Mahou Shoujo Lyrical Nanoha Fan Fiction ❯ My Road, Your Road, Our Road ❯ Ｃｒｕｃｉｂｌｅ ( Chapter 7 )

[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]

Despite his wound, his shoulders were no longer as stiff, and she could see some tension easing. It wasn't the best, but it was good enough for the time being.

The pain in her arm flared intermittently, and that cost her some sleep, but she was as rested as she could ever be, given their situation.

Last night, she held him close as he broke, keeping him from thrashing around or hurting himself, until exhaustion claimed them both. She offered no further words of consolation or comfort, but she had a feeling her mere presence was enough.

But now, with renewed strength in her legs and clarity in her mind, she was more focused on their next plan of action. The camp, as he called it, was not much farther off.

The path they were traversing now was near the shoreline of a vast lake, its waters dead still and ominously clear.

Lake Moryana. Lake of the Dead, he'd said it was called, due to the sheer number of bodies found or dumped there—but still, to many it was an escape route, if they were brave enough to face the frigid waters.

He related a story about a group of young women, defenseless against a siege, who jumped into its abyssal depths to preserve their virtue from invading soldiers. Whether it was a true story or a myth, no one could say, but from that distance, she could see footprints, big and small, leading into the water, but not from beyond. More boots, of varying sizes and without apparent owners, littered the banks.

The terrain soon became hilly, with scattered corpses of trees that were also withered and bare, their bark splintered and peeling off. The ground became less compact and rocky and more yielding, soft—more dirt than gravel, but also with patches of yellow-green moss and the occasional weeds.

She thought she saw shadows, in between the trees and up the hill. Or hear whispers, which were probably only the wind rustling the leaves and branches. She couldn't tell. She didn't want to know, because her focus was elsewhere.

He crouched near some tire treads at the intersection of two roads. He studied their pattern, their sizes and spacings, then rose to his feet. He scanned the area again before moving.

"Exactly the trucks they would've used for transporting...people they took. The luckier ones, at least."

"What do you mean by luckier ones, Yuuno-san?"

He stared at her like he was measuring something for a good second, but he soon, without missing a beat, told her all she needed to know, and all that she'd feared.

"Those who are not on a forced march."

Her teammates could be the less lucky ones. And if they were, would they still be alive? She didn't need to be told what a forced march meant. Even trained soldiers could falter and fall in an unforgiving trek. What if—

"We need to hurry."

There was a sympathetic look in his eyes, though, as they took in her face. He paused and seemed to take a moment to gather his thoughts before speaking.

"...Don't lose hope just yet."

To hear that coming from him, a person who seemed to have given up so much hope, was, in a way, ironic. But maybe because it was him, it didn't sound as hollow as it could've.

"Yeah...thank you. You're right."

At one point, he abruptly stopped as he seemed to notice something ahead. It wasn't clear what, at first.

He looked left, then right, then front again.

"What is it, Yuuno-san?"

He shushed her and pointed. She strained to look, but it took some time for her to see. Once she did, she realized they were looking at a convoy. Miserable people in chains were being herded—the unlucky ones.

The convoy was small, with only four armed escorts. They were traveling at an agonizingly slow pace, with the captives huddled close together for a bit of warmth, heading for an unidentifiable destination.

He cocked his rifle once his gaze found a vantage point in a grassy knoll with enough foliage to hide, clearly planning an ambush. But she touched his arm and shook her head.

"I have a plan."

He eyed her with surprise. "Plan?"

"Don't waste your ammunition," she whispered, her voice even lower. "I know you don't have much ammo for the rifle. Trust me, I can do this."

"...If things go wrong, I will step in," he replied. "...Just don't endanger these people."

She nodded in acknowledgement.

"I won't."

***

His knowledge of the land allowed them to catch up with the convoy just in time as the guards halted for a break and took to smoking or checking on their captives.

Perhaps all that diligent practice for the play her class wanted to stage was useful, after all.

She clutched her wounded arm, walked toward the guards with an injured gait, and tried to appear as pitiful and as weak as possible.

