0_Prologue_ The Opening Move

PROLOGUE The Opening Move The_Page_is_Opened. St. George’s Cathedral. Despite the moniker of “cathedral,” it was just one of many churches located in inner London. It was a fairly large building, but compared to internationally popular sightseeing spots like Westminster Abbey and St Paul’s Cathedral, it was exceptionally small. And, of course, it didn’t come close to the Canterbury Cathedral, said to be where English Puritanism began. Besides, there were many buildings in London named after Saint George. Churches were one thing, but there were also department stores, restaurants, boutiques, and schools sharing the name. There were likely dozens of St. Georges just within the city borders. And there may have even been more than ten St. George’s Cathedrals in the first place—after all, the name was so famous it was even tied into the national flag. Since its construction, St. George’s Cathedral was the headquarters of Necessarius, the Church of Necessary Evils. It wasn’t a good connotation. Those who were a part of Necessarius were members of the Church, and yet they used tainted magic. Their duty was to aggressively destroy sorcerer’s societies in England and annihilate the sorcerers belonging to them. They were considered boorish and uncouth by English Puritans, so they were moved out of Canterbury, the head church of English Puritanism, and relegated to St. George’s Cathedral in what amounted to a demotion. However… Though it was once nothing more than a window-side post, Necessarius was silently but fervently bearing fruit. And these actions granted them trust and privileges within the grand organization known as the Established Church. They did so well that while the heart of English Puritanism was still officially the Canterbury Cathedral, its mind had been entirely surrendered to St. George’s Cathedral. That was how this cathedral, just a stone’s throw away from the center of London, had become the core of the largest religion in the country. One morning, a red-haired priest named Stiyl Magnus was walking through London’s streets, fretting to himself. The city itself didn’t look any different. Stone-built apartments constructed a little over three hundred years ago stood lining either side of the road as office workers hurried down it, their cell phones in their hands. At the same time traditional double-decker buses drove slowly by, the equally traditional red phone boxes were being steadily removed by construction workers. It was the same scenery as always—an amalgamation of the old and the new. The weather hadn’t changed, either. The skies over London this morning were clear enough for the sun to shine through, but the weather in this city was so hard to predict that nobody could really know what it would be like even four hours later, and many carried umbrellas with them. And it was hot and humid. London was known as the city of fog, but its volatile summertime weather was another problem entirely. Intermittent rain would bring nearby temperatures up, while the hot foehn wind and heat waves, growing more prevalent in recent years, led to extreme heat. Even snug little sightseeing spots had problems. Of course, Stiyl had chosen to live in this city in spite of its issues, so he didn’t particularly mind. The problem was the girl walking beside him. “Archbishop!” “Mm. I implore you, my good sir, do not call my name in such a grand manner. Today I have at last chosen a simple, plain outfit, you see,” proclaimed a carefree voice in Japanese. The voice belonged to a girl who looked about eighteen, clad in a simple beige habit. Incidentally, holy garb was supposed to be either white, red, black, green, or purple, and the embroidery could only be made with gold thread—so she may have been bending the rules a bit. She was probably the only person who thought her outfit was blending in with the people in the city. Her skin was so fair it shone, and her eyes were a perfectly clear blue. Her hair, which looked like something that would be sold by a vendor of precious gems, utterly failed to fit in with the crowd. Her hair was abnormally long, too. She wore it straight down—but at her ankles, it turned up and went back to her head. It was held there by a big silver barrette…and then it went all the way down to her waist again. Its length was roughly two and a half times her height. London’s morning rush hour—and Lambeth’s in particular—was one of the most congested in the world, but nevertheless it seemed like the volume of nearby sounds was being lowered. Even the air around them felt akin to the silence called for in a cathedral. She was the archbishop of the 0th parish of the