the wielder had to see clean through the opponent's origin, true name, and all the rest. If the information was inaccurate, it was the medium who suffered the great harm instead. The mightier the spirit, the more extreme the caution required. It was a gamble that might well put one's life in danger, and yet—
More than three centuries of effort were not meaningless!
The fruit of those who had fought to stand against this evil spirit—the forebears, and those who had fought from long before even them—could never be dismissed as a mere gamble. It was no different from a well-forged blade.
"…Hoo."
Tears nearly came. Cain held them back. The rite was not yet over, and now, while Ninshubur had lost his reason to this degree, was the moment to press—
THUNK!
"Keuk…!"
"My lord!!!"
The adjutant who had been guarding his side screamed. Cain's chest had been pierced, and he was spilling blood.
"…For one who calls himself a god, there is no one more cowardly."
SHHK!
Cain swung his sword at the one who had pierced his chest. Contrary to the evil spirit's bewitching prattle about talent, the movement showed a lofty skill, and his sword was exact!
"…Huh?"
"I really must be out of my mind. I never raised anything like an adjutant."
"M-my lord…?"
"Don't talk nonsense, monster. There is no world in which my comrade pierces my chest."
SLASH!
The neck of the man called adjutant came off with a clean chop, and the man melted away like that.
"…A doppelganger."
A monster that mimicked a human form, and even possessed a brainwashing power that twisted human perception. Because it went so far as to mistake itself for truly human, it was a disgusting creature that killed people without hesitation, and yet sincerely voiced pity for the very humans it had killed. So of course it would stab him and then scream like that.
"How foolish…."
Doppelganger or not, he had been deceived, and the self-reproach was enough to drag a bitter smile out of him. The opponent, witnessing that self-reproach, showed a malice without the least restraint.
…It was a sight to raise the hair on one's neck.
"Forgive me, my god."
"Ah…."
Inanna's voice and Ninshubur's mingled, and the noise of it was horrible enough, but Cain saw. She seemed, at a glance, to be wrapping her attendant in something gentle—and yet it was the great evil spirit's true body, vast, and looking as though it might devour Ninshubur at any moment.
What in the world is that……!?
It had six beautiful wings, but they seemed nothing more than ornaments decorating a mass of flesh hung with dozens of eyes and mouths. It was malformed. One even doubted whether the thing was alive at all. Cain privately counted it a mercy that the soldiers could not see it.
…Their will to fight would have broken.
Only those who possessed the Spirit Eye could see the great evil spirit's true form. Those without it would not see the thing at all. A fortunate matter indeed, if ever there was one.
If that thing is resurrected with a complete body—what happens then?
The spirit's shape alone made his skin crawl, so horrible that he felt the urge to gouge out his own eyeballs! It stirred an instinctive terror, even the impulse to open his wrist, and beyond that his head ached as if he were going mad. Merely looking seemed to defile the mind!
That is a god?
No. That thing was—!
"A demon…."
The true feeling escaped aloud before he could stop it.
"……."
"You wicked evil seed!! Don't you dare take my daughter's name in your mouth…!!!"
FWOOSH!
The instant those six wings spread wide, an anomaly broke out among the monsters.
BANG!
Dozens of monster heads burst all at once. To ordinary eyes it would have looked as if they had simply exploded without warning, but those with the Spirit Eye saw. They were bursting under rays of light that spread from the great evil spirit's wings like pollen. For a moment he thought she might be killing the monsters on purpose…!
Grrrrgle!
Things like maggots clinging to a corpse gradually ate the dead monsters and swelled. The powder the great evil spirit had scattered devoured monster flesh, blood, and even bone without remainder, and grew at a furious speed. It was unnatural—a speed that overturned the laws of biology entirely.
FWOOOSH!
The maggots, their growth complete, had become an insect legion. A legion in a shape like ants and wolves mashed together—the very things they had fought until they were sick of them.
"……."
"……."
"…Ha."
The monsters he had thought reduced were swelling again—into a great host of six hundred thousand, some three times the number that had first come surging in. A hollow laugh was not enough. Despair came pressing down.
Mmmmmm….
The Hundred Ghost Shield, Mordred's final secret art, gradually sank. The limit was drawing near, and the veil itself seemed to give shape to their despair. The guns, the cannons, the gunpowder that had been so reassuring were long since spent. The soldiers' stamina was driven into a corner. The knights, still facing the chimeras, could not escape a hard fight.
