Groggy (1)
"You don't remember?"
On the white sand around a campfire, Gaold, Gangnan, and Zulu sat in a circle.
"It happened before, too. He'd be fine for a while, then it would get worse. But the biggest problem is…"
Gaold lifted his face into the torchlight.
"There's no standard for when the memories vanish."
He spoke around it, but Gangnan understood.
"Miro."
Even back when he'd been head of the association, Gaold's memories wandered off when bored—but anything about Miro, he never forgot.
Gaold asked why he was still fighting.
'Because it hurts too much. The pain keeps rising without limit, and as a result the very core is being lost.'
Gangnan asked, "If you can't remember Miro—"
"That doesn't matter."
Gaold was resolute.
"I'm not particularly worried about that. Even if I forget Miro, it's fine. I'm being frank because I worry about a drop in strength. If I forget Miro, I won't be able to use the power of apostasy."
"That's the problem right now!"
Gangnan shot to his feet.
"You don't even know why you're fighting! You're suffering like this! Go back to Sion now! Tell Miro the truth! Tell her this is your limit!"
"And then?"
Gaold's look made Gangnan shrink.
"Leave. Take Miro and leave. Run anywhere and live happily. Miro said she would do that, didn't she?"
"…She did."
Gangnan realized. Because Miro had promised that, Gaold couldn't bring himself to go to her.
"You foolish human."
Gaold smiled through the pain.
"Heh. Don't make me out to be some kind of freak. I'm a mage, too. I won't be satisfied until I see the end. In any case, this isn't a good situation. Let's focus on fixing it."
Zulu said, "It's only that his memories fade; his reason hasn't. If he assesses himself coldly, he won't make mistakes in battle. The problem is that his power has weakened."
Gaold propped his chin and fell into thought.
"Power, huh…"
To be weakened to the level of an ordinary mage after leaving Miro would be unacceptable.
'Is there pain greater than love?'
Worst of all was the humiliation of having his own heart measured as a unit of pain.
"We need shock therapy."
"Miro." The three entered the room where Miro sat in meditation.
Behind her stood officers Armin and Kuan, and Lilia, who had become a proper mage.
"You're back?"
When Miro opened her eyes, the calm aura vanished and a plainly human expression showed.
She had wasted away since Gaold left, but her beauty hadn't faded.
The three asked, "Are you really all right? You eat almost nothing. You sleep very little. You can't fight like this."
"It helps."
The drier the body, the sharper the mind. Though this state would wreck her body if it went on, she was preparing for the final battle.
"With the spiritual field sealed, Sion doesn't need many people. We'll begin operations from now."
That was why the three had been called.
"Kuan, Armin, Lilia—go to Tormia. Hold back the legions of hell there."
Kuan asked, "Why Tormia? The demons haven't even reached Kazra yet."
"Half the demons were wiped out by Sojeonghwa, but the legion commanders probably survived. If they gather on the central continent, it's only a matter of time before the defense line collapses. Tormia is the only bulwark. And—"
Miro lifted the corner of her mouth.
"You want to go, don't you? Tormia."
Olifer Shiina was there.
While Kuan fell silent to think, Lilia nodded resolutely.
"Yes. We'll leave as soon as we're ready."
The three who would depart for Tormia stepped out, but Se-in remained.
"Miro."
Se-in knew what he wanted to say, and Miro shook her head.
"Don't. Get out. You're disrupting my concentration."
Conversations always ended there.
But now that the spiritual field was sealed and activity was freer, Se-in pressed harder.
"Are you really not going to see him?"
Miro said nothing.
"Even if he single-handedly laid waste to the south, it wouldn't be an exaggeration. He doesn't have much time."
"You'll hold out."
"No. No matter how strong the heart, the brain is a physical organ. It has endurance limits."
She didn't need to be told—that was obvious.
"Gaold won't come. So you must go. Check his condition. This is a command."
Miro pushed out her lower lip.
"And what if he decides to settle down while you're there?"
Se-in turned away.
"…If he still has the strength for that, then good."
The door closed.
The Gustav Empire looked like the planet when it was newly born—empty, scorched.
The demons were nearly annihilated, but not wiped out entirely. As the legion commanders fled the empire, the quick-witted demons scrambled to escape as well.
Those who survived scattered across the world and spread what they had seen.
—It rained. A bombardment of light.
—Everything was destroyed! Demons, the world—everything was swept away!
Rumors spread like wildfire. —It was the most terrifying Yahweh I've ever seen. Never—never—make him angry.
—We'll be completely wiped out! He won't forgive us!
Half-mad cries followed.
—I—I saw it! I saw something you must never see! Aaaahhhh!
Every demon who heard the rumors shuddered at the terror of Yahweh.
Three weeks passed like that.
Shirone and Rian crossed the Akad Desert and reached the border of the central continent.
