Additional Support
It had been a match that lingered in the air long after it ended.
The fatigue and stress that had piled up since the fanatic incident seemed to wash away, if only a little, beneath the cheers of the crowd and the laughter of his classmates.
Simon dismissed the Chaos Reaper he had summoned and turned his head.
Hector.
As if something filthy had dared to touch his property, Hector was beating the wings of his Wyrm Dragon to shake them clean, sending scales scattering into the air. The moment his eyes met Simon's, his face twisted into a deep scowl.
"What."
Simon grinned widely.
"Oh, nothing. Just wanted to say thanks."
"Shut it."
Even after Simon thanked him, that was the response he got. Simon had long since learned to take it in stride. Hector stowed the Wyrm Dragon parts into his subspace, then turned his back with cold indifference and walked away.
"I don't know what mess you got caught up in, but don't you dare die carelessly before I'm the one who breaks you."
Simon watched him leave the arena with a smile on his face.
"Thanks for worrying about me."
"Shut it!"
The reaction was oddly flustered, and Simon laughed without a sound.
In the brief moment after the match when Simon stopped by the waiting room for some water, the members of Squad 10 and Fitzgerald came to find him.
"Good work out there, Simon."
Loraine handed him a crisp white towel. It carried the cozy scent of freshly laundered fabric, and Simon accepted it with a smile.
"Thanks, Loraine."
"We wooooon! We won, guys!"
Eshu, still riding the high of victory, hopped around the room before seizing both of Toto's shoulders and bouncing up and down. Toto's face turning bright red was simply a bonus.
Simon wiped the sweat from his face with the towel and quietly asked Fitzgerald, who stood beside him.
"How did the morning matches go?"
The match he had just fought was the afternoon one; the morning matches he'd been forced to sit out because of the fanatic investigation.
Simon's sudden absence had left a hole in the Summoning Department's lineup, and unprepared students had been forced to fill it. The schedule must have been thrown into chaos in any number of ways.
Fitzgerald opened his notebook and answered plainly, without exaggeration or understatement.
"The morning matches you missed placed seventh. Today's results overall are middle of the pack. The full standings can't be known until the third-year matches conclude, but I expect us to fall to around third."
"...I see."
Simon bowed his head deeply.
"Aww, don't beat yourself up over it, President!"
Eshu came over, speaking in a bright, breezy voice.
"Think about everything you've done for us so far! Even the kids who spent the whole morning cursing you out — once they watched this match, they'll have to rethink things...!"
"Eshu."
Loraine shot her a warning look, and she clapped a hand over her mouth a beat too late.
Simon gave a faint smile.
"No, no. I did something worth getting cursed out for."
It was as if Simon himself had dumped a bucket of cold water over the Summoning Department, which had been running at the very top of the standings.
But Loraine shook her head.
"The student council work is for all of us, isn't it? A few kids grumbled a bit, but deep down they'll understand your position."
"...Thanks, Loraine."
Loraine's words were warm, but not every student would be as rational and level-headed as she was.
Still, Simon was prepared to take the flood of criticism over failing to claim first place with equanimity.
As long as all of you stay safe.
Just as Simon clenched his fists and steeled his resolve, Fitzgerald spoke up.
"There's one more match tomorrow. Can I count on you, Simon?"
"Yes, of course."
"Thank you. Variables like this are bound to happen sooner or later. We fumbled about in every direction today, but tomorrow we'll adapt one way or another and pull our ranking back up."
Blunt as it was, this was Fitzgerald's own way of offering encouragement. Eshu and Toto piled on as well.
"Don't worry, President~ I'll go smooth things over with everyone!"
"M-me too! I'll work twice as hard to make up for your share, so take care of things without worrying! Simon."
"Thank you, everyone. I'll do my best."
He had taken on the student council presidency, and he had prepared himself for situations like this.
Right now, only one thought filled his mind: that somehow, some way, he was going to protect this school.
Having slipped out of the arena, Simon returned to Professor Grelion's cave — the base camp where Nephthys's inner circle had gathered.
In the time it had taken him to fight a single match, the security had been tightened considerably.
Necromancer operatives stood guard at every corner of the cave without a single gap in coverage, and barriers had been laid three and four layers deep.
After clearing a maze of security procedures and descending into the depths of the cave, Simon found her still there — the Saintess of the Harvest, seated in her chair with only a third of her face remaining.
Ugh.
It hurt to look at, every time.
Even so, with her face blown away, the Saintess's divine power seemed to leak out from her all the same — wheat was sprouting in patches all across the cave.
"There you are, Simon."
Kazhan, who had been speaking with the operatives, turned his head to greet him.
"Welcome, Student Council President."
Aleister, Nephthys's most trusted Crow agent, welcomed him as well.
Simon walked over, greeting both men.
"Have a seat."
"Yes, sir."
Aleister was steeping tea leaves in a cup. Despite his rough, weathered appearance, his hands moved with practiced ease as he brewed it.
Simon accepted the teacup he was handed and asked,
"Any progress on the case?"
"A great deal has happened in a short time."
Kazhan, who had dropped heavily into the seat beside Simon, pressed a hand to his neck with a weary expression.
"First of all, it seems the Dark Festival will proceed as planned."
Kazhan, Aleister, and the rest of Nephthys's inner circle did not fully trust Kizen Headquarters as a whole. Any information shared with them would inevitably leak.
Details about the ability Ever Kire possessed — and above all, the fact that they had cooperated with Israfil of the Holy Federation to bring the 'Saintess of the Harvest' into the very heart of Roke Island — were unknown to anyone on the Headquarters side.
