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Her Majesty’s Swarm - Volume 3 - Chapter 11




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The False Angel 

The Empire of Nyrnal had successfully invaded our territory. Had we taken the Popedom out sooner, they probably wouldn’t have dared. Thus, our objective was clear. 

“There it is... Saania.” 

I was standing with my Swarm army atop a hill, overlooking Saania’s tightly closed gates. 

“Once this city falls, the Popedom of Frantz will be effectively finished. We have to take this city at all costs, then prepare for our counterattack on Nyrnal,” I said. “We’re short on time, so we need to end this as quickly as possible.” 

We already had our siege weapons, the Carrion Cannons, at the ready. These devices would help us break through the gates. Given that we had no time to lose, we had no choice but to resort to a frontal assault. It took time to build those Carrion Cannons, so even the time spent on dividing my forces into units felt terribly precious. 

Thankfully, the Masquerade Swarms had informed us that there were few enemies inside. Even with a frontal assault, I believed we could defeat them. The road to Saania was wider than the road to Siglia, so this was probably a wiser choice than needlessly splitting up my troops. 

“We attack at dawn, four-thirty sharp. We’ll charge in and bring the battle to its late stages by the time the sun rises. Our enemy has to rely on sunlight to scout, but we can rely on scent. That gives us an edge.” 

The Swarm excelled at battles in the darkness, as their sense of smell was much more acute than a human’s. The strategy game had a built-in clock and a day-and-night cycle; to make use of this feature, some units excelled during daytime while others triumphed under the cover of night. 

While the Arachnea was one of the factions unhindered by nightfall, it didn’t receive bonus modifiers when fighting in the dark. Only undead units received those kinds of perks. Conversely, cleric units received bonuses during daytime. This was a double-edged sword, since the undead and cleric units saw a reduction in their stats during the day and night, respectively. 

That was how the game kept things balanced. No unit or faction held all the advantages. The game was played as an esport, so it treated any changes in the meta or mechanics with extreme care. 

Amusingly, this meant that I was, for all intents and purposes, an athlete. 

“It’s nearly time, Your Majesty.” 

“Yes, finally. We’ll win this time, just as I promised.” 

I would keep this promise and grant them the victory they wanted. I’d keep my promise to Sandalphon, too: I would not forget my human heart. 

 

At half past four in the morning, the Arachnea began its assault on Saania. The Carrion Cannons fired hunks of flesh at the walls, scattering poison into the air and causing the ramparts to decay. Soldiers manning the ballistas on the walls were poisoned by the shots, falling over in agony as they died. 

Before long, the gates started to crumble. 

“Digger Swarms, commence your internal attack.” 

The Digger Swarms started destroying the giant bolts on the gates, burrowing underground to go behind the enemy’s walls. Frantz’s soldiers were so surprised by the sudden onslaught that it took them time to start fighting back. That, as it turned out, was a fatal mistake. The gate couldn’t withstand the combined attacks of the Carrion Cannons and Digger Swarms, so it quickly broke apart. With this, we had created an opening. 

“Forward march. Suppress Saania! But...” I paused. This was the most critical part of the operation. “Ignore the civilians. Kill only the soldiers. That will do for now.” 

This time, I prioritized killing the soldiers alone. I didn’t have the time to waste on butchering the civilians. The Ripper Swarms that would come later on could handle them. At the moment, we needed to defeat the Popedom as quickly as we could. 

“Understood, everyone? All right, onward! Crush them!” 

“Onwaaaard!” 

Rows of Genocide and Toxic Swarms marched into battle, led by Sérignan and Lysa. The Toxic Swarms, positioned in the rear, rained countless stingers upon the enemy soldiers. Sérignan and Lysa charged into enemy lines, and the Genocide Swarms followed after them like a surging wave, swallowing the soldiers as they pushed through. 

Their coordination was perfect. The rear supported the front while the front defended the rear, and the hero units cut open a path. It was a flawless battle. 

“Haaaaaaah!” 

“Let’s do thiiis!” 

The coordination between Sérignan and Lysa, in particular, was phenomenal. Lysa shot down the archers who threatened to harm Sérignan, ensuring her safety. Sérignan then rushed into these openings and hacked away at our enemies. 

For a moment, I had to wonder if they were actually sisters. If nothing else, I desperately wanted Sérignan and Lysa to survive. Each of them was a one-of-a-kind unit and utterly irreplaceable. They were my valuable subordinates... and my friends. 

My emotions were transmitted to Sérignan as she fought. The enemy’s resistance was gradually becoming weaker, and their defensive lines were growing thinner. At this rate, we would prove victorious before sunrise. 

But of course, nothing ever goes quite as planned. Just as the Kingdom of Maluk had summoned angels to deal with us, the Popedom of Frantz was about to send forth a very tricky enemy. 

 

“They’ve broken through the walls! There’s nothing left to keep us safe!” This shout echoed throughout the meeting hall in Saania’s great basilica, where an emergency Cardinals’ Council was currently being held. 

The pope attended this meeting in spite of his ill health, which stood as evidence to just how critical the Popedom’s situation was. 

