Chapter 95

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“Vicious bastards.”

Ricard stood with his back to the camp, still in disarray after the night’s attack. He was looking down at the remains of an exploded human body.

“Looks like the church has a necromancer. Like that business with the Ehrenberg Five.”

Ricard and Boribori had never faced one directly, but they had seen the horrifying traces of a necromancer’s atrocities.

This was why mages left such a bad taste in their mouths. People had good reason to dislike them, and Ricard and Boribori were no exception.

“Not a necromancer. A curse-worker.”

It was Daisy’s voice. Ricard and Boribori turned to find her standing with Ice. Her long blond hair hung loose, and she wore ordinary shabby clothes rather than white mourning clothes.

“You mustn’t go, Riki,” Daisy said.

Ricard gazed at her.

“Where am I supposed to go, then?”

“Let’s go far away together.”

“Far away where?”

“Just far away.”

“Sorry, but I’m not running away. You don’t have to come.”

‘You ran away yesterday,’ Boribori thought, but saw no reason to mention it now.

“Ehrenberg, assemble!”

“Orders to assemble!”

“Assemble! Asseeemble!”

The calls came from the camp. Without another word, Ricard and Boribori walked past Daisy toward the assembly point.

Once everyone had gathered outside Volka’s tent, he emerged and climbed onto a wooden crate to address them. Ricard wrapped an arm around Marie’s waist and listened to his friend and superior.

“As you all know, some fucked-up shit happened last night. But the commander says he’s pleased with how we handled it. What else was it? Oh, right. You saw those fucking bastards’ tricks with magic, didn’t you? Look, I fucking know you don’t give a damn about the church or the Emperor. Honestly, neither do I. But this is too much, isn’t it? These fuckers are nothing but cultists and devil worshippers. Are we really supposed to let them live?”

A speech that was very much like Volka, one might say. He sounded as though he were talking to a friend. Chuckles rose here and there, Ricard’s among them.

“Hey, quit laughing. I’m serious. Anyway, we have one objective. Kill every last bastard inside that sanctuary or whatever it’s called. Don’t spare the women or kids. We don’t need prisoners, either. But we’re not to mess with anything inside. No setting fires. As you’ve already heard, we’ll be rewarded with money or land, so they say we’d better do as we’re told while they’re still asking nicely. Uh, and...”

Volka consulted the paper in his hand. He wasn’t illiterate, but apparently couldn’t decipher his own scrawl, for he stared at it with a frown for quite some time.

At last, the adventurer who served as his deputy prompted him from beside the crate.

“The sword. The holy sword.”

“Oh, right. Our plan is to push straight in from the east toward the center of the sanctuary, where they say the holy sword is. Apparently it’s really important to the cultists. We just need to smash it or seize it. First, we’re taking the convent area. Kill everyone you see. They’re not real sisters. Got it? Anyone not understand?”

One of the people sitting and listening raised a hand. Volka pointed at him with his chin.

“You said we’d split into squads. What happened to that?”

“We’re not doing that. They think it’s better to stick to our usual clans. But the whole force will be divided into four units attacking from four directions. We’ve got the east.”

They seemed to be keeping things as simple as possible. That seemed the right approach, and Ricard had no objections.

“We won’t be working with another guild or anything?”

“Not us. That would only make things awkward. Besides...”

This time, Volka jerked his chin toward Ricard and Marie. Everyone immediately understood.

With a Sword Master, Ricard, Boribori, and Ice, sending them more troops might well be a waste.

And as Volka had said, it was better to go into an operation with people they were used to. Working with strangers could lead to poor coordination, and if that gave rise to conflict, even something manageable could become impossible.

“Lastly, when it comes to fighting, listen to Riki. No exceptions. Understood?”

Everyone nodded in agreement without the slightest complaint. It wasn’t simply because Ricard was famous; they had seen him in action themselves.

Experience had taught them that his judgment, his execution, and his ability to solve problems were always the answer.

“No pressure, then,” Ricard murmured.

He was used to operating alone or on small missions with a few friends. Being responsible for so many lives was new even to him.

“I’ll protect you,” Marie whispered.