The priest they had captured this time, however, had been spotted by Quinter — a Crow agent and Bahil's former classmate — so they had notified Kizen Headquarters of his detention.
Kizen Headquarters and the Dark Alliance were apparently delighted to have caught a priest who had slipped onto Roke Island, and were resolved to push ahead with the Dark Festival.
"The only solid proof that Ever Kire ever entered Roke Island at all is the sight of that Saintess, who met a death manipulated into reality."
Kazhan pointed a finger at the faceless Saintess of the Harvest.
"It goes without saying, but we cannot make her public."
"Of course not."
This whole affair was a secret deal between Israfil and Nephthys — one that neither the Holy Federation nor the Dark Alliance knew anything about.
If it came to light that they had colluded with a hostile nation, another catastrophe would follow. It was, without question, a card that could never be revealed.
"More importantly, new intelligence has come in."
With those words, Aleister drew a fresh Class-1 classified document from an envelope.
"It concerns Ever Kire."
He laid the documents flat on the table and activated the magic circle drawn on them, unfurling a mana screen.
"First — the large quantity of bloodstains found beside the Saintess of the Harvest. The operatives who discovered the scene collected the blood before it could fully seep into the sand and analyzed it. It was confirmed to be the priest's."
He turned his head to look at Simon.
"That blood was not the Saintess's. It was not the priest's — the one we captured, that is. And it was not Professor Parahan's, nor his assistants'."
"Then the odds are high it was Ever Kire."
"That is our assessment as well. And—"
Swish!
Aleister unfolded a chart and handed it to Simon.
"This is the manifest of ships docked at Kizen's harbor. To summarize — one more ship has slipped out of port beyond what was logged."
That was right. This afternoon, twenty-six ships had been registered as leaving Roke Island — but when the remaining vessels were accounted for, it appeared one additional ship had departed.
A single ship had simply vanished, like a shadow.
On Roke Island, where security over every single vessel was being strictly maintained, such a thing should have been impossible.
Did Ever Kire interfere?
Simon thought so, too.
"We only received this report ourselves just now, but that ship was discovered at an outer harbor of Langoustine. And blood identical to what was found around the Saintess of the Harvest was detected there as well."
"In other words—"
Kazhan set down his teacup and picked up the thread.
"There are two possible scenarios. Either Ever Kire, badly wounded while trying to capture the Saintess of the Harvest, has already escaped Roke Island. Or—"
"—Ever Kire staged it to make us believe exactly that. Right?"
"Yes. Quick on the uptake."
Aleister, who had been listening to their exchange, lowered his arm and walked over.
"I place more weight on the former."
"Hmm."
"This next part is my own conjecture. Ever Kire cut down the Saintess of the Harvest while she rested, her divinity and authority sealed away."
The image flashed through Simon's mind — the fanatic Ever Kire slicing off the Saintess's face with her ability.
"Having killed her, Ever Kire would have let her guard down. She was erasing the evidence and preparing teleportation magic to carry the Saintess away — but the Saintess, even with her face severed, could still wield her authority."
Aleister reached out and idly fingered the wheat that had sprouted all around the cave.
"Ever Kire never imagined the Saintess could still fight. She was caught in the ambush and gravely wounded — and when our necromancers began swarming in after her, she abandoned the Saintess and fled. Then she slipped off Roke Island before the security tightened. That is the extent of my conjecture."
Simon, who had been listening in silence, tilted his head.
"Isn't that a bit too optimistic a chain of events? I find it hard to believe a fanatic would abandon her objective that easily."
"Ever Kire tried to kill the Saintess — the very woman the priests praise as 'the daughter closest to the Goddess.' Immediately afterward, her faith may well have collapsed and thrown her divinity into disarray. Among priests, it happens more often than you'd think."
Hold on — what on earth was that supposed to mean? Simon shot to his feet.
"If you're talking about Holy Slump, that makes no sense! The whole reason Ever Kire tried to neutralize the Saintess in the first place was because the Saintess was interfering with her plan!"
How can anyone's understanding of priests be this poor.
Then again, this was probably the continent's average. Necromancers and priests alike might be absolute masters within their own domains, but their understanding of each other was hopeless.
"Now is not the time to be judging who's right and who's wrong based on speculation alone."
Kazhan cut in.
"We can discuss it once we have concrete results. It won't be too late then."
Aleister nodded, and Simon looked at him with puzzled eyes.
"Results? There's something else coming?"
"Right after the incident, we were contacted by the Saintess of the Holy Sea."
Kazhan scratched at the scar beneath his eye as he continued.
"When she heard what had happened to the Saintess of the Harvest, she said the situation appeared far more serious than anticipated — and promised additional support."
Simon's eyes went wide.
He had assumed they would simply take the Saintess of the Harvest and wash their hands of the whole affair.
"Ad-additional support? Who's coming?"
The Dark Alliance.
The teleportation magic circle in the nameless forest.
"Yes, everything's ready to go."
A girl with hair as white as snow was speaking into a communication crystal orb.
A worried voice echoed back through the crystal, but the girl answered brightly in return.
"Of course. I'll keep that in mind."
Around her, paladins knelt in unison on one knee, blades driven into the ground, waiting.
"Yes, I'll contact you when the job's done."
Click.
Finishing the call, the white-haired girl draped in a black robe slung her bag lightly over her shoulder. She ran her fingers through her white hair beneath the hood, and it rippled and shifted into a dark, ash-gray color as though dyeing itself black.
She tapped her shoes lightly against the ground, ran a hand over the chalk necklace hanging at her throat, then turned to glance back at the paladins with a bright smile.
"Alright — off I go, then!"