Night Knight.

The whole world was shaking!

The solid ground rolled like a storm-tossed sea, and the people on it had no ship to ride the waves. From the officers issuing orders to the fully armored soldiers, everyone was mere flotsam before such a force of nature: the violent tremors swept them up and threw them to the ground like breakers.

"What the hell is going on?!"

Even forever-calm Otto swore aloud in the face of this sudden disaster.

The quake had been violent from the start and showed no sign of abating. Fighting on both sides had to be suspended—no soldier, however skilled, could keep fighting while struggling just to stay upright.

"Keep watch in all directions!"

They shouted it, but the Sevar soldiers were no better off than the Night Knights. At least the Night Knights' gear wasn't as heavy; the Sevar were clad in full plate. In that condition, forget forming ranks—just not being tossed around was an achievement.

The target Otto's team had aimed for—the raised platform where the Holy State commanders stood—was chaos too. The platform had wobbled from the quakes' first shakes; although its wheels provided some damping as they rolled, one of the wheel's fastening nails worked loose under the violent motion, and the whole platform tilted toward the side that had lost its wheel.

"By the Holy—"

Fortunately the platform didn't collapse further; the corps commander and the priest slid down the inclined deck to the ground. The long-practiced commander managed better—he was trained for this—but the old priest, who couldn't rely on magic right now, landed in a condition that left him creaking all over.

Boom—

The quake had not finished; a dull, huge sound rolled across the trembling earth and reached everyone's ears.

"Mountain—watch the mountain!"

Someone spotted it first: a vast swath of trees on the hillside north of the camp seemed to come alive, crackling as they surged toward the camp. In an instant, stones and earth poured over the sharpened logs and axle-heavy wagons that made the camp's barricade. Tents behind that barricade collapsed like deflated balloons under the onslaught and were buried beneath the landslide.

"Help me up…"

The priest, still dazed from his earlier fall, could scarcely recover. Leaning weakly on his staff and aided by the corps commander, he fell to his knees.

"O Highest God, I call upon You here—hear my confession…"

The priest braced himself against the tremor, gripping his staff with both hands. He pressed the church's symbol at the staff's top to his forehead and prayed. The corps commander, seeing this, half-kneeling beside him, adopted a prayerful posture as well.

The commander drew his sword with his right hand, plunged it into the ground, braced himself on the hilt and gripped the pendant at his neck with the other hand. He bowed his head low, as if his deity stood before him—yet ahead lay only chaos.

"Otto!"

A voice called from behind, unexpectedly robust and familiar to everyone present.

"Retreat! Fall back!!"

Otto didn't linger to confer with Rogm; he waved and shouted. A landslide on that scale was no joke.

"Damn it, what kind of weird shit are we hitting today?!"

Edwin muttered while racing with fate. Within ten seconds the camp's north side was totally engulfed; next would be the battlefield area—the red-robed camp.

The Sevar soldiers fled alongside the Night Knights. Their armor was cumbersome, and they were, at best, broad-bodied ordinary men—not comparable in speed to Night Knights dosed with the No. 3 serum. The Night Knights were soon leaving big groups of them behind. Neither side had the mind to fight now—no fool would pick a quarrel while both were running for their lives.

Thud—

A strange sound sank into every heart.

It was a peculiar, soul-piercing vibration. Many thought it was just their imagination or more chaotic noise amid the mayhem, but something was truly happening.

A faint blue veil rose across the sky; in moments it brightened, then grew white. The night was lit as if daytime had come. Under that veil, everyone's vision reduced to extremes of light and shadow, black and white. Colors drained away; a blinding white filled the world even with eyes closed.

"Is this… the power of the Holy—?"

The corps commander opened his eyes and stared at the blinding scene, speechless with awe. Nothing stirs a devout believer like witnessing a miracle with his own eyes.