…And the strong man was still fighting his lonely battle alone.
"……."
They had reached their limit.
The great evil spirit smiled, sweet as anything. As if offering a proposal that could not be refused.
Dozens of the great evil spirit's mouths cackled, and the mass of flesh heaved.
As if even she were moved by her own mercy.
"……."
Cain looked, at a glance, as though his soul had left him. A blade was still buried in his chest. His stamina and his strength had already reached their limit. He had used every means he had. If he despaired now, there would likely be no one to blame him for it. They would sooner have comforted him, and said it was only natural.
……Even so.
Crack.
Shing.
He forced upright the waist he had bent. Blood poured from him like a stream, and still he stood again. As he did, Cain raised his sword.
"It is not foolish. We…."
Mordred's warriors, looking upon that overwhelming host of monsters, raised sword and spear and lifted their voices. Cain's sons forced their exhausted bodies up, eyes burning sharp. As if not one of them knew the word surrender. Even though nothing was coming but certain defeat, and death.
So that they might be proud of themselves. For it was the conviction of Mordred, restored to them by a certain valiant knight.
Huff!
"Come on, then, you damned demon!! Even if you die! Even if I must become a ghost, I will kill you—!"
He declared his resolve as if roaring, and Mordred roared in answer to their lord's resolve. Honorable. Valiant. Seeing it—
The great evil spirit only pouted, ill-pleased. They had refused her mercy, and gone further, thrusting swords at her. Those shabby, insignificant living things were contemptible beyond measure.
"Then the damage to my god's sacred flesh…!"
"…Understood."
Nodding at the great evil spirit's command, Ninshubur hammered the Hundred Ghost Shield with all his might.
BOOM! KRAAANG!
The veil rang again and again. The veil burned his body away, and Ninshubur paid it no mind at all. As if, once his god's permission had been given, he had only to keep on hammering. And as if in answer to him, the monsters advanced.
Doom—doom—doom—doom!
"A minute… no. We won't last even ten seconds."
Ninshubur's consecutive blows alone had already driven the weakened veil to its limit. If the monster host arrived on top of that, they could not possibly hold.
"In the end, we couldn't even last an hour…."
He had thought they would hold for more than an hour. Was this all they had managed? Truly….
I'm sorry, Sir Santa. I couldn't keep the promise.
Cain recalled the man's words—to hold, somehow, for just one hour—and smiled bitterly. In the end he was nothing but a wretched failure, who had kept neither his family, nor the people who believed in him, nor his promise. Pathetic beyond words….
"—No. You did splendidly, Margrave Cain."
KRAAAANG!
…In the next instant, the monsters were swept away.
"……?"
Cain tilted his head. For a moment he could not understand what had happened. But before long—
Pat.
"It's been a while, Cain. Have you been well?"
"Nearly twenty years, hasn't it."
"And where is Sir Ganok? A comrade arrives, and there's not even a welcome. What is this."
"…!!"
He had every reason to be struck with astonishment. The faces of those who had appeared, lightly clapping his shoulder, were faces he could never forget, though decades might pass. And not long after they appeared, Cain heard hoofbeats coming from the rear of the fortress, turned his head, and saw five flags risen high.
A flag on which a dragon and a white lion mingled as one. A flag of a black lion clad in black armor. A flag painted with a lake and a fairy. A flag painted with a red eagle and an arrow. A flag with nothing on it but a single iron sword, standing alone.
Those were unmistakably—
"One hundred fifty of the Silver Lion Knight Order, eighty Black Iron Lions, sixty of the Blue-Green Unicorn, fifty of the Scarlet Eagle, and one hundred from Offen. Well? Does this seem a decent enough relief force?"
"……."
"Besides, you're the same as ever. You haven't aged at all. You must have spent five years enjoying a vacation."
"…Ha. Unlike the old days, your jokes have grown, Princess."
"I am not a princess. From now on, you shall address me as Crown Princess!"
"…Ha."
At the words of Princess Isis, whom he had not met in so long, Cain could not help a hollow laugh. Not because it was absurd….
Just what did you call in?
Because the relief force he had summoned was so solid it went past reassuring, and into the extraordinary. Words failed him. He could only marvel.
Well, the one who had actually called this relief force was doing nothing more than grumbling, thoroughly dissatisfied.
"…Why's that woman so damn late?"
It was a complaint aimed at the latecomer.