English Puritan Church, Necessarius—the Church of Necessary Evils. Laura Stuart. The English Puritan Church’s leader was the reigning king. And beside him was Laura…the highest archbishop, whose role it was to command the Church in place of the king, who was normally extremely busy. The organization of English Puritanism was like an antique stringed instrument. While the tool had an owner, a caretaker carried out the tool’s maintenance and repairs. It didn’t matter how excellent the violin was—if not used, its strings would slacken before you knew it, its sound box would be damaged, and the sounds it played would grow hoarse. Laura was the temporary performing musician who prevented that. But this relationship, just like the one between Westminster Abbey and St. George’s Cathedral, was now—both practically and on paper—turned on its head, and the ability to give commands rested in her hands now. Despite her vast authority, the archbishop was now prancing along a morning street without any bodyguards to speak of. The two of them were currently headed toward St. George’s Cathedral. Laura was also the one who had instructed him in advance to come to the cathedral at this time, so she should have been waiting there… “I, too, do have a location to which I must return home each day. I could never remain within the confines of such an antiquated cathedral for my whole life.” Laura proceeded down the road, her footsteps not making a sound. “Let us talk whilst we walk, shall we? Lest we use our time poorly.” Most of the people passing by were company workers. After all, they were close to Waterloo Station, the largest in London. A nun and a priest wouldn’t have been an unusual sight here. It was no Rome, but London still had as many churches as it did parks. “Well, I suppose I don’t mind. But if this was something you needed to call me out to the cathedral for, then you don’t want to be overheard telling it to me, do you?” “Pray tell, does it bother you? How small a man you are. Can you not possibly find any enjoyment in our constitutional? Priests listen to the confessions of the women as though they are playboys, after all. Haven’t you even a modicum of desire for adventure?” “…” Stiyl made a slightly displeased face, then said, “May I ask you a question?” “Please, stay your formal language. What would you have of me?” “Why are you talking like a complete idiot?” “…?” The archbishop of English Puritanism reacted much like someone had just pointed out she’d buttoned up her shirt wrong—at first she was dumbfounded, then she froze in place, and finally her face went bright red. “Huh? I— What? Do I sound odd to your ears? Verily, should I not be conversing in the Japanese language in the manner with which I am even now speaking?!” “Umm, excuse me, but I can barely even understand what you’re saying. Even your archaic Japanese seems messed up.” The people walking down the street in suits wouldn’t have understood Japanese, but for some reason, the bustle around them had turned into whispering—and it felt like it was focused on Laura. “A-argh…I did verily examine a great many things of literature, television, and all the rest…I even had a real-life Japanese person check my work, too…” Stiyl sighed. “Who is this real-life Japanese person exactly?” “A-a gentleman named Motoharu Tsuchimikado…” “…He would dress his stepsister up in a maid outfit and then faint out of happiness. He’s dangerous. Please don’t consider him a standard Japanese person. Asia’s culture isn’t that strange.” “You have a point. I suppose then that I must mend my mistaken way of speaking lest I— Egads!” Laura’s shout caused a flock of pigeons resting on the road to all fly up into the air. “What’s the matter?” “It has become part of me! I’m never going to fix it now!” “…Please don’t tell me you spoke so idiotically during your conference with the Academy City representative.” Laura’s shoulders gave a jolt. “N-no, it is nothing I must fret over. It’s fine, everything is fine, entirely fine,” she said, but her voice was trembling, there was an odd droplet of sweat dripping down her cheek, and her eyes were wandering. Stiyl breathed a sigh that smelled of tobacco. “Anyway, we can talk about that once we arrive at the cathedral.” The two of them turned a corner, on which was situated a Japanese restaurant that Kaori Kanzaki frequented in secret, and continued. “N-no! I have no need to feel such mortification. I declare that I have done nothing uncouth from the first.” “Give this nonsense a rest and get down to business, please. Oh, and if you’re not confident in your Japanese, then can’t you just switch to English?” “N-nonsense…! Th-this has nothing to do