“Want to say a few words yourself, Riki?” Volka asked.

Ricard smiled and shook his head.

“Good. Then we begin in three days. You might think that’s a bit soon, but the people who got here first have already spent over ten days eating and lazing around. And we should keep up the momentum while we’ve got it, after beating back that night attack. Get yourselves and your gear ready, and ease off the booze. Dismissed.”

Volka waved them away, and the adventurers scattered in little groups. Having weathered plenty of combat through their various commissions, the adventurers participating in the campaign didn’t look particularly nervous.

Still, the objective was extermination. Ricard understood the reasoning, but it left him uneasy.

How had it come to this? The question suddenly struck him. God or devil. He was getting rather sick of people who saw only what they wanted to see.

Whether to the Church of Judgment or the imperial household, perhaps Riki from his previous life was nothing more than an excuse. An excuse to justify what they did.

Ricard drew Marie closer into his arms. It seemed to offer him a little comfort.

Once the operation had been decided, the drinking and revelry died down considerably. The adventurers collected themselves and tended carefully to their weapons.

One adventurer, apparently having grown attached to a prostitute in the meantime, even declared his love and asked her to marry him if they met again.

Three days passed, and Ricard and the adventurers set out at dawn. Naturally, they had no siege engines. Ladders were all they had.

Daisy came along as well. The closer they drew to the sanctuary, the more visibly anxious she and Ice became.

After five or six hours of walking without a break, they saw a castle far ahead, standing on flat ground in the middle of the fields. A few figures stood atop its walls, but they ducked out of sight upon seeing the adventurers approach.

What sort of garrison would a cult have? The castle was quite imposing, yet there wasn’t a single soldier guarding its walls.

Ricard followed Volka to the eastern wall. The postern gate Daisy had used was already closed and packed with rubble.

It made no difference. There were no enemy soldiers to stop them from climbing ladders.

There were few clouds, and the sunlight was bright. For some reason, the cool breeze felt utterly desolate. Now that they had actually reached the church’s sanctuary, something felt strangely wrong.

While the others hesitated, Ricard strapped a heater shield to his left arm and climbed the ladder first. From atop the wall, he surveyed the interior and saw residential buildings and other facilities.

He beckoned the advance party—Volka, Marie, Boribori, and the others—up after him, then gave his orders.

“Open the gate, and carefully check those buildings over there for people. Well, our orders are to kill everyone we see, so if there’s anyone there, kill them. Let’s secure this place first. Then we move toward the center, and if things go wrong, we fall back here. This will be our rally point.”

“Got it.”

By now, Volka understood him at once and nodded without hesitation. He descended the stairs into the castle and cut the ropes to open the gate. Forty adventurers poured inside.

He divided them into groups by clan and ordered them to search the buildings. Ricard kept a close watch on their surroundings for any sign of an ambush.

Daisy fretted over whether the sisters, who were like family to her, might come to harm. But fortunately—or unfortunately—they weren’t here. The place was simply empty.

“Why isn’t anyone here? It doesn’t look like they’ve run away.”

“Maybe they’re preparing for a last stand farther inside.”

“Daisy, do you know the layout?” Ricard asked.

“No. The sisters almost never get to leave this area. I was the only one who occasionally went wandering outside.”

“What about you, Ice?”

“This is my first time in the convent area, so I don’t know either. The holy knights’ training grounds are near the south gate.”

The sprawling rectangular castle on the plain seemed to be divided into separate sections. High walls blocked their way, so reaching its center would mean passing through another gate of sorts.

In any case, it was far too quiet. Had they given up, or were they preparing for a last stand, as Marie had suggested?

Ricard took his time examining the surroundings. He climbed the outer wall again to check for enemies hiding outside and look for a way to contact the other assault groups.

But the castle’s peculiar design kept those groups out of sight unless he followed the wall all the way around to their positions.

“Let’s leave about ten people here and get that gate open. Make sure you keep watch outside from the walls.”

“Got it, Riki.”

At Ricard’s order, the adventurers brought over something resembling a heavy log. Four men took hold on either side and rammed the gate. Apparently it hadn’t been locked, because it simply burst open.

