Tiat and Collon were gone.
After telling him they’d be sent on a special mission, they had abruptly departed to another island. No one had informed him of the particulars of their mission, but it was likely something bothersome anyway.
Will the mission go smoothly, or result in another stupidly destructive suicide attack?
Worrying about such possibilities as if they were normal filled him with a deep sense of discontent. In the end, all he could do was curse at the reckless faeries: Hurry up and finish so you can return.
In this manner, a few days passed.
On that day, the door to the faeries’ room was slightly ajar.
Not being very concerned about it, Feodor grasped the knob and pushed it open. What was beyond the door was, of course, scattered toys and graffiti. The usual condition of the room.
He had a small, unnerving sensation.
In that scene he should’ve grown accustomed to seeing, something important felt missing. Narrowing his eyes, Feodor looked around again. A picture book left open. Collapsed building blocks. A toppled ballman toy. It appeared that nothing was missing, but…
…No one’s here.
Of course, Tiat and Collon weren’t there, on account of their circumstances. Just the other day they had left the barracks on a special mission. He hadn’t been informed about the nature of the mission, and had his worries regarding whether or not they’d be in danger, but they were probably alright. Though they were by no means rookies, going up against the Beasts tended to make one apprehensive for multiple reasons. Still, any other situation wouldn’t put them in danger…or that’s what he wanted to believe.
As for Lakhesh and Pannibal, they were probably gone because of their scheduled joint training exercises. Those in the 5th Division with the ranks of first-class equivalent soldier had the duty of participating in a portion of the soldiers’ basic training, so their absence wasn’t irregular.
The problem was the remaining two. Apple and Marshmallow. It was at this juncture that Feodor noticed the room’s curtains were fluttering in the wind.
“…They didn’t?!” Feodor ran up to the window madly, looking down below from the third floor. No one. He surveyed the surrounding ground as best as he could, but even then didn’t see them. For the time being, he felt a brief sense of relief.
Finally, Feodor turned to check the entrance. A wooden box small enough to fit around an arm laid next to the door. The room being in a state of disarray was insufficient reason to explain why such an object, which was intended to hold clothes and be placed in the corner, had moved over to the doorway. What seemed plausible, on the other hand…yes, it was quite possible that a small child lacking in height might have moved it to that spot, using it as a step stool to reach the doorknob and turn it.
“Those brats!”
Feodor closed the window, locked the door, and flew from the room.
He had underestimated the children’s vigor and curiosity. If Apple and Marshmallow were left alone in that room, there was no guarantee at all that they would obediently stay put. Moreover, the building was a military facility, not a children’s playground. Aside from the various armaments kept under heavy guard, there were more boorish soldiers patrolling about than one could count. Who knew what would happen if a featureless child were to wander through such a place?
Where would those two be most likely to go? Feodor wondered while sprinting through the hallway. The roof stood out as one possibility. For one, leprechauns were unafraid of lethal danger, and for another, young children were creatures who were equipped with that sort of fearless tendency in the first place.
Those two factors are likely correlated with each other. Feodor was afraid he might’ve been unable to foresee Apple and Marshmallow’s fearlessness.
Horrible thoughts crossed his mind. He dispelled them with a shake of his head, and then his feet came to a stop. The other side of the courtyard was strangely noisy. In that direction was the martial arts training area.
“Uuu…woahhhhhh!”
“Whaah-hahahaaaaa!”
“…Huh?”
A bout of head-pounding dizziness assailed Feodor, and he placed his hands on a nearby wall just as it seemed like he might’ve collapsed on the spot.
Right now, it seemed to be break time. Over twenty soldiers of various races were scattered along the wall, same as he was, resting and recovering their strength.
His eyes were drawn to Private First Class Portrick, standing in a corner of the training area. The giant lycanthrope was almost like a small mountain, naturally drawing everybody’s eyes just by being present, but that wasn’t why Feodor looked at him now.
For Apple was there, clinging around Portrick’s neck. Likewise, Marshmallow was dangling from his shoulders. Portrick was gently swaying his body from side to side, and the two children being swung about laughed and cried out happily with every movement.
“Heya, Fourth Officer,” Portrick raised his head to meet Feodor’s eyes. “I was just thinking about grabbing someone to go and find you.”
“I’m so sorry, Portrick!” Coming to his senses, Feodor rushed over in a panic, rapidly putting his glasses back into position. “Hey, Apple, Marshmallow! You two, get off him!”
No matter how much he shouted, the two faeries didn’t listen. The pair turned their heads toward him, their lips affixed in a dual pout. “No!”
“Hey! You two!”
Portrick chuckled almost joyfully, his normally stern face relaxed. “No worries, Feodor. It looks like they’re fascinated by how my fur feels. Far as I’m concerned, that makes me happy. To have praiseworthy fur is a matter of pride for our race, after all.”
It didn’t appear to be a lie. “Is that…really how it is?”
