Berkens shook his head. “When it came down to it, I couldn’t become just like everyone else. I couldn’t give up who I was. I couldn’t say goodbye to Berkens Tanhoglio and become a life form that ‘surpassed humans through faith.’”
“You’re definitely unique,” Shannon said without sarcasm. “I’ll admit to that.”
“I used to hate being unique, Shannon. I mean, look at me.” Berkens swept an arm over his huge frame and intimidating face. “Everyone was too afraid to come near me. If I tried to be friendly, they thought I was creepy. Even my own parents were afraid of me getting angry.” Berkens sighed. “I had no idea what to do. When I turned twenty, I left home and joined the church of Mauser. I figured the Mauserist church was compassionate enough to give me a chance.
“But at the end of the day, people just want to fit themselves into a mold. The mold can be made from common sense or a set of religious beliefs—everyone conforms to something, and they hate everyone who won’t join them. That’s why I refused to become a Purger, which is the extreme example of that. After hating my uniqueness for so long, in the end I couldn’t bear to give up my individuality.”
Berkens shrugged. “I’m me,” he sighed. “I’m the only Berkens Tanhoglio who exists in this world. That was my decision.”
Pacifica stared at him, concern in her expression. “Berkens,” she said sadly.
Berkens gave her a faint smile and continued. “But I still can’t bring myself to be critical of people who live lives of conformity. I know well from my own experience how hard it is to live wearing your uniqueness on your sleeve. The nail that sticks up gets hammered down, right? And when people band together because they’re weak in that way… well, we need a little of that in this world. It’s just when that band gets too big and starts to squash other groups that it gets dangerous.”
“But—”
Berkens held out a hand to quiet Pacifica.
“I want to protect those who are weak,” he said quietly. “Even the strong lose confidence sometimes. Everyone has a time when he has to be saved or comforted, or be told ‘you’re okay’ from someone else. That’s why I believe that religion—and not just Mauserism—is necessary. That’s why I want to protect both Mauserists and the people of this place. But it’s not good to be completely dependent on the peace of mind religion gives you, and I won’t let Blasphemers’ Garden make the same oppressive mistakes as we Mauserists.”
The guard finally passed out. Berkens carefully placed him on the floor.
Shannon paused a moment, then let out a breath. “Okay,” he said. “I’ve heard enough, Berkens.”
Berkens paused expectedly.
“I don’t agree with everything you say,” Shannon said in response.
Berkens sighed. “You’ve had different experiences than I have,” he admitted.
“Right. But I can understand how you feel.”
Berkens looked up.
Shannon could imagine Berkens’ position, even though Shannon’s was very different. He could imagine Berkens’ feelings, even though Shannon didn’t share them. Shannon could understand Berkens as long as he made the effort.
And I’m used to putting in effort, Shannon thought, exhausted.
“All right,” Shannon said as he turned to the door. “Let’s go stop that mistake.”
Someone was laughing in the dark.
It was a vulgar, cruel laugh. Who was it coming from? The voice was familiar, and yet somehow unidentifiable.
“Bearing the emblem of moon and stars, ye will become the beasts who rule the fields.”
The voice was casting a spell he didn’t recognize. But how could that be magic? He was the only sorcerer on the island. He was having trouble thinking; the details of his thoughts were melting, even as he tried to focus on them.
A hand reached out slowly. His… his hand. His hand was pointing at the door.
“Go. Kill the Inquisitor, and kill the family with him. Kill anyone who might disturb our plans. If that’s not possible, at least protect the cave until our ritual is finished.”
A group of islanders stood up—ten, if his quick count was accurate. Their expressions were so empty, they might have been dolls. Reynard wondered what was wrong with them.
“Ha ha ha… hee hee hee!”
Someone was laughing.
But who was it…?
“S-sir Ganvas?”
That was Elfitine. He was relieved. He wanted to tell her that something was wrong, that someone was laughing inside his head. He was moving Reynard’s body and saying things with Reynard’s mouth.
“What’s the matter, Elfitine?”
With an expression of confusion and slight fear, Elfitine backed away. That upset Reynard a little. It was as if she were bothered by something on his face.
“Sir Ganvas… is that you? Your mask…”
“Oh, I don’t need that anymore. It’s served its purpose.”
Reynard heard his own voice speak, as though he were listening to it from far away. He wasn’t wearing his mask?
“What was the matter with those people just now?” Elfitine asked worriedly. “Their faces looked so… blank.”
