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Yukinari found himself worried.
He had to bring down Hatsune. He knew that. Ever since he’d seen her stab Berta with his own eyes, there had been no more room for doubt. Hatsune was their killer. If he didn’t do something about her, who knew how many more victims there would be?
And yet... Yet.
Hatsune was Yukinari’s beloved older sister. And she was, most likely, the only other of “his kind” to be found in this world. The only other person possessing the powers of an angel but with their memories and sense of self intact. She had been his family; she shared his previous world.
So Yukinari worried whether, at the last extremity, his resolve would hold. He wondered, when he looked his sister in the eye, if he would be able to do what had to be done.
“Hatsune...”
He had loved her. As family. As a sibling. And as a woman.
He knew it had been a bad thing, and yet he didn’t want to use the word “mistake.” Hatsune had been the sole light in a life beset with a tormenting darkness, and he suspected he had been the same for her. But then the tenuous balance between them suddenly broke.
Amano Hatsune became pregnant.
It’s said that the hormonal changes that occur when a woman becomes pregnant can drastically affect her personality. It’s also said that young women are free to dream, but mothers must have their feet on the ground. Yukinari, as a man, obviously could not experience these psychological changes for himself. But finally their blaspheming of morals had led to the end of Yukinari and Hatsune’s honeymoon.
The sin of a blood brother loving his blood sister: that was what Hatsune was so desperate to purge, in the form of a lovers’ suicide.
Such, at least, was what Yukinari suspected.
“Dammit... Dammit!”
Was the abuse directed at his sister, or himself? It was certainly warranted, regardless. But—
“Hatsune!”
There was no going back now. There was no going home. He understood that with aching clarity.
Even as he pulled Durandall from his back, he moved toward Hatsune until he was at the most advantageous distance.
He just had to be careful not to get too close. Hatsune was using a sword. If he was near enough to use Durandall’s blade, he would be within range of her weapon as well. And Durandall was a gun—specifically, a carbine. It had a short barrel; it wasn’t accurate over long distances. It was chiefly designed to be easy to use, and it was unsuited to careful aiming.
Durandall’s strength as a weapon was that it could be utilized as a gun at any time. It had tactical flexibility. If he came too close, the gun part of the weapon would become ineffective. If they got close enough for their blades to meet, Yukinari would be at a disadvantage.
Confronted with this, Hatsune said, “What’s this? Dear Yuki.” She raised her arms as if she might give him a hug. She already held a rapier in her right hand; now her left palm glowed bluish-white, and soon she was holding another in that hand.
He was facing two rapiers.
What is she planning...?
Based on what he remembered from his previous world, rapiers were thin blades light enough to wield with a single hand, better for stabbing than cutting. Attacks with them were less a line than a point, and that left the user open when attacking. In order to guard against this vulnerability, fencing had developed an opening stance in which the body was held behind the sword while closing distance, leading into a lunge. Holding the sword in one hand and stretching the body out as far as possible was fundamental to this approach.
If a weapon was to be held in the off hand, it was usually a parrying dagger, or a small but tough blade called a main-gauche—something that would allow the fighter to intercept the enemy’s sword. It might be small, but it would be wide and difficult to break. Some even had special blades designed to entrap the opponent’s weapon. A few such devices even appeared to have fangs.
It didn’t matter. Holding a rapier in both hands was not very practical.
Or, it shouldn’t have been.
Is it because she’s an amateur fighter? But...
Hatsune was quite smart. She should have realized quickly how pointless it was to have a rapier in each hand.
And the distance...
Yes, and the distance. While Yukinari was carefully making sure he was at the optimal range, Hatsune had simply produced a couple of swords. She was watching Yukinari’s movements, but not making any attempt to get closer to him.
Maybe an amateur was an amateur, even with angel powers.
For better or for worse, Yukinari had experienced real battle in this world—contests to the death—again and again. In kendo, you could get your black belt if you could defeat someone in combat. From that perspective, Yukinari was a very high-level fighter. A master among masters.
“In that case, I might as well finish this as quick as I can!”
Finish this absurd fight between brother and sister.
Hatsune’s inexperience left Yukinari the possibility that he might overpower her without having to kill her, or so he hoped.
He took a step forward and cut with Durandall, throwing all his weight into the motion.
“Hrk!”
But Hatsune easily repelled the blow with the rapier in her left hand. The surprise threw Yukinari off-balance. Partly he was shocked by the strength with which she had met his attack, but he was also taken aback to see that the thin blade didn’t crack under the assault from Durandall.
Maybe it was made of more than just tempered steel.
“My dear Yuki.” Hatsune closed the distance immediately, stabbing with the sword in her right hand. She was aiming for his heart, but Yukinari dodged. The tip of the rapier grazed his shirt; he stumbled back at the sensation of it.
Yukinari took deep breaths, trying to calm his pulse and breathing, which were both fast with astonishment and agitation. She was no beginner. Or, rather, although Hatsune’s attacks were simple, they were blindingly fast. Yukinari realized now that his sister, who had spent so long changing her face, might well be better than he was at using the power of physical reconstitution to alter her own body. Muscular strength. Nerve enhancement. Improved perception. She showed the ineconomy of movement of an inexperienced fighter, but even a beginner, with enough basic power, could rise to challenge a master. Even the most talented karate fighter couldn’t take on a bear or a tiger barehanded and hope to win.
And she’s got other advantages...
Hatsune was physically small. Most of Yukinari’s opponents had been at least as large as he was or larger—some had even been giant. Erdgods. Demigods. Xenobeasts. The missionary knights. And of course, the statues of the guardian saint. He could attack blindly and still bank on hitting something.
But Hatsune, in the body of a young woman, was a head shorter than Yukinari. He found it surprisingly difficult to fight someone who was noticeably smaller than himself. He could hardly hope to fight from his knees.
“Sweet, sweet Yuki.”
As Yukinari stood trying to size up their respective advantages, Hatsune closed in and struck again.
She was so fast. But her attacks were basic.
“I can dodge you when I know what’s coming!” Yukinari shouted as he evaded three successive blows.
“Is that so?” She looked quizzical. The words showed that she was nowhere near her limit. Yukinari’s shout had been something of a show, an attempt to encourage himself, but Hatsune spoke as casually as if they were chatting over tea.
He couldn’t lose focus for a second. If he let his attention lapse for an instant, she might strike the fatal blow.
Yukinari grunted as he took the fourth strike. He raised his left hand and deliberately let the rapier stab it.
There was the pain, the shock, of having his hand pierced by steel. But Yukinari ignored it, pushing his left hand to the side. It took the sword with it, throwing Hatsune off her stance. That was Yukinari’s chance to strike with Durandall.
He felt something under the weapon. Probably her left shoulder, or thereabouts. The cut wasn’t deep enough to strike bone, but he felt it work through the flesh. This would prevent Hatsune from using her left arm...
“Why, my dear Yuki, that hurts.” As she spoke, Hatsune tossed aside the rapier in her right hand and clamped it over the wound in her shoulder. A bluish-white light, and the wound closed like a tear in some fabric.
“I see now...”
This was the first time he had fought another self-aware angel, and it made him realize just how inhuman, just how monstrous, he and his sister were. They could come back from nearly anything that didn’t kill them at a stroke. Cut off a hand or a leg, and they could simply regrow it. They could kill and kill and it would never end, could never end, an endless hell for the two of them alone. And what was more...