A dark indoor corridor stretched before them.

Outside, it was broad daylight, but the corridor was pitch-dark. Sunlight reached the entrance, while the depths were as black as a devil’s throat. It was unspeakably ominous.

“Bring the sandbags,” Ricard said.

The adventurers brought the bags they had prepared beforehand, and he tossed the heavy sacks down the corridor, testing for traps.

Sure enough, on about the third or fourth bag, sharp spearheads shot up from the floor with a metallic clash.

“Nasty bastards...” Boribori murmured.

He had never seen such an elaborate trap before, and it chilled him. It was the insidious hostility embodied in the very idea of a trap.

Once the traps had been confirmed, adventurers carrying two-handed hammers went in. They advanced slowly, methodically smashing the floor and walls.

The walls bore intricate carvings of gargoyles and monsters, detailed enough to qualify as works of art. Strange that people who claimed to believe in God would make things like these.

Testing every step before they took it inevitably made progress slow. But safety demanded it.

The adventurers seemed to have their own roles. As the hammer-wielders smashed their way forward, others took turns relieving them or hung torches on the walls.

About halfway down the corridor, they discovered a door leading into a room.

Ricard made the adventurers stand back, then pressed himself against the wall and listened quietly.

He was checking for any sign of people inside. He avoided standing directly against the door because someone within might suddenly thrust a spear through it.

Once his keen senses had determined whether an enemy was present, Ricard kicked the door without warning. Its hinges broke with a crack, and it flew open at a single blow.

“Gah!”

But when the interior came into view, he sucked in a sharp breath. Wondering what was wrong, Boribori, Volka, Ice, Marie, and the other adventurers peered inside. They, too, recoiled in horror.

“Gah!”

“Fuck!”

They couldn’t help swearing. The room was a laboratory for human experimentation.

Horrors they had never seen even in their dreams lay before them. Though nothing physically attacked them, their minds could barely withstand it.

Bizarre diagrams had been drawn on the walls in blood. Body parts that had yet to be discarded lay piled in a corner, and hideous instruments of torture, crusted with dried blood and hair, were scattered across the desk.

Maggots swarmed everywhere. Chemicals, filth, and rotting corpses mingled into a stench beyond description.

Adventurers frequently encountered horrifying sights in their line of work and had some tolerance for brutality. But not this.

Unless they were truly depraved, even the roughest adventurers and mercenaries had limits. Some might enjoy pillaging but leave monasteries untouched; others would not kill babies or pregnant women.

This went far, far beyond any limit. If people did things like this, how could anyone distinguish a human from a devil?

“They are holy martyrs.”

Someone spoke suddenly from the pitch-black corridor beyond. Every head snapped toward the voice. A figure wearing a tall, pointed hood stared at them through its only openings: two eyeholes.

“I know that’s fucking bullshit.”

Ricard ground the words out through teeth clenched in fury. His eyes blazed as though they might truly fire beams that would pierce the man.

“Whether you understand or not, His resurrection draws near.”

With that, he turned to disappear into the darkness.

“Kill that son of a bitch!” Volka shouted.

The crossbowmen reacted first, firing their loaded weapons in unison.

THWANG! THWANG-THWANG! THWANG!

A couple of bolts struck the man in the back, yet astonishingly, he kept walking without a care. When the adventurers started after him, Ricard stopped them.

“Don’t go!”

The adventurers looked back at him questioningly.

“We haven’t cleared all the traps yet. He could be luring us in.”

Even in his fury, he remained utterly clearheaded.

Unable to contain his anger, Volka ordered the adventurers,

“Hey, bring a torch. Burn it all.”

“The commander told us not to set fires.”

“For fuck’s sake, I’ll take responsibility. Just burn it all.”

The adventurers had wanted to do so themselves. Without hesitation, they poured oil into the laboratory and set it ablaze.

But what, exactly, had they been experimenting on? That wicked curiosity brushed through everyone’s hearts.

The flames rose as though to purge such thoughts. With nowhere else to escape, thick smoke billowed into the corridor.

