Chapter 4_ Shall the Battle End In Victory_1

They’d probably filled in the remaining height and width with something else to keep the Stab Sword looking rectangular. You could wrap it in cloth all you wanted; if the sword’s shape stuck out, everyone would pay attention to it. He knew using the Imagine Breaker’s power would destroy the sword. First he decided to unwrap the cloth. He needed to have visual confirmation that he had destroyed what was inside. “Urgh…! What is this? It’s really…hard.” It was camouflaged as professional packing, so the white cloth was wrapped very tightly around it. The knots looked complex and technical; he couldn’t begin to imagine how to undo them. It wasn’t made out of string, either, so he also couldn’t rip it apart with his hands. With no other option, he tugged on the fabric. After a little while, he could feel the wrapping start to loosen. Once the one part got loose, the entire white cloth lost its firmness. He began to peel off layer after layer. Whatever was inside, it was coming more and more into view with each removed layer. Now that I think of it, what does the Stab Sword even look like? he asked himself, removing the rest of the cloth. Inside, the Stab Sword— It wasn’t there. “Huh?” His hands froze after undoing the white cloth. The bandages were all off the mummy, and what was inside? A plain, long, slender signboard. A homemade one, like the kinds students would make and put up, its thin metal surface painted. This was probably for a student-run stall that would be open only for the Daihasei Festival. It read ICE CREAM STORE in cute, rounded letters. But…“What…what’s this?” Did this mean the signboard hadn’t been a disguise at all? Carrying in the Stab Sword without a disguise would have stood out too much in Academy City. Still, it would be difficult to fit something its size in a bag. That’s why Oriana dressed up as a painting worker, disguised the sword as a sign, and wrapped it in white cloth. That was a plan she contrived so she wouldn’t seem suspicious…wasn’t it? But if she was really just carrying a sign anyway…then all their assumptions were wrong. Where was the Stab Sword? Why did Oriana show up, then run away? The most basic premise Stiyl Magnus and Motoharu Tsuchimikado had been talking about—was it even right? And in the first place… Were they even trying to make a deal for the Stab Sword at all? “What’s going on here…?” Kamijou murmured in blank amazement. No one was around to give him the answer he wanted. Motoharu Tsuchimikado, a professional sorcerer, was still out cold. Oriana Thomson, who had set this up, was nowhere near here. Still, he said it again, in almost the same words. “What the hell is going on here…?!” INTERLUDE THREE 1 Oriana Thomson had been walking through the city. Now she was in a luggage center set up temporarily near a big-name department store. The unmanned coin lockers in the city were out of service, perhaps due to fear of terrorist bombings or the like. Instead, they were offering a service not unlike that of a hotel, where you could check your luggage and give it to an actual person. Oriana handed a plastic number ticket to the clerk behind the counter. The young female clerk looked like she was wondering why a painter would be using a luggage check-in service. Oriana smiled and told her she’d had to leave her valuables here—otherwise her wallet would have gotten covered in paint. The clerk seemed to understand that. Oriana took a handbag from her and left the luggage center. Inside was not a wallet—it was a change of clothes. Without her signboard, Oriana’s painter’s clothing stood out as odd. They were working clothes. If she took a lazy stroll around the city, she’d appear unnatural. On top of that, her second uniform button had come off in the earlier battle. She had the first and third ones buttoned, but she had a big chest to begin with, so you could see her skin through the crack. …I used a lot of different spells. I swear…I wanted to save plenty of them for later, too. Oriana had a generous, myriad array of spells, but the fact that she couldn’t use any of them more than once restricted her. She was always thinking ahead whenever she fought, always maintaining a healthy degree of stinginess. This time, though, she had used important ones—two during the battle and two during her flight. That had been unexpected. They were incredibly effective and made to her satisfaction, so never being able to use them again made her feel a pang of loneliness. That’s just how strong my enemies were, I suppose. Well, anyhow, I should rethink my options after I change. Oriana walked around, wondering where she should change her clothes. Her painter look still stood out a bit when she went inside buildings. I guess wherever is fine, she concluded offhandedly, entering a side road away from the flow of traffic. She wandered farther down, and when she got someplace where nobody was around, she dropped the handbag to the ground. She actually seemed to intend to change right there. Thinking she should get in a report while she changed, Oriana tore off a flash-card page with her mouth. She put a piece of tape on it and stuck it to the wall of the alley. The filthy wall suddenly lit up with horizontal orange letters. They were simultaneously translating and displaying the voice of her superior, Lidvia Lorenzetti, on the wall. Is this report urgent? I must say, using a different method of communication every single time makes it harder on me. “Hee-hee. This is my policy, you know. I don’t really want to break it.” Oriana’s voice would be transcribed into letters and displayed to Lidvia, too. As she spoke, she unbuttoned the front of her work uniform. With just that, the clothing bounced open like a spring. It didn’t fit her bust size in the first place. “In any case, I just wanted to report that the first phase has ended. A lot happened along the way, but I met all the necessary checkpoints, so I’d say there’s no need to worry! I walked around like a tourist, too.” Upon her release from the