Spirit Again (2)

The news of the Holy Church's civil war did not stay confined to the Crossline Kingdom and its surroundings.

Through the people who escaped it alive, through witnesses, letters, drawings, and word of mouth, it spread like wildfire across the continent — north, west, and east alike.

And even to... a certain raven in the north, and those who served her.

Thud. Thud.

A Black Hand operative walked swiftly down the corridor of a dark, deep building. Darkness pressed in from every side, and the feeble light of the torch in his hand barely illuminated his immediate surroundings — yet there was not the slightest hesitation in his stride.

He headed toward his destination with perfect precision, never once losing his way.

Because...

"Huaaaaaagh!!"

The dreadful scream of someone echoing from far ahead was his destination.

When he raised his torch high, the darkness finally receded, revealing a man bound to a chair, barely gasping for breath.

"P-please... spare... me... I-I told you... every...thing."

With that last labored breath, the man slumped forward, head hanging, and moved no more.

His body was carved with every manner of grotesque ritual and curse — and on top of that, dozens of wounds carved with even greater cruelty. There was not a single unmarked spot on him. Only the traces of torture, vivid and unmistakable, told the story of what had been done to him.

But the operative's gaze was not on the pitiful sacrificial lamb. It was fixed on the ink-black something beside him.

"Lady Eliza."

At the voice calling her, the great black bird lifted its head — revealing the face of a woman with raven-black hair and eyes as dark as night.

A Raven Harpy.

The master of the Black Hand, still deep in her night of vengeance, had just torn the heart from one of the Evil God Cult executives whose interrogation she had only just finished.

Drip. Drip.

The scarlet of blood, in stark contrast to all that black.

"Rejoice. With your death, our vengeance has at last entered its final stage."

She murmured it in a voice strangely stirred with excitement.

The operative understood what she meant, and a knowing smile crossed his face.

"So there's only one left."

The iron creed of the Black Hand: vengeance is repaid threefold.

The Black Hand had now killed two of the Evil God Cult's executives. Only a single target remained for the night of vengeance.

"Hatensilla."

Eliza spat on the floor as she uttered that hateful name.

"It has been so long. So bitter, so wretched."

For the past month, the Black Hand and the Evil God Cult had waged a vicious, filthy war without a single day's rest. A clash between two dark powers — assassins and blood mages.

It was a war that was never once honorable, never once grand.

And to a bone-chilling degree, the Evil God Cult was desperate to keep their lair hidden. They lurked in the shadows, moving in secrecy, fouling the earth, offering up endless sacrifices to summon twisted creatures from other dimensions to fight in their stead.

They had even prepared for the capture of their own members — suicide magic layered beneath curses of memory erasure.

Yet this meticulously prepared anti-Black Hand strategy was demolished, utterly and effortlessly, by a single existence.

By the talons and feathers of a Raven Harpy — the being that nullified every form of energy existing in this world.

"Quite clever, really. They erased their own memories, so even if they'd wanted to talk, they couldn't have."

Eliza gave the dead cultist's slumped body a light push as she spoke.

"But no matter how potent the memory-erasing magic, drive my talon into the brain, and even that magic vanishes."

The Black Hand operative did not bother to ask how she had extracted the information.

The heads of the other bodies collapsed behind her — no, the things that had been heads — were already rolling about at his feet.

That man just now had been the last thread of the Skadi Empire's underworld.

"How many of our own are left?"

"Half, after the battle just now."

"That will be enough."

Eliza shook the blood from her feathers.

"Gather every remaining fighter at the abandoned temple between the Crossline Kingdom and the Skadi Empire."

"Master. Surely you don't mean..."

"I do."

Eliza's black eyes flashed with killing intent.

"We've found where Hatensilla is hiding."

At long last, the end of the night of vengeance was drawing near.

"The Evil God Cult will already know, too. They had a blood-magic life-detection ward woven into this one. They'll be making their preparations as well."

In other words, each side now had exactly one move left.

"Shahal... at last, I'm gathering every last finger to lay upon your coffin."

Meanwhile, one of the operatives, who had been patiently watching Eliza as her excitement slowly subsided, spoke up.

"Master. There is something urgent I must report."

"Ah, right. I've kept you waiting too long. Speak."

"It's that..."

He hesitated a moment, glancing at her furtively before continuing.

"A civil war has broken out in the southern Holy Church, and the anti-Pope faction has been defeated."

"The Holy Church?"

At the familiar name, her brow furrowed — and with it, someone surfaced in her memory.

The words of a woman who had stood boldly before her, alone, as she returned the body of her beloved younger sister, still circled in her head.

"...Erzena Selaphe."

The Saintess of the Holy Church — the woman who, even before her rage, had shown no fear, and instead thundered back at her.

The anti-Pope faction. A civil war. And the pilgrimage's denial of entry...

Eliza grasped at once how matters were unfolding in the South.

"Heh heh. Hahahahaha."

Suddenly, Eliza's shoulders began to shake with laughter.

"Yes. So the night of vengeance is coming for you now, too."

That woman, who had once preached justice to her and driven her toward war with the Evil God Cult, now stood in the same position as Eliza herself.

Crunch.

Crushing the heart in her grip, Eliza turned her head toward the window.

"I wonder what kind of face you're making right now."

Would she lose herself to fury, screaming with a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠twisted expression? Would she dissolve into tears, weeping sorrowfully where she stood? Or else — would she fall into despair, limp and powerless like a doll with its strings cut?

Or perhaps — like me — would she open her own night of vengeance?

Can you still say those words now, I wonder?

Now that you've lost those you held dear — can you look me in the eye with that same face and say it to me, proud and unbroken?

I truly am curious.

"I see... the pilgrimage..."

Erzena's answer came two seconds later.

"Is that everything?"

