Elfitine stood in the vast expanse at the center of Blasphemers’ Garden. All of the underground tunnels led to where she stood. Most of the tunnels had been built for the transport of building materials, but a few led to terraces designed for overseeing construction work. Elfitine stood on such a terrace.
Reynard stood in front of her, gazing at the nearly complete main facility.
He called it a multi-layered, three-dimensional magic field; it spiderwebbed across the entire open area, which was three times the size of the assembly room. Countless pillars lay interlocked across the semi-spherical space in a bizarre, complex pattern. Like the tunnels—but with far more detailed planning and painstaking care—it had been carved out of the mass of rock using magic.
Dozens of oddly shaped structures of wood and metal stood in intervals across the space. They resembled giant beehives and were connected to the stone pillars with unglazed ceramic pipes and metal parts. Both the pillars and the structures were covered in mysterious carvings, which only made the whole scene seem more bizarre. Though shaped differently and on an entirely different scale, the facility bore a slight resemblance to the “booster” in Reynard’s room.
The structure, the pattern, and the arrangement were all supposed to have been chosen based on a dead science called magical engineering. Elfitine knew nothing of the details, and when she had asked Reynard how he had learned such an obscure science, he had just shaken his head in silence.
Elfitine swallowed. She had to remember that Reynard suffered from amnesia; he had no memories prior to twelve years ago. From beneath his mask, he often laughed in self-mockery that he had no idea who he was.
“Ten years, Elfitine. Finally… the day after tomorrow, we will put this into use.”
Elfitine looked up from the facility to Reynard’s familiar back. “Where… is everyone?” she asked.
“I ordered them to rest well in preparation. The only people you will see are the few guards on security or search duty.” He shifted his feet. “The activation of this magic field requires the cooperation of every islander. If we’re to fight as one, I need everyone rested.”
“So this is your secret weapon against the Mauserist church, huh?”
The sudden voice came from behind, and Elfitine nearly jumped. Reynard, however, just calmly turned toward the tunnel that led out onto the terrace.
In the faint light of the tunnel candles, a large figure emerged.
“Hello, Inquisitor.”
Elfitine took a step back. Reynard slid in front of her, blocking her from Berkens.
Berkens looked beyond them to the facility. “What is that thing?” he asked, a strangely unbothered curiosity to his voice. “I assumed you were mass producing swords and armor, but this looks like some kind of magic facility.”
“You are correct,” Reynard replied. “This is what we will use to collect the vast amount of mental capacity needed to activate long distance strategic level attack magic. Even though the islanders are not sorcerers, with eight hundred people, I will have enough capacity. Our souls will literally unite and we shall condemn the oppressors.”
Long distance strategic level attack magic. Hearing the words spoken made Elfitine shudder. It was magic rumored to have been developed approximately a decade earlier by the military of the Gyatt Empire, a country bordering the Kingdom of Linevan. However, either by coincidence or due to a leak in classified information, Linevan and two other countries were also successful in developing similar spells soon afterward. The activation of the spells required the mental capacity of more than a hundred sorcerers.
Until then, the spells had only been activated on two occasions: once, almost experimentally, the Gyatt Empire activated the spell within its own borders to subdue the rebellious lord of a remote region. The other incident took place in Linevan, when the spell was activated by accident during an attempt to improve on the spell formula. The two incidents involved different spells, and the level of their effects were said to be significantly different, but both spells lived up to the “strategic level” categorization by causing the deaths of tens of thousands. Due to their unexpectedly lethal force, the nations were cautious not to make light use of the strategic level spells. The Mauserist leadership convinced the possessing nations to enter into a treaty banning use of the spells.
Now, only military men of exceptionally high rank had access to the sealed documents outlining the spells in each of the possessing nations. Elfitine, not for the first time, wondered where Reynard had learned the magic.
“Then I’m going to guess that you’re planning to use that to attack Grendel.” Berkens sighed audibly. “You know, after all your talk about diplomacy, your biggest plan is nothing more than mass murder.”
“We’re giving prior warning,” Reynard retorted. “I already have emissaries on the way to deliver the message. Even without a single death, the destruction of Saint Grendel’s Cathedral—the most holy site of Mauserism— will deliver a tremendous blow to the Mauserist believers around the world.”