with my not possessing confidence. Yes, that’s right! It is simply that I am not well on this particular day,” claimed Laura, acting extremely suspiciously. “As for work…Oh, but first—” She took two pieces of paper that looked like sticky notes and a black Magic Marker out from the breast of her habit. Stiyl, who was familiar with using cards with runes on them, immediately understood what she would use them for. “Squeak-squeak—” While saying aloud the sound effect for the marker’s scribbling, Laura began to draw some sort of pattern on the paper with the black marker. It was probably a talisman or circle. When the archbishop was in front of a large group of people for ceremonies and the like, she would act so solemn and majestic you would doubt she was even human—but right now she looked for all the world like a normal girl doodling in her notebook during class. He personally wished she would act that solemnly all the time. Stiyl, a cigarette in his mouth, frowned a bit. He didn’t like the sound this marker made very much. “Squeak-squeak-squeaksqueak-squeak-squeak-squeaksqueak-squeak-squeak-squeaksqueak-squeak-squeak-squeaksqueak-squeak-squeak-squeaksqueak-squeak-squeak-squeaksqueak-squeak-squeak-squeak-squeak-squeaksqueak-squeaksqueak-squeak-squeak-squeaksqueak-squeak-squeak—” “…Excuse me for asking, but what is it you’re doing?” asked Stiyl, gritting his teeth and shaking all over. Veins were popping out of his temples, but he’d just have to endure that right now. “Think of this as a token of my consideration. Here!” Finished drawing the same pattern on both pieces of paper, Laura pushed one of them into Stiyl’s hands. “Ahem! I ask of you—are you able to hear this sound?” Stiyl heard what seemed like a voice speaking directly to his mind. He glanced at her face to make sure, but as he thought, her small mouth wasn’t moving. “A communication talisman?” “It is by doing this that we may speak our minds with nary the need to converse aloud.” Hmm. Stiyl looked down at the card in his hand. She seemed to have gone out of her way to show consideration after his advice that others hearing them would be bad. “Why does your mental voice sound as moronic as your real one?” “What did you say? W-wait, Stiyl! I assert that I am speaking English in this moment!” She fidgeted wildly yet silently, startling a cat curled up in front of a still-closed café. Stiyl sighed. Why couldn’t she keep her cool now, despite all the gravitas she displayed as archbishop? “Then it must be mistranslating you during the communication and conversion processes. How exhausting. I can understand you just fine, though, so let’s proceed.” “W-we…Ahem! Then let us begin.” Laura had been about to say something, but she swallowed it back down and changed the topic to something work-related. “Stiyl, have you perchance heard the name Book of the Law?” “The name of the grimoire? If I recall correctly, it was penned by Edward Alexander.” Edward Alexander—also known as Crowley. He was at once called the greatest sorcerer of the twentieth century and the worst sorcerer of the twentieth century. He was a legendary figure, one whose aberrant, extremist, abnormal words and actions got him deported from many countries on many occasions, one who fueled the creative passions of many an artist…and one who made an enemy out of every single sorcerer in the world. Historical records stated that he died on December 1, 1947. He was such an utterly difficult and chaotic enemy that one could rightly say that his death loosened strings of tension across the planet. Even after the great sorcerer’s death, there was no shortage of those calling themselves his students or legitimate heirs. Even today, there was an investigation agency dedicated to countering Crowley’s own brand of artificial magicks. And, as is usually the case with people of such legendary status, Stiyl had also heard rumors that the man was still alive. “What about it? The original copy is in the Roman Orthodox Church’s Vatican Library right now, isn’t it?” He had traveled across the world as bodyguard of the Index girl while they were cramming the 103,000 grimoires into her mind. It was an easy task to recall the owners and locations of a hundred or so of the most famous ones. “Yes, well…Crowley was active in Sicily from 1920 to 1923, meaning the Book of the Law was lost during that interval of time.” Laura continued, as if she were flipping through a history textbook. “Now, Stiyl, mayhaps you know of the Book of the Law’s unique characteristics?” “…” Unique characteristics. “If I’m correct, and disregarding the reliability of Crowley actually having written it, there are several academic theories on the