Cockroach
Cockroach
Sheryl strode forward with a gait as unflinching as the resolute answer she had given Saintess Teneasi.
It would have been preferable to be in a position where she could scout, but as luck would have it, the enemy had settled on a single narrow route, so there was no way to approach under concealment anyway—that was why she had made this choice. Even if they were people who had fled in fear of punishment for treason, they were still talented students who had trained at the academy, so the result was only natural. Still, Sheryl had hoped to wrap the incident up a little more easily as she looked at the students staring at her in a daze.
"Make your choice. Die here, or die on the surface."
She had merely drawn her sword, and that infinitely relaxed attitude made even those behind her briefly wonder if it was a feint intended to lull them into lowering their guard, but seeing the enemies who were too flustered to speak properly, Sheryl didn't move a muscle, proving that what she had just said was a surrender demand and, moreover, that she was sincere.
"Fuck, it's Ogatorf! Get up! Ogatorf has come..."
And the moment the enemies ignored her demand and adjusted their grips on their weapons, she shot forward like lightning. Even though she showed no preparatory motion whatsoever, she moved so fast she briefly vanished from sight, slipping between the two standing guard. The instant they reacted by stepping backward, Sheryl leaped and executed a clean spin.
Then, the sword that had swung alongside her, tracing a clean arc, carved light into the empty air.
The enemies couldn't process what was happening, and Teneasi, watching from behind, thought for a moment that Sheryl had suddenly broken into a dance. Only after Sheryl landed, having traced a circle so cleanly that it was impossible to dismiss the thought even knowing how utterly absurd it was, and flicked the blood from her sword, and blood sprayed from the enemies' carotid arteries—only then did the party realize that the motion she had just displayed had been an attack.
"Crazy, is that even possible...?"
"Well, that's Sheryl for you."
Unlike Entiere, who was shocked by the fact that she hadn't been able to see the motion properly because it was too fast, the unperturbed 4th and 6th ranks stepped forward, following behind her. Teneasi and Entiere naturally moved along with them, but that didn't mean the shock had worn off. The one most surprised of all was Entiere.
You think that was all there was to be shocked about? No way. Even though she had been on high alert, the sword had vanished from sight for an instant. Better than anyone, she knew that precisely targeting the throats of two people moving differently and cutting their vitals at that speed was no simple feat.
She wasn't someone who was just infatuated with swordsmanship for show. Entiere had always believed, with the pride of being a Hero's companion, that she possessed skill to match—but that single motion Sheryl had just displayed was enough to make her confidence shrink. One might evaluate it as swordsmanship no different from a mere display of extraordinary talent, but if it could be successfully applied to suit any situation in real combat, then it was no longer a mere display but an advanced technique.
What she had just seen was never a fluke. And Entiere wasn't the only one who felt that way. Of the seven enemies who had initially shot to their feet reflexively in response to the warning, nearly half had now lowered their weapons.
"Y-you crazy bastards! We're dead anyway! Fight!"
It didn't escalate to infighting and they didn't turn their swords on each other, but their response was clearly delayed. Sheryl didn't miss that opening, slipping between the enemies and swinging her sword once more. Deflecting the blades swung at her out of fear and bewilderment with no semblance of proper swordsmanship, her own sword, swung as if in passing, mercilessly severed the enemies' tendons and aimed for their vitals. Paying no mind to the enemy who realized he'd been cut and hurriedly hunched his body, Sheryl moved her feet. Her sword this time sliced the wrist of the one who had tried to rush in from the side and stabbed deep into the inside of his thigh.
Seeing the enemies cringe and falter at the attacks—each one dealing not a single instantly fatal blow but a mortal wound that guaranteed death—Sheryl, untiring, pressed in once more.
◈
"Looks like the assault has begun."
Hearing the demon worshipper's flat mutter, the boy couldn't muster a proper reaction. That was because the gap between the gravity of the content and the naturalness of the utterance, as if he were looking at an overcast sky and murmuring that it would rain soon, was so enormous.
"What?"
"The Kingdom has moved. Fortunately, it seems your comrades' side clashed first. We should hurry—"
The boy had drawn the sword from its scabbard and aimed it at the demon worshipper's throat, so he stopped speaking. Yet with calm eyes, merely looking at the blade hanging over his uvula, the demon worshipper, not the least bit perturbed, looked at the boy with still-subdued eyes and asked.
"Why are you aiming at me?"
"The first reason is that I've just now learned you people have been surveilling us. The second is that it isn't the least bit fortunate that my comrades were attacked."
