Revelation
Revelation
Even in broad daylight the shady men wouldn't have radiated warmth, and the darkness draping the plains made them look even more dubious. Tonight, with no moon and not even a single star visible, an even deeper darkness had settled in, which only made things worse.
But the men didn't care. The robes and masks they wore were the proud symbols of their faith. If others found them intimidating, so be it. In fact, when executing their work, that often worked in their favor.
Which was why the men tensed up at the sight of a man who reacted so flatly to encountering them. His entirely out-of-place appearance, his utterly nonchalant reaction toward them, the scene of slaughter they had passed along the way, the existence they were tracking—all of it stacked up.
Every reason combined drove the men's tension to its absolute peak.
"You came from that direction, didn't you? May I ask you something as well?"
How many people could wander alone across the plains at this hour without a single light, see a pack of shady men roaming together, and still stay calm? But the man went one step further and even threw out a bold question. So utterly peculiar was the sight that the man leading the group nodded and answered for the moment.
"...Ask."
"What exactly is that girl that you're so desperate to drag her off and offer her up as a sacrifice?"
Everyone except the one who'd granted the question drew swords and spears without needing anyone to give the order first. They hadn't acted out of feeling threatened by that single sentence. They could certainly kill if commanded, but this was, at base, merely a threat. The fact that the accompanying priest hadn't begun reciting a prayer was proof of that.
As if he had no intention of stopping their reaction anyway, the man at the front spoke calmly, continuing his words.
"I believe there's no need to explain that it wasn't a good question."
A clear threat. And therefore an implicit demand: hurry up and say where they are. But the man showed an unexpected response. As if mimicking them, he drew the sword that hung at his own waist. With his head cocked crookedly to the side, showing not the slightest sign of intimidation, he somehow seemed even more discourteous than before.
"I'm the one who decides whether a question is good or not, not you. What's so special about the girl that you're so frantic to offer her as a sacrifice? Judging by your reaction to the question, it looks like the boy really is just a bonus. What's the reason she's got to be the one and no one else?"
"I don't think it's information worth throwing your life away over when it has nothing to do with you."
"I'll be the judge of that too."
Normally this would have been a situation they'd dismiss as tangling with some lunatic, but the response and confidence were so unnervingly on point that it was hard to disregard. Yet the surroundings were empty plains with not a single place to hide, and as far as the man could sense, there didn't appear to be anyone else.
In the end, after a short deliberation, the shady man answered with a sigh.
"Just as the food people eat has its levels, so too do the offerings given to a god have such differences in dignity."
"So you don't really know everything either."
"How could a mere human fathom the will of a god? It may not be a satisfying answer, but that's all I can honestly tell you. Now, I'd appreciate it if you'd tell me where they are."
"Just keep running forward the same way you came up behind me, and you'll see."
At the unadorned answer, the man nodded and gestured. Immediately, a prepped javelin shot out like an arrow, flying toward the man's torso. They'd already given him a warning. They didn't know what kind of confidence he'd had, but there was no need to learn the backstory of someone who was going to die anyway.
But the man did not end up skewered to death by the javelin.
"You're pulling this shit before I've even finished talking."
As if he'd known all along, the man caught the thrown spear barehanded with an utterly casual air. Despite the ambush, he maintained the same unshaken attitude and went on speaking.
"Anyone who wants to live, dismount and throw away your weapons. Otherwise, only one of you is going to live."
The moment he caught the spear, the men had sensed that something was seriously off and moved to run him down. But before they could actually act on it, the man's right arm, still holding the spear, blurred first.
An optical illusion caused by the night's darkness, they'd have thought—but in that instant, a spear blade burst through the chest of the one at the front.
"Gurgh..."
The man who'd been pierced through the chest couldn't even manage a scream. Not because of the agony, but because the man who'd closed in an instant had leaped up and cleanly sliced through his throat.
"I don't plan on letting any of you live, so I'll skip the introductions."
It was only after they heard the muttering that followed the light landing—belying his large frame—that the men understood just how serious the situation was.
The one whose throat had just been cut had been the most skilled fighter, which was why he'd been appointed leader. The fact that this was an expert who could kill such a man with a single surprise blow made their instincts ring a warning bell of danger.
"Kill him!"
And yet, the reason they could hold their ground wasn't some sticky camaraderie or a sense of kinship forged by shared religious views, but a cold judgment based on numerical superiority.
