Never War Again! (4)
The battlefield after the fight looked like a slaughterhouse.
Acrid gunpowder smoke mixed with the metallic tang of blood, stinging the nose.
"Ugh, urk…."
As tension eased, a few soldiers retched in the corner of the trench.
It was understandable.
Mounds of ground-up meat, barely recognizable as human, lay scattered before them.
Just minutes ago, these had been holy knights.
But the retching turned to cheers at someone's shout.
"We won! We killed all those knight bastards!"
"Waaaaah—!!!"
The soldiers hugged each other and jumped for joy.
Beings they'd feared and looked up to their whole lives.
God's proxies they hadn't dared meet eye-to-eye with.
The thrill of toppling them with their own hands.
I watched the scene while reloading my revolver.
My hands trembled faintly.
'Almost died for real there.'
I'd played it cool, but that charge had chilled me to the bone.
People in this fantasy world were just built different.
"Hey, lord."
As I savored the victory, Grody approached. His face was grim.
"Look at this. The barrel's completely melted. Total scrap."
The machine gun barrel he pointed to was warped like taffy from the heat.
"Even with water cooling?"
"We fired non-stop. The coolant boiled off in seconds."
Grody grumbled, but a grin tugged at his lips.
"Still… badass. Saw those fancy armors shred like paper? Felt amazing."
"Make 'em tougher next time. They played dumb this round, but they'll come prepared."
"Bossy, ain't ya."
I sent Grody off and beckoned Boris from the soldiers.
"Boris."
"Yes, my lord!"
Boris rushed over, face flushed with excitement.
His eyes brimmed with absolute trust and awe toward me.
"Have the men collect the spoils."
"Uh… can we take the dead's stuff? Won't we get divine punishment…?"
Boris still had lingering faith qualms.
I tossed him a ornate dagger from a corpse.
"They got the punishment, not us, right?"
"Ah…."
"One of those armors is worth years of your pay. I'm selling 'em to buy you meat. Pass if you want."
"We'll collect! Every bone shard, right now!"
His eyes lit up at "meat." He whirled and bellowed at the men.
"What're you waiting for? Lord's buying drinks and grub! Strip the armor! Grab every blade!"
The soldiers swarmed the bodies like hyenas.
A pathetic, all-too-real end for the holy order.
I crouched by the inquisitor's corpse.
Rummaging his robes, I found a heavy object.
A fist-sized blue crystal orb, faintly pulsing with mana. A communication artifact.
'This world's smartphone, huh.'
Then—
Woooong—.
The orb vibrated and glowed.
Someone was calling.
High chance it was the Papal See.
I hesitated, then smirked wickedly.
'No reason not to answer.'
Static crackled with a deep, arrogant voice.
I cleared my throat and replied as politely and brightly as possible.
"Ah, yes. Executions are done for now."
"Well… that's a problem."
"No, I have the head here."
I nudged Valerius's severed head with my boot.
"But it's not the one you want."
The voice sounded confused.
"Sir Valerius just went to hell. Conversation might be tough."
A gasp of horror echoed from the orb.
"God's army you sent? Wiped out here, sadly."
"Want the bodies? Bring ransom. Scrap metal's free."
"Bring 'em."
I tapped the revolver's barrel.
"Funeral's ready anytime."
Done talking, I smashed the orb on the ground.
Crash!
It shattered, blue light fading.
Looking around, the soldiers had stopped and stared.
Their lord, threatening the Papal See.
No turning back now.
But no fear in their eyes.
Just mad fervor for their crazy leader.
"What? Clean up and let's get meat."
"Waaaaah—!!!"
Our perfect victory.
Papal See.
The heart of continental faith, where even the imperial emperor knelt.
In the deepest Chamber of Truth, heavy silence reigned.
"…."
Cardinal Fernando stared at his pale hands.
The blue-glowing comm orb was now a dead stone.
That devilish voice echoed in his ears like a phantom.
—Sir Valerius just went to hell.
—Funeral's ready anytime.
"Th-this can't…."
Fernando's lips quivered.
Unbelievable. He didn't want to believe.
Who was Valerius?
Sword master wielding holy power, the empire's pride, knight captain.
Beaten by some frontier lordling? With traps and unknown black magic, not fair fight?
"Fernando."
A low, dignified voice from behind the golden curtain.
"Report. Did Valerius take the heretics' heads?"
Pope Gregory VII.
God's proxy, continent's spiritual ruler.
Fernando knelt, sweating coldly.
Telling the truth might cost his head. But hiding it? Impossible.
"Y-Your Holiness…."
He bowed to the floor, voice shaking.
"Ill tidings…."
"Ill tidings?"
The curtain parted, revealing the old man on the jade throne.
Wrinkle-lined from years, but eyes sharp as a raptor.
"Valerius… fell in battle."
"……."
Silence. The pope's brow twitched in disbelief.
"Fell? Orc horde? Dragon awakened?"
"No. It was…."
Fernando swallowed dryly.
"…the Eisengrad lord's forces. Annihilated."
Crack.
The golden staff's handle crumbled in the pope's grip.
"Annihilated, you say?"
"Yes! Before comm cut, their leader said… bring ransom for bodies…."
Bam!
The pope slammed his staff. Marble cracked like a web.
"Insolent! Demanding ransom from God's servants? Only selling your soul to devils!"
Vast holy power swirled the room.
Fernando gasped for air.
"Heresy."
The pope murmured.
"Denying God's order, huge heretical seed with devil tech to chaos the world."
He rose slowly.
If serfs killing knights with iron rods spread?
Class system and faith's foundation crumbles.
Not just one order lost.
Snuff it now.
"Cardinal Fernando."
"Yes, Your Holiness!"
"Summon more inquisitors. Send letter to the emperor."
Cold killing intent from his eyes.
"I declare holy war."
"H-holy war? For one territory…?"
"Devil foe, size irrelevant. Order all dioceses."
He glared north, toward Eisengrad.
"Eisengrad lord, Kyle. I excommunicate him."
"…!"
"And to who brings his head: my personal blessing, and grant that land."
Excommunication.
Eisengrad now an isolated island.
"And."
The pope added.
"He wants ransom?"
"Y-yes…."
"Then give it."
A cruel smile.
"Not gold. Tell him: every spear and sword on the continent pierces his land."