tight, restricting clothes, she gave a slight sigh of relief. Then, without hesitation, she threw off her shirt. She wasn’t wearing underwear, so she was already finished undressing her upper body. The old sentence vanished, a new line of characters flowing from left to right. “What might you mean by a lot happened?” “Hmm? Well…there was a lot. A boy punched me in the face, broke my button, and he almost saw my boobs. That’s about it. Actually, maybe he really did see them.” Another sentence. “…I may be a nun dedicated to poverty, chastity, and obedience, but you seem quite inattentive and indifferent.” This spell guarded against translation mistakes by reading both the person’s words and thoughts simultaneously; occasionally it translated the silence, as well. “Oh, was that an insult? In the Old Testament, Adam and Eve wandered the earth with just a leaf on their completely naked bodies, didn’t they? The thrill of exhibitionism on a world scale—compared to that, I don’t believe this was any big deal.” “…” Oriana put her hands on her pants, then realized she wasn’t getting a response. The wall displayed an extended period of quiet, and as it continued, she felt a trickle of sweat on her cheek. “Wait…what? Hello? Hello…? Oh, don’t sulk like that! I promise I won’t make fun of the Bible anymore, so don’t cry.” The displayed silence disappeared and an unusually short sentence came back. “I was doing nothing of the sort. What about your wounds?” “Oh, they aren’t much,” she said, taking off her shoes, loosening her belt, unzipping, and placing her hands on the waist of her pants, which already showed a little of her bottom. “Well…perhaps not? My cheek doesn’t feel swollen, but I do feel a little like I’ve been penetrated to my core…” She suddenly wavered to the side. She shook her head to wake herself back up, then took off her pants with both hands. She wore underwear, of course. Once she pulled each foot through a pants leg, she felt her balance swaying again. “Any threat to the plan?” “No, I don’t think so. Actually, I know so. You can leave everything to me.” Lidvia couldn’t see her, but Oriana forced a smile when she answered. She bent over, completely naked save for one piece of underwear, unzipped the bag at her feet, and rummaged around for her change of clothes. Her movements were oddly flexible; she could place both palms on the ground without bending her legs. “Hmm-hmm. I’ll be using my battle clothes now! If I do it right, though, getting rid of this working lady’s impression will make my job easier.” Which one should I choose? thought Oriana, fishing around in the handbag. The fabrics inside the open zipper were all gaudy pieces of clothing. Lidvia came back with a confused sentence. “You’re changing?” “I told you. Without that button, you could almost see my boobs—actually, you could definitely see them. I didn’t think it would be good to go on with broken clothes.” “…And why, again, are you so inattentive and indifferent?” Again with the attitude, thought Oriana, not bothering to respond to that. She removed a few candidate pieces of clothing from the bag. “Also, I forgot to pick up the sign when I ran away. I thought an empty-handed worker would look out of place.” “…Does that mean…?” “Yep, that’s right! They picked up the sign.” “…How…?” “They probably already know what’s inside—and that I was running around with a dummy.” “…” “Hm? What? Oh, it’ll be fine. Just because they know about the Stab Sword doesn’t mean the deal is going to be affected. One lost point won’t lose the game. And real battles aren’t like games. You can claw out a victory if you use the lost point to your benefit.” In just one piece of underwear, she took her shirt and pressed it to her chest, going through all the different combinations and levels of exposure. “I’ll do my job. I won’t let anyone interfere with this deal, and they can’t interfere anyway. Especially not if this deal will make all the parties involved happy.” That last part—she spoke it looking into the sky. The sky above Academy City was clear, blue, and almost criminally peaceful, with occasional blank fireworks popping across it. 2 “They got us.” After finishing her conversation with Aleister—the top of Academy City—and relaying orders to many departments, the English Puritan archbishop Laura Stuart sighed. A few hours had already passed in that time. In Japan it would be afternoon, but England was nearly nine hours off. Only a deep darkness, silence, and a chill creeping along the floor were in the air here at St. George’s Cathedral. A woman sat in a chair in front of a pulpit; she had golden locks twice as long as she was tall. Sighing, she brought her hands behind her head, then grabbed the roots of her ridiculously long hair and flicked them like a fishing pole. The ends of her hair rippled in large waves, flowing like a snake, before she grabbed them. She used one hand to attach a silver barrette to her hair, holding it in place. In a matter of moments her hairstyle had gone back to its normal two-fold shape. People got used to sequences of actions. It may seem sloppy when put that way, but it exuded a refined beauty. Especially the golden undulations glowing in the moonlight—it had transformed into a veritable light show, able to grant pleasure even from looking at it. Paul, one of the twelve apostles, had once forbidden women to have long hair, and he strongly encouraged sisters to cut it short or nestle it inside a hat. The reason was that long hair could tempt men and cause them to fall from grace. The logic would sound absurd in modern times…but her hair was lustrous, radiant enough to make one think it wasn’t so ridiculous. “Is that which is written in this truth?” Laura asked, scooping up the papers on her lap and waving them. There were about twenty pages, containing a report from the British Museum regarding the Stab Sword. The motion was careless, but there was a clear emotion in it. The emotion’s name was anger, and its temperature: ice-cold. A few moments after her muttered words, there came an answer. It