matter. One goes that the Book of the Law contains angelic techniques unusable by man that were revealed to him by Aiwass, the guardian angel he summoned. Another says that as soon as you open the book, it proclaims the end of the era of Crossism and the coming of an entirely new age…Sure, it’s impossible that he heard all that from angels—they have no will of their own—but the second one is interesting. And—” Among the English Puritan Church’s speculations were many explanations that said the grimoire described methods by which to use the vastly powerful sorcery it boasted. But everyone who heard all this came to one crucial question. Why did it stop at mere speculation? The Index of Prohibited Books should have had knowledge regarding the Book of the Law. “—nobody can decipher it, right? Grimoires are by nature written in various codes, but I hear this one is another story entirely. The Index gave up on deciphering it as well, and even Sherry Cromwell, the leading expert in code-breaking, gave it up as hopeless.” Yes—nobody could read the Book of the Law. By the Index’s explanation, it was no longer able to be decoded using present-day linguistic approaches. Because of that, the passages of the Book of the Law were stuck in her head still in encoded form. Laura smiled, pleased. “If I were to say that someone who is able to read the Book of the Law has appeared, what would you do?” “…What?” Stiyl looked at her again. She didn’t look like she was joking. “She is a nun of the Roman Orthodox Church, and her name is Orsola Aquinas. It would seem as though she only knows the method to decipher it—she has not laid eyes upon the book itself.” “How, then?” “This Orsola was apparently hunting for the method of decoding it using but a portion of its manuscript to serve as a reference. She had only the table of contents and a few pages from the initial section at her disposal.” The original copy of the Book of the Law was under such strict watch that even she wouldn’t easily have been able to view it. And since she wasn’t the Index of Forbidden Books, even gaining access to the original copy without proper care would be dangerous. “The Roman Orthodox Church…is lacking cards to play in our overarching power struggle at the moment. Are they attempting to use the Book of the Law in a plot to recover from that setback? Do they not see it as anything more than the blueprints for a new weapon…?” The Roman Orthodox Church was said to be the largest of the religious factions of Crossism, but there were reports that their strength had waned. Their greatest power, the Gregorian Choir, made up of more than three thousand people, had been destroyed by a certain alchemist. Since that was the case, Stiyl didn’t doubt that they’d jump at the opportunity to replenish their lost strength by using the knowledge in the Book of the Law to plan and create a new spell to replace the Gregorian Choir and protect their seat at the top. “Well, ’twould seem impossible for them to use the Book of the Law to bolster their military forces. At least, there is presently no threat of the Roman Orthodox Church using it immediately to assail a place, so you can rest easy.” “?” “Mm-hmm. There are some other things going on. Some other things, you see.” Laura sounded awfully certain, but Stiyl frowned. What was her basis for saying that? He considered briefly that there was a pact between the English Puritan Church and the Roman Orthodox Church forbidding the book’s use, but… …Then why would the Roman Orthodox Church need Orsola to decode the Book of the Law in the first place? “You’re such a worrywart. It is written upon your face. I keep telling you, all is well! All is well.” “But…” “Ahh, how vexing, how vexing indeed! Whatever in the world the Roman Orthodox Church is plotting on using the Book of the Law for, they cannot, at any rate, carry it out right this second.” Before Stiyl could ask her why, she answered him. “The Book of the Law and Orsola Aquinas—these both do appear to have been stolen.” “What…By whom?!” Stiyl couldn’t help but say aloud. His outburst caused the eyes of the company workers heading to the station to all gather on him. “I have a good guess, so your job is to hear the details from me and then deal with it. Though I am sure of one thing—our opponent will be Japan’s Amakusa-Style Crossist Church.” “Amakusa-Style…” Stiyl’s current partner was Kaori Kanzaki. Amakusa-Style was a Japanese branch of Crossism, which she used to be the leader of—their priestess. But Stiyl didn’t see them as a Crossist religion. There was too much Shinto and Buddhism mixed into it. It hadn’t retained the original form of Crossism. “As a church, Amakusa-Style