In an utterly calm voice, as if nothing had happened at all.

And everyone answered.

"...I'm sorry?"

"Hm?"

"Uh?"

"Yeah?"

The Five Senses Officers and I — even Elaine — all wore the same expression. Bewilderment. And... more bewilderment.

Oblivious or indifferent to it all, Erzena continued in a remarkably level tone.

"Hmm... so that means the anti-Pope faction — in other words, half the pilgrimage — must have survived."

By the time she said it, Erzena's golden eyes had already regained their composure.

Her divine power, which had clouded over thick and murky for an instant, had quietly returned to its true hue and was shimmering around her once more.

"..."

I didn't answer. No — I couldn't.

"Nathan?"

"..."

This isn't the reaction I was hoping for.

No — not the reaction I was hoping for, it's, well, what do you call it. Not the reaction I expected.

Why isn't she angry?

I could only stare blankly at her, wrestling with a concern so absurd I surprised myself with it.

The Five Senses Officers, slowly coming back to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠their senses as well, began diagnosing Erzena's condition among themselves.

"I read about that in a book. It's stage one of the five stages of grief. Denial."

"That doesn't look like denial so much as her trying to pretend it never happened, sir."

"Just wait and see. Next comes the anger."

But Erzena did the exact opposite — she came over as if I were the one to worry about, and cupped my cheek in her hand.

"Pull yourself together, Nathan. Deep breaths. You look like you've had quite the shock."

"Uh, ah..."

Wait — am I actually more flustered than she is right now?

"If what you just said is true, the pilgrims will almost certainly come back here."

"..."

"The South is firmly under the Church's influence — no matter where they flee, they can't escape pursuit. And beyond that... as long as Mohaim is alive, it's certain they'll be driven after us."

Calm to the point of frigidity, she assessed the situation.

"So... we'll do as we did when the pilgrimage first arrived, but with so many wounded, we should set up a separate ward — an isolation and treatment zone."

By now she had begun drawing up the operation entirely on her own, and even the Five Senses Officers' jaws hung open.

Scraping together what was left of my reason, I dragged a chair over beside her and managed to speak.

"Er-Er-Erzena. Would you... like to sit down and rest a moment?"

"Why? We just clocked in, didn't we?"

It's because I'm so worried about you.

"Uuu..."

Even Elaine crept up to us and pressed a hand to Erzena's forehead.

Erzena looked around at us strangely.

"Elaine, why are you doing that too? No — why is everyone reacting like this?"

"W-well, Your Eminence... we were deeply concerned over how you would receive this news."

At the very least, this kind of composure — instantly ready to respond — had never appeared anywhere in my predicted scenarios.

"It's worse for you to hold it in. Please, just say something. Anything."

Just get angry already. That would be better for all of our mental health.

But Erzena simply gazed at me for a long moment, then let out a deep, deep sigh.

"Angry? Of course I am. Tremendously. Even now, my blood is boiling backwards."

"..."

"But no matter how much I rage here and now, nothing will change."

"...W-well, no, I suppose it wouldn't..."

"And if I wept and wailed and carried on, it would only amount to taking it out on all of you, here, in the end."

She unclenched her tightly balled fist, and instead spread the divine power suffusing the room even wider, out among the inspectors, as she went on.

"You said it back at my home, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Nathan. That we had a whole month left, so we could take our time and think it through."

"So I decided to look at it the other way. We came a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠whole month sooner than expected, and things are far more gruesome than we imagined — but I can't let that swallow me whole."

"I have no intention of letting something like that ruin this moment I get to spend by your side."

"You were the one who asked me to find the way forward together. So that's what I've resolved to do, too."

Oh.

Only then did I understand why Erzena wasn't tearing around in a fury, breathing fire.

She's changed.

It wasn't that she felt no rage. A thousand fires were boiling inside her, and she knew full well that her remaining here had brought about this horrific outcome.

But she refused to drown in regret or self-blame. She didn't shift the responsibility onto others to resent them, nor cry out against the heavens.

She simply, quietly, resolved with iron firmness that it would not devour her.

And she chose to focus on the time that remained, and on what she had to do.

It was breathtaking.

She truly had become someone new.

At the sight of her, the Five Senses Officers' eyes slid back into their usual sly squints, and they began to whisper amongst themselves.

"Yep, clearly did something over that vacation."

"Have they already completed their spiritual communion, I wonder?"

"If he went to her family home, he must have met her parents, too."

"Gasp! Then it's already a done deal!?"

That much, even I couldn't deny.

Something really did happen, after all.

And that was the moment it happened.

Erzena, who until now had been pretending not to hear any of their muttering, suddenly whipped her head around.

And then, straight at the Five Senses Officers —

"That's right. We did plenty. And late at night, too. Very, very thoroughly."

She dropped the bomb.

"Eeek!"

"..."

"Whoa."

"...My goodness."

Hit square in the face with their first real counterpunch, this time it was the Five Senses Officers who froze solid.

"...Ah."

Me too, of course.

Leaving them behind her, Erzena held out her hand to me.

"Will you help me, Nathan?"

Eyes steady as bedrock, unmoving — and yet, at the same time, eyes that shook the very souls of all who beheld them.

Within them burned a resolve that would never, ever be swallowed by tragedy.

At the sight of her, I stared for a long while — and then a helpless laugh burst out of me.

"Ha."

What was this feeling?

This sensation of someone changing because of me, of someone returning to my side completely transformed from who they'd been — and somehow, of all things, bringing me relief.

And at the same time, something warm welling up from somewhere deep in my chest.

The anxiety and dread that had gripped me only moments before settled, in an instant, into a comfortable calm.

So I said it.

"Would I refuse, Lady Saintess?"

I took her hand in mine.

"We had best prepare for the pilgrimage's arrival."