was a middle-aged man’s voice. “I am sorry. You have left its administration to us for many years, yet we did not realize until just today that it was a mistaken exhibit…” “It matters not. Thou need not show fear, for I don’t mind it. My emotions are not aimed in your direction. In fact, allow me to thank you for coming at such an hour.” Farther in the darkened cathedral, near the entrance, Laura sensed the man feeling small, as though obliged. Perhaps, like her, he was implying by the way he stood that basking in the same moonlight as her was awe-inspiring in and of itself. The man was Charles Conder. He was at once an influential archaeologist and a preserver belonging to the British Museum. Unlike the investigators who romped about the world gathering at museums, he was entrusted with the supervision and repair of items inside those museums. Being a part of a division that strove to allow three-thousand-year-old-plus articles with rich histories to survive for the next millennium meant you needed to have world-class talent: both the mind of a scholar and the skills of an artist. Charles was approaching his late thirties, but others still saw him as a talented newcomer in this industry. He may have had the ability, but his experience was not yet acknowledged. No shortage of articles they handled were magical items…but the British Museum’s actual staff were no more than civilians with no connection to sorcery. Even the museum director was no exception. The English Puritan Church was asked for opinions on how to handle the display items from a theological, religious, and moral point of view, and so it had indirect control over them. The British Museum itself was incredibly famous throughout the world, yet it still hired from the general populace. It was a preventative measure; if the Church were to place a clearly suspicious occult division in their ranks, the truth behind magic would spread throughout the world in a heartbeat. Charles didn’t know that the English Puritan Church was conspiring secretly with magic, either. The report detailing his investigation said nothing about the item in question being in any way magical. The man didn’t have such respect for Laura because of the threat of her substantial magical power, but simply out of piety. “Now, Conder, if we might proceed down to our business, there is a thing I would ask you regarding…” “Yes, Archbishop?” came the answer from the dark. It wasn’t immediate—it was delivered after a silent beat. It was the sort of superb timing only those with an accurate read on the mood were capable of. “Mm.” Laura stared into the darkness before her, satisfied. “…Conder, you would not happenstance to be laughing to thyself at how I speak, yes?” “I’m sorry?” “That isn’t the reason you have thus hidden yourself within the dark like this?” “N-no, I would never…” “Then I must wondereth why thine voice is shaking, you simpleton! I swear—everyone and their mother berates me for my way of speaking! When, in fact, every bit of the mistakes is due to the one who taught me, Motoharu Tsuchimikado…” “Archbishop, I often hear rumors regarding your lack of control over the Japanese language.” “And so it is already passed throughout all of London?!” “Please, I beg you to calm down. We are speaking English right now. However poor your Japanese language skills may be, it has nothing to do with our current conversation.” “…” Laura cleared her throat. Charles Conder was trying to make the save of his life, but from her point of view, there was a slight severity to it—why was that? “Well…May I be broaching the main topic?” “Of course, Archbishop.” She collected herself and asked to proceed—Charles followed suit without skipping a beat. “As I mentioned in the report, the item in our museum’s possession is a replica of the Stab Sword. It could be speculated that the original never existed. This is something reported from time to time in archaeological fields, but this seems to be a case of intersection of legends.” “Intersection?” asked Laura slowly. The viewpoints of the British Museum’s archaeology were a valuable source of information—they weren’t coming from the English Puritan Church, which was completely committed to the occult. “Yes, Archbishop. Have you ever seen a report like that? Yes, for example…the Nazca geoglyphs or the Mo’ai heads on Easter Island. In our own nation, Stonehenge would apply as well. All throughout history we discover objects whose purpose for creation is unknown.” Charles bowed deeply in the darkness. “This may sound very odd, but the reasons for their creation are then retroactively created by others. Essentially, traditions and legends with insufficient grounds multiply and snowball. I believe the likenesses of the Holy Mother may be the easiest analogy.” “Hmm,” said Laura. Portraits of Mary were the representational “miracle item” in the veneration of Mary (which was substantially popular despite notices by the monotheistic Crossist Church to refrain from such acts). In the beginning, the legend was only that her portrait shed tears, but as time went by, all sorts of new anecdotal “legends” spread wildly, such as wounds healing upon touching it or evil spirits disappearing just by holding it up. It was beyond the scope of just Idol Theory, and regardless of its problems when it came to their faith, these stories were difficult to take as historical fact. “So thou meanest this. There was once an outlandish sword constructed of marble in Rome. However, the Roman Orthodox Church couldst not verify who made it and why. Instead, they began to make up their own self-centered reasons. Rumors spread, and left their marks in legend and literature.” “Yes, Archbishop. If you will allow me to report from an archaeologist’s point of view, however, I believe this may not have been an act of intentional malice. Other examples aside from the Stab Sword exist throughout the world, so I question the validity of blaming the Roman Orthodox Church one-sidedly.” Charles’s statement was understandable. The entire Crossist Church was