Reynard mustered every last bit of strength to force aside the second personality that had emerged within himself. He squeezed shut his eyes.
“SHUT UP!” he screamed.
The “Saint” in Reynard was putting up a good fight, but it wasn’t strong enough to push back the full force of the original personality. Using all his inner control, Reynard suppressed the second personality and cast a spell.
The communication spell Gardor activated. Connection to booster established.
Mental capacity connected.
Inside the mental capacity, which was forcibly expanded by invading the islanders’ consciousness, the spell began to activate. The spell had originally been developed for individual use, but all the necessary functions in the spell ended up requiring too much capacity for the average sorcerer. Only a few steps short of completion, the spell had been abandoned.
… Einherjar.
“Ha ha ha!” Reynard’s mouth twisted into its ugly grin as he focused on the Casull before him. Pale blue armor clung to his trembling body.
Reynard swung a lit fist. “Die!” he cried.
Shannon jerked to the side; the fist brushed his hair, narrowly avoiding his ear.
Reynard’s pale blue knuckles slammed into the nearly wall and sent a large crack through it. “Ha ha ha!” Reynar cackled, his voice higher-pitched. “Strong, isn’t it? I’ll crush your skull in no time!”
Screaming, Reynard lunged at Shannon.
Shannon dodged and swung his sword in a counter move. His blade was sharp enough to slice through most armor, yet now it bounced back, causing a fierce burst of sound and light.
“You’ve got nothing!” Reynard laughed as he swung his arm. His backhanded blow, which normally would have been a simple jab, ripped through the air at a murderous speed. It grazed Shannon’s forehead and seared a few strands of his hair.
Pleased with himself, Reynard unleashed a barrage of punches. The complete version of Einherjar increased the quickness of its user; afterimages trailed behind his fists. As a result of the tremendous speed, the air was scooped out of the way to leave a vacuum that sucked Shannon in.
At the same moment, Shannon flipped his coat up to disturb the air and divert the attack. His boots slid across the smooth stone floor as the broken vacuum spun him and Reynard 180 degrees. Before they had even stopped moving, Shannon’s sword met Reynard’s fists.
The terrace was filled with flashing light and rippling sounds. Shannon deflected Reynard’s attacks despite his lack of magic, but his own sword blows were all deflected by Reynard’s defense field. Reynard knew the swordsman wouldn’t last. After a few intense exchanges at close range, Shannon and Reynard pulled away from each other.
Panting and grinning crazily, Reynard watched red drops roll from the cut on Shannon’s cheek. “What’s the matter?” he asked. “Can’t hurt a bare-fisted man with your sword? Ha ha!”
“That’s impressive, I’ll admit,” Shannon said unenthusiastically. But he didn’t appear afraid or anxious—if anything, his black eyes looked even colder than usual.
For a moment, Reynard felt a shiver go down his spine. He had never seen Shannon so focused, and the feelings radiating off him were almost murderous.
“But,” Shannon added, raising his sword, “you have nothing to brag about.” He pulled his right hand above his left shoulder, and placed his left hand behind the pummel of his sword, as if in preparation to push it into something. It wasn’t his usual stance—the tip of his sword, held parallel to the ground, was pointed directly at Reynard’s chest.
A piercing blow. Reynard swallowed and trembled, but tried to calm himself down. No matter how much strength Shannon could put into the blow, he’d never get past Einherjar. But he’s probably already realized that, right? So why is he taking that stance?
Panic gripped Reynard. “Sh-shut up!” he cried, lunging forward out of instinctual fear.
Shannon, in a terrifying instant, reminded Reynard of the massive Berkens. His fighting spirit had flared up like Berkens’ Gauntlet spell, concentrating on the tip of his sword. He wasn’t planning to penetrate with his sword—he would penetrate with his will.
“NO!”
With a burst of will, Shannon’s sword tore through the air. The tip slammed into the defense field, but with such speed and force that the field couldn’t function. No light flared—the sword just punched through, digging deeply into Reynard’s right shoulder.
“AAGH!”
Reynard cried out, more due to surprise than pain. He jerked backward to free his shoulder, and blood spurted out where the blade had been. He stumbled back several steps.
Shannon followed. “Any more tricks?” he asked flatly.
Reynard’s face twisted in fear. He reached out to grab Elfitine as a hostage, then suddenly stopped.
The Saint. Reynard’s suppression had been loosened by pain and terror. The other Reynard pushed, and Reynard lost control.
