Age of Strife (3)
Kaiden's sword vibrated at terrifying speed an inch from Shirone's nape.
It felt as if something were being compressed endlessly, yet it never reached Shirone.
'By a hair's breadth.'
The moment Kaiden's switch truly flipped, the Law would break his will.
"Even Hexa's power, Agape, can't completely cure Emotion Sickness. It might bring temporary relief, but if you don't solve the underlying problem, an even worse catastrophe will follow."
You can't stand against the demons and the armies of heaven by leaning on someone else's ability.
"Is that the reason? So Maya meant only that much to you? If you'd seen her with your own eyes—"
"My conclusion is the same."
Amy swallowed at his cold reply.
"You save someone because they're a friend. Fine—how do you set that standard? People who've spent a certain amount of time with me? People who helped me? Or do I line them up in the order I like?" Kaiden understood Shirone's point, but his heart still rebelled.
'Maya.'
He could still see the terrified look on her face when she heard Shirone's name.
"So you won't help Maya?"
"My criterion for Emotion Sickness is simple. I only help when it's part of a strategy that will stabilize this world as quickly as possible."
"Maya is strong."
Kaiden truly believed that.
"Fighting isn't the only strategy. Her songs move people. She's well-known. You can't say she's not useful to your plan."
"Last night, Iruki almost died." Amy looked at Shirone in surprise. "But thanks to that, a powerful evil was eliminated. It was an incredible result. Nade risked his life, too. My friend Rian is wandering in hell, burned by fire."
"…What are you trying to say? Do you mean you think Maya couldn't do that?"
"No."
Shirone lowered Kaiden's sword.
"If I asked for help, Maya would do it no matter what. Do you really want that?"
"When Iruki cast Overdrive, I knew and didn't stop him. I even fought with that in mind. That's exactly it. The people I need are comrades willing to die with me, not people I have to protect every time it gets dangerous. And for comrades like that, Emotion Sickness must, of course, be suppressed so they can reach peak performance."
"Maya—"
Shirone cut him off.
"Kaiden, you're not qualified either. Do you even know what war is? Do you know what happens to a woman captured by demons? Maya is a precious friend. That's why I didn't send her to the battlefield."
Kaiden had no answer.
"The holy war is coming soon. Tormia, and the kingdoms that remain, will fight for supremacy. There are already rumors of nations that have sided with the demons or colluded with heaven's forces. Listen, Kaiden. The world is moving too fast and in ways you can't predict."
Only Shirone could see the whole picture.
"I won't force you. If you don't want to be involved, lock yourself in a room. Fight your Emotion Sickness and quietly wait while others produce results."
"What should I do then?"
The Shirone Kaiden knew wasn't the nagging type with no solutions.
"You said there was a reason you brought me along. If Maya can be happy, I'll do anything."
"Protect Maya." That was the one thing Kaiden thought he couldn't do.
"By any means necessary. Even if it means tearing her out of your heart—protect her."
"And after that?"
"I'll suppress Maya's Emotion Sickness. She'll probably be able to sing again. Soon the holy war will turn every political center into a battlefield. Maya will be needed. But I can't protect her."
Kaiden had to protect her.
"So I should give up on Maya. Truly, so I can never love her again."
"I don't think your feelings are trivial. No, they're genuinely important. But the end of an age is coming. If you want to take responsibility for someone, you must be prepared to take responsibility for the world."
"All right. I understand."
If Maya could sing again, what else would his feelings matter?
"Bring Maya back."
As he sheathed his sword and went down below, Kaiden's eyes were dimmer than before.
Amy gave him a sympathetic look, but she wasn't really different. Shirone had suppressed her Emotion Sickness.
'Comrades.'
For the sake of humanity's victory, Amy and Shirone would gladly choose death.
'It's okay. At least we can fight together. Shirone is at my side now.'
If you want to be responsible for someone, you must be ready to be responsible for the world—that was the meaning of those words.
Shirone said, "Kaiden will do well."
If his feelings for Maya weren't obsession, love had the power to set one ablaze.
"Let's wait until Maya comes."
Shirone's smile was sad, and Amy nodded, braver than usual.
Back at the tavern, Kaiden learned from the owner that Maya had finished her shift and left.
"If you're lying to me—"
"I swear! Why would I lie? What would I gain? Please believe me!"
The owner, grabbed by the collar, stammered.
'Damn it. Bad luck.' He'd known a day like this might come ever since a big name like Maya came for an audition.
Still, he'd hired her not only for business reasons but for personal amusement. There was no greater pleasure than watching a global singer fall from grace.
Kaiden threw the owner to the floor, climbed the stage, and slipped out the back door.
'She should be at the inn.'
Now that he had the map, he planned to go to the inn where she stayed.
The owner scrambled up and spat.
"Ugh, spit! Some worthless-looking type came by."