is significantly smaller than the national religions of Rome, England, and Russia. That they continue to thrive in the world is because of the presence of an irregular: Kanzaki. Their central pillar has been lost, so it is not odd that they should seek out the Book of the Law and replace her with it. After all, using the book could seriously upset the power balance of Crossism.” If Orsola Aquinas and the Book of the Law had fallen into Amakusa-Style’s hands, they could use it at any time. In fact, it would be stranger if they didn’t use it. “But still!” Stiyl’s voice became ragged. “Wasn’t the Book of the Law safe in the deepest part of the Vatican Library? Right now, Amakusa-Style is small enough to desire power. A religion of that size would never be able to break in there. I know because I’ve actually been inside the Vatican Library as that Index’s bodyguard. There are no gaps in their security or any back doors. It’s a wall, plain and simple!” “I’m saying the Book of the Law wasn’t in the Vatican Library.” “What?” Stiyl’s expression froze. He passed by what appeared to be a horse-drawn wagon meant for sightseeing, the horse’s hooves making clopping noises as they pranced along the road. There was a license plate politely affixed to the rear of the wagon. “The Roman Orthodox Church had moved the Book of the Law into a museum in Japan to hold an international exhibition. I expect I do not need to tell you why the Holy Stairs in the Archbasilica of St. John Lateran in Rome, which the Son of God is said to have ascended as he bled, are open to the general public, yes?” The Church opened its historical and religious articles to the public once every few years. The reason was simple—it was to attract guests so they could collect donations from many disciples as well as recruit new ones. Because the Roman Orthodox Church had lost its most powerful weapon, the three-thousand-strong Gregorian Choir, they wanted to put as much as possible into creating new spells and strengthening their numbers. The most effective way to gain new disciples would be to plan these events in places there were none already. Japan was suitable for that purpose, but going there would simultaneously weaken its controlling power. Amakusa-Style must have pinpointed that weakness. “That’s absurd…They put something that dangerous on display, then let it be swiped out from under them? How much must the Roman Orthodox Church embarrass itself before it learns?” She chuckled. “They are the most cognizant of that fact, I believe. They may have gained a terrain advantage, but their pride is in shambles now that a small religion in the Far East has bested them.” “Right. So they shamefully and scandalously came crawling to us to see if we’d cooperate, is that it?” “Nay. ’Twould seem they wish to settle things by their own hand. Because of that, we went to some effort in acquiring this information. It may be their last bit of pride speaking, but in all honesty, at this those fools need to wake up and face reality.” “We weren’t helping rescue Aquinas and retrieve the Book of the Law at the Roman Orthodox Church’s request?” “They were hesitating. And if Orsola Aquinas truly is able to decode the Book of the Law, we would need to move in anyway.” “…Then you plan on placing them in our debt? Do you think those religious nobles would pay us back for anything?” asked Stiyl, as if the whole matter were idiotic. Stiyl was aware the Roman Orthodox Church—the majority of disciples ignorant of sorcery aside—had a famously high level of pride and self-regard. Perhaps it was a remnant of once having controlled Europe. That went especially for those thickheaded priests and bishops who belonged to stricter groups. Not only would they look down on those who got in their way, but there were even some who would outright tell people cooperating with them that their very cooperation made them pathetic and detestable. “Not a hair on my head wishes to support the fools who are causing the old way, Catholicism, to rot—in fact, they are the ones to blame for it being called that. But hear me, Stiyl—we have a larger problem.” “And what’s that?” “We cannot contact Kaori Kanzaki.” Laura used only the minimum number of words, and Stiyl immediately knew what she meant. Kanzaki used to be the leader of Amakusa-Style Crossism. Though she was separate from them now, she still thought of herself as part of them. If she found out that her people were causing problems and making an enemy of Roman Orthodoxy, the world’s largest religion with more than two billion believers, what actions might she take? She was one of less than twenty known saints in the world, and her very