“Very w-well done, Shannon,” Reynard heard himself say.
“No!” he managed to interrupt. “Damn you again! I’m not…”
“… I can do no more with this man. Finish us off. Please.”
Reynard’s saintly personality deactivated Einherjar. Terrified, he once again spread his arms out, as if inviting a deathblow. Blood dripped down his shoulder.
Stop! Reynard thought.
“Stop!” Elfitine screamed.
Elfitine crossed Reynard’s vision. She dove at Shannon and clung to him, her eyes wide and desperate. She threw back her head to plead with him.
“Please!” she begged. “Don’t kill Sir Ganvas!”
“Don’t… Elfitine,” Reynard heard himself say. “Let me die as you knew me… not as Reynard the murderer. I wasn’t aware of my actions, but I killed my own followers. There’s no… going back.”
“But—”
“Shannon,” Reynard said, despite how he fought, “do it. Now.”
“No.” Shannon’s lips barely moved, but the word was still cold. There was no intent to kill in his dark, leveling eyes.
“If you can’t go back,” he said evenly, “then move forward in the direction you always meant to go. Don’t turn away from your atonement. Who says you’re not the real Reynard?” Shannon glanced at Elfitine, her hands bunched in his cloak. “To this girl, and to the people of this island, you’re the real Reynard Ganvas.”
Reynard staggered on his feet. “I…” he gurgled. “I…” The murderer and the saint fought in his body, twisting his face from terrified and vicious to calm and resigned. A battle of good and evil raged inside him.
And the murderer emerged.
“Damn… you!” he screamed. “I’m the real Reynard Ganvas! I’ll never let you take control! I’d just as soon…”
Pushing Elfitine aside, Shannon lunged forward.
But it was too late. Reynard’s body had already elevated high into the air, and elation had filled him. He threw back his head and laughed.
“Ha ha ha!” he cried crazily. “All things, return to the abyss! Activate, my masterpiece! Strategic level attack magic Ginnungagap!”
The repeating spell activated.
And the destruction began.
He felt his body falling. Reynard realized that much.
So I’ll die, he thought. So be it, then.
He knew that the bloodlust of a murderer was never slaked. Yet strangely, he no longer felt that urge. The ultimate murder—the taking of his own life—seemed to sublimate all of his desires.
And he was afraid. Reynard had never realized that before.
He had been afraid all along. So utterly afraid, he hadn’t known what to do. He’d been afraid of anyone outside of himself, anyone with whom he could never reach a complete understanding. He was afraid of every other human that lived on Earth.
He was afraid of the whole world. To him, everyone was an alien, an enemy. That was the reason why he had wanted to kill as many as possible. By decreasing the number of his enemies, he had created a false sense of security for himself. But now…
So this is what it feels like to die.
There were two ways to part with the world. One was to destroy the world—the other was to destroy himself.
Reynard the murderer closed his eyes, feeling a strange sense of peace. He had a flash of insight. People died when they accepted their own deaths, didn’t they? When they recognized that they had died, their lives ended.
There was the short sensation of floating, and then the shock of impact.
Reynard had already accepted it.
A loud roar shook the island.
Something—some pure, gargantuan force—was swelling up at a tremendous speed. One didn’t need to be a sorcerer to sense the gathering power.
“Dammit, where are you?! Raquel! Pacifica!”
With a stupefied Elfitine cradled in his arms, Shannon ran through the stone tunnels. He knew there was no time left to escape from the island; everything depended on whether Raquel could stop the activation of the spell. At the very least, in the time since Reynard had sent the activation order, the spell still seemed to be in the process of activating, and Raquel was probably doing something to prevent it.
But that hideous roaring was a bad sign. Shannon ran faster.
The magic field inside the cave was starting to crack. Numerous fractures had already appeared in the stone pillars, and small pieces of stone rained down from the ceiling and walls. Even if the spell didn’t fully activate, Shannon was afraid the shaking of the island would still bury them all alive.
I have to find Raquel. He knew that if he found her, he could help her. And right then, they all needed as much help as they could get.
Due to luck, coincidence, or sheer emotional connection, he found her much faster than expected—-in the massive cave. He sped up when he saw she was surrounded by several Berserkers. He blinked when he saw who was protecting her.
“Pacifica?”
His baby sister was locked in combat with monstrous attackers. He noticed the Einherjar spell cast on her, but knew it was probably modified. She could hardly put up a fight with her novice fighting skills and weakened armor.