A Certain Magical Index Vol. 18 Read online

  Footsteps banged like gunshots, ringing through the darkness at a moment’s delay. Thirty feet in the air, their gargantuan blades clashed two, three times. The sparks were like lightning bolts; the shock waves billowed out, one after another; and the onlooking knights were hit with an expansion of light and heat like being in the path of an exploding firework.

  Some cried out.

  Some crouched and tried to take the hit.

  The shock waves pounded them all down equally.

  “I see,” said the Knight Leader after landing on the peak of a thick tree, glancing down briefly at his subordinates.

  This was probably the reason William Orwell had let the third princess escape earlier. It wasn’t that he would struggle to protect her while fighting, nor was it a sense of despair, wanting to safeguard the princess’s life even if he died. It was no more than an attempt to avoid getting her killed with his own strength.

  The Knight Leader turned a new glare on his old friend, who landed on the top of another huge tree.

  At first glance, it would have looked like the two men had been fighting physically by hitting their swords together, but the battle’s true essence was in sorcery. After all, even if you built your muscular strength with reckless abandon, you’d never get that much destructive force out of it. As soon as you crossed a certain line, your own muscles would compress your organs, ending in self-destruction.

  The secret to their battle was meticulousness. Before this had started, each man had inferred all possible side effects that would come about as a result of putting out unreasonable strength or speed, then continuously picked out which ones to use during the clash of their overwhelming power in the meantime. During their battle, hundreds, thousands of ill effects would come about, their type changing from moment to moment depending on the situation. If a caster let even one of those slip through during a high-speed battle, then a moment later, he would die.

  It was easy for a person to say they were going to overcome their own limitations, but to succeed only after going that far…And even if they did go that far, they could never completely get rid of the limitations of their own physical existence. Depending on the case, developing tricks to use as tactics, such as Kaori Kanzaki challenging others to short contests using her sword-drawing technique, worked for victory. But whether it was through the power of sainthood or that of the Curtana, a person was never stronger in battle just because they had a stronger raw power. When all was said and done, anyone who wielded immense strength also needed technique and the capacity to control their immense strength.

  William was strong.

  The Knight Leader was strong.

  One couldn’t stand in their position merely having acquired some sort of power. It was because these two had mighty skill from the start that they could add on special powers and step into the realm of what defied imagination for normal people.

  Conversely, if one blocked the magic the other was using to supplement their high-speed combat, they could bring down the caster indirectly…However, this didn’t apply to the two fighting here and now.

  William possessed the innate disposition of a saint as well as a group of spells he’d developed in God’s Right Seat.

  The Knight Leader possessed the Curtana and the all-British Continent, along with sorcery he had optimized for knights.

  These symbols, which served as their sorcery keys, would not be easily snatched away. Furthermore, both of them being extremely talented casters, the two of them had acquired mind-sets that would not easily shake during the process of overcoming numerous wars. Even if one or two of their limbs were cut off, their magic would likely never run out of control.

  The two only watched each other’s stances, continuing to glean information that went beyond mere soldiers.

  Being old friends meant nothing. The time that had passed and the roads they had traveled down, constructing spells unbeknownst to each other, were moot.

  “Hmph.” The Knight Leader sniffed. “You are certainly talented for a saint…but you don’t seem capable of giving full play to your abilities.”

  “…”

  “I can sense your wounds throbbing with every attack. You won’t use your forte, water, or your high-speed sliding movement. Is your Academy City defeat still dragging you down?”

  William didn’t answer. All he did was slowly swing his ten-foot-long giant sword to reposition it.

  “Is there a reason to go that far to protect the third princess?” said the Knight Leader, also moving as if in response. At the giant tree’s summit, he shifted his dark-red Hrunting smoothly.

  He noticed the knights under his command struggling on the ground below but still trying to grasp their bows with shaking hands. He didn’t spare them another glance.

  “Certainly, the benevolence and morality that form her basis are remarkable,” he continued. “But not, I should think, enough to operate a nation. The more important problem is this: What is the most efficient political move to direct this country? If you were to ask me which would save the United Kingdom as it is now, military might or virtue, there is only one real answer. Her Highness Carissa appears to be concerned, but it does not seem to me that the third princess could wield the Curtana Original. Not in terms of her personality or ability.”

  “…”

  “I won’t say the Curtana is all that matters. But the fact remains that it is an effective combat strength. The Knights will make the best choice for the kingdom. With that choice being Her Highness with the Curtana Original in hand, our position is to support her with all our might—”

  The Knight Leader abruptly stopped at the sound of a chuckle.

  The mercenary’s shoulders were moving slightly, up and down. But the smile on his face wasn’t the wild one the Knight Leader knew, the one he’d give when faced with a sturdy opponent.

  It was a laugh.

  “You talk overmuch, my friend,” William Orwell said, outright denying all the things he’d just heard. His expression implied that it was absurd to even bother remembering them. “Have you fallen to where you cannot even take up your sword and fight a man, without layering excuse upon excuse for yourself and others both?”

