Originally Posted by
deadfish
I hated translating this. Actually I really hated translating this.
This continues off from the part where Hanza punches Jester. Minus some sections in between about Hanza asking Orland not to tell his mentor about him wasting a perfectly good cup of coffee, the Hanza origin story, and so on.
“I was careless, oh so careless…”
Jester’s suppressed laughter could be heard from beyond the collapsed wall.
“Yes, I do declare that I, just now, had been careless! Is this the classic trap of arrogance! I’m glad to have had a taste of it! The best poison for cutting short the lives of the mighty is arrogance indeed!”
Eerily, only his voice could be heard. The policemen watched with bated breaths, but Hanza stood right in front of the hole and said, “Don’t be so modest. You weren’t lax. I know you always do your best. That is impressive. Very amazing.”
“…”
“You gave it your all and still you were punched by me. No?”
Hanza’s brazen taunt ended the laughter.
“You are insufferable. Insufferable! Tell me priest, are you an Executor?”
Executor. The police chief too knew what they were. Not dispellers of foul spirits, demons, Dead Apostles, and other things that could not exist under their doctrine, but erasers claiming to be proxies of God’s power and judgment. Fighters whose mission was not temporarily driving off as the exorcists do but complete eradication. The position was of course given only to those who could compete with such monsters, and they were embroiled in a different kind of a conflict from a Grail War.
“On a temporary leave from the business,” Hanza answered, matter of factly. “Today I am here as an overseer.”
The voice from beyond the hole fell silent. Then without warning, a barrage of debris was shot out from the hole in the wall. A pile of rubble stuffed into and fired from a cannon many times larger than normal – that may have been a credible description for what had happened, the only sensible one in fact.
Hanza produced what appeared to be sword hilts from the inside of his garments and gripped them between the knuckles of both hands. In a split-second, silver blades appeared on those hilts, the silhouette of enormous iron claws being made on Hanza’s hands. Black Keys. One of the basic armaments of the Executors, they form blades on their hilts when energized with magic power. Without taking a breath, he slammed his feet on the ground and intercepted the wreckage head-on. The priest’s arms flickered like a heat haze. In the next instant, the shotgun blast of rubble, among which were chunks of concrete more than 1 meter in diameter, turned to mist and passed through the body of the priest. Or to be precise, it only appeared to pass through him. Before Hanza, pieces of debris broke apart one after another, becoming dust that spread throughout the lobby. What speed and skill could accomplish that feat? The police chief had just barely been able to see his movements with his eyes, but if one were to ask whether he could keep up with those motions, the answer would have been no.
“That would explain your smugness when we had you surrounded,” muttered the chief.
“I don’t know,” replied Hanza, his back still turned away. “Your Noble Phantasms may have been ineffective on a Dead Apostle, but not on me. It’s rock-paper-scissors. If specs were all that mattered, a Grail War would have been a competition over who gets Berserker.”
You have a point, thought the police chief.
He had procured information that the Einzbern summoned a top-class hero in the Fifth Fuyuki Grail War as a Berserker, all of its parameters boosted with mad enhancement. While he didn’t know how the Grail War unfolded, at the very least he received no word of the Einzbern obtaining the Holy Grail.
Franceska had once said, “It’s always so all or nothing for the Einzberns. They tried to exploit the system and when that didn’t work, they summoned a major hero by the books. And when that didn’t work, they made some other big hero a Berserker and made sure it was as maxed as could be. It wouldn’t hurt them to lighten up and enjoy the war a little.”
A Grail War is greatly influenced by affinity, not simply disparity in numbers; how each Heroic Spirit and Master play to their strengths is crucial. Even having to factor in chance at times is only typical of a Grail War. By the same token, it could be said that luck was smiling on them now. It was true that they were on opposing sides and he had no intention of letting Hanza return to the Church, but he thanked his fortune that for now at least this priest was not his enemy.
Hanza was about to fend off yet another firing of rubble, when he spotted a familiar fabric obscured in the incoming debris. It was Jester’s clothing. Hanza immediately dispatched the largest chunk then crossed his Black Key claws in front of his heart, leaving the leftover debris for his body to take. Sure enough, Jester thrust a knife hand into that location. The force of a pile bunker was driven into him. Not relenting, Jester made another leap in order to land another hit on Hanza, who had been knocked back by the impact. Hanza blocking it sought to return the favor, and his Black Keys clashed against the claws of a Dead Apostle. Knife hand and blade connected to produce an unearthly metal sound and smell of burnt flesh that permeated in the air.
“You made a fool’s choice, Hanza Cervantes! Defeating me means that you have cast away your neutrality as an overseer! Do you think you can get away with this injustice!”
“That’s funny because I didn’t get the memo that you are a Master!”
They had become drawn into a stalemate of throwing and deflecting blows that would punch through each other’s hearts. Why they were holding a conversation in this dangerous game of attack and defend may have been to create an opening, or maybe it was the adrenaline rush.
“I fucking said I was in front of Assassin just minutes ago!”
“It looked to me that she wanted to have nothing to do with you?”
“That’s because….. she is all the more beautiful for it!”
“You’re not answering me.”
Be it bravado or deviancy, the priest and the Dead Apostle laughed as they fought. They sprung from pillars to walls using them as footholds in their deathmatch. Cracks formed on the floor and pillars with every leap, burning the battle beyond the realm of men into the eyes of the police force. And it would only be a few more seconds before that spectacle would be limited to the police squad. Jester deliberately allowed himself to be hit by a warding kick Hanza had thrown. Using the force of the blow, he jumped to the lobby exit. Jester broke through the rotating doors made of reinforced glass and kept running out to the city. It was as if he were trying to lure Hanza the Executor outside. To downtown Snowfield, still filled with many people outside despite it being before the break of dawn.
To be continued some other time.
Or not.
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