“Oh, you didn’t know? I thought it was fairly common knowledge that us lycanthrope are really particular about grooming our fur, but…”
No, I’ve heard enough of that. Although he knew they loved their shiny coats, he had thought others touching it was something they detested. “Uh, you know they’re featureless children, right? Are you okay with that?”
“Eh? It’s a given that young children of all stripes gotta be treated with tender, loving care, ain’t it? Would you have problems with hugging kids from our race, Fourth Officer?”
The child…of a lycanthrope…In that moment, Feodor’s imagination dominated his mind.
Fluffy, soft fur. Round gemlike eyes. The children looking up at his face, aggressively wagging their tails. And then, as he stroked beneath their chins, they would peer at him contentedly. Not bad. Yeah, definitely not bad at all.
Fortunately, hiding his unrest was Feodor’s forte. “This and that are different stories,” he said coolly, not allowing his expression to change.
He looked around the training area. A few stares pointed their way quickly disappeared. “Well, this is to be expected. It’s not as if they’re welcomed by everybody.”
“Looks like they got the memo, though,” Portrick growled softly. “‘Featureless children must be protected within the premises.’”
Feodor had heard about the order too, of course. Still, it didn’t change the fact that a military installation was no children’s playground. Even if they were only a nuisance in the emotional sense, it wasn’t hard for him to imagine how Apple and Marshmallow’s presence would be unwelcome to many of the soldiers using the facility. “Well, since it’s clearly a mistake for them to be running around here, I really ought to be taking them back n— OW!”
Apple’s hands had shot out to yank on his hair as hard as she could. “H-hey, quit it! You’re going to rip off all my skin!”
“Hmph!” Apple said, sounding displeased. “Fwedo, your hair isn’t shiny!”
“What in the world are you going on about?”
“Potto’s hair is really shiny!”
“Gahahaha!” Portrick laughed wholeheartedly. So happy that your oh-so-glossy fur got praised, huh? Vast irritation shivered through Feodor. Why don’t I skin it off right now?
Some time later, after Apple and Marshmallow finally calmed down and fell asleep, all tuckered out from playing, Feodor and Portrick started walking back through the hallways to the faeries’ usual room.
“…I used to be part of the 3rd Division once,” Portrick said without preamble, carrying Marshmallow underneath one of his massive arms. “Our basic mission, as you know, was to be watchdogs and intimidators against Island No. 7—the Empire, I mean. We threatened our fellow citizens so they wouldn’t cause any messed up incidents.”
Feodor wasn’t sure why he’d suddenly started talking about it. He simply nodded and offered an empty platitude as he adjusted Apple’s position on his back. “It’s an important duty.”
“Every once in a while, once or twice a year, we got sent out with these odd missions that didn’t have any relation to the Empire.”
“I see…”
“We had arrangements to protect some cargo carried in from a nearby island until it was ready to be flown to some other island, see. Every time it was stored in steel cages in advance, so only a few higher-ups knew about the contents.”
“I see…”
“One of those times, I got the chance to see the contents of a cage, just once.”
“I see…”
“It was a featureless child.”
“I…” Feodor spluttered, choking halfway through his listless answer. “U-uh…what?”
“At first I thought it was a corpse, since it was kinda lacking in the whole living department, you know? But somehow, that wasn’t the case. It put its regular meal in its mouth using its hands, and it reacted a bit whenever I talked to it. Whether it was watching me or not…I don’t have a clue.”
“And then…?”
“Well, our superior officer at the time referred to them as the ‘Golden Children,’ and he told us to keep our mouths shut about its existence.”
“Keep our mouths shut.” Well, that makes sense.
Calling them “Golden Children” was quite the simplistic name, but the so-called cargo Portrick was talking about had without question been a leprechaun. As far as Feodor knew, only a handful of people within the Winged Guard knew of the leprechauns. Although they could ignite absurd amounts of venenum, without stabilizing the output, they were capable of igniting massive explosions if their venenum ran berserk. Those huge, fierce explosions might have even been capable of burning up the terrifying Timere.
Perhaps the steel cages were intended to guard them against accidental explosions, however unlikely they might be. No matter how he thought about it, it couldn’t have been anything but mere consolation, but he also couldn’t argue against it. When facing unfamiliar dangers, people couldn’t help but put themselves on guard. Sometimes mere consolation was necessary.
“…If you were told to keep your mouth shut, should you really be talking to me about this?”
“Probably not,” Portrick said, a calm look on his face as he uttered such outrageous words. “Though I’d like it for you to keep it a secret. That’s fine, right?”
The hell’s with that? Why are you only now asking me this, after that one-sided conversation?
“Don’t talk to anyone about it, huh.” Feodor rolled his eyes. “Portrick, if word got out about this, it’d be my ass getting fried as much as yours.”
The lycanthrope laughed carefreely, then seriousness returned to his eyes. “…I understand the weight of missions, I do. Stuff like right and wrong don’t exist in them. A mere soldier like me should never judge the morality of things. That’s why I didn’t do anything regarding that Golden Child on that mission either. I simply followed my orders when I carried the cage and transported the child to the airship. I shouldn’t regret what I did, nor should I feel guilty about it. But…”
He scratched his scarred cheek lightly. The arm holding Marshmallow sunk, as if having trouble supporting her weight.