No matter how strong he might be. Even if he'd started by killing one of them in a surprise attack. They still numbered nineteen. They were even mounted, and a priest wielding Divine Power was accompanying them. Failing to react to the ambush had been a mistake, but they never once entertained the possibility of losing.
"Number 64! The prayer!"
Because of that, the one holding secondary command naturally gave the order to the priest, even as his comrades, trained in formation, split off to move behind the man. Combat prayers were forbidden without a superior's order because they left unnecessary traces. Under normal circumstances, they wouldn't have needed the aid of a prayer, but with the captain killed in an instant, he'd judged it necessary to prepare for the worst. The enemy was only one man, but since he was being careful to prepare, you couldn't exactly call that judgment a mistake.
"Understo...!"
But it was a mistake nonetheless. The cultist should have factored in the fact that the man could move at an absurd speed.
"You, I'll let live."
The moment he felt a wind blow beside him, a stranger's voice rang in his ear.
No one realized that it hadn't even taken three seconds for the man, who'd shot out through the gaps between the charging horses, leaped up in a diagonal, and bisected both the priest and his horse as the priest was just beginning to recite the prayer.
All they could do was wonder why one of the man's eyes was closed as he turned his head after another light landing.
"Light!"
Someone shouted, but it was already too late.
The instant the caster died, the sphere of holy light blazing with Divine Power went out, and darkness and despair descended.
"Dismount!"
"Damn it! Light! Torches! Get the torches out!"
"We need to scatter—aaagh!"
The clusters of light flickering before their eyes induced fear along with optical illusions, and the panic and terror spreading among the men infected the horses, causing them to snort wildly and rear, and all that noise made calm thought impossible.
Among the men who'd lost all their advantages in an instant, only a small handful who'd been at a distance from the priest could react calmly. They too could barely see in the sudden darkness, but out of a sense of duty to calm their comrades before they plunged into utter chaos, they shouted at the top of their lungs without any cue.
And in return, they began to lose their lives.
"Don't panic! There's only one enemy! Stay calm...!"
"Drop the spears! Draw your swords! Back to back with your comrades...!"
"You, you goddamned—! Run! Run for...!"
No one failed to understand what the sound of tearing air and spraying blood meant, cutting off their shouts as if on cue. Too clearly they understood—and that was the problem.
In this darkness, the enemy was precisely severing the 'throats' of the ones trying to give orders. Those who realized this couldn't help but clamp their mouths shut and tremble in terror.
That didn't mean death gave them a pass, but with their mouths now shut, they had no way to share that realization.
"O, oh God! How on earth..."
Because he'd turned his head toward the priest and stared directly into the light when giving the order, his vision took longer to recover than anyone else's. He took in the whole sequence through hearing and smell, shaking in terror. He had figured out what the words the man had left him as he passed by actually meant, and because he understood, he couldn't even let out a sound. The fear that if he opened his mouth, his throat would fly away in an instant had bound him tight.
Only after there were no sounds left around him at all, not even a breath, could the man—who'd been trembling in dread, barely daring to inhale—slowly open his mouth.
"...Number 67?"
His vision still hadn't properly adjusted to the dark. He felt a sense of irrationality and irritation at the fact that his eyes hadn't adapted even after so much time had passed, but reality was different.
"...Number 52?"
It wasn't that his adaptation was slow. It was that death had descended faster than the brief moment it would have taken for his eyes to adjust. After that, he called out more numbers that seemed to designate the others, but no answer came back. He couldn't even tell if the attacker was dead or not.
The only thing he could hear was the snorting of the surviving horses.
"...Please. Someone... answer..."
The plains that had smelled of nothing but grass until just moments ago were now saturated with the scent of blood. The man realized he was crying, but he couldn't stop. Everything he'd thought was a clear advantage had crumbled in an instant, and his legs had given out so completely that he couldn't even stay seated on his horse, leaving him to tumble to the ground.
"What's that number?"
A heavy thud and a shock assaulted him. Even when the horses began to flee, the man couldn't get up.
"Oh God... Oh God..."
His muttering was the only thing echoing in the darkness when, ahead of him, a flame flickered into existence.
It wasn't the clear blue sphere the priest had conjured. It was nothing but a red flame burning the air as fuel. The tiny little flame wasn't very big, and by all rights it should have looked perfectly ordinary, but overlapping as it did with the figure of the man who had appeared at the same time, it felt utterly ominous.
"It's really something, you know? You're cultists who offer people up as sacrifices... and yet you're more courteous and devout than half the bastards out there."
The death that had descended upon the darkness stood alone on the plains and smiled a bone-chilling smile.