At the boy's answer and action, the dozen or so other demon worshippers who had been bustling about all stopped their hands and turned their gazes toward him. Yet not a single one showed any emotional change, such as being flustered or enraged by this sudden turn of events.
Unable to comprehend such consistent composure, the boy felt a strong sense of isolation wash over him, along with the illusion of cold sweat trickling down his spine. The belated thought rushed in that maybe these were bastards who shouldn't have been trusted in the first place, given they had cooperated with Count Envelde, but he knew it was already too late for regret.
"Go help them, right now."
"Seems you've never once met a true demon worshipper in your life. You cannot threaten us with death."
"Why? Don't you ever die?"
"No. Because our worship is, in any case, completed through death."
As if to prove he wasn't lying, the demon worshipper naturally pressed his throat against the boy's sword and lightly scraped it. Though he did wince slightly at the pain, it was nothing compared to the wound that had definitely been made along with the sound of slicing flesh. And at his unforeseen action, the boy furrowed his brow and nearly pulled the sword back.
In truth, pulling it back might not have made any difference. The demon worshipper hadn't just slashed his own throat once and left it at that; still in a posture where the blade was cutting into his own flesh, he looked at the boy and opened his mouth.
"Whether I live and strive for His descent, or die and become yet another sacrifice, nothing changes. So such threats are useless. If you'd rather, following us might at least let you get some revenge."
"What can you bastards possibly do, when you've already lost everything from the Holy Light Cross Order's main temple and fled all the way here?"
It was a question that had burst out in irritation, and at the same time, it was the question the boy and all his comrades had been harboring. Even if they had exchanged help moving supplies after hearing the offer to cooperate, the boy didn't know what the demon worshippers were doing here. He had only clung to a hope that wasn't really hope, seeing their composed attitude.
Even that hope now seemed like he'd been fooled by not recognizing madmen, but to his question, the demon worshipper smiled for the first time.
It was a horrifyingly artificial smile.
"We haven't lost. Rather, we gained much more, and that's precisely why we came here—to revise our original plans and prepare for a greater work."
"What?"
Instead of answering, he slowly stretched out his hand and pointed at another demon worshipper. The indicated demon worshipper then rummaged in his chest and produced what looked like a small wooden box.
"Didn't I just say it? Our worship is completed through death. How many do you think died while we made our way here?"
The wooden box opened, and at the same moment, the boy retched dryly and collapsed to his knees.
"With this, I can only think that everything was an arrangement for His descent. What a splendid attunement ability. So, can you feel that great presence?"
A memory from when he was younger flickered through the boy's mind. The day he first sparred with his older brother, his brother—wielding a wooden sword wrapped in so many blankets for his little brother's safety that the wrappings were more substantial than the sword itself—had unilaterally incapacitated the boy. Among those blows, the final strike had been intense enough to cause a mild concussion.
Why had he forgotten until now that strike, swung with deliberate force to teach him never to let his guard down, no matter how safe things seemed?
"What on earth... what have you done to me... urrggh!"
Overcome by dizziness and trembling in his hands and feet, unable to control his body, the boy finally lost his grip on his sword and slammed his face into the floor, but the demon worshippers merely watched the sight flatly, showing no abnormal symptoms whatsoever.
"I've done nothing at all. And I'm the one who should be envious of you. Wretched beings like us can't even feel that power."
When he barely managed to turn his head and raise his gaze, the demon worshipper, still wearing that horrifying smile, was looking down at the boy.
"Don't worry. You will become a 'vessel' and vanish, but you'll be able to have your revenge. Not just on those who are killing your comrades above, but on the entire Kingdom."
In a situation where even thinking was difficult, he could tell that the one holding the wooden box was approaching. He could see the demon worshipper, who had chuckled lowly and stepped back, spreading both arms in satisfaction with no intention of healing the wound on his neck. But instead of raging at the fact that they were offering him as a sacrifice, the boy only regretted that he had lived forgetting an old lesson.
'You're honestly dull. When I teach you two things, and try to teach you two more, you always forget at least one. But this one thing, I hope you'll never forget.'
The price of forgetting the teaching of his brother, who was more reliable and knightly than anyone, was steep.
At least that much was clearly his own fault. Because it was, even in his despondency, he could lament his own ineptitude and laugh.
"Ha... Big Bro Delt. I'm sorry..."
Before the boy's words had even fully ended, a dark-red something leaped from the wooden box and engulfed him.