“Oh, that? Since we have a slight problem with that priest and those siblings, I cast a spell on them to make them stronger. Ha ha ha! Too strong, I suppose—I doubt they’ll return to normal.”
Elfitine gasped. “What?” she breathed.
What was he saying? How terrible! He wanted to beg Elfitine to have faith in him. He didn’t mean to scare her or anyone.
“It’s a lovely little spell called Berserker,” was all his voice said. “You activate it inside a person’s head, and he becomes superhuman. But the price for that strength is that his personality is destroyed, and there’s no repairing the damage. They literally fight until the moment they die.”
“Wh-why would you do something so awful?!”
Reynard wanted to something, anything, to prove to Elfitine that he didn’t mean those words. But his voice went on without him, and it only made things worse.
“What do you mean, ‘why’?” Reynard felt the crazy smile spreading across the face he couldn’t control. “To prevent anyone from disturbing all of your funerals, that’s why.”
It didn’t take much to defeat the guards and enter the tunnels. Security was light, since all but forty or fifty islanders were already inside the giant booster located inside the magic field. They assumably were waiting for the final stage of their terrible plan.
“So now what?” Shannon asked as he walked through a tunnel behind Berkens. Pacifica flanked Shannon, and Raquel brought up the rear.
Berkens glanced back at Raquel. “Any chance you could cast a spell to deactivate their spell?”
Raquel tapped her chin. “I think it’s possible… but I’d have to find out what spell was activated in the people’s minds. It may take a while.”
Berkens frowned. “That sounds complicated. We could just destroy the damn thing.”
“But if we use large scale attack magic, we’ll cause casualties.”
Shannon shook his head. “We don’t have much of a choice. We should at least be able to protect Raquel while she performs the deactivation process.”
“Yeah,” Berkens agreed. “Most of these islanders are untrained fighters, anyway.”
Berkens suddenly stopped in his tracks. “Hey,” he called, glancing back at the Casulls. “Look at this.”
Their tunnel led out onto a terrace that was the size of a small room in a residential home.
The terrace was empty, but Berkens and the Casulls still crouched as they walked to its edge to avoid being seen by anyone on the other terraces.
They looked out onto the bizarre structure in the center of the open area.
“That’s what they were building here?” Pacifica asked. “That’s kinda cool.” She glanced over at Raquel, but the older girl looked very grave.
“What’s wrong, Raquel?”
Raquel creased her forehead. “No,” she murmured. “Something’s not right here.”
“What do you mean?”
Raquel pulled a piece of paper from her pocket. She had copied something from her mother’s notebook.
“This is a multi-layered, three-dimensional magic field for strategic level attack magic, but I don’t see any component for aiming at long distance targets. The force of this spell has nowhere to go—it’ll explode right here.”
Shannon turned to her slowly. “Could you clarify that?” he asked.
Raquel stared worriedly at the magic field. “It’s a suicide spell, Shannon.”
“S-suicide?”
“That’s right,” Reynard said with a frighteningly dark smile.
Elfitine took a step back, trembling. She could no longer find any trace of the saint she revered. All she saw was a cruel psychopath, consumed with twisted joy.
“The large-scale magic is going to be used for suicide—to kill every last one of these fools.”
“But… why would you…?”
She understood. It was simple, and she knew it too well. She had seen this happen in her dreams all those nights. But her heart had refused to accept it. Even now, a part of her fought to deny the truth.
“This Blasphemers’ Garden’ project was originally started by the Intelligence Division of the military and the external affairs agency of the Mauserist church. The plan was to gather, isolate, and exterminate anyone who intended to rebel against the kingdom or the church.” Reynard laughed. “You fools have spent the last ten years digging your own grave!”
“No,” Elfitine gasped. “You’re lying! You have to be!”
Reynard chuckled. “It’s no lie,” he said smoothly. “I was originally in the royal military. But I got a little carried away with my secret hobby, and was eventually thrown in jail for it.”
Elfitine took another step back. “F-for what?” she managed to croak.
“Once you start learning magic, you can’t help wanting to experiment. Like activating forbidden spells inside someone else’s head. Ha! You should try it—it’s awfully fun. I can’t tell you what it’s like to see a smug lady suddenly start drooling and crawling on the floor like an insect!” He threw his head back for another burst of maniacal laughter. “It was so exciting, my dear! But when the military found out, I was given the death sentence. Someone named Lugar in the Intelligence Division came to me before my execution and offered me a wonderful proposal.”