The look in their eyes was obvious when they noticed her—the gleam of sadistic, sick delight that she would have to put up with. All of them foolishly approached the pitiful, lost young woman, laughing. Not even a single rear guard. She wanted to laugh at that.

"Well, well, well. A lost lamb, we have here!"

"Look, look! She's beautiful, isn't she? Strange eyes, but I know some people who are into that."

"Is your arm hurt, young miss?"

"Or is it...broken?"

"Your face is dirty! Why don't you...come with us...so we can...wash it?"

"Why just the face?!"

Their laughs and sniggers made her skin crawl.

She had to feign terror and act weak and fragile to draw them closer.

One did, hand outstretched to grab her by the shoulder, and she caught it before slamming a fist into his chest. She could hear the rib cracking from the force. The others, fumbling with their weapons from the shock of the assault, had barely had the chance to react before she closed the distance between them and threw a right hook to another's temple, a spinning kick to his companion, and then a flying kick to the last guard's abdomen. They were out cold in mere moments.

Her injured arm hurt from the sudden strain, and it was bleeding again, but it didn't matter now. Her hands moved with purpose, and she took their keys, their guns, their grenades. Her eyes turned to the captives. Their clothes, if they had any, were little more than rags. Her teammates weren't there.

She quickly freed the prisoners and was shackling the slavers with their own chains, tying their feet and hands, when he caught up.

"Yuuno-san."

His gaze swept over her handiwork and then at her bleeding arm, but he remained silent. He seemed impressed, which made her smile, if just a little.

She wondered if he was going to shoot them anyway, remembering the order he mentioned. To her surprise, he didn't.

The prisoners had seized the guns, and he nodded at them before gesturing for her to come over, after rifling through the pockets of the unconscious men.

Leaving the prisoners with a little bit of ammunition, he moved away, and she followed him again.

"You're..." she began, cautiously, "not going to execute them?"

"They are already dead. If they dare return to their leader after losing their captives, they will be executed. Desert, they will fall in with another marauder or warband...and Orusea eats up that kind of people fast."

Just as he finished, she could hear gunshots from behind. She stopped to turn and look. She watched them aim their guns at the helpless slavers and squeeze their triggers again and again until there was only the empty clicking sound.

A part of her knew she couldn't have helped them if she wanted to. But still...

"...I know this is hard to hear...and maybe this sounds like hypocrisy coming from me," he added quietly. "But I have defied that order more than I'd like to admit because I know this."

"Will that...' she swallowed, "will not following the order put you in danger?"

He looked down—a ghost of a smile.

"...Her Majesty expects not blind obedience, but clarity and conviction in your actions. She raises wolves, not lapdogs. Wolves who are willing to put down their leader if she ever goes astray."

Her. The leader. The one in the poster that reminded her of Fate-mama, the one he spoke about in his journal. She could see a sense of admiration in his eyes when he talked about her, one he clearly didn't give many.

"But you are a soldier...aren't you?"

"Rangers answer only to the Crown. Maybe..." he shook his head. "...a royal retinue would be a more accurate way of putting it. Knights-errant."

He didn't seem to be too comfortable describing himself as such, but now she could begin to see how things made sense. Why the phrase "Crown matters" carried such weight that he could walk through a checkpoint as if nothing were amiss.

"Is that why the grandmother called you...Bogatyr?"

He sighed, a long, heavy one, like it was a heavy object he was lifting, a burden he could never hope to cast away.

"...You can say that. It's...nothing but an appellation from the storied past."

"Still...it's not meaningless."

She'd heard stories and tales of knights, but they were legends. The Ancient Belkans had knightly orders...but they were engaged in bloody wars for lords and kings.

"...And if you're the knights, what about...Her Majesty?"

He paused and considered this before looking at her again, a hard light in his eyes.

"You've read my journal, and I'm sure you found what I think of the Knyaginya. That's all you need to know."

The description of her in the journal certainly painted her as a benevolent, powerful, but flawed monarch. In a way, like Olivie. Now she understood his admiration and his misgivings about her.