analogous in the first place. The Bible was created when the Son of God’s disciples wrote down what He preached. Opinions then differed on how best to interpret the Bible, eventually culminating in the development of many religions, each in the understanding of the particular nation’s traditions and peoples. That led to the current state of the Crossist world. Catholicism, Protestantism, English Puritanism, Roman Orthodoxy, Russian Catholicism—all took the Bible as center to their faith. Despite languages differing among countries, there was no Bible whose contents were rearranged according to English Puritan principles, for example. Nevertheless, myriad ways of thinking sprang forth and the faith began to fracture. Historically speaking, this sort of situation wasn’t unusual…But perhaps the Roman Orthodox Church is intentionally using the legends of the Stab Sword to hide another truth. No, no—I suppose that is in the realm of simple fantasy. Laura shook her head. Whatever the case was, she now knew one thing for sure: The “Stab Sword” Soul Arm was a fictional story born of legends and never existed in the first place. She didn’t know what the marble sword had been created for, but either way, it didn’t have the ridiculous effect of causing certain death for all saints simply by aiming its tip at them. That would mean this deal about to proceed in Academy City was far less important. Laura’s shoulders drooped. She felt deflated. “So then, have you grasped the original legend of the so-worrisome marble blade?” “Yes, Archbishop. Because of the snowballing intersection of legends, we don’t have clear proof, but we believe this record to be the truth.” “Oh?” Laura cocked her head. This information was not in the documents. Initially, she thought offhandedly that the viewpoint of these “normal” archaeologists was fairly important, but… “The item in our possession is not a sword in the first place.” “What?” Laura frowned. She could see in the darkness the British Museum preserver holding up the replica Stab Sword. The white marble stood out strangely in the darkness. He turned it upside down. “It’s a cross. It appears to be an item natively called the Croce di Pietro.” “Pe…?!” Laura Stuart almost stopped breathing. “The Cross of Peter?!” “Pietro” was one of the twelve apostles and the Italian name of Peter. Even those unfamiliar with Crossism would have at least heard the name of St. Peter’s Basilica in the Vatican. It was the giant church at the very heart—literally and figuratively—of the world’s largest religion, Roman Orthodoxy. Not only was the Cross of Peter one of the ten strongest Soul Arms in all of Crossism, it was also deeply related to the history of the entire region of Rome and the Vatican. The Stab Sword could send all saints to their graves regardless of distance and obstruction with a single attack, but the Cross of Peter was so dangerous it paled in comparison. The British Museum’s preserver must have seemed mystified by the archbishop’s sudden cry. It was only natural—Charles was just an authority of archaeology and had no knowledge of magic. He obviously wouldn’t understand just how much destructive power was behind that name he spoke. Laura, however, was different. She was well acquainted with the worlds of sorcery and Crossism, and that’s exactly why she knew how serious the situation was. All thought of Charles was out of her mind, replaced by this new information. That is bad. If he is correct, the meaning of the word deal is fundamentally not the same. If they are indeed honestly attempting to carry out the “deal” with the Croce di Pietro in Academy City… The Croce di Pietro…Despite its existing from a historical standpoint, the Roman Orthodox Church had never once allowed it to be public. It was truly a legendary Soul Arm—the biggest in history that wasn’t directly related to the Son of God. If the documents regarding its effects held true… …then at the end of the “deal,” Academy City will crumble. No, mayhap even more than that, she said to herself, swallowing. And yet on her face was a magnificent smile… …as she thought about how best to overcome this dizzying situation and use it to her own advantage. 3 “The Croce di Pietro…or the Cross of Peter, in our language,” said Stiyl Magnus suddenly after receiving a report on his cell phone. “Heavens forbid. This is a mess.” They were sitting in an open café only a short distance from the automatic bus repair yard. Around ten tables were here, each with a parasol over it, and they had taken their seats at one. Touma Kamijou and Motoharu Tsuchimikado, finally recovered from Oriana’s fainting spell, filled the other chairs. There was nothing on the table. They weren’t waiting for their order or anything—nobody was really feeling like eating or drinking anything. “Hey, what’s the Cross of Peter? Does that mean a cross made out of a mysterious metal called Peter?” “Peter is a person’s name, fool. He was one of the twelve apostles, said to have been entrusted with the keys to Heaven from the Lord. That fable isn’t what’s important here—it’s a different legend.” “A different one?” pressed Kamijou. Tsuchimikado replied, still a little worn out. “Peter, he’s a real big shot…He owns the Papal States of the Vatican. Actually, strictly speaking, the Papal States were built on top of the vast lands where his remains are, nya.” “The Vatican…You mean that place they always say is the smallest country in the world?” Kamijou looked at him in confusion. Stiyl blew out cigarette smoke, annoyed. “The name Vatican City State was decided by the Lateran Treaty in 1929. Until then, the region was called the Papal States of Rome. Also, it wasn’t small to begin with. Its size has changed a lot throughout history, but at the height of its power, it covered forty-seven thousand square kilometers in central Italy around Rome. Italy was in a period of internal strife, like the Warring States period, so the Vatican steadily lost territory as the nation was unified, that’s all.” “Anyway, the problem is how the Roman Papal States