Chapter Seven: Dreadspawn, Part Two

"You told me I wouldn't have to do this," Shirou muttered with a smile plastered on his face.

A crowd of faces he didn't completely recognize had gathered along the street leading to the gate out of the city. The last time he saw such a crowd was that day he toppled the giant yoma and became the saint of the city. He didn't like the crowd that day, and he certainly didn't appreciate it any more now. The worst part was that this parade had taken him and his escorts around the entire city before heading towards the exit.

"The other Fathers insisted. Almost unanimously, I might add."

Father Mason's expression remained gentle as he spoke quietly to Shirou, but Shirou knew Mason was just as irritated about the celebration as he was.

A chorus of overenthusiastic cheers rang out from a group clustered in front of Rosemarta Inn. Shirou waved stiffly in their direction, his smile wavering as those cheers turned to screeching and sobbing. "This is too much. We should've been long gone by now." He glanced back at Shirley, who was trailing him closely with a look of unease. "At this rate, we won't get far before dark. And we have days of hiking after this."

"I know. But I do not believe the Fathers are aware of the strenuous exercise involved in travel like you are soon to embark upon. They're a fat lot."

"And you know?"

"I was a soldier once. Not for very long, but long enough that you have my sympathy."

"What's a soldier doing as a priest?"

"I became aware that the priests we had lacked a practical mindset."

Shirou swept his gaze from the crowd to the two dozen Honor guards surrounding him. "I think you still have much work ahead of you."

"Unfortunately, you are correct."

"I hope those supplies I managed to scrounge up will help."

Father Mason's smile grew a tad more genuine at that. "I hope so too."

"I wish I thought of it sooner."

"It would have been for naught without the proper organization. It is as Captain Galk said; there is a need for uniformity and consistency within a body of soldiers."

"I know. Soldiers aren't reliable if you can't estimate their capabilities."

Remembering the meetings with his fellow captains gave him a measure of relief that he was leaving the city. Though their goals were aligned, he and the captains approached the yoma differently. While Shirou preferred fostering the burden of protection on the capable few, Galk and the captains wanted to empower the many. Risking everyone in such a way was something Shirou could not agree with. Not when he resigned to walk the path of hardship by himself.

"Don't worry about it," Father Mason said, as if reading Shirou's thoughts. "Ultimately, you and this city have different roads to walk, even if those roads reach the same destination."

"Is that the polite way of telling me to mind my own business?"

"I'm telling you not to worry. You are not the only one willing to risk his life for the greater good."

Shirou had no response.

"For now, focus on the task given to you." Father Mason continued. "You will be visiting towns beyond these walls. I daresay that you will find no parades out there. And that is not a good thing. That we can have this kind of festivity here is a sign that the sacrifices others have made for the sake of the city has brought forth some value."

"The farthest I've been from Rabona is the outpost at the crossroads," Shirou said, looking over the crowd to the sky past the top of the walls. "What's it like out there?"

"I've seen little from my own travels," Father Mason admitted. "But I hear stories."

"Stories?"

"From all sorts of people—merchants, immigrants, mercenaries. And the dying."

Shirou swallowed. "How is it?"

The peaceful mask Father Mason wore to the parade slipped for a moment. The crowd did not notice, but Shirou, whom had learned much from the Father since coming to Rabona, saw what lay beneath. A weary priest sighed before slipping back into his role. "There will be plenty of work for you out there, Saint of Rabona. Even when your hair turns white. Realistically I cannot expect you to change everything or save all of us." Shirou grimaced. "One lesson I learned as a soldier is that 'No sword can kill everything'. All I can ask is that you do your best. And look out for that girl tagging along with you, if you can. Children are the purest reason as to why a sword exists in the first place."

The knot in Shirou's throat loosened. These words were more digestible. "A sword kills," he said carefully. "But a sword can also protect."

"Yes. Now see to it that you do just that."

Raki slowed to a stop at the crest of a hill behind a large bluff. Breathless, he supported himself with his arms against his knees. His mouth was dry, and sweat rolled down his brow. Luckily the sun had risen not long ago, and faint traces of the night's coolness lingered in the air. He relished in a soft breeze that blew over the hill.