He'd profited from Maya, but money no longer mattered. Like an addiction, the hours he'd spent employing her kept gnawing at him.
"Tch! I should never have messed with her."
Crack, crack.
From a corner of the shop came the sound of someone crunching hard peanuts.
"What? Who's there?"
The owner squinted and saw a man still sitting at a table.
"The shop's closed. Business is over. Get out."
"…Not Yahweh, then."
"Huh?"
At the dry, inhuman rasp, the owner frowned and stepped closer.
"What are you? If you're drunk—" Gak! A fork flew out of the dark and embedded itself in the owner's cheek, flinging him onto the stage.
Silence fell. The figure in the dark spoke.
"This will mess up my plan." He pushed his chair back, stood, slid a hand into his pocket, and walked toward the wall.
The moment his hand touched the wall, black smoke seeped from his body and passed through the material in an instant.
Hood pulled low and melted into the crowd, he headed for the city square.
The fountain was broken and muck ran everywhere. Dozens of people had gathered there.
"Repent, everyone."
At the center stood a man in priest's robes with a short goatee, preaching.
"God loves you. The suffering you're enduring is a test from God. Therefore—"
"Cut the crap!"
A scruffy man clutching a bottle shouted.
"How many gods are there? Do you know what happened to the ones who came here spouting that stuff? They got stoned and ran off! A god? I'm hurting every day—what good does that do me? I lost my kids, my wife, my house; I'm alone! What the hell can a god do for someone like me?"
The crowd had no energy to cheer, but their eyes were cold.
The priest watched him for a beat, gave a thin smile, and nodded.
"Anything. If you believe in God, He will give you anything. A nice house, a better wife, even the removal of your pain."
Only then did the crowd stir.
"Really? Does that mean this damn sickness can be cured?"
Many preachers had stood there before, but never had doctrine been so blunt.
The priest nodded, pleased.
"Of course."
A gaunt woman asked, "Who is this God? What god is it?"
"The name is not important. You may have heard many gods' names. But in truth, God has no name. All the gods you know are, in fact, the identity I speak of."
Absurd, but oddly convincing.
"Then prove it! If you're God, bring back everything I lost!"
"All right. Come to me."
When he agreed, the air heated and people's eyes brightened.
The man, half skeptical, stepped forward. The priest placed a hand on his shoulder and asked, "Are you prepared to follow God's doctrine?"
"Of course. As long as the sickness is cured. Well, I'm not doing it just for that… but—"
"Ha ha, it's fine. God is merciful. He will grant your desire. A God who orders you to suffer is a false god."
"Then I will believe. What should I do?"
The man's tone had shifted to polite speech; the priest met his gaze.
"Do what you desire."
"Huh?"
"Listen to the voice of your heart. What do you want? A house? A beautiful woman to hold? Countless treasures?"
The man answered like someone entranced.
"…Yes."
"Then take it."
The priest gestured around them.
"If there's a house you want, that's your house. If there's a woman you desire, take her. If someone disrespects you, beat them. Don't worry. Under God's protection, you are perfectly safe."
"Even so…"
Honestly, the words were not unpleasant.
Since giving everything up to Emotion Sickness, who had ever comforted him like that?
"Look closely. This is God." The priest drew out an inverted-cross pendant and held it before them.
"Did you suffer under the pain the false gods gave you? That was your sin. A true God does not make you suffer. Repent. Confess your wrongs."
The man wept.
"I was foolish. God, please hear my prayer."
The priest turned the man around.
"Now, take from those who believe in false gods. Don't worry. God has remembered your face. Now you may enjoy everything. You are a king."
"I—I am a king."
As the man stepped forward, the frightened crowd began to edge away.
"Ah, ah…"
Seeing their terrified faces awoke a terrible impulse in his chest.
"It's all mine!"
From among the fleeing people, a woman's hair was grabbed by the man.
"Give it to me! This and this!"
He snatched the tattered cloak that kept out the dawn chill and the last crust of half-eaten bread.
To people who'd given up so much following those tenets, those things were more precious than anything.
"Please! We have nothing else to eat!"
"Shut up!"
The man raised his fist; the woman squealed and covered her face.
"Hah, hah."
Breathing heavily, the man finally realized what he'd gained.
"Bread. And the cloak—now it's my cloak."
To get something so easily—
"Oh, God."
He shoved the bread into his mouth and mumbled as drool dribbled out.
"It's good, God. Delicious."
Realization hit him. He stared at the priest in surprise.
"It doesn't hurt. Emotion Sickness…."
According to the movement's guidelines, people were to give up food items in stages.
But for survival, the last single food item had to remain.
For the woman it had been the bread; for the man it had been alcohol.
"I ate the bread and it doesn't hurt. This can't be! The sickness is really cured!"
At that cry, the fleeing people turned back in astonishment.