were founded in the first place. Specifically what the Roman Orthodox Church did at first to the vast lands where Peter’s remains are.” “Huh?” grunted Kamijou stupidly. He figured to himself that everyone got together and cultivated the wastelands. “They built a grave—by burying Peter’s body and planting a cross there.” Kamijou was startled. That meant the Cross of Peter was the cross used to mark Peter’s grave. His face paled, but Tsuchimikado continued anyway. “Peter was laid to rest there, so the Church decided they should do their best to administer the remains so nobody would disturb his sleep. It apparently first began when Emperor Constantine offered and constructed a church right above where he was sleeping, but then the Renaissance came along, things ballooned, and they did a complete renovation. That’s where we got St. Peter’s Basilica, designed by Michelangelo. It’s the largest and most important church in the world—a sanctuary standing atop a dead man.” Peter died in the first century AD, St. Peter’s Basilica was completed in the fourth century, and the Frankish king offered the Roman Papal States in the eighth century. Despite the considerable gaps between them, the impetus was still the death of Peter and the moment they built the grave there. Still, even with the explanation, Kamijou had a hard time getting a grip on things. “Hmm…So, like, it’s a building to honor a great man, then?” “I wonder about that, nya! On the other hand, you could say the Church used the death of a saint to reinforce its authority by building a new church there.” Kamijou felt like that wasn’t quite protecting the slumber of the dead, but also not quite like making the remains inside the grave into a tourist attraction, either. “That’s…I can’t say I’d appreciate that. Would the Roman Orthodox Church really go that far?” “Huh? Oh, that stuff happens everywhere. There was an archbishop named Thomas Becket in England, too. The Royal Family Faction assassinated him in a certain church on December 29, 1170. And that church was the Canterbury Cathedral—basically the head church of English Puritanism.” Tsuchimikado paused for a moment, then smirked. “Until then, it was a cathedral in a place far away from London…but when the important man died, it got promoted right away to base of operations. The assassination of the archbishop Becket fanned flames of resentment toward the Royal Family Faction, and as a result, the faction was forced to acknowledge the Church’s right to autonomy. Now people even call it the birthplace of English Puritanism. The place a saint died has some pretty huge effects, Kammy.” Kamijou didn’t really understand much of it, but whatever the case may be, it seemed the value of a church rose just by having important people related to it. “…So Oriana wasn’t carrying the Stab Sword, she was carrying the Croce-whatever? Wouldn’t that be dangerous? Or does it have some kind of value, like rare artwork or something?” “Little of column A, little of column B. What we need to worry about, of course, is the former.” Stiyl bitterly puffed smoke. “Remember? The Roman Papal States started when they put up the Croce di Pietro on that vast land—more specifically, that vast space. The opposite applies, too.” “The opposite?” asked Kamijou. “Yeah. Wherever you put the Croce di Pietro, it’s placed completely under the control of the Roman Orthodox Church. Academy City is no exception to that.” “What?!” Kamijou was at a loss. Tsuchimikado continued in a bitter voice. “There was a quote about the Stab Sword being a ‘sword that could pierce even dragons and stitch them into the lands.’” He stopped breathing for a moment. “Dragons are giant beings with wings that would commit self-interested massacres to protect their own treasures. In other words, that’s referring to angels, the servants of God, and devils, those who have fallen to Hell, nya. Stitching the dragons into the lands could be code for remaking the land into a sanctuary so that they can have angels defend it…Those bastards.” Kamijou gasped. He had a lot of questions he needed to ask, but he couldn’t find the right words. “Wait, what?! What do you mean command? What exactly are they trying to do here?!” “The entire inside of the Vatican nation is basically a gigantic church, Kammy. The space inside it is weird. It warps the balance of fortune and misfortune in such a way that no matter what happens, it will always be for the Roman Orthodox Church’s benefit.” Kamijou would need more than that explanation to understand. Stiyl continued for him. “Practically speaking, the Vatican territory is brimming with oriented mana. With it, they make everything go the Roman Orthodox Church’s way. It’s rather like cheating at a roulette wheel in a casino using magnets. You ignore how the ball is supposed to move, and it will fall into the number you want.” Even with that, Kamijou didn’t get it. But he knew it was a spell that made things go someone’s way. “So like…Is it like that alchemist? How he made everything he was thinking into reality?” There was a man named Aureolus Isard. As a result of mastering alchemy, he devised a spell that would bring anything he was thinking into reality. Because of that, he eventually allowed his own doubts to crush him, but… “No, it’s not something as understanding of human will as Ars Magna. It purely leads the entire Roman Orthodox Church to what will benefit it, automatically. What do you think would happen if they raised it in Academy City?” “What would happen? Uhh…” Academy City would advance in a way that was convenient for the Roman Orthodox Church? He had only a vague image of this; he couldn’t envision anything concrete. For now he decided to say what came to mind. “Well…It would make things better for the Roman Orthodox Church, right? Then if a follower of the Church came to Academy City, they’d be really lucky?” “Well, yeah. If the Croce di Pietro does what the literature on it claims, then it wouldn’t mean only bad things would happen or anything. A Roman Orthodox follower who entered the city