Maybe despite her order to shoot slavers on sight, she expected her knights to exercise discretion instead of following her every word.

"Is that why the 'Crown matters' you used before made people back down so quickly?"

His gaze grew more distant and melancholy, even if it didn't quite soften.

"That phrase is not some kind of trivial catchphrase," he whispered. "A Ranger invoking the words...will be judged accordingly...but only by their brethren who share their burden. It is not a term to be used lightly."

"...Ah..." she breathed, realizing the gravity of his statement. "And yet...you used it to help me."

He blinked. She smiled at him again. He sighed and looked away.

"She would have done the same."

"And I'm honored."

The silence between them seemed to grow deeper. It felt a little longer before he looked at her again, and this time, she thought she could see something akin to contentment in his eyes.

"...Let's keep going."

***

The camp was down there, down that hill. He finally made use of the binoculars that he kept with him, sweeping the perimeter like an eagle hunting for prey.

She thought it would be big. The trucks made it look that way, at least. But it was a smaller one than what she expected—probably enough to house a couple of dozen people at most. It was an isolated and quiet place, and she could hear no voices and see no one.

Three trucks had just left the camp after unloading crates and captives that were quickly ushered into a nearby warehouse.

"Not too many people left to guard the place. Guess they were hit worse than I expected."

The grim satisfaction didn't elude her, but it was somewhat reassuring.

"I'll go down there and sneak in," she declared. "If it's only a few people left in there, I could take them down quickly without too much of a commotion."

"Are you crazy?" His voice, for the first time, was higher than his usual speaking tone. "Sure, they might be only a few guards, but they also have drones and sentries."

She looked back at those eyes with the same hard, uncompromising look in them. The kind she knew from Nanoha-mama, and one she'd seen him wear more than enough times in their journey so far.

"Time to finally put that rifle to good use, don't you think?" she replied, keeping her tone light, if resolute. "They know your face. Not mine."

He slapped a fresh clip into his rifle and checked his ammunition one more time before standing up.

"You really are like her, aren't you?" He didn't say the name. "...There is an opening you could use. On the northeast corner of the camp, there is a blind spot for their sentry towers. You'll be able to sneak in with little trouble. Take a flash-bang with you. Just in case."

"I will. Thank you, Yuuno-san."

She removed the hooded cloak and flexed her muscles to ease their tension before readying herself.

"Don't try anything too rash. Be safe. I'll do all I can to make sure of that, too."

"That's a promise?"

She expected no answer, but to her surprise, she received a small, quiet, almost imperceptible, "It is."

He touched her shoulder before giving her the grenade. It wasn't much, but the gesture felt comforting nonetheless.

"Thank you. I won't die, don't worry," she nodded before slowly, silently creeping away, keeping herself as low as she could to the ground and her steps as soft as possible, with Chris floating close to her side.

***

One thing she noticed was that for all their posturing and getup, the guard at the sentry tower was probably a recent addition to the camp. They were also young. They didn't even check to see if anyone was there, just lazily gazing ahead, like they didn't want to be there.

It was almost too easy for her to sneak up to their post, climb the ladder, and take them by surprise. A single punch before they could so much as shout put them out. She checked their weapons and removed the clips of ammunition, as well as any other grenades and throwing knives they might have, before going down.

The crates and cages provided ample cover. She could overhear the two men chatting as they walked by. They sounded drunk. They smelled it, too, but they seemed more careless than intoxicated. They didn't even see her dart from her cover until it was too late.

Rio once joked about pressure points being a "ninja party trick," but she remembered every one. Elbow, jaw, neck, ribs. Fast, precise, and disabling. She made quick work of the men before they could cry out in alarm. She dragged their bodies into the darkness of the camp and searched their pockets. The keys clinked in her palm—heavy, scratched, used too often. Not prisoners' keys. Storage? Or cells? She tucked them into her waistband and moved.

Back against the wall of a storage shed, she took a peek. Three more guards, seemingly more alert than the others, were just across her. They seemed to have sensed something was amiss, and she knew it wouldn't be long before they were alerted. The daylight didn't provide much cover for her, either. She needed a better idea.