existence would balance a scale with nuclear weaponry. The English Puritans had let go of her reins, and if she were to kill someone from Roman Orthodoxy on top of that, what would happen…? “With her personality, it is indeed quite possible that she would lend a hand without ceasing to think of the consequences. Were she of average or below average strength, that would be one thing. However, as this is Kanzaki we’re speaking of…” Laura heaved a sigh, unamused. “I would like to settle things afore Kanzaki has time to make a mistake. That is our top priority. I care not what method you select. You may retrieve the Book of the Law and Orsola, force Amakusa-Style to surrender by negotiation, or eliminate them along with Kanzaki by force.” “You’re telling me to fight Kanzaki?” “Verily, I am, depending on the situation,” replied Laura simply. “Our own personnel are scattered, and they prepare even now to make for the Roman Orthodox search party in Japan. But you will be with a separate unit, so I would like you to make contact with Academy City in advance of that.” Stiyl blew white cigarette smoke from his mouth as if to voice his doubts. Not regarding the part about him being in a separate team. The sorcerer Stiyl Magnus was never meant for team play. His personality was one reason, of course, but since he specialized in the usage of flame sorcery, going all-out meant nearby allies would run the risk of getting caught in the fire and smoke. His Witch-Hunter King, Innocentius, was partly unstable because its strength wildly fluctuated depending on how many cards Stiyl deployed, but it still boasted power enough to be true to its name. The sight of a 3,000-degree Celsius ball of flames dancing freely and easily burning through even iron walls to approach and attack an enemy must have been the very vision of a god of death to his opponents. After all, excluding a certain boy’s right hand, there was no possible way to halt its advance. His exploits could be summed up as “magnificent,” given how many sorcerers’ societies he had burned to the ground by himself. So that wasn’t the issue here. “This is our problem. Why do we need them for anything?” “The Index of Prohibited Books.” Laura spoke the name of a person…no, the name of a tool. “When grimoires appear, especially one as major as the Book of the Law, we require an expert’s assistance, do we not? I have already explained everything to them, so you may feel free to put your strength on full display. One condition, though—that you work with the management.” “…” “What say you? You do not seem very joyful at your first with that in a while.” “Not at all.” Stiyl bit back a few choice words and erased his expression. “…By management, you mean the destroyer of illusions, right?” “Just so. You may use him as you will. Oh, but pray do not kill him. We’re only borrowing him, after all.” “Should we be getting a citizen of Academy City involved in a conflict among sorcerers?” “As long as you make use of some tricks, everything will be fine. In either case, they will not let her go based on the conditions of our exchange. We don’t have the luxury of drawing out the negotiations.” “I…see.” He couldn’t quite grasp what either the leader of Academy City or Laura, walking next to him, was thinking. There were probably some dealings going on behind the scenes, though, so it wasn’t Stiyl’s place as an underling to say anything, but… “Also, Stiyl. Take this with you, if you would.” Laura took a necklace with a small cross on it out of the sleeve of her plain habit and casually tossed it to Stiyl. He caught the symbol of faith with one hand. “Is this a kind of Soul Arm? Though at first glance, it doesn’t seem to have anything like that inside.” “Think of it as a small gift for Orsola Aquinas. When you meet her, give it to her when you can.” He didn’t really know what she meant by it, but she didn’t seem to have any particular desire to explain in detail. She was basically saying, “It doesn’t matter, so be quiet and do your job.” The two of them stopped walking. In front of them stood a church—not so big you would think it was a cathedral, and about a ten-minute walk from one of the largest stations in London. St. George’s Cathedral. It was a sanctuary of darkness, a condensed version of the dark ages of witch-hunting and the Inquisition, where France’s legendary saint, Joan of Arc, was burned at the stake. Laura took a step in front of Stiyl and touched the heavy doorknob softly. “Now then…” She opened the heavy double doors and turned around, gesturing to the priest. She spoke in a clear voice now, without using the cards. “Why don’t we discuss the details within?” Word Count: (5078)