could keep getting huge winnings in gambles and somehow never lose, and even if a bomb blew up the building he was in, he’d make it out without a scratch. To an unnatural extent, you see. Also…” Stiyl curled his lips sardonically. “The Croce di Pietro would save those not of Roman Orthodoxy as well. If the Roman Orthodox follower kept winning in gambles, other people would lose, right? The Croce di Pietro creates a situation in which it was a good thing they lost. It would be the same for the bomb. Even if it wiped out the building, nobody would be fatally wounded. It would create a happy situation where everyone was happy nobody got hurt.” “?” Kamijou looked at him askance. If everything Stiyl said was right, then…“But wouldn’t that mean everyone would be happy? Is there even a problem with that?” “Yes—a huge one,” he spat. “Listen. If the Croce di Pietro was never set up in the first place, there wouldn’t have been people losing at that gambling, nor would there have been a bomb aiming for the Roman Orthodox follower. It may seem at first like it makes everyone happy, but the cross puts a clear burden on everything around it. In ways that might not be visible, too.” Tsuchimikado, his upper body now lying on the table in exhaustion, went on. “This kind of happiness swap-out comes up kind of a lot even in Crossist history, nya. Take Saint Martin. There’s a pretty funny story about him. There was one time he tried to destroy an ancient heretic shrine and uproot its sacred tree, nya. The heretic peasants didn’t want to be part of dumb old Crossism, so as their last act of resistance, they said this. If God is really protecting you, then we’ll cut down the sacred tree ourselves so it falls on you. If He’s really protecting you, you won’t die.” Tsuchimikado always acted flashy and superficial, so hearing him talk so easily about these Crossist legends was like seeing another side of him for Kamijou. “Saint Martin accepted, then made the sign of the cross as the sacred tree fell. And then, wow, it was amazing. The sacred tree suddenly started falling in the other direction, right to where the heretic peasants were waiting, almost hitting them. The peasants were moved—it really was a miracle from his Lord!—and converted to Crossism…but doesn’t that seem strange, nya? Saint Martin’s the one who used a strange power and made the sacred tree fall in their direction instead. I think he could have chosen a safer place to drop it, and why did he have to go and cut down a sacred tree, nya? They’re kind of important, right? And why were they thanking him…?” “At the moment, the sacred tree had fallen in the opposite direction, but it didn’t kill any of them. That was the charity shown to them by the Lord, and the peasants, who still had a chance to convert, all became happy. For better or worse, though, their history, traditions, and mental culture were wiped out.” Kamijou didn’t think that was right. He felt like that was giving happiness, but it didn’t come from something that happened—they were forced to be happy no matter what happened. Tsuchimikado peeled his face off the table. “This way of doing things is something psychology knows is effective, too, nya. First, you make demand A, which is absolutely impossible to meet. After they beg you and say they can’t do that, you make demand B, which was your original goal. It’s way more likely that people will listen to demand B after that than if you made it at the beginning. Like hey, compared to A, B is a breeze! How nice, right? It’s a specific process that weighs one evil against another, bringing down the relative value of happiness.” Stiyl continued, the cigarette in his lips wiggling up and down as he spoke. “The Croce di Pietro uses those psychological effects in its legends. No matter what happens, it ends up being good for the Roman Orthodox Church. Even the people nearby, to whom that very process presented unfair demands, accept it for some reason…A very comfortable sanctuary for the Church, no?” The sorcerers’ words settled slowly in Kamijou’s mind. It was all so much bigger than him, but with a little bit of time, he finally started to understand. “Wait, Stiyl. What are they trying to do, exactly, with this whole deal for the Croce di Pietro?” “If you were to split the world in two, you’d have a science faction and a magic faction. It’s balanced exactly half-and-half right now,” he answered simply. “But Academy City is the leader of that science side, right? If the entire place were to fall under the patronage of the Roman Orthodox Church, what do you think would happen to that world balance?” “Oh!” Kamijou figured it out. The science side already held half the world’s power. If some organization from the magic side was to control it, the magic side would then have the science side’s power, plus what they already had by themselves. That would add up to more than 50 percent of the world’s power. Afterward, all they’d need would be a majority decision to do whatever they wanted with the world. And more importantly…If that organization was the Roman Orthodox Church, the largest denomination of Crossism… “If you were attacked by both the science and magic side, then any organization or agency belonging to only one wouldn’t stand a chance. It would be like being punched in the chest and back at the same time. The world’s power balance would be completely focused into the Roman Orthodox Church.” The Roman Orthodox Church didn’t need to think about what exactly they needed to do to get Academy City under their control. If they stuck the Croce di Pietro in the city, the city would do everything for the Roman Orthodox Church’s benefit. And precisely what would happen? Would the Academy City General Board suddenly go to them and ask to be placed under their protection? Would the region fall into an economic crisis and come under Roman Orthodox rule in a sponsorship? Or would the entire city just be blown to smithereens, with the Church—rather than Japan’s government—in charge of reconstruction? He didn’t know what would happen, but