Rian rode a warhorse they'd found two days earlier and spoke to Shirone, who sat back-to-back on the saddle.
"It's probably the Bornaï Kingdom." Once it had been, but now it was a ruin trampled by the war with the demons.
Shirone said nothing, as if dead.
After days of hunger, he naturally had no strength to speak. Worse was the wall around his heart.
On the road, Rian had told him what happened in the Gustav Empire.
A bombardment that erased an empire in mere hours.
If not for meeting Gai in another world, the planet might have been destroyed.
After hearing that, Shirone hadn't said anything beyond what was necessary for bodily functions.
'The shock must be immense.'
A massive power is a mage's dream—only when it can be controlled. The catastrophe of Sojeonghwa was the first magic in Shirone's life he couldn't control.
"First, let's find food."
Unlike the desert, the central continent was civilized; they should be able to find provisions.
Two hours later they came to a ravaged city.
By its location it might be called Arka, but there was no way to confirm.
They stepped over a fallen gate and saw buildings collapsed into bricks.
Decaying corpses and rats scurrying among them made Rian breathe a little easier.
"Hm?"
Rian eased the reins.
'Murderous intent.'
It was the crude, unmistakable aura of killing intent that those with war experience could sense—and there were many of them.
"Stop. That horse is ours."
Gaunt figures with spears emerged from all sides.
Abandoning stealth for numbers meant they were untrained civilians.
"Get down. That horse is ours." They sounded inexperienced at looting.
"Who's the leader?"
From those signs, Rian realized they were survivors trying to eke out a living in a ruined city.
A toothless old man shouted, "I said get down! That's ours! Do you want to die?"
Rian wasn't intimidated, and Shirone didn't even look up, staring at the ground.
"Enough. He's a soldier. You can't handle him."
Looking up, a woman with a short, masculine haircut gripped a greatsword.
She leapt down nimbly from a height of four meters and strode toward Rian.
"Are you deserters? How did you get in here?"
"On our way home. If you let us go, we'll leave quietly."
"Home where?"
"Tormia."
The woman's mouth curled coldly.
"Lucky you. You still have someplace to return to. Give us the horse and go. We'll use it for food."
The horse was Rian and Shirone's food supply.
"We can't. Again, we don't want a fight. You're not bandits, are you?"
"Bandits?"
The woman sneered.
"So you survived with a scrap of conscience left. Tell me—have you even fought properly in a war?"
She judged Rian and Shirone to be no older than their early twenties.
"Maybe you noble types don't know, but the justice you shout about is dead. If you don't hand over the horse—"
Rian didn't show killing intent, but the implication was clear: cross a line and the woman's head would fall.
"Give it."
Shirone spoke.
"Just give it up, Rian."
"Shirone."
"I don't want to fight anyone."
Shirone needed time to think.
"Heh, the young master is sharp. Right—your life is precious; you wouldn't throw it away here."
Rian offered, "We'll hand over the horse if you give us some meat. Surely you can spare that?"
"Some meat? Are you insane? Not even a handful of unburned grain is the weight of life here, and you ask for meat?" The woman turned. "We'll butcher the horse and dry it. Follow me. We'll give you a bowl of gruel, at least."
They needed anything to eat, so Rian dismounted and carried Shirone on his back.
They arrived at a makeshift shelter partitioned with debris, a campfire burning in the middle.
A hundred survivors repaired the camp or boiled gruel, each at their tasks.
The fire was warm, but Shirone stubbornly chose a cold corner.
"Are these all the survivors?" the woman asked with a bitter smile.
"There were more at first. Most died of disease. There were so many corpses. Those who remain must be the hardiest."
She tossed two blankets.
"Use them. One each. Meals will be rationed in an hour. Follow the rules while you're here."
Rian returned without complaint.
"Shirone, cover up and get some sleep."
One blanket wrapped Shirone's shoulders; Rian draped his own over Shirone's knees.
A man watching from afar snorted.
"Lovers, are you? How devoted."
Helping others in this shelter was a luxury—and a rule.
"Newcomers?"
A voice came from behind Rian.
Turning, they saw a cold-faced man approaching with a woman at his side.
"We got the horse. We'll leave soon."
The woman said it, but the man ignored her and scrutinized Rian and Shirone.
"What are you doing?"
He frowned and pointed at the two blankets covering Shirone.
"I told you one per person, didn't I?"
"I gave mine. What's the problem?"
"No. In this shelter there's no 'mine.' There's only 'ours.' Take it off and give it to him now."
They could hand over the horse, but they wouldn't give up anything for Shirone's comfort.
"Use supplies how you like. What right do you have to dictate that?"
"Because I manage this shelter."
The man opened his palm and flames rose.
"I'm a mage. Does that make me qualified?" Even while Rian stayed silent, Shirone's gaze remained blankly forward.