“This…is just an old story. It has no relation to these girls who are here now. It’s just an old man talking about a memory he remembered for no reason.”
“I see.”
That’s how it probably should be. Feodor nodded to himself. Portrick knew nothing about Apple and Marshmallow’s origins. It needed to stay unknown, and was perhaps better off unknown.
Even if he did something for those two, it would never atone for the mysterious child he once hadn’t done anything for. Additionally, bearing a sin that had to be addressed was something a mere soldier would never be permitted to do.
Feodor’s feet stopped. They had arrived in front of the faeries’ room.
“Hey, you two, it’s about time you got off us.” He lightly shook the children’s backs, hearing a grumpy yawn in return.
“Is Lakhesh still not feeling well?”
That was the question Feodor posed to Pannibal while jogging along the gravel road, in the middle of his morning training schedule.
“Her fever came back,” the purple-haired girl replied, falling in with his pace as they ran, “so I threw her back into the medical ward earlier.”
“What, again? You don’t suppose…might she actually have something serious?”
“In the doctor’s opinion, not especially. His diagnosis has it that she simply ignited her venenum too much. It’ll heal with time.”
“Venenum? Lakhesh?” As far as Feodor knew, during the past half month Lakhesh hadn’t done anything requiring flashy uses of venenum.
“That’s what I thought too, but…” Pannibal shrugged. “In any case, she’s the one who’s compatible with and wields Seniorious.”
Seniorious. Among the dug weapons wielded by leprechauns, it was a terrifyingly mighty sword that towered high above the rest. An object once wielded by Tiat’s beloved, wonderful and attractive senior, Chtholly, and now passed down to Lakhesh Nyx Seniorious. An ultimate weapon.
“True to its status, the venenum that blade throws around is completely unbelievable. It wouldn’t be weird if the burden accumulated in her body without her being consciously aware.”
“What a revolting idea.”
“Ain’t that the truth.”
For a while only their quiet footsteps pierced the air, and then Feodor opened his mouth. “I wonder if Tiat and the others are doing all right.”
“Hm…” Pannibal became lost in thought momentarily. “There’s no need to worry, I’m sure. Despite how they might look, they’re both exceptional for the most part, you know? They wouldn’t slip up so soon into an ordinary mission.”
As their superior, Feodor did know that they were exceptional. He also knew very well the reality that made Pannibal use “for the most part.”
The two of them were earnest, had mastered the techniques learned from their daily training, and wielded the trump card named venenum. But he had the distinct impression that their actual combat experience was limited, and still carried doubts about their ability to handle critical situations.
And, more than anything…because of the leprechauns’ unique quirk of being unafraid of death—or so they claimed to be—the question of whether they might throw away their lives when it wasn’t called for was absolutely on his mind. At the very least, if he was right in front of them, he could slap them in the face and stop them there, but he couldn’t do that if they were somewhere else under a distant sky.
“Worried?”
“I’d hate it if they got into trouble and affected my evaluation,” he immediately replied.
Pannibal snorted, seeming deeply interested about something or other. “I see, I see. It’s true after all that lies are an imp’s forte,” she said, as if accepting a fact.
The conversation ended there, but Feodor felt a nagging feeling of discontent. What led her to that conclusion?
He had made an enemy of Apple and Marshmallow.
They waved around toy swords and attacked him, and he responded in kind with his own toy sword in a fierce exchange of clanging blows. In a few strokes, he allowed his weapon to be sent flying and took a toy sword to the stomach, utterly defeated. “You’ve…got…me…” Feodor pretended to give a bloodcurdling scream as he toppled over, the two children laughing and shrieking.
“…Heh. If we dueled, it’s only natural that my sword skills would come out on top.”
He pretended not to hear Pannibal as she rocked back and forth in the corner of the room, her arms wrapped around her knees.
A while later, Feodor staggered back to his own room and collapsed on his bed without bothering to change out of his clothes. “…Phew. Today was exhausting too…”
He was completely drained, body and soul. He didn’t want to ever get up again, but rather to close his eyes right there and drift into a deep sleep.
“You must be tired. Haven’t you gotten used to taking care of children yet?”
He thought she might’ve been making fun of him—though maybe she hadn’t intended to—but regardless, he replied to her in a somewhat sharp, sullen tone. “I have some experience in taking care of children. Sadly, I happen to be inexperienced in caring for wild beasts.”
“I would suppose children of that age are no different from wild beasts.”
“Hmph.” It was hard to argue with her.
Feodor could claim experience due to a certain child he’d been partnered with: his fiancée who was just slightly three years younger than him. They’d first met seven years ago, when Feodor was ten and she was seven. Although they were both children, if he were to compare that girl with Apple and Marshmallow, there was no doubt that she had been slightly older.