no matter what it was, it would always be in the Roman Orthodox Church’s favor. At the same time, nobody in Academy City would be suspicious of how it turned out. No matter how unfair the demand and no matter how ridiculous the burden that was placed on them. They would create a world where everyone experiences only happiness. “Then this deal Oriana was talking about…” “Yeah. It’s not a trade of Soul Arms like the Stab Sword or the Croce di Pietro. It’s a deal to gain control of Academy City and the world—because they would be conveniently dominated by the Church.” Stiyl Magnus took a deep breath. The orange light at the end of his cigarette flared as he sucked in oxygen. “The smuggler, Oriana Thomson, and the sender, Lidvia Lorenzetti. No wonder we couldn’t find the other end of their deal—it didn’t involve anyone else. All that talk about the Russian Catholic Church being under suspicion was a load of crap. It was just something the Roman Orthodox Church was sending to themselves.” He paused for just a moment, then said this: “We will stop this deal. If we don’t, the world will come face-to-face with an even worse situation than if it had been destroyed.” Touma Kamijou and Motoharu Tsuchimikado both nodded. Kamijou didn’t know how much they could do with just the three of them. There was no proof they could even win against Oriana Thomson and Lidvia Lorenzetti supporting her. Nevertheless. If they pushed everything onto the people of Academy City for their convenience…If they were under the illusion that their Roman Orthodox Church could gain control of the world… Then he’d have to break that illusion with his own hand. 4 Touya and Shiina Kamijou walked through the city. It was past one in the afternoon. According to the schedule listed in the thick pamphlet, lunch break had started long ago. Still, some places seemed to have events going on even now. The sequencing of plans in this regard was one of the athletic meet–like facets of the Daihasei Festival. International events such as the Olympics and the World Cup would have had much stricter schedules. Touya rolled up his sleeves and lightly pulled on his worn dress shirt to smooth out the wrinkles, saying, “All right, then. It’s a bit late, but let’s go grab a spot for lunch, honey.” “Oh my. I agree.” Shiina adjusted her refined-looking wide-brimmed hat. “…I feel as though I haven’t seen Touma for a while. Was he really in that event?” “Well, with that many people going at it in every event, there will be times we can’t find him. We should just ask him about his heroic exploits when we meet him again. Anyhoo, let’s go find a seat!” Touya wasn’t looking for somewhere to eat lunch because he was particularly hungry or anything. One of the things that set the Daihasei Festival apart from regular school athletic meets was the concept of securing seats. Unlike normal meets, events would move from stadium to stadium. You didn’t just stay in one seat until the meet was finished. With children participating in multiple events, parents had to reserve spots in one place after the next. Lunch, of course, was no exception. The athletes and spectators alike would be chased out of their stadium after the event ended, so they needed to secure seats for eating lunch. Academy City was host to 2.3 million people, and all the spectators from outside drove up that number. Those used to the congestion of a normal school cafeteria wouldn’t find it hard to imagine what would happen if that many people all went to find food at once. Touya’s combed-back hair swayed to and fro as he looked around. “Though lunch break was supposed to start at noon, the event went longer than it should have, and we were late getting out. I feel like we’re a little late to the seat-grabbing battles.” “Oh my. We brought our own, so I don’t think it’s necessary to shop around for a spot,” said Shiina pleasantly, looking down at the wicker basket hanging from her arm. Touya frowned. “Honey, you’re selling yourself short. You made us these bento, so we should find the spot where they will taste the best. Touma would be happy about it, and so would I. I do hope you will find it in your heart to be happy about it, too.” “My, my, Touya…” Shiina smiled brightly and put a hand to her cheek. Touya loosened his tie with a hand and hurriedly turned his neck, looking for a place. He didn’t notice her smile. “…Hmm. Looks like all the shops and benches around here are already taken. We could search for somewhere more out of the way, but then we would have more trouble telling Touma where to— What’s that?” The rambling Touya suddenly spotted someone he knew past the crowd of people. It was the college-aged woman they met before the opening ceremony. Right now she was walking with another girl who looked like she was in middle school. She wore the fundamental tank top and shorts of a track-and-field uniform, and her brown hair reached down to her shoulders. Touya thought he remembered her being called Mikoto. They were discussing something loudly; they must have been friendly sisters. “Oh, Mikotooo! Are you offended Dad didn’t come? Even I had to jump through hoops at university to get them to accept my request for time off, so give him a break!” “…I don’t care. Anyway, he’s in London on work, right? It’d be way worse if he pushed himself and got here with a pale face.” “Right, yes! I bet Dad would love to hear you sound so disappointed about it. But Mikoto, you know, maybe Dad not being here was the right move after all!” “? Why?” “Because there’s a boy you like, isn’t there? If Dad heard about that, his reaction would be priceless!” “Pfft?!” The middle school girl suddenly sputtered. Then her face went bright red, and it took everything she had to look up at the college student, who was a head taller than her. “Whaa-wh-wh-what are you even talking about right now?!” “Huh? Was I wrooong? You don’t have trouble sleeping at night because you’re thinking about that boy with the spiky black hair and you start hugging your pillow without realizing it?” “N-no, I don’t! How