"Chris?"

The Device nodded and floated over to the guards. She needed a diversion, and this seemed to be the best one, as much as she disliked putting her Device in harm's way. She crept close to the shadows and waited.

When the three men seemed to take notice of the oddity and got closer to where the Device was floating, she took her chance.

One guard, she threw to the ground, while another she punched in the stomach, leaving the last one for her to wrestle a weapon from, kick, and then bust his head open with the butt of his rifle.

It took less time than she thought. It took a lot more energy, however, with the pain in her arm making itself known once again. But at least Chris was unharmed, and she didn't have time or luxury to falter.

A shot rang out just as she was about to catch a breather, downing a drone she didn't know was in the sky until then. The metal carcass fell to the ground, smoking and fizzing. Another dropped right behind her soon after.

"That was close..." she mumbled as she quickly darted away, not even pausing to look behind her.

She won't begrudge him for it, but that gunshot had certainly roused some people in the camp, as she saw a man walking out of a small building at the end of the street. She immediately took cover. No alarm had been raised, but the element of surprise was likely gone by now.

She pressed against the wall and breathed deeply to calm herself down, though it was less a conscious action than just her body and instincts reacting. It didn't work all that well, though. She still had no clue how many people were in there.

The opposition had begun filing out of the buildings and leaving their posts, sweeping the perimeter like a pack of bloodhounds looking for the scent of prey. If she were to breach the warehouse, she'd have to take down most, if not all, first.

One man, shorter than the others and wearing glasses, approached her hiding spot, rifle trained in her general direction, while the others covered his blind spot.

So they weren't that disorganized, after all.

Another shot, sharp, clean, and precise, but not from them. The man with the glasses dropped his weapon, his face slackening in a frozen mask of horror, and gripping his sleeve, which was now dripping blood. The rest rushed to him, and it was all the distraction she needed.

She emerged from hiding, charging, and the guard didn't even look up in time before she swept his legs out from under him with a fluid spin. He hit the ground with a gasp, air knocked from his lungs.

Before the others could react, she ducked into the confusion. She wasted no motion. Elbow and palm to the gut, throat, and chin. One fell, and another followed.

One left scrambling to draw a pistol, but she stared him down.

"Don't try it."

His gun wavered. She stood at full height, then delivered a spinning kick into the back of his head.

The high of battle wore off soon, but the pain and adrenaline from before had muddled her senses and made her body ache. Her arm burned from the exertion, the blood dripping onto her side as she heaved and panted. But she was already too close to back off now. Left and right, he had downed all the drones with precision.

Almost reduced to dragging her feet, she moved to the nearest building with an unlocked door—an office, it seemed like, with its rows of shelves and cabinets—and barged in, just in time to hide from a passing guard who was cursing as he walked by, asking his fellows where she had gone.

She frantically searched the first-aid cabinet for something to stem the blood and maybe stop the pain. It hurt to use her hand to apply pressure, but she could do it for a short while. Just enough. She found it quickly, after a short search through the mess.

Her breath, as well as her heartbeat, came in rapid succession. Her arms felt sore, but the pain wasn't enough to make her pass out, yet.

Chris moved closer as if to warn her about someone outside, and she crept up to the door, one hand holding a bandage against her wound, waiting.

It soon burst open as someone kicked it in, and that was when she slammed against her target. His gun dropped as he crashed to the floor.

She pounced on the stunned man, quickly turning him around to land a punch to his head, but he wasn't unlike the others who went down too quickly. He managed to hit her nose, hard, but she gave back as good as she got, striking his windpipe with a chop of her palm and pinning his arm behind his back.

Her face felt hot as the blood flowed from her nostrils. Her vision blurred a little, and the pain was dizzying, but she pressed her fingers against his wrist. The pain and pressure would stop him from moving. He gurgled, struggling for a while before his movements began to slow down, and he passed out. Clearing her nostrils and spitting the blood from her mouth, she pushed herself to her feet, her senses returning slowly.