She was a difficult girl. Due to her family background, she was somewhat self-deprecatory—
No, Feodor corrected himself, she was modest to a fault. Perhaps that was why she acted so willfully around those whom she opened her heart to. In those days, although he’d constantly taken great pains to accommodate her willfulness, there had been happy moments as well.
“You should leave that talk aside for the time being, alright?” Feodor rolled his head to one side, looking up from his pillow to stare straight at his conversation partner. “Now, why are you in my room, Pannibal?”
“I came in after you.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Sure it isn’t,” she replied sarcastically, flopping down onto the windowside chair. “Maybe I feel like chatting with you sometimes, just the two of us. Riling up each other with boring talk, y’know? Isn’t it nice to act as if we’re almost friends?”
“Who’s friends with whom?”
“Oh, how cold. Weren’t you the one who stated it first?”
“What do you…?” Feodor couldn’t remember anything he’d said to that effect. Wait, no. I can’t say for sure. Maybe I did…?
“Oh, so that’s it,” Pannibal said with dawning realization. “I wondered why you never brought it up again after that night. Seems like you forgot all about it.”
…That night? What’s she talking about? Something in his head was hurting.
“Let’s see…you mentioned something about the dropping of Regule Aire, didn’t you?”
Feodor shot up from his bed as if he was a snapped rubber band.
He remembered. That day, that night. As if he’d been under the spell of the purple-haired faerie, the memory that had remained vague began returning to him in fragments.
That day, Feodor had caught a cold. It’d made his awareness hazy, and in that period of time where the borders of reality and dreams became foggy, he had definitely said those words to this girl.
“…How—”
“You want to ask me how much I’ve guessed? I’ll tell you my previous answer. I figured out you were digging into the Winged Guard’s internal documents. Also, you confessed to me about seeking out leprechauns as your trump card.”
What the hell was I thinking?! Damn you, Feodor of the past! As much as he wanted to reprimand himself, he couldn’t send his voice back in time. “…Wha—”
“You want to ask me what I’m plotting? I’ll still answer you the same as I did previously. I just want to know a little more about you. Should we view you as a dangerous enemy, treat you as a dear friend, or both? Well, at the moment, leaving that question unresolved isn’t a bad thing.”
Feodor opened and closed his mouth, gasping for breath. Words escaped him. He couldn’t quite understand what Pannibal was saying. Even if he knew what her words meant, he couldn’t read her thoughts, nor did he have any confidence in his ability to establish communication with her.
After a brief period of silence, Pannibal snorted slightly. “Staring at each other isn’t bad, but it feels like if we keep this up the term ‘friends’ won’t suit us. So then, what to do now…?”
She contemplated for a few seconds, then her face lit up like she’d solved something. “I know. Sorry for asking when you’re tired, but could you come and hang out with me for a bit?” She stood from her chair and headed to the door.
“Hang out, doing what?”
“It’s still too early for you to be napping. Shouldn’t you be moving your body a bit more?”
Pannibal and Feodor knelt down besides Apple and Marshmallow, borrowing their toy swords as the girls snored on obliviously. Still concealing the sound of their footsteps, they moved to a fairly open spot at the back of the barracks.
“Right, then. This will be a one-round bout. First one to strike their opponent’s body with their sword wins.”
“…No, wait, what are you saying all of a sudden?” Feodor looked quickly around the area.
There wasn’t any sign of anyone at the moment, but it wasn’t guaranteed nobody would show up later. “Private duels are forbidden, and right now we can’t even get permission for a mock battle.”
“It’s not a big deal. We’re just two people playing with toys, getting along and having fun. If we made a special appeal, we’d be laughed at.” She tossed him one of the swords, which he grudgingly caught. “There’s a lot both of us want to ask, but the problem is that we can’t simply disclose our secrets to each other… That being the case, something like this isn’t so bad, is it?”
Having said that, Pannibal changed her stance. Standing up straight from the top of her head to the tips of her toes, she balanced her center of gravity and grasped her sword with both hands in a wavelike motion. There was an awkward appearance to it, perhaps because her sword was an overwhelmingly light toy instead of a real weapon. However, her stance was undeniably that of a practiced sword wielder.
“If you win, you’ll tell me what I want to know. On the other hand, if I win, I’ll tell you what you want to know. How do these conditions sound?”
“Got it.” Feodor lightly gripped part of the blade’s hilt—made with hard cotton—as he reviewed the conditions she offered. “Compared to staring each other down, this is more direct. But wait, if those are the conditions, then isn’t it too favorable for a sword master like you? After all, if you win, you have to answer my questions…”
Suddenly he was hit by a disturbing sensation. “Huh? If you win, you’ll answer, and if I win, I answer?”
Pannibal’s only reply was a small chuckle.
“Isn’t it the wrong way around? It’s unfavorable to the one who wins.”
“If that’s what you think, you better lose humbly. Not hard, right?”
“No, wait, then it’s not a match—”
“Didn’t you hear me?” Her smile transformed into a smirk as she interrupted his protest. It was the same look she always wore when saying something incomprehensible. “We’re just playing and having fun. It’ll be boring if you get hung up over small details.”