Beside him the priest remained kneeling, though sweat streamed down his face—he was not untouched by the occurrence. His prayer had ended—if not interrupted—because the magical energy that had been absent earlier now poured back wildly, catching him unprepared. He struggled to control the power surging into the Gus pillar while directing the Sevar who operated the pillar to alter their spells—but a calm magic had become restless and disobeyed human intent. If this continued, even the priest couldn't predict what might happen. The Holy Church had only supplied the Gus pillar to the Holy State of Davole with instructions on its use—they hadn't explained the pillar's deeper workings. At least the landslide's mass had been split. Stones inside the barrier quickly fell inert when external forces ceased; stones outside struck the dazzling veil and flowed to its sides until motion ceased.

"Is everyone all right?"

By the time the Night Knights reached the camp's edge—the gate they had come through—the ground's fury had mostly settled and they paused to catch their breath. Otto gathered five platoon leaders and consolidated the unit's status.

"Third platoon: one KIA, no wounded."

"Second platoon: one KIA, two wounded."

…

"I understand."

Losses were not great: across six platoons they had four dead; most wounds were minor and didn't hamper action—though ammunition was a thorny problem.

"So—what do we do now?"

They had expected a tough mission tonight, but not this roller coaster. Edwin had lost count of how many times they'd huddled to discuss their next move.

"Good question…"

Otto glanced back at the dazzling light. After a moment he had to turn his head away, but the glare still assaulted them from every side.

"This magical barrier looks even stranger than before. Breaking it seems impossible. Any ideas?"

"Obvious options: either continue the original plan or hold position for now."

Rogm, weary from the night's fighting and maneuvers, pulled out his ever-present pipe, packed it, struck a match, and lit it with practiced ease.

"But returning will be far harder now—we're separated from the objective by an entire corps… or half of one."

"Then we'd better hold position."

Trenchap spoke up, but Nemilic immediately added:

"In the current situation both options lead to the same result. If we attack we face the whole enemy; if we hold, they'll surround us sooner or later—unless we find another way."

"One more thing: that red-robed fellow who seems in charge can use magic to defend himself. Whether by shooting or close assault, we can't wound them."

Otto's attempts during the earlier charge to break through the priest's defense had all failed. The magic protecting the platform was as stubborn as the pillar's; a rash assault only leads to encirclement.

"Since the outcome would be the same either way, we might as well rest while they recover."

Edwin shouldered his submachine gun and closed his eyes, sitting on a log.

"Damn—half a corps…"

The situation made him even more irritable. He reached for the tiny glass flask he carried, planning a swig of strong spirit, but remembered it would do nothing—serum in his veins—so he abandoned the thought.

"You don't feel heat?" Edwin's movement broke the conversation briefly; Nordhausen suddenly spoke.

"Heat? Now that you mention it, yes…"

Otto turned again and squinted toward the source.

"But it didn't seem so obvious a moment ago?"

He tentatively reached out; heat indeed radiated from the direction of the light—the magical barrier.

"This cursed thing—is it going to do something else?"

Though the barrier had stopped the landslide, Otto's impression of it after one long night was anything but favorable.

"Let's step back. I have a bad feeling."

Trenchap's words met with assent, and the six platoons retreated inward a short distance. But the Night Knights hadn't yet finished moving when the barrier changed markedly.

No sound, no explosions, no grand theatrics—(okay, the scene was spectacular)—the glaring light vanished and was replaced by a skyful of sparks and fireworks.

Golden particles fell like the sparks from a blacksmith's hammer, brilliant but dissolving in the night air before touching earth—vanishing completely. Soon darkness reclaimed the ravaged valley and the silvery moonlight resumed its rule over the night.

"What the hell is this now?"

The Night Knights halted. Platoon leaders exchanged glances; no one could predict what oddity the night would throw at them next.

"I think we can try running outward."

Nordhausen remained cool as ever, his face impassive. Otto couldn't help but marvel at Nordhausen's dulled sensitivity to such phenomena. Apart from being able to speak and drink like a normal person, his behavior was hardly different from the other Night Knights.

"Anyway—let's run."

Seeing no opposition, Edwin urged them onward.