A Certain Magical Index, Vol. 21 Read online

  Strictly speaking, he recognized her but was not acquainted with her.

  After all, the first time he’d seen her, she’d already been substituted.

  He almost mixed up the names for a moment, but he managed to murmur the right one.

  “Sasha Kreutzev…?”

  3

  Elizalina hurried through the dreary field hospital.

  The fort had been used as a military facility in ages past, explaining why it only had so many windows. That said, she had already felt a disturbance before she’d peered out of one of those small portals. Still, she’d unquestionably become a witness after seeing what was happening outside, bringing unconscious words to her lips.

  “This is terrible…”

  Night had fallen.

  A giant fortress had risen into the starless gloom, a citadel that looked like a scraped-together mess of monasteries and religious houses sourced from all over the world.

  And.

  Like a moon illuminating the aberrant night, something pale blue had glided through the darkness.

  A human shape endowed with giant wings.

  An angel.

  Partially controlling an angel as telesma was one thing, but actually seeing the genuine article with the naked eye was normally unthinkable. She didn’t know what Fiamma, the mastermind, was thinking, but this was an even bigger disaster than a planetoid smashing into the earth. It seemed like something that would invite an ice age upon the entire planet just to fell its enemies.

  “…”

  Leaning against the wall, Accelerator seemed to be watching Elizalina closely. That being said, he, too, was only here because he had been drawn to one of the few windows. Most of his thoughts were not focused on Elizalina’s back but on what was happening outside.

  The mysterious being, Aiwass, had told him to go to Russia.

  It seemed the parchment he’d found was supposed to have been delivered to that fortress, the Russian frontline base near the national border that had risen into the air.

  Then, from that fortress appeared something like that angel, and even now, it appeared to be launching an attack against Academy City’s cream of the crop.

  Yes.

  An angel.

  …Looks like we hit the bull’s-eye. The core of the mystery, the centerpiece that got the kid and me involved in all this.

  During his battle with Amata Kihara and the September 30 incident, Accelerator had witnessed a wild dance of giant wings of light. Its appearance seemed to have been related to Last Order. And using the dance of those giant wings made of light as a foundation, Aiwass had appeared.

  If he was to assume that the “angel” was the same kind as the one now devastating the Russian night sky…If he was to assume that the fortress had a way of causing that angel to appear and to control it…

  Then I might be able to use that technology to suppress the angel’s movements or drive it away. I don’t care if it’s really an angel or what—this is just what the brat needed to escape her suffering!!

  Elizalina, who had been watching out the window just then, suddenly turned around.

  “Run away.”

  “What?”

  “Quickly!! If you don’t throw them off the trail, they’ll come!!”

  “Who?! Who the hell are you talking about?! And why are they after me?!”

  They shouted at each other, but the first one to cool her head was Elizalina. Struggling to maintain a calm voice, she said, “…The one who instigated this war is most likely in that castle. If he can freely manipulate angels, it will be hopeless even for Academy City. If we assume their leaders properly understand the threat it poses, we’ll need to consider the possibility Academy City will resort to using nuclear weapons. But…”

  “But what?”

  “That castle isn’t complete yet.” Elizalina spared another glance out the window. “The parchment you carry proves that. If those documents are so important that the mastermind Fiamma would use the army to bring them to him—if he doesn’t currently have the parchment, it shows that not all the pieces have been assembled yet.”

  Accelerator focused his mind on the inside of his pocket where he was keeping the mysterious bundle of parchment.

  “…They did go through a lot of trouble trying to deliver these in secret.”

  “Whatever purpose Fiamma needs to use them for, if they’re necessary for his grand scheme, they will pour all their military forces into getting that last piece back…even if it means using the angel,” said Elizalina slowly. “Fiamma has near complete control of Index’s 103,000 volumes right now. Judging from prior examples, however, it seems possible that information regarding profoundly complex topics like angels and God’s Right Seat are not recorded in those books. Perhaps that parchment’s purpose is to fill those gaps in knowledge. By combining them with the 103,000 grimoires, they become a bridge to the knowledge of how to exert ultimate power and control.”

  “Index…?”

  A slight but dangerous light went through Accelerator’s eyes.

  Aiwass had told him to remember the term index of prohibited books.

  The Level Zero who had defeated Academy City’s strongest Level Five had left him with the words Index Librorum Prohibitorum.

  Here, once again, things connected—

  Connected to the underworld.

  And to the unknown set of rules as well, which even Accelerator didn’t have a full view of, but one that definitely seemed to relate to Accelerator’s and Last Order’s roots.

  …That piece of shit Level Zero. Exactly how many steps ahead of me is he anyway…?

  Not noticing what Accelerator was thinking, Elizalina continued. “All this means you’re in danger. Fiamma’s followers must have reports of what the person who stole that set of parchment looks like, and unfortunately, spies had infiltrated my ranks as well. Even if you dispose of the parchment this instant, they might still capture you to find where it went.”

  “Like hell I’m disposing of it…,” muttered Accelerator. “It could be the last key to releasing that kid from this bullshit fairy tale about angels or whatever. Even less reason for me to get rid of it.”