“…What logic is that?”
After giving it thought, Feodor raised his sword. As far as proper swordplay went, he had learned a thing or two about it. He couldn’t call it his specialty, but he was familiar enough with it that he could use it to hide his true sword-fighting style. Deciding that to be his first course of action, Feodor planned to cooperate in order to grasp the situation. While being careful not to win or lose, he would probe into the mind of the one who’d challenged him to this game—no, farcical match—and ascertain her true intentions.
“Fine. I’ll play along with you.”
“I thought you’d say that.”
There wasn’t a signal to start; it was unnecessary. Pannibal almost seemed to glide over the ground as she closed in on him and her raised sword immediately swung down. It was an exemplary strike, with clearly defined movements perfected enough to be used in a textbook for traditional sword-fighting.
Which was why it was easy to predict. An exemplary attack could be answered by an exemplary defense. His sword repelled hers with a dull clanging noise.
“Hmph…”
Ignoring Pannibal’s oddly accepting nod, Feodor flipped his hand and struck out with the blade. Again, textbook movements. A righteous yet elegant reversal. Ceding the initiative to him, the girl focused on her handle and made a half-rotation, taking his sweeping stroke on the back of her blade. “You’re not half bad.”
Feodor smirked without intending to. As it turned out, Pannibal was weak when it came to lies and compliments. Her compliments were easily seen through as mere talk, while the regular clash of their blades revealed the dissatisfaction she felt.
If that’s so, maybe I should up the ante a little. Something like an urge to tease her gushed up from Feodor’s heart and, entrusting his body to that impulse, he shifted the position of his fingers on the hilt ever so slightly.
“Wha…?!” Confusion entered Pannibal’s expression as her guard reflexively shifted back her center of gravity. Having moved back half a step, she inevitably went slightly off-balance.
Feodor put more power behind his still-locked sword. He had never been known for his body mass nor for having a large build, but—while he dared not mention her weight—Pannibal was even smaller than him. What’s more, she hadn’t ignited her venenum, so her strength was probably approximately equal to his own. Naturally, that meant Feodor would be the victor if it came down to a pure contest of strength.
The toy sword, which he couldn’t ever say was a fine piece of work, swerved away with a recognizable noise. “I see,” Pannibal mumbled softly, relaxing her stance and loosening the grip on her sword. Feodor’s body stumbled forward and, tracing a trajectory more breezy than rough, her sword shot forward towards his chest.
So it’s come to this? Feodor didn’t have the time to slip in any frivolous chatter. It’ll be dangerous to parry with one hand, he judged swiftly as he grabbed his sword’s blade and blocked the oncoming attack head-on.
If he had been holding a real sword, his fingers would obviously have been cut badly by grabbing the blade. Had this been a mock battle with presumably real swords, his tactics would be ruled as an instant defeat and he would have nobody to blame but himself.
However, they were playing a game using toy swords, and there was no real blade on one. Because of that, no one could disqualify him no matter how he held the sword. Besides, the victory condition for the match was “the one who hits the other’s body first is the winner.” In that case, whatever way he chose to hold his sword wouldn’t lead to his defeat.
“Phew.” Feodor relaxed with a sigh. Crouching his body, he lightly swung his sword to pin down Pannibal’s attacks, at the same time slipping an arm behind his back to hide the movements of his fingers.
“Hmm?” Her gaze followed his arm with seeming interest. The strike he sent at that chink in her armor missed, almost brushing her bangs as she narrowly dodged. Nearly.
Pannibal’s eyes shone with excitement. She’s formidable, Feodor confirmed again. He’d known that since before starting, but Pannibal’s reflexes and guarding capabilities were far out of his league. On top of that, his method of fighting with trickery and deception was essentially useless against this kind of opponent; no matter how many feints he set up, it’d be pointless if she saw through and avoided all of them.
In order to catch their breath, the two of them made some distance between each other at the same time.
“Give up yet?” Pannibal asked him, smoothing out her bangs.
She’s got to be dripping with sweat by now, Feodor thought. “You’re joking, right? Aren’t you the one nearing your limits?”
“Now that’s a bad joke.”
“Mwa-ha-ha-ha-ha!” Feodor laughed melodramatically. “It feels good to be forced to use my full power. After all, I wouldn’t want such a significant battle to end in such a boring fashion!”
“You sure do love to play the drama queen.”
Although he could understand how she felt, he didn’t entirely want to play along with her either. Feodor bent his knees and dropped his stance. Hiding his sword behind his back, he showed Pannibal his open right hand with fingers spread wide.
“…Wow, that’s pretty creative. What sort of stance is that?”
“Oh, this? Probably something like one of those things,” Feodor said vaguely. “An art of swordplay that’s obscure even among secret arts, said to be secretly invented by a legendary master swordsman deep in the mountains of a remote floating island, or something.”