"Can you keep going?" Clare asked from behind him.

Unlike Raki, Clare was mostly unaffected by their flight from Doga. The only sign of exertion she showed was the dust that marred her gray two-piece uniform.

"I'm fine," Raki said between breaths. "Do you have water?"

"No."

Raki despaired. He didn't bring any supplies with him. All he had were the clothes on his back. He gazed towards the horizon, where a large river ran southward as far as the eye could see. Beyond the river were a few small mountains and green plains. It seemed much cooler there than where he stood, shaded from the hot, climbing sun, in the westernmost wastelands of Lautrec. He swallowed as he dreamt of a cold, crisp drink.

"We're going towards Rabona, right?" Raki asked. "Are we going to stop at a town on the way?"

"Yes."

Clare marched past him, her waist-length cape swaying behind her. Her sword rested in its sheath across her back. Raki took a few deep breaths and followed, ignoring the pull in his legs.

"I didn't bring any supplies," Raki mentioned.

"We'll get some in Brandt."

Raki nodded. "Are the yoma going to follow us there?"

"I don't know. The yoma should not congregate to that extent. What happened in Doga has not happened before, to my knowledge. I cannot predict the yoma's behavior now."

The boy swallowed. "I heard from my uncle that yoma disguise themselves as the people they eat."

"They do."

He remained silent as they walked. A hundred thoughts pounded in his head, demanding answers about his brother, his uncle and the town. The yoma had always been a distant problem that his brother told stories of. Raki never thought that he would see a yoma in his lifetime, not to mention lose someone to one. Or lose everyone.

"Miss? You're a silver-eyed witch, right?" he asked.

Clare's eyes were like twin points of glowing white when they glanced back at him. "We do not call ourselves that," she answered. "But that is what your townspeople call us, yes."

"My uncle told me your kind are part-yoma."

"We are."

"Then why did you help me?"

"Because we are also part-human."

Raki flushed and scratched his cheek. "Thank you. For saving me."

Clare stopped in her tracks. "You are welcome."

"I'll do my best not to be a burden."

The silver-eyed witch didn't know how to respond. For as long as she had been a warrior, Clare had never been thanked for her duty. It was, after, her purpose. Her sword was made to kill, and she, a warrior that carried a yoma's blood, used that sword to kill yoma. She and her sword carried nearly the same identity—for they carried a united purpose—and as such she was not meant to receive thanks. Clare stared at the boy for a moment, making him shift uncomfortably, before nodding. "Let me know if you need my help, or if you need to eat or rest," she said. "The walk to Brandt will take at least half the day. I do not sense yoma nearby so we are in no rush."

"Okay. My name is Raki."

She hesitated before turning. "Mine is Clare."

Flora surveyed the treetops from a cliff that overlooked the forest. Neither her eyes nor her sensitivity to demonic energy were a match for that of God-Eye Galatea's, but Flora didn't need such things to understand what was happening down below.

With her naked eye, she could see movement between the trees, a hive of activity by the combined effort of countless yoma. It was a sight to behold once in a lifetime, and yet the sight reminded her vaguely of the fresh memory from months ago. The similarities between what had happened in Rabona and what was unfolding before her eyes chilled her bones with apprehension—or was it fear?

"Certainly mysterious, isn't it?"

A voice startled Flora from her thoughts. Another warrior like her approached the cliff and took a seat at the edge, both feet dangling over the drop.

Ophelia played with her braided ponytail while studying the yoma activity. She seemed laid-back, but Flora didn't let herself be fooled: Ophelia did not become the fourth most powerful warrior of the generation without refining her strength to a razor's edge.

"It is mysterious," Flora agreed, brushing a golden curl from her eyes. "According to reports, yoma activity has been on the rise, but I have only seen a concentration of this level only once."

"Really? It makes me want to send you down there alone."

Flora stiffened.

Ophelia sensed this. Her small lips formed a serene smile that, combined with her elfin features, formed a gentle, kind expression. "Just kidding. I want in on some of the action, too."