  There was no voice in response.

  Boom!!

  Leaping from the canopies of the ancient trees, the mercenary and the knight clashed overhead.

  The incredible force of their departure crushed the limbs they’d been standing on.

  William and the Knight Leader had both jumped straight up from the tops of the trees. Then, making gravity yield through brute force, their bodies seemed to slide right through the air, and their swords—they collided without mercy at the midpoint.

  Sparks exploded.

  An inexhaustible shock wave obliterated.

  Having completely lost their forward energy to the initial attack, the mercenary and the knight began to descend vertically. But for them, gravity was no threat. They ignored it and swung their swords again from point-blank range.

  Duga-zzzaa-guga-gigigigi!! Blade and blade snapped in a complex pattern.

  With no footholds in their aerial battle, they couldn’t place their body weight behind their slashes. Instead, William and his foe used the energy from parrying each other’s attacks to rotate their bodies, then repeat their attack from a different angle—repeating, repeating, repeating, and repeating again.

  They looked like two gears, their teeth locked together as they descended.

  Gears with thick blades, shaving away at the other like a circular saw.

  Their 360-degree exchange made the most of their situation, but it wouldn’t last forever. The ground was still getting closer. And the moment they landed would be a chance to break the deadlock.

  It came a moment later.

  Their feet made contact with the undergrowth-laden ground.

  “!!”

  “!!”

  A thunderous boom rang out.

  William Orwell and the Knight Leader each went away from th
e other, about fifty meters from ground zero—exactly like pebbles blown away by a huge bomb.

  But the regroup hadn’t come about of their own intentions.

  As they landed, they both took another step forward and unleashed a mighty strike, but each was thrown back by the other’s attack power and sent sliding across the ground.

  Scrriiittch!! William’s soles scraped nastily.

  It was the sound of the black soil tearing away along with the underbrush. Almost like a railroad track, only the line William went along had been carved out of the ground.

  Because of the aftereffects, the battlefield had shifted away from where the knights had fallen.

  William’s back was almost touching the slanted surface of the landslide hundreds of yards across that he’d caused in order to cut off his own escape route. Meanwhile, the Knight Leader repositioned his dark-red longsword. William wouldn’t be retreating any farther than this. Not because of how thick or high the wall was, though. Surmounting that wall was synonymous with giving away the route leading to the third princess.

  And the Knight Leader could tell by looking at William.

  His body weight was already starting to lean forward, into his giant Ascalon.

  Just like he was at the starting line of a short-distance sprint.

  But the Knight Leader was about to charge, too.

  “The reason for your anger is the third princess, is it? Both of us have slain many on the battlefield who we decided were enemies. What good is it now to take up the sword for a reason like that?!”

  “Insignificant. Your excuses are insignificant!!”

  “Hmph. You mean to tell me you’d rather not cut down those who might submit to surrender, even on the battlefield?! I suppose it is very much like you to say that!!”

  A burst of noise.

  The Knight Leader, dark-red longsword in hand, plunged toward William, and the mercenary responded by charging toward the chief of Britain’s knights, putting them on a direct collision course.

  “But to think you would make an enemy of the military to protect ‘Virtue.’ Are you quite certain there is worth in supporting that girl?!”

  Sparks and a shock wave scattered around, spreading, and even during that time, they moved at a high speed.

  Blade clashed with blade, and they glared at each other from point-blank range.

  “I have no need for rambling about my stance just so you can hear it,” William spat.

  Scrape.

  William’s Ascalon pushed back against the Knight Leader’s sword.

  “I will demonstrate my reason for fighting through this body and sword of mine!!”

  The mercenary briefly pulled his own sword back. Then, to bury the slight empty space that opened up, he slammed the blade against the Knight Leader’s dark-red longsword. The incredible impact caused the Knight Leader’s balance to be shaken ever so slightly, and William followed up by unleashing a second strike.

  The chief of the Knights wouldn’t perish from just that, however. He swung his dark-red blade around to parry, then let the force of the impact send him backward.

  A distance of thirty feet opened up between them.

  …Mercs fight without considering military or political reasoning. Even whether or not the third princess is princess of this country holds no meaning for him.

  The Knight Leader, reading his opponent, gripped his longsword handle with even more fervor.

  Flere210—the one who transforms tears.

  As his magic name implied, the Knight Leader’s reason for taking up arms was to transform cold tears into warm ones.

  But that alone is still shallow. It is far from enough to kill me, you wannabe mercenary.

  “…”

  On the other hand, William, having finally stopped moving, regripped his own sword’s handle in his hands.

  The Soul Arm Ascalon.

  Over ten feet long and over four hundred pounds, created by a sorcerer who had calculated the values from a legendary, mythical blade related in a sixteenth-century tale—it was a sword that possessed the capabilities to theoretically slay a fifty-foot-long dragon.