“Oho?” Pannibal seemed impressed with his sloppy, haphazard speech. “I’ll look forward to witnessing it then.”
Come on. It’s all made up!
“Now then, it’d be rude if I didn’t respond with a secret technique of my own, wouldn’t it?”
Oh, for the love of…
Completely disregarding any suspicions Feodor was beginning to have, Pannibal tightened both of her hands around her sword’s handle. She raised the tip straight up in front of herself, then settled into her stance with her blade above her head, ready to cleave downward
…What sort of stance is that? Feodor’s confusion grew. Pannibal’s stance was full of holes.
Since she had raised her sword so defenselessly, she would have no way to guard if he went for her torso. Also, because Pannibal had raised her center of gravity along with her sword, her balance would easily crumble if he targeted her feet. No matter how he looked at her, she had the stance of a complete amateur.
“You look rather wobbly,” he said. “Is that really a secret technique?”
Pannibal laughed fiendishly. “Don’t look down on me. This is without a doubt the secret sword technique that outstrips all other secret techniques, which can topple any opponent in one move.”
Feodor narrowed his eyes. Despite the oddities of her statement, he couldn’t sense any attempt at muddying the waters that would give away a lie. That meant the real threat, as she said, laid hidden in that absurd stance.
“Now that would be scary,” he mumbled as he dropped his stance a little more. Though it was supposed to be some obscure technique, judging by her stance her attack would doubtless approach him from above. Besides, her weapon was just a toy, so it shouldn’t be unnecessarily fast or powerful. As long as he remained aware of those facts, it shouldn’t be too difficult to deal with.
“Hi-yaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahh!” Pannibal leapt at him, an idiotic yell spilling from her mouth. Her movements were sloppy and her center of gravity was a mess, leaving her full of openings. Nor did she move at any considerable speed, allowing Feodor to dodge or sneak in an opportunistic stab all too easily.
What, that’s it? Feodor stared at his assailant, sixty percent cautious and forty percent disappointed, and then he noticed it.
Her center of gravity was blurring, and her body was being swung around by the arm holding her sword. It was because she’d leapt at him in such a state that her stance was falling apart.
If he were to dodge her charge, then she’d certainly fall over, perhaps rolling along the ground once or twice with her remaining momentum. Her entire body might be scratched up and cut, not to mention the serious injuries she could get…particularly if, for instance, she were to fly into the bushes right behind Feodor.
“What th—the hell!”
There wasn’t a choice. His body moved as if on reflex.
Throwing away his sword, Feodor reached out for the incoming girl with both arms. As he slid directly into the arc of her weapon, he caught her entire body as if to hold her in an embrace.
Except he hadn’t at all. The physical strength of an imp, whose forte wasn’t manual labor, couldn’t support the weight of a girl pushed forward by momentum.
Feodor fell over backwards, his back slamming heavily against the ground.
“And that’s the match.”
Tap. He felt a gentle smack on his forehead. Straddled on his stomach, his opponent snorted triumphantly.
“How is this possible…?”
“I can only use this technique when dealing with someone abysmally kind. I’ve now taken down an opponent this way twice.”
“Oh, so that’s it. I guess there was only one victim before me.”
“Naturally, there aren’t many chances to cross swords with an abysmally kind person.”
He couldn’t accept it. Still collapsed onto the ground, a resentful Feodor looked at her.
“The first time this sort of thing happened, I didn’t really do it on purpose either, you know? I charged at that guy with a sword in my hands from the edge of that swamp, and he willingly extended his arms to cushion my fall… It wasn’t until later that I found out how outrageously skilled he was, so there really wasn’t any reason for little ol’ me to have scored a direct hit, was there?”
“Oh, so that’s it. I see, I see.”
Of course, he didn’t intend to criticize Pannibal for her despicable sneak attack. Rather, he had to blame his natural imp traits for that, given that trickery and deception were an imp’s forte. It was frustrating—not to mention pathetic—to so thoroughly fall victim to his own tricks.
“Anyway, it was actually a fun match,” Pannibal said cheerfully, rolling off to rest next to him.
“…Your clothes will get dirty.”
“Oh? That happens a lot,” she said softly, raising one of her hands up high. It was like she was trying to touch the stars. “But you know, one match is better than a hundred conversations in your case, Feodor. I’ve more or less gotten your measure.”
“What are you going on about now?”
“At first, you only used finely-honed regular sword techniques. You came at me without showing off any unique quirks, talking to me as you tried to figure out my personality and goals.”
Feodor didn’t say anything in response.
“But then it became kind of a pain, didn’t it? So when you saw the extent of what I had to offer, you changed tack and began using your own techniques. You’re the kind of guy who goes all-in when you don’t have anything else to gain, aren’t you?”
Again, no response.