did you even come to that conclusion?! Wait, why do you even know about that idiot?!” “Oh, now I’m curious! You sound so close to him, calling him that idiot! I want to know what you’ll make him do for the punishment game! See? It was a good thing Dad didn’t come! So spill it, Mikoto. ” “Punishment game…Who told you about that?! Would you stop wiggling your hips and answer me already?!” After seeing light blue sparks crackling from her bangs and shoulders, Touya once again felt impressed by Academy City. He never paid much attention to it, since his son, Touma, was a Level Zero, but this city was filled with espers like the kinds you’d see in movies and manga. “You know, there’s a night parade tonight after the events are over, Mikoto! What’ll you do? Oh, maybe you’re going to put on a little light show with your electric attacks, just for the two of you?!” “Pfft?! Y-you have no taste, you know that?! B-b-b-besides, what night parade? What does that have to do with me…?” For the two of them, supernatural abilities were a familiar thing. They wouldn’t be surprised over every little thing. Touya knew that sort of atmosphere was something you could get only from Academy City. Then, as he stood there dumbly, the college-aged girl and middle school girl appeared to notice him. The college-aged one’s face lit up. “Oh! Thank you very much for before! I was able to find Mikoto thanks to you…” Unlike her, the middle school girl frowned. “…Wait, who are these people? More people from work?” “Hee-hee!They’re the parents of the boy you like. Come on, Mikoto, make a good impression” “Be quiet! Shut up! I told you it’s not like that” shouted the middle school girl as if she was about to bite her. The college-aged girl completely ignored her. “By the way, have you eaten lunch yet? If not, would you like to eat with us? We were going to a small café, but it looks like you can bring your own bento there. That’s good, right, Mikoto?” “Hmm.” Touya mulled over the proposition. Bringing their lunch into an eatery…wouldn’t be something anyone could blame them for, given the lack of space at the festival. And, of course, Shiina’s bento would be much more delicious if they ate in a calm atmosphere with more people. In any case, it would certainly be better for the delicate woman if she didn’t have to walk very far across the sunbaked asphalt. So he replied, “That sounds good. We have one more coming, is that all right?” “It’s completely okay! In fact, that would be perfect! Right, Mikoto? ” The middle school girl looked up at the college student silently and angrily, her head tilted, light blue sparks crackling and popping all over. What a unique girl, thought Touya with a shake of his head. He turned back to Shiina. “If you’re all right with that, honey— Why are you making that face…?” Shiina looked immeasurably disappointed; her face could have gone on the 1,000- or 5,000-yen bill. Touya found himself taking a step back. She spoke, her voice clear yet her lips not moving. “You really are like this all the time, Touya. What would you like me to do? Would you like me to throw this entire basket of food at you? Oh my. Oh my, oh my, oh my. How terrible. Touma had nothing to do with this, and now he’ll have to go without lunch.” “Why are you mad?!” cried Touya, shuffling away instantly. He couldn’t say for sure that Shiina’s words were a joke. She was a noblewoman—whenever they fought about something, she would throw anything nearby at him, whether it was a glass plate or a DVD player. That’s why Touya had backed away from her. But that itself ended in disaster as someone else ran into him from behind. “Whoa S-sorry” He turned around and immediately put his head down in apology. The first thing he saw was a girl’s huge cleavage. They’d been so close that his apologetic bow came off as taking a peek at it. Touya sprang up twice as fast. “I-I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry! Ahhhh…Meanwhile, my wife is staring laser beams at my back…” It was probably an absolute mess behind him, but Touya didn’t have the guts to check. Instead he met the girl’s eyes again. “No, not at all. You aren’t hurt, are you? I apologize. I’m not very used to crowds like this.” It was a woman—with long blond hair tied into a complex, irregular style. It was a woman—with the fair skin and blue eyes of a Westerner. It was a woman—with a well-proportioned body brimming with sensuality. He heard a small metallic ring. There was a thin metal ring on her long index finger, about two centimeters across. On the ring was a bunch of thick, rectangular pieces of paper about the size of a stick of gum, looped through the ring by holes. It was a flash-card ring meant for memorization. She fiddled with them as though they were keys. “This nice older lady doesn’t mind at all, so don’t worry too much— Oh, but it looks like I’m the younger one here, aren’t I? Anyway, good-bye,” she said shortly, turning her back to Touya. She walked naturally into the crowd and eventually disappeared. Nobody noticed her gaudy appearance and stifling good looks. Touya looked after her for a few moments. “Oh my. Oh my, oh my, oh my. Touya? How am I going to wake you up from this? I do wonder if you’re weak to locks. Oh my, this will not do. Whatever shall I do? I may just accidentally turn you into one of the stars in the night sky.” “No…No, honey, you’re wrong, I certainly wasn’t fascinated by her face or her chest or hips or legs or anything like that, and what I mean is, well, I’m sorry for everything” Mikoto watched Touya as he cut into apologies halfway through and muttered to herself, “…Yeah, they’re related.” They, however, were unaware. Unaware of what was slowly happening in Academy City. Unaware of a boy familiar to them running around trying to stop it. Unaware… …of the danger that had stopped four millimeters from Touya’s nose. Nobody in this city was a safe bystander anymore. Everyone was surrounded by danger as the Daihasei Festival ramped up even further… …in both the scientific and the magical way. Word Count: (8789)