Midnight, Twelve Nations (1)
The bell for midnight faded away as if it had never rung.
A quiet night.
"Hurry—figure out what happened!"
The Holy War's national sectors were on full emergency.
What was this? What the hell?
No one had yet recorded how fast the Moon Kingdom's amplified killing intent could affect reality.
An assassination operation. Nothing else made sense.
It must have been faster than the bell.
"Pony!"
Shirone, who had mined assassination intel from the Apocalypse, sprinted for Tormia's sector.
The knights stood like statues, but their faces said it all.
As expected—
Deeper in the sector, commanders paced anxiously.
And yet everything felt eerily calm.
As if trying to compress boiling water and freeze it, they were holding themselves back with desperate force.
Their bewilderment.
Shirone slowed and walked deliberately toward where the king lay.
Huff.
He took a deep breath and drew back the curtain. Instead of bright lamps, only the dim shadows of candlelight awaited.
"Shirone."
Lupist and Albino were there; Dante sat with a grave, contemplative expression.
"Is he all right?"
The bed was curtained, and Lupist understood the answer from Shirone's question.
"Apocalypse? Since when?"
"Just now. It already looks late."
When Dante silently pulled the curtain aside, Pony lay pale and still, as if dead.
"Liria."
At Pony's side stood Liria, a mage of the Akeanis shrine.
"I prevented instant death. But I can't promise anything."
Totems and ritual implements lay beside the bed. Shirone exhaled sharply and asked, "How did you predict this?"
Dante answered. "We didn't predict it. We didn't even suspect it. Liria read the killing intent through the intelligence flow."
Liria spoke up. "I raised ritual defensive barriers around most of the key figures, including His Majesty, but this is beyond expectation. It's unbelievably strong—like being submerged in water laced with poison."
From the bed's far side, Choenivardo's senses detected a ghostly disturbance.
"Get it out of Pony."
The Miracle Stream wrapped Pony's body.
"Kyaaah!"
Though unconscious, Pony's eyes flew open and his back arched like a prawn.
"I'll kill them! I'll kill them all!" Afterimages piled up with each motion, and Pony's face twisted into something demonic.
Damn it.
When the Miracle Stream was withdrawn, the spirit was crushed again by Liria's rites.
"This is serious," Liria said, nodding.
"It's not normal magic. I tried an exorcism, but the killing energy is too strong—useless. If we forcibly break the barrier, His Majesty will die."
Shirone's eyes went hard.
"It has to be the Moon Kingdom. They amplified killing intent and targeted the kings of various nations."
"Who's going to die?" Lupist asked.
"That's irrelevant," Dante said. "We already mined the data, so the future will shift slightly with reality. But the initial assassination targets seemed to be six: Tormia, Jincheon, Corona, the Tribal Confederation, Paras, and Gustav."
"That's half of the twelve nations," Albino muttered. "They obscured who ordered it. Apocalypse-mined intelligence can't stand as evidence anyway—each nation could cherry-pick what suits them, so it loses objectivity."
"Kashan's not on the list," Albino added.
Everyone looked at him.
"From the Moon Kingdom's perspective, the Emperor of Kashan would be top priority. Among the traditional three empires, only Kashan's missing. You have to suspect they're involved." Liria asked, "Could they have left him out deliberately to pin it on Kashan?"
Lupist shook his head. "Firing killing intent like this is a kind of declaration. If one nation is singled out as a war criminal, other nations gain justification to assassinate kings. In that situation, attacking an empire outright would backfire. Even if they were prepared, it'd be smarter to spread the attack across eleven nations rather than focus on one."
Dante agreed. "It looks like an alliance. Now it's about how we respond. We have to consider a coalition forming. The silence will last only until dawn. When the sun comes up, blades will start moving."
A bloodstorm will blow.
"Use Kuan," Albino said without expression. "Bring him."
Dante nodded and left the room. Liria watched him go with sad eyes.
How cruel—to live a life that must win.
Shirone sat on the bed and pressed his fingers to Pony's forehead.
He seemed to be clinging to life.
Hold on a little longer.
The moment the barrier collapses, the spirit will tear Pony's heart to pieces.
I'll save you.
To revive Pony, Shirone would have to enter the otherworld and remove the malignant ma directly.
There was a knock at the door.
"Chairman."
Tormia's foreign minister entered, his face flushed.
"Code One."
At the word for a summit, Lupist and Albino both reacted.
"Where?"
"The South. The Tribal Confederation."
Since the Holy War began, that faction had shown no notable moves—until now.
Albino propped his chin on his hand. "Hmm. Code One…"
According to Shirone, the Moon Kingdom's killing intent included the South among its targets.
Tormia's king is unconscious. The South should be in the same state. Could they really be unscathed?
"It might be a ploy to spy on other nations. For now, proceed as Code Two," Lupist said.