“On first glance your swordplay seems devious and underhanded, but that’s not actually the case, is it? Although you weave fancy webs of feints, your actual attacks are typical and honest to a fault. You always try to settle the match using a frontal assault, probably since you’re self-conscious about your lack of strength. You take all these twists and turns to reach the final step, yet still choose the most honest way to end the match. Besides that, your approach lacks conviction, maybe because you reserve energy for thinking ahead while you charge forward. That’s probably why you’re so cautious—”
Feodor hit his breaking point. “Alright, I get it! You’ve seen through everything, so cut it out already!”
Her words were so thoroughly true that he couldn’t keep up a neutral expression. Not just regarding the parts of himself Feodor was aware of, but perhaps even parts he didn’t know about.
“Duels are nice after all, aren’t they?” Pannibal grinned. “Rather than having a hundred conversations, it’s much easier to understand one another using swords.”
He groaned weakly. “I’d like you to consider how lopsided the understanding is here…”
“Anyway, that’s how it is. The loser of that battle just now has already had many things revealed about them. Therefore, as the winner, it’s only fair that I answer your questions. What would you like to ask me?”
That’s right, those were the stakes we discussed. She couldn’t ask any questions, and Feodor had plenty to ask her. In other words, this was a development in his favor.
“…Ugh, this is so irritating…”
“Then come challenge me again when you’ve gotten stronger. I won’t be able to wait for too long, so you’d better hurry up.”
“Still, I can’t accept it after all…” Feodor moaned, still looking up at the sky. “How you girls are…the Winged Guard’s secret weapons.”
“That’s right. We are.”
“Using venenum, a force that acts as an opposite of your life force, and combining it with the condition of your limited vitality, you leprechauns are able to ignite power unimaginable to other races. If you burn up all of your life force in one go, you can make that unbelievable power explode even further.”
“Right.”
“Then this is my question: Why do you go to such lengths to expend yourselves for the Winged Guard? Don’t you have any desire to continue living?”
“Hmph, as expected of you. You sure do ask some harsh questions.”
He felt her move closer, until their warm bodies were huddled together.
“Up until Chtholly’s generation five years ago, we had to, otherwise Regule Aire would be destroyed…I guess. Timere would ride the wind up and multiply if left alone. Weapons besides us were ineffective against them. That’s why we had to immediately annihilate any Timere that reached the islands.”
“That’s…”
The reason military weapons aside from the leprechauns were ineffective against Timere was because the Winged Guard had monopolized the development and ownership of anti-Beast weapons. Pretending to be guardians, they closed everyone’s eyes to the truth. By keeping people away from the battlefield, they stole their ability to fight.
Doing so was wrong—at least, that had been the belief of the former Elpis Collective. It was a view shared by Feodor’s brother-in-law, a marshal in the Elpis Air Defense Force.
“…Something wrong?”
“No, it’s nothing.”
Elpis and his brother-in-law had been mistaken in their methods. That was why they became covered in the worst stigmas imaginable and were destroyed.
However, Feodor didn’t think Elpis’ judgment or his brother-in-law’s beliefs were incorrect. The people had been too protected. Too soft. As a result, they were no longer worth protecting. Even now, he believed that bizarre logic was absolutely correct.
The girl before his eyes now was the main cause of their overprotection, along with her race.
As he thought about it, somewhat complex emotions naturally began welling up in him.
“You said that was the case five years ago. Does that mean your situation changed after then?”
“Yes. After Timere disappeared from the skies, we lost our raison d’etre as military weapons. Some bigshots in the Winged Guard started going on about how we troublesome beings ought to be let go while the time was ripe. Or, well, the majority of them shared that opinion.”
“Then—”
“If we left the Winged Guard, we would’ve been sold to the merchants of Elpis.”
That was the first he’d heard of it. “…What?”
“You should know that we were originally considered dangerous goods, right? The Winged Guard kept us in their possession because we were useful. Just because the threat was gone didn’t mean we could simply be released. Chopping off all our necks in one go was the best way to ensure Regule Aire’s safety.
“But then this merchant came along with his fat stacks of cash, and he said they could hand us over to him if they didn’t need us anymore. The Winged Guard’s generals went along with him.”
“That merchant…”
“I don’t know his name, but he seemed to be planning to burn us in a furnace as the power source for one of their giant weapons. It wouldn’t be a stretch to say that we were treated like incinerable trash.” Pannibal laughed. “But then the Elpis Incident occurred.”
“…Ah.” I see.
Of course, Feodor knew about the incident. He might even be a little more informed about it than the general public.
The Elpis Collective was once a commercial nation, where merchants held the strongest and most influential voices in state affairs. A few such merchants had distorted the plan to “make everyone remember the threat of the Beasts for Regule Aire’s safety,” a plan Feodor’s brother-in-law once shaped. It caused unnecessary damage, threatened a large city along with all its inhabitants, and the ideal they stood for came to be called terrorism.
“I’m not aware of what weapons Elpis had at the time, but they were ineffective in dealing with the disaster at Collina di Luce.”
Right. Feodor also didn’t know what the merchants had prepared. All he knew was that they were supposedly powerful weapons, but had been unexpectedly destroyed by a sudden encounter with a Beast.