  “Then you must hurry. I’ll be honest with you—if Fiamma or the Russian military gets serious, the Alliance alone can’t protect you. We don’t plan on going to our graves yet, so we will need to hide in order to mount an effective counterattack.”

  As though triggered by Elizalina’s words, Accelerator looked over in another direction.

  Misaka Worst was the one who responded.

  “Sure thing. Misaka’ll go pick up Last Order.”

  She waved a hand toward him. As she headed for the hospital room, she casually continued, “Still, it’d be nice to have a weapon. Even an older gun. But the rifles here have a lotta recoil, and for a shooter with one arm broken, it’d probably just be luggage, huh? Still, with only a pistol, the lack of firepower is a bit concerning— What to do, what to do? It might be because AKs come off as real strong, but does this place have any good submachine guns?”

  “?” Elizalina frowned.

  Ignoring her, Misaka Worst opened the door to the hospital room Last Order was in a short distance away and said, “After all, he’s a big enough sucker to save Misaka. He obviously wants to show off the parchment to Russia, escape, and draw the soldiers as far away from the Alliance as possible. Eee-hee-hee.”

  By the time a surprised Elizalina tried to ask for details, Misaka Worst had already gone into the medical room. Instead, the Alliance leader turned back toward Accelerator.

  He was busy grating his teeth and muttering to himself. “…That bitch. That’s some personality she’s got. She only ever thinks of making trouble for me.”

  “What…? What does she mean? If what she says is true—that’s far too reckless of you!!” shouted Elizalina.

  Waving a hand as if to drive her away, Accelerator muttered the next thing in a short voice, like he really didn’t want to.

  “
…Shit, it’s just a little something extra, got it?”

  4

  A night sky, completely incongruous with the true time of day. The Star of Bethlehem, rising into the air. And an incomplete archangel, dragged from the heavens through artificial means.

  William Orwell, a mercenary once called Acqua of the Back, quietly gazed upon this world in which everything was utterly twisted. After destroying the privateers’ garrison base, he’d gotten partway across the snowfield toward Fiamma’s fortress, but it seemed he’d been too late.

  Fiamma of the Right had come this far.

  Using telesma—angelic power—for personal gain was no unusual thing in modern western sorcery. But even that failed to explain the scale of this. The situation thus far had been nonsensical. Thinking about it as a technological problem, and whether one could actually do it, was nonsensical itself—but more than that, drawing out and exploiting enough power to annihilate all human life on the planet this easily was astounding.

  Nevertheless.

  An archangel was an archangel. While this one had announced the Son of God’s inception and garnered reverence as an entity deeply involved in the birth of Crossism, it was also feared for having executed heavenly punishment upon a perverse city. It was not something even a saint, even God’s Right Seat, could defeat in a head-on clash. In fact, even if all the might of humanity were arrayed on one side, it was dubious whether it could fell this archangel.

  To put it briefly, that angel was strong enough to end World War III by itself.

  But not through victory or defeat. The ending it offered would come after every person of every faction was slaughtered, plunging the world into a state wherein it could no longer continue the war.

  I see. I can understand why Fiamma was so puffed up with pride now, admitted William Orwell honestly.

  But even after the admission, his resolve would never waver.

  But have you forgotten, Fiamma, what I presided over as a member of God’s Right Seat?

  5

  Vatican City.

  Cardinal Peter Iogdis moved from the center of the church toward a window. He couldn’t see the situation in Russia from here. Still, even if the organization’s sorcery-based monitoring was silent, reports would continue to come from his subordinates. The old man, however, ran up to the window in spite of himself. He had to—the force he’d just felt was too intense.

  An efflux of divine power.

  An archangel.

  Gabriel.

  “Ohhh…”

  A noise of admiration escaped the cardinal’s throat. The priests and bishops nearby, as well; some slowly made the sign of the cross, while others recited verses from the New Testament. Their great Father watched over and protected them always, but opportunities to directly sense beings this powerful were rare. The pious would find no shame in shedding tears at the event.

  However.

  Peter Iogdis had an entirely different feeling than the rest.

  He didn’t know any details about the “mastermind’s” plan. They weren’t collaborating, either. But he knew roughly what this Fiamma of the Right person had done. And it didn’t matter what happened after this as long as it worked to Peter Iogdis’s benefit.

  In other words.

  If he could use this opportunity to seize the papal throne.

  He considered secretly communicating with a bishop of the Russian Church— Was it because their circumstances had many commonalities?

  …I was somewhat impatient while chasing the activity records of Academy City forces in Russia, but— Why, this means our victory is assured! The papal conclave is about to convene as well, just as I suspected. I can become the one who leads this world as the next pope!!