Just then, heretics carrying bows and crossbows emerged from the darkness farther down the corridor. They quickly took their positions with practiced movements and unleashed a volley.

Startled, Ricard flattened himself against the wall to present a smaller target and raised his shield.

“Everyone, against the walls!”

But those who failed to move in time were struck by arrows. Fortunately, casualties were few, but in the gloomy surroundings, with their minds already shaken, a sudden fear took hold.

“Aaargh!”

“Fuck! I’m hit!”

“Shields! Shiiields!”

“Get a potion!”

Chaos erupted in an instant. Yet the adventurers stood their ground, protecting themselves as best they could without fleeing.

Still, between the horrors they had just witnessed and their current predicament, fear began to creep over them.

Then an urgent shout came from the direction Ricard and the adventurers had entered.

“Leader! Leadeeer!”

Volka’s eyes widened with a sense of foreboding. So did Ricard’s.

“What?”

“Enemies outside! Sword Masters!”

Ricard instinctively broke into a run, with Marie and Boribori following.

But the enemy holy knights killed the adventurer who had raised the alarm and slammed the door shut, apparently never having intended to fight. Then a massive stone gate came crashing down.

The sunlight vanished, and darkness descended with a weight that seemed to crush their entire bodies. They had lit the corridor with torches, but those cast only a dim glow in their immediate surroundings.

In that instant, everyone had the same thought. They were fucked.

But not Ricard. Just as the desperate situation threatened to break everyone’s fighting spirit, he drew his sword defiantly and shouted,

“If we can’t go back, we cut our way forward! Good! Let’s finish this!”

Then, traps be damned, he charged the enemy alone. They were still reloading.

“Let’s finish this!”

Boribori and Marie shouted as they followed him. Fear had only just begun to overwhelm the adventurers, but at the sight of such courage, something in them half-snapped.

“LET’S FINISH THIS!”

The roar of thirty-odd grown men seemed to send even the darkness recoiling in alarm. For an instant, they felt no fear. They surged after Ricard.

The enemy, still reloading, fumbled in surprise. They loosed their arrows, but unlike their first volley, this one failed to form a proper field of fire and was far less effective.

At the head of the charge, Ricard launched himself shield-first straight into an enemy.

He struck with a thud and seemed to tumble to the floor with his opponent, only to spring to his feet and lash out with his sword. His movements looked wild, yet every stroke was precise. Enemies dropped one after another.

He kicked, headbutted, and brought his sword down with all his strength, cleaving through flesh and ribs from shoulder to heart. As he planted his foot against the body to wrench his blade free, his allies arrived and swept through the enemy.

Most people struggled to fight to their usual standard in a chaotic melee. Ricard was the opposite.

Once the fighting became a free-for-all, he was in his element, rampaging like a madman. Compared with the mire he had fought in at the eastern expeditionary front in his previous life, this was as comfortable as a bed.

The adventurers slaughtered their enemies in moments. In the blink of an eye, the corridor became a sea of blood.

By now, it was hard to tell who the devils were. Ricard knew how to become a devil in hell.

His lungs throbbed, but it was nothing. In his previous life, he had fought while cauterizing wounds with a blade heated in the fire. He had watched fellow soldiers who had lost arms and legs burn with fighting spirit to the very end.

He wasn’t going to make a fuss over a little trouble breathing. What did death matter?

Ricard unstrapped his arrow-studded shield and threw it to the floor. Its clatter echoed down the corridor, and his blood-drenched friends and the adventurers all turned toward him.

In their eyes, he was different now. This was not the easygoing swordsman who displayed such extraordinary genius. He was closer to a savage warrior. But that was nearer to his true self.

His eyes seemed to burn, and his mouth looked ready to snarl like a beast at any moment.

Perhaps, having stared into humanity’s horrifying abyss and found himself in danger, something slumbering deep within Ricard had naturally risen to the surface as well.

He pulled the hem of his cloak toward him, wiped the blood from his sword, and said,

“Let’s go.”

Then he walked into the darkness, black as a devil’s throat. His friends and the adventurers followed.

Just as Ricard had said, if there was no way back, all they had to do was cut their way forward.