  The double-edged sword’s blade didn’t have a uniform edge. Each part had a different thickness and angle to it, allowing its user to wield it like an ax as well, or a razor, or a saw. It was even equipped with a can opener–like spike and a wire running across the blade like a jigsaw, giving insight into just how eccentric the sorcerer who had created it truly was. Scales, flesh, bone, muscle, tendon, fang, claw, wing, fat, organ, vein, nerve…The creator seemed to be serious in their intent to make it something that could break down an entire dragon by itself.

  In the Knight Leader’s hands was a dark-red longsword: the Soul Arm Hrunting.

  Almost thirteen feet long, its weight was unknown but probably the same as other longswords of its type. A Soul Arm with the same name as the magic sword used by the mythical Beowulf. Each time it killed an enemy standing in the way, their spattered blood would supposedly strengthen the sword and sharpen its blade…But more than likely, the Knight Leader’s sword applied the angelic power of telesma as blood spatters, gaining immense destructive force by compressing and sealing large amounts of it.

  Its steel no longer obeyed normal physical laws: a lightness that didn’t match its actual mass; a hardness to take an attack from the Ascalon and not be scratched; and above all, a supersharp blade that would probably kill William in one clean hit. It explained a few things.

  …In the end, it’s the same as the crosses in Crossism—an application of Idol Theory, thought William in calm analysis. By applying the Curtana and the Hrunting, swords that symbolize the United Kingdom, they further increase their ability to control alien powers within the kingdom’s territory…Hmph. I had wondered how he was using more telesma than an average saint’s body…As loyal as ever to his theory of knights, to entrust his own life to his sword and his nation.

  As he thought the final words, William Orwell bent his lips slightly.

  The Knight Leader, not noticing it, said, “We don’t need secrets in a one-on-one fight. I’ll explain the details if you like.”

  “This coming from someone who has deceived the queen.”

  “The second princess’s plan is effective, but to be honest, I’ve been slightly bored by it. Well, I’m sure she’ll allow me to do things my way, if it’s only a short break taken against a mercenary.”

  “I see. But that’s not necessary,” denied William. “I’ve figured you out, but an enemy like you will need more than that to be defeated.”

  “That was fast,” the Knight Leader muttered, appreciative and impressed. But then:

  “And unfortunate. This battle will only happen once. I would have liked to fight you at your strongest.”

  Ga-boom!!

  The darkness of the night rumbled with a strange force.

  The Knight Leader hadn’t moved a step from his position.

  He had, however, recklessly swung his sword.

  But range didn’t come into play.

  William dodged to the side immediately upon hearing the noise, but he was already too late. His left shoulder, including his collarbone, already had a hole of an inch or two carved out of it.

  …That wasn’t…Hrunting…?!

  His attack was clearly different from the ones that had come before.

  Faster than the blood could spurt out, William had already regripped Ascalon in his right hand.

  “Did you know this? Beowulf is famous for his magic sword Hrunting, but in the most important battles, strangely, the sword played almost no part at all.”

  There was no sound.

  The Knight Leader stepped up to William faster than sound could travel.

  Hrunting came at him in a horizontal swing, and William caught it with Ascalon, using just one hand. But apart from that, the noise of slicing wind reached his ears. He felt a strange chill, and as he channeled all his strength to swing his head out of the way, a shallow wound ran acro
ss his cheek.

  “In Beowulf’s infamous battle against Grendel, he used the strength of his own arms. In his battle against the water monster, an old sword in the enemy’s hideout. And then, during the final battle of his life against the wicked dragon, a different blade once again.”

  The Knight Leader moved anew.

  With William’s balance slightly askew from his dodge, the Knight Leader released Hrunting from its locked clash with Ascalon.

  And then he swung a longsword.

  William parried with Ascalon, but his balance was off. His body lifted into the air.

  Boom!!

  With a huge noise, William Orwell flew.

  “The story has one thing to teach us. To divide your fate—to always have more than one trump card ready.”

  As the Knight Leader’s lips moved, the mercenary’s body slammed into a giant tree and crumpled down to its base.

  Ignoring the cracking as the tree began to fall, he continued, “As I thought, this is as far as a wannabe mercenary can go.”

  William stood, blood spurting from his left shoulder but Ascalon still in his right hand.

  The Knight Leader’s words reached his opponent’s ears.

  “Duels don’t need secrets. I’ll explain the details if you like.”

  4

  On a freight car on the Eurostar line headed from London to Folkestone, Touma Kamijou pressed himself to the roof to keep himself hidden.

  The train was traveling fast. He didn’t know what a foreign train’s average speed was, but they probably didn’t reach close to two hundred miles per hour normally. They’d been going at low speed using diesel, which they did when there were power transmission issues in the city of London, but then the train had suddenly sped up, presumably because electric power had been reestablished.

  There were few trains running, since it was the middle of the night and close to the last train time. More importantly, with most of the United Kingdom region embroiled in a coup d’état, regular schedules were not being maintained. It was only because there were no other trains on the line that this one could shoot along at this ridiculous speed. That said…

  “Mgha-gha-gha-gha-gha-gha-gha-gha-gha-gha-gha-gha-gha-gha—”