  He’d heard that signs of riots were visible all over Italy, but the cardinal didn’t care about that. The sudden change in scenery from day to night would probably deepen the chaos already going on. Just as the existence of Halley’s Comet had once caused societal unrest. But that wasn’t relevant. The Roman Orthodox Church had dispatched agents into the the general populace to make sure their riots stayed within acceptable levels, and even if that didn’t grant them complete control, there were other, more important things to focus on. First came strengthening his own position. Peter Iogdis would deploy Roman Orthodox forces to pacify the people after that. Then there wouldn’t be any problems. He’d keep damages at a tolerable level, and by the time they’d finished dealing with the debris and the dead bodies, Peter Iogdis would have ascended to the position closest to the Lord in this world.

  However.

  “Cardinal Peter Iogdis!!”

  All of a sudden, an armed priest—someone unfit for this place—burst inside.

  “It’s an emergency!! They’re temporarily suspending the conclave! We will shore up the defenses, so please, retreat deeper inside!!”

  “…”

  His feathers ruffled. From his spot next to the window, Peter Iogdis lowered his gaze to the ground. The city of Rome wasn’t visible over the thick intervening wall, but he could hear what sounded like a tumult.

  It was, in fact, an uproarious riot, and he found himself seething that the filthy rabble should have just stayed inside Rome for their violence. But they seemed to have changed directions and gone toward the Vatican. It appeared that those Roman Orthodox agents he’d placed in the populace hadn’t been enough to suppress them after all.

  “The papal conclave will proceed as scheduled.”

  “B-but, sir!!”

  “Use the Roman Orthodox forces to suppress them. A baptism of blood will silence the unwashed masses. They cannot be allowed to overturn the great things we are performing.”

  “We can’t!! That order causes a contradiction with our chain of command!! We have been allowed to strengthen our defenses to prepare for any incidents, but we can’t take offensive action against them!!”

  “What?” said Peter Iogdis, his face clouding over.

  The priest’s answer was incomprehensible to him. With the Roman pope currently absent, Peter Iogdis and the other cardinals were the church’s highest authorities. And out of the many cardinals, he possessed the greatest authority. That meant that when it came to public strength, the orders of Peter Iogdis were absolute.

  But the armed priest wouldn’t obey them.

  He explained:

  “It’s the Roman pope…”

  It sounded like he’d squeezed the words out.

  And yet, it also sounded like somewhere inside, he’d been waiting for this.

  “Our Roman pope has calmed the riotous masses with a mere few words!! He is now entering the country! We don’t have any way to stop his advance!!”

  The Roman pope.

  What he had done in the streets hadn’t been anything special. He simply spoke to everyone, approaching them, listening to what they had to say, and taking the time to soothe their rattled nerves.

  That was all.

  Normally, a crowd close to fifty thousand on the verge of a riot might have beaten him to a pulp. And they might have even taken his words and actions as the spark that would ignite a devastating explosion.

  In spite of all that, even with their unique group psychology that had become so strangely intense, the kind that treated fighting to be the natural course during war and would assume anyone standing still at such a time was evil—at his words, everyone regained their humanity. The pope hadn’t produced any magical effects to sway their emotions, nor had he read out a speech carefully composed to sway those caught up in mob mentality. The words of this one old man just slowly permeated everyone’s thoughts and spread, causing one person, then another, to lower their guns or blades.

  Of course…

  It wasn’t as though the world could be fully related to a simple scale of good and evil. Some of those in the crowds were Roman Orthodox agents, who purposely wanted to incite riots. They weren’t aiming for complete anarchy, but they were more wary of the people being quietly absorbed into supporting the Roma
n pope. Because of that, some tried to use a single gunshot to overturn their disadvantageous situation. By provoking a throng of people that straddled the line between chaos and stability, the agents were hoping to cause an even stronger outburst. In times like these, it was simpler to induce a great panic with an easily understood gunshot than by using strange sorcery. Those from the Roman Orthodox Church had written the book on how to manipulate the enormous group of two billion faithful—they’d assumed a single gunshot would be more than enough.

  And yet.

  I can’t…

  The professional assassin couldn’t reach into his pocket. Nobody could bring themselves to fire on the pope of Rome, who had calmed so many people and who said he would set things right on his own.

  Deep inside him was terror.

  Leaden pressure had gone to the pit of his stomach, and it had frozen this true assassin’s hands.

  This terror, however, was a peculiar fear that assassins, who had killed and killed so many times, had never before tasted.

  I can’t allow the small thing this man is creating to end, no matter what…!!

  And thus, the pope’s advance began.

  Many stood in his way: assassins both easily spotted and well hidden. But the pope of Rome never said a word. He didn’t brace himself. He simply continued forward. That was all it took for everyone to yield and make a path, convincing them to drop their weapons and Soul Arms and even inducing some among them to cry and repent. Before anyone knew it, many were following in the wake of his advance. These weren’t people whose minds were consumed by whirling emotions like passion—it was a simple, quiet procession.

  The armed priests who had been defending the main gate at the Vatican City border quietly crossed themselves at the pope’s return.

  Some even said aloud that they hoped things would turn for the better.

  The old man continued forth.

  Each one of his steps represented mankind’s resistance to the great monster known as global warfare.

  This was a battle that would test their worth as people—armed not with swords and guns but with reason and compassion.