“The ones who repelled them were the older faeries…and Tiat, who was already a soldier at the time. Lakhesh as well, who’d just become one.”
“…This story happened five years ago?”
“At the time Tiat was ten and Lakhesh was nine. Those two came of age early.”
He felt speechless. “Because of this,” Pannibal continued, “we reclaimed our position as the ultimate weapons against possible Beast threats, just in case anything like Collina di Luce happened again. As long as we have that position, we can keep on having a place with the Winged Guard. That’s the gist of it.”
“That’s…” The inside of Feodor’s mouth was dry. “That’s not the right answer. I wanted to ask why you bunch kept on expending yourselves for the Winged Guard, not how you found a place to call home.”
“Hmm? Oh, you’re right. My bad, I changed the subject.” Pannibal’s voice never left its calm tone.
“Faeries are the souls of young children. Even our artificial bodies are that of a small child. As we grow older and lose our youth, our bodies begin to destabilize. Using Tiat and Lakhesh as examples, whatever life force their physical bodies held had been long spent by the time they reached ten.”
“However, the Winged Guard has technology capable of delaying that collapse. Faeries who rely on it can live somewhat longer, and inch closer to becoming adults. It’s then, during the short time when we’re on the border between childhood and adulthood, that we can stand on the battlefield as mature faerie soldiers. So, as I said…”
“That’s…” His voice couldn’t quite come out. “Do you need to take regular treatments? Is it that sort of thing?”
“No, one’s enough. One older faerie took it twice, but it’s usually unnecessary.”
“If that’s so, then those of you who’ve already become adults can probably survive by yourselves. You just need to escape, and then you’d be able to live by your own means and find some secret place somewhere to settle down. That’s what you should be doing.”
“…Heh.” Something warm touched his hand. “You’re a terrible liar, you know.”
“What…?”
“You yourself don’t believe your own words, do you? Aren’t you already aware of the replies I’m giving, right down to the reasons I’d use to reject your opinion?”
Pannibal’s fingers lightly grabbed onto his own. “We, all of us, love our family. I want to create a home for the younger faeries and protect them, as our seniors did before me. To do that, I need to stick around and put myself on display as a weapon for the Winged Guard. If it’s necessary, it’s worth doing.” Her grip was firm. “That’s all there is to it.”
“…There’s not many things you’d find to be more valuable than your own life.”
Those were the words of his brother-in-law. He had said something like that, found something more valuable than his own life, and truly threw it away for that thing.
“…Tiat says she wants to be like our big sister. Even now, she still does.”
Those…were the words of criticism that had been leveled at Tiat. By staking her life, she tried to chase after the back of the person she admired. She had truly wanted to throw her life away.
She wanted to be like Chtholly. Did that mean she similarly wanted to clear a path for the young faeries whose place she used to be in? Her little sisters on Island No. 68? Did she consider her fleetingly short-lived family more valuable than her own life?
Feodor had dismissed her resolve as a dramatic suicide. What feelings did she hold when she accepted that criticism?
“I—”
“Whoops, seems like I’ve said too much.”
The warmth left his fingers, and Pannibal rose up. “I should be getting back now. What’re you gonna do?”
“…I haven’t said anything yet. About my identity, or my goals…”
“Ah, can’t be helped. I won our earlier match. It’s a winner’s privilege to be talkative and a loser’s obligation to be quiet. Don’t you think it’s weird for the side who got cut by a sword to be chattering away endlessly?”
No, your logic is stranger.
“Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone about this. You might be dangerous, but you’re also my dear friend.”
Saying that, Pannibal started to take her leave.
“Regule Aire is too vast,” Feodor called out after her back.
Her footsteps stopped.
“The floating islands number over a hundred. That’s too many. If there’s this many of them, the ideology of the people living on each one will be divided like so many grains of loose sand. They’ll forget who’s protecting them and remain ignorant about how many sacrifices are made for their sake. It’ll become a society where everyone lives without a care in the world.”
He took in a breath. “That’s why…I want to cull the floating islands.”
“What you’re saying…ought to be the privilege of the victor.”
“I will drop a majority of the islands of Regule Aire. To do that, I want you and the others to lend me your power.”
“…Just as I thought, you’re thinking about something twisted.” Pannibal sighed as if he disgusted her. “I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that. If you want an answer from me, you’ll have to find another chance.”
She started walking again. Still lying on his back, Feodor listened to the small sounds of her footsteps growing fainter.
Above him was a whole starry sky, studded with enough gleaming points of light that he felt like squinting.
He drew in a breath, then sighed. It was a strange sensation, like the inside of his head was becoming numb. There was a lot he had to think about, but his thoughts weren’t assembling well.
“I guess…I should be heading back too.”
He sluggishly raised his upper body. Just as he was about to stand and walk away, he suddenly realized something: rolling against his feet were two toy swords.
They had been sturdily-built products, but evidently it wasn’t enough to withstand his fight with Pannibal. Both swords had snapped and broken straight through the middle.
“…Oh.”
Apple’s crying face floated up into his mind.