"No—actually…in the South, they say it doesn't have to be Tormia's king," the foreign minister said.
Albino's brow tightened. "What do you mean?"
"Their condition is Shirone's attendance. Aside from that, they say they'll accommodate our convenience."
Two realizations hit them.
First: this summit has a clear purpose. Second: the Southern leader, Eunta, is likely unharmed.
In other words, they managed to block the Moon Kingdom's killing intent.
Whether it's an alliance or information about the rituals—either way, this Code One is necessary. The problem is Shirone…
He wondered if Shirone, who'd been keeping distance from Tormia, would step forward. The worry was needless.
"Let's go."
Shirone rose from the bed. "They might tell us how to save Pony. Arrange the summit as soon as possible."
"All right."
After the foreign minister left, Albino prepared the papers for Code One.
"You'll attend, right?" Shirone asked.
Lupist nodded, though bitterness clung to him.
For a friend—
Does God move for something that small?
Or is that all there is?
The bell announcing midnight made Fermi stop his work and stretch.
Collect Holy War intelligence, and use mined data from the Apocalypse to turn the tide.
It was slow work, but once he identified each nation's weak points, the effect would be enormous.
Huh?
At that moment, the Gold Bird—Rampa's spell, the signature magic of the world's top information mage—penetrated his private chamber.
Of course it wasn't Rampa himself but someone from the Parrot Mercenary Corps who'd cast it.
Finally.
Fermi couldn't handle two simultaneous tasks; he had to choose between the Apocalypse and the Holy War.
He'd chosen to participate in the Holy War, but he'd taken precautions.
With a Tele Bird, he could get information in the shortest time.
In exchange for channeling the spell, Rampa had, unsurprisingly, demanded the mined data from the Apocalypse.
The trade went surprisingly smoothly.
Rampa was already over a hundred years old and planned to present an outstanding disciple named Chong-i as his face.
Gold Bird is a real-time information network. If the Parrot Corps succeeded in mining, that meant they had access.
Any piece of information would do. If it detected change—change in the world—Ardino's broad vision would deduce the answer.
Shall we overturn the Holy War?
He touched the Gold Bird. The cipher unlocked and the screen unfolded.
What the screen showed—
"Damn it!"
A chair toppled as Fermi hurled himself out of the room and tore down the corridor.
You old bastard!
King Manolka of Kesia.
Fermi first met him after losing to Shirone on the graduation exam and wandering the world.
"What's a young fellow like you doing here?"
An old man had approached Fermi while he worked in a remote mining village.
Fermi, warming himself at the coal fire, looked up to see a gaunt old man standing there.
"Are you mute? This old man asks—what's a healthy young fellow doing here?"
"…Working," Fermi replied shortly, and returned to stirring the coals. The old man sat beside him.
"Oof. Of course. But this mine doesn't make much profit. The ground could collapse and kill you any day. So prisoners or folk who can't reveal their names go to work here—people like you."
Fermi paused mid-stir and asked, "So what?"
"Ha! Your eyes are still alive. For those who want to die, the Mekia mine's ideal. But after watching you a few days, you seem different." The old man studied Fermi.
"Has the world you knew changed? Lost someone dear?"
"Long ago."
Yolga's face flashed through Fermi's mind.
"But it doesn't matter. I couldn't protect them. It's natural for the weak to lose things." The old man fell silent for a moment.
"By the way, what's an old man like me doing in a place like this? Shouldn't I be at home watching grandchildren enjoy themselves?"
"This mine is mine to oversee. Don't I have to check how things are going?"
Not an unreasonable answer.
"No heir. Plenty of mouths to feed, though. Sometimes spots like this produce useful lads. I've been looking."
"Thinking of passing on the business?"
"That'd do. Even an unprofitable mine keeps you fed."
An unprofitable mine.
Fermi chewed on the meaning and then shook his head as if it weren't worth it.
"Find someone else."
"Think about it. It'll be better than now. You could get a good wife, eat meat with your meals."
"Why me? There are plenty of smart people. You could take anyone."
"Having knowledge doesn't make one clever. What good is knowing something if no one listens? Better to whack someone with an encyclopedia than look ignorant. At least you'd knock them over." Fermi only listened.
"To persuade someone, what must you do? Few think about that. It's on a different level from merely knowing facts. You must endure—endure until you get the result. Exactly—" The old man pointed his forefinger. "Someone like you."
Silence followed.
"You haven't given up, have you? If you're determined to see it through, come to me. There isn't much to mine here, but you won't lose out."
"…Three days from now."
Fermi rose. "Take me to the palace. But I won't inherit the throne. If you want to sit atop the world before you die, live long enough to do it."
As Fermi's footsteps faded, the old man watched the fire and lifted the corner of his mouth.
"Was I too obvious?"
It would have been strange if he hadn't known.
"Yolga's son."
After all—Ardino Fermi.