Berkens growled deep in his throat. “Without a single death?” he repeated darkly. “You know damn well that the Mauserist leadership won’t evacuate their holy city because a little nobody made a threat. Besides, it’s not even possible to evacuate the entire city in a few days—it has seven hundred thousand inhabitants.”
Berkens was right. Although not as large as the royal capitol of Sauer, the city of Grendel—the holy site of the Mauserist faith—was one of the largest cities in Linevan.
“If they don’t want to evacuate, that’s their choice. They have the freedom not to admit their errors and die for their stubbornness. But we will not hold back to spare the fools; our beliefs rest on many noble sacrifices, including—”
“People laugh when I say this,” Reynard interrupted, his voice low, “but it’s a sad thing when ideals are backed with the threat of violence.”
“We have no choice,” Berkens answered evenly. “Our words do not reach you, so we must pierce through your armor of self-righteousness. You’ve made the decision, not us.”
Berkens sighed. “You may be right about that,” he said quietly. He shrugged his shoulders, then looked up. “But tell me something. What will you do, once you’re well along your way in your own righteous mission, when somebody objects to your version of justice? You can be sure that critics will demand revisions to your brand of righteousness. A time will come when you’re the one being condemned. When that time comes, what will you do? Will your ears be open to the voices of disagreement?” Berkens snorted. “I’m sure they won’t.”
Elfitine opened her mouth to retort, but Berkens continued before she could speak.
“Once you use violence, or even the threat of it, to accomplish your goals, you’ll never be open to discussion. Someday you’ll realize that you’re doing the exact same thing the Mauserist Inquisitors did.”
“N-no!” Elfitine cried. “We won’t make those same mistakes, because we have Reynard’s teachings—”
“You don’t get it, do you?” Berkens shifted his glare from Reynard to Elfitine. “That’s your mistake right there! Any ideals you haven’t thought out for yourself are just borrowed ideas. Let me ask you something.” His gaze went cold. “What would you do if your precious Sir Ganvas suddenly said, ‘Sorry, I was wrong all along’?”
“But… that would never—”
“Happen? You really think so? That’s exactly what devout Mauserists say about their priests. They live each day according to the teachings, content in the fact that that’s the path to righteousness.”
Elfitine opened her mouth again, but no sound came out.
“I hate to say this, but I have to destroy this place and arrest you.” Berkens took a step forward. “I can’t let you destroy Grendel.”
“You’re welcome to try.” Reynard, as calm as ever, raised his right hand and began to cast.
“People of the flames, dance!”
Activated at high speed with a repeating spell, Muspell blasted toward Berkens. He easily dodged and lunged at Reynard.
Reynard pushed Elfitine aside. “Thou who stands on the battlefield, even on one leg, come swiftly out from the house of the warrior dead. Now is the twilight hour!”
Berkens didn’t bother to get out of the way; he just raised a fist, probably intending to level Reynard before the sorcerer could aim the spell. But half a moment later, Berkens stopped short and jerked back with wide eyes.
Pale, blue light clung to Reynard like translucent armor. The light was shaped like plate armor made of ice or glass, and lay as if attached directly to his body.
Berkens leapt back to gain some distance. “Not bad,” he muttered as he shifted his feet. “I’ve heard of that one, actually.”
“You thought I wouldn’t use any powerful attack spells for fear of harming the facility, didn’t you?” Reynard took a step, and the magic armor made a jangling sound as it moved with him. “You thought correctly.”
“Close combat attack magic Einherjar,” Berkens recited. “Originally developed as a supplementary combat spell for sorcerers. The field of light moves with you, but it converts the force of any incoming attack into light and sound to deflect it.” Berkens cracked his knuckles. “So now I can’t use regular weapons or attack magic on you, huh?”
“You’re quite knowledgeable,” Reynard remarked. “But I suppose I should expect that from a Mauserist Inquisitor.”
“I thought that spell was abandoned by the military during its development stages. It’s supposed to take more capacity than the average sorcerer has.”
“Does this look like a bluff to you?” Reynard suddenly lunged forward and struck with his fist.
Berkens was clearly far superior at close combat, as he shifted slightly to dodge Reynard’s punch. Missing its target, Reynard’s Einherjar fist crashed into one of the candleholders on the wall.