As she left the building and slowly approached the warehouse, her steps began to feel heavier than before. Her arm and face burned even more, like they were on fire.

She paused by a truck, trying to catch her breath. Only a minute respite. If the rest of the slavers returned before she was done...

The remaining men had gathered near the warehouse, as if realizing the intent of the intruder. She touched the flash-bang he gave her with a shaking hand, pulled the pin out, counted, then threw. A blinding flash of light and a loud noise—enough to confuse her pursuers—and the only window of opportunity for her.

She darted into the heart of the chaos, where men were flailing blindly and firing shots into the air, their shouts of confusion echoing through the air. She punched the first guard in her path and knocked him into his companion behind him, who toppled down with a curse and a shout. A stray shot narrowly missed her arm, and she responded in kind to the shooter with a kick to his groin, his head slamming hard against a concrete block. No more finesse, only force and the raw strength to follow.

A man was groping around in front of her. She grabbed his wrist, spun, and hurled him over her shoulder and into two more. The thuds and screams that followed as they crashed against each other made her feel slightly guilty, but she could spare no remorse in these circumstances.

"What the—"

One man who had broken off from the main group and thus not been blinded by the grenade rushed at her from her left with his gun raised, only for her to swiftly sidestep out of the way and strike the gun with enough force to bend it out of his hands. He tried to land a punch, but she ducked underneath his blow and then landed an uppercut, sending him flying onto the ground with a booming crack, a few of his teeth now lying on the dirt.

She only had time to wipe her face before making a beeline for the warehouse doors, trying the keys she had taken. She soon found the one that fit into the lock and opened it, immediately running in and slamming the door shut, breathing heavily, heart pounding.

Empty eyes, dulled and glassy, met her. Some stared at nothing in particular, others were unfocused and staring straight at her, unseeing. They were covered with cuts, bruises, and welts. Some of the men were chained and tied down to the wall or the ground. Others had their ankles in manacles. Young, old, men, and women alike. And among them...

"Vivio...?"

Her teammates, still in uniform, albeit tattered, their faces bruised and pallid from what must have been days in this dark, dirty, dank place. But they were alive, and that was more than she could ask for. She could cry if she felt any energy left, but she just stood there, trying to take it in.

"I'm here." Her voice felt small. "I'm here now."

"What...did you...do? How?"

"Save it," she wasted no time scrambling through her pockets for the keys. "We're getting you all out."

The keys, though not fitting their collars, unlocked their chains. As they stood and stretched their cramped limbs, the relief was palpable on their faces. They began checking for each other, sharing quick, whispered conversations.

"We...cannot leave just yet. The collars are rigged," one of them whispered hoarsely, voice breaking. "The leader of these people...he holds the key...it's...I...don't remember, I..."

Damn it, she cursed. If she wanted to leave here, they'd have to take out that leader, but there was no telling how long they had before the other slavers returned to the camp.

"I'll...find a way," she replied, a hand on his shoulder, before she looked to the rest of her teammates, some of whom were looking worse for wear than the other, but not as tired and haggard as the rest of the captives.

But what could she do? She couldn't waste any time...and maybe...

A thunderous rumble of large vehicles rolling up to the warehouse outside shook her. Reinforcements had returned sooner than expected.

"Alright, apparently we have someone trying to mess with us," someone barked outside, just loud enough to be overheard. "Terminate with prejudice, boys! Make it hurt!"

Must be the leader, she thought. And there was only one way to deal with that now.

She gave her teammates and the captives one last look, a quick glance, a hopefully reassuring smile, then a nod before she opened the door.

"You called?"

The men, who were about to secure the building, paused, turning their weapons in her direction. The others from earlier were still trying to recover their senses, rubbing their eyes and clutching their ears, which made their aim waver.

"So it was you, huh? A little girl? Wait...I know you. You're one of those little bitches in that transport group, ain't you? It's futile, though. Without your magic, you Bureau dogs ain't any more different than the people you save."

She stood there, face and clothes stained with blood, skin flushed from adrenaline, and lips pressed tightly together as she gazed at him with hardened eyes. The people inside the building, her team and the captives, could do little but wait.