The stare Ophelia turned to the collection of yoma was intense, filled with a thirst that made Flora feel ill.

"But I do want to ask what your opinion on that is," Ophelia said as she pointed a slim finger towards the center of yoma activity. From their position high above, a hill of pulsing flesh, a tumor in the earth, rose from a large, artificial clearing in the forest. Thick veins formed a network of black ichor within the rotted purple flesh, and disappeared into the ground like the roots of a tree.

"I have not seen anything like that," Flora answered, though her thoughts turned to the massive yoma that attack Rabona. "It seems to be alive. Perhaps it is an voracious eater of some sort?"

"A voracious eater, hmm? Looks promising."

"It seems to be vulnerable now. Should we mobilize and destroy it?"

Ophelia seemed to ponder for a moment before answering, "No. We'll leave it be."

"Wh-what?"

"You know what that reminds me of? An egg." It wouldn't have been too far off the mark, Flora realized. "Think of what kind of monster would come out of that egg. Think of how exciting it would be to try and kill it." Ophelia licked her lips. "Oh my. I'm growing lightheaded."

A spontaneous resolution to destroy the egg before it could hatch a monster brought Flora's hand to the grip of her sword. But by the time Flora took her first step towards the edge of the cliff, Ophelia was already on her feet, her demonic energy surging through her limbs as she threw Flora away. The seventh strongest warrior stabilized her balance in midair and landed on her feet a few meters away.

"We need to destroy that egg," Flora stated.

"No, we don't."

"Whatever is growing inside might kill all of us before moving on."

Ophelia's smile widened to show her teeth. "I know. I was getting bored with those lackluster creatures. 'Awakened Being'? Nothing special about them."

Flora stepped forward again, her hand still on the grip of her sword.

"Still trying? Our orders were to monitor the egg, not to destroy it." Even as she spoke, Ophelia drew her own sword. "If you manage to destroy the egg, I can't guarantee the safety of our sisters, you know."

That quieted the infusion of demonic energy into Flora's sword arm.

"You dare?" she said softly.

"Don't think of me as the bad guy, number seven. I only want to have some fun. If I can't have it by killing strong yoma, all you leave me with is the little warriors." Ophelia twirled her blade playfully despite its size; she paid no attention to fact that the sword, as the other warriors' swords, was as wide as her arm, and as tall as her upper body. Her thin arms did not betray the underlying strength within them. "Of course, I don't mind if you want to fight me now. I've heard about your offensive strength, Windcutter Flora. It makes me want to test you."

"You're insane," Flora stated. Her hand left the grip of her sword. "And I am done here."

Ophelia looked surprised. "You're leaving?"

"I'd rather not spend my time like this. Farewell." Flora turned to leave the cliff, but not before adding a warning. "If you let that yoma in the egg get out of hand, you will have me to answer to."

Her threat was minor at best. Flora knew that, despite her own abilities, Ophelia was much stronger than her. Ranks among the warriors became more pronounced the higher on the scale one stood. The difference between rank four and rank seven were more apparent than the difference between rank forty-four and rank forty-seven. But if risking her life meant the guaranteed extermination of a beast like the one she saw in Rabona, she would have died without regret.

To be a warrior meant walking alongside death.

But that did not mean she would throw away her life so easily if there were other ways to do her job. As she departed from the cliff and the mad warrior behind her, Flora considered her next steps.

Reporting to the Organization was of low priority on the list.

Number four, twelve, thirty-two and thirty-six could do that for her.

Investigating of the behavior of the yoma across the land seemed more important. Logic suggested the possibility of another mass movement of yoma elsewhere. Discovering the reason behind this strange behavior and finding countermeasures—or even eliminating the cause entirely—would be better time spent.

It would not be said that Windcutter Flora wasted her time.

Wasted time meant the yoma would grow in force. Wasted time was time that could be used to slay another monster, to save another soul. Failure was not an option.

a/n: not as long as a usual chapter, but I think it's satisfying.

Thank you for your kind words, SaverLi. I'm aware of Shirley's presence (or lack thereof) in this story. It will be addressed gradually.