The standoff was brief, as one of the soldiers screamed, his gun falling to the ground as blood flowed from his hand.

"Tch, that bastard! Kill him. You can see the glint of his scope!"

Some of the soldiers began pelting the ridge where the shots came from with rounds and even rockets. The leader's expression morphed from an annoyed scowl into an ugly grimace.

"And you...you meddling brat, I will kill you myself. You should have stayed at home, girl, with your privileged life."

The pistol was aimed at her temple. She kept a blank expression. The men all froze, uncertain, but some seemed ready to move on their leader's command.

"That Ranger is pathetic, just like the rest of the royalist scum. Bet he is already running for his life. And you, you little brat...what? Nothing to say for yourself?"

She gazed back at him. A dangerous silence settled. He grinned, thinking he had the upper hand.

"You don't know him. He's more than you think he is," she replied softly, then she smiled. "And I have promised him that I won't die. So I won't, and you don't get to decide otherwise."

The hammer was cocked. The leader's fingers began tightening. She waited for the right time.

"Heh, you got guts. Sad that you are a dumb one. What are you going to do? I don't think you're a—"

In that brief second when she knew that he would shoot, she gathered her resolve for what she knew was coming. She was ready.

"Sacred Heart! Set Up!"

Pain, unimaginable. Lashing out against the presence of magic being activated, like a body fighting against infection. She felt like being set aflame, her nerves going wild.

She bit her tongue, trying to fight the scream threatening to leave her mouth, and the pain exploded through her nerves like lightning, almost overwhelming her consciousness. But her barrier jacket materialized anyway. The leader's eyes bulged in shock, and his grip slackened.

In that instant, she charged a Divine Buster, blasting him back with a burst of light. It didn't kill him, but the blast knocked his gun out of his hands. The soldiers began firing, and she dashed, taking advantage of their poor aim as she darted from one cover to the next, pushing back against the unseen knives tearing into her flesh from within.

Another Divine Buster, and another, sending them flying, but the more she used the spell, the worse she felt.

Her breath was shallow as the pain intensified, like a warning siren blaring. The world swayed. Her body was starting to feel numb. But she must keep going. There were still more. She fired Flash Bullets to distract the shooters and get close to strike and grapple with another guard, and then she threw him into his companions, and she followed it up by tackling a man to the ground and smashing her elbow into his head before he could raise his rifle to her again. A pair fired at her. Her barrier jacket took most of it, but the blunt force from the impacts sent her staggering back, her head ringing with a buzzing sensation. She charged another Divine Buster and fired back, knocking the rest of the group to the ground.

Her eyes stung, her vision blurred. The pain in her body, the pain in her heart and lungs, was excruciating, and she fell to her knees more than once.

The remaining men fled, some shouting curses and threats, and she allowed herself to stop.

"Bastard!"

The leader was staggering back into view, with a different pistol trained at her, his teeth clenched as he held the gun in one hand. She wasn't sure if what remained of her magic could protect her now, and she didn't want to find out.

No, she won't make it. But she will see to it that at least her teammates and the others can escape. She rose to her feet, but it felt like lead, her barrier jacket beginning to show signs of faltering as the last vestiges of her mana started to burn out.

"Die, you little bitch!"

The pistol went off. The shot never hit her.

"Yuuno-san?"

He was beside her, and she recognized the Round Shield he cast. Blood was trickling down the sleeve of his left arm, which he used to cast the spell, and his nostrils.

"Now! Take him out!"

"Right!"

She pleaded for Chris to hold a little longer, and...

"Accel Smash!"

She put all she had left into that fist, blitzed in front of the leader, and drove her hand into his face, sending him skyward. The limp body crashed into the ground with a crack.

And it was done. It was all she could take. The pain, the numbness, it was overwhelming now, and the ground felt cold beneath her knees. But she smiled, a tearful one.

She wanted to get up, but she didn't feel the strength to move any part of her body anymore. A familiar presence approached and caught her in his arms, and she looked up.

 

"Thank you...for...keeping...your promise..."