“Just who was it who said we’d be able to beat the monsters on land to begin with?!” 

“That was Cardinal Pamphilj, of course.” Some of the cardinals, who remained expressionless even now, turned their vacant gazes toward Paris. 

“Well, err, yes, I did suggest that we engage them on land, but all of you agreed with me!” Paris cried in a panic. “This isn’t just my responsibility! Everyone present is equally accountable!” 

After Paris took over as head of the Department of Punition, he thought he was safe—but now the monsters were threatening his life. At this very moment, they were darkening his doorstep. If he couldn’t protect his own life, his political position would mean nothing. 

“I still believe the responsibility falls on you, Cardinal Pamphilj.” 

“He said we would be likely to win if we engaged them on land.” 

Paris was finding the situation unbearable. Over half the cardinals were insisting the responsibility lay with him. They kept blaming him, as if to say they were in no way at fault. 

“What an irresponsible lot you are! You shameless good-for-nothings!” Paris shouted, incensed. 

“The only shameless one here is you, Cardinal Pamphilj.” 

“Fine! Then we must use our last resort! We will awaken the Seraph Metatron! I trust no one has any objections there?!” 

“This is your responsibility.” 

“Do not think that using others will absolve you of your crimes.” 

The cardinals ignored him and continued to repeat themselves. 

“Aaargh! The fact that you’re trying to pin the blame on another proves you are heretics against the God of Light! Inquisitors! Execute them in the name of the inquisition!” 

At his call, white-robed inquisitors entered the room. 

“Wait, Paris. Have the inquisitors step back,” Pope Benedictus III interjected. “Executing cardinals will only cause unrest and bring dismay to the citizens. They will lose their faith and wander about in search of a leader.” 

“But, Your Holiness—” 

“I will hold you accountable for your assertions later, but for now, I approve of summoning Metatron. If Metatron’s power will spare us from defeat, I will absolve you of all responsibility. Is that acceptable? Hrk... Urk!” 

The pope was suddenly assailed by a coughing fit. He was on the verge of death. For a while now, his old body had been failing him, with his lungs and heart being particularly defective. 

“Very well, Your Holiness. I will use Metatron and grant us certain victory. And I should hope it will shut the mouth of these fools, who do nothing but push blame on others.” Paris gave the other cardinals a venomous glare. 

“Hurry, Paris. Time is not on our side. I can hear the insects’ march just outside. You must put an end to this quickly.” 

“Rest assured, Your Holiness, with the great Metatron on our side, we will be victorious. Yes... Armed with the Marianne’s ancient heritage, we will not be defeated.” 

Supposedly, the Marianne was a faction from the same game as the Arachnea. Why had its name been invoked here? Paris himself was unaware of the deeper connection even as he strode off to activate the Seraph Metatron, the hero unit of the Marianne. 

“Should Cardinal Pamphilj fail, he will be utterly finished.” 

“He will have to bear the responsibility for this defeat.” 

The cardinals controlled by Parasite Swarms transmitted word of what had transpired to the Arachnea’s queen. Paris was, without a doubt, under heavy pressure. What would they do once he was defeated? 

But first, a more important question remained: who would win? Paris and the Seraph Metatron, or the queen of the Arachnea and her Swarm? The answer would come soon enough. 

 

We had broken through the enemy’s defensive lines, and we now stood before Saania’s great basilica. 

“So, we’ve finally come this far,” I said, feeling oddly sentimental as I looked up at the grand building. 

It didn’t look so much like a religious structure as some worldly king’s palace. There wasn’t even the slightest hint of spiritual mystique. Clearly Frantz’s so-called faithful valued opulence over the virtues of their god. 

“Another gate, huh? We’ll have to use some pretty unpleasant means here.” 

Thanks to our reconnaissance, we were already aware of this extra set of gates, but they vexed me now that we were so close. Setting up the Carrion Cannons here would be annoying. Employing the Digger Swarms was an option, but if there were armored soldiers inside, we’d just take needless losses. 

This left me with only one option, and a pretty nasty one at that. 

“Sérignan, Lysa, we’ll be busting through in fifteen minutes. Make sure you’re ready.” 

“Understood, Your Majesty,” Sérignan replied. 

I silently made my play and then waited. 

Boooooom! 

Suddenly, the sound of a rumbling explosion rang out as the gates were blown open from the inside. 

“The Masquerade Swarms...” Sérignan muttered. 

“Yep. I don’t really like suicide bombing, though.” 

The Masquerade Swarms’ self-destruction blew a hole through the gates to the great basilica. With this, we had a free pass into the Popedom’s core. 

Or... maybe not. 


“You’ve come far enough!” someone called down to us from atop a long staircase. 

“Paris,” I said through gritted teeth. 

Paris Pamphilj. I had etched the man’s face into my memory. This was the first time we’d met in person, but I knew him all too well. Here was the man who had pushed for the sort of execution that led to Isabelle’s painful death. I would never, ever forgive him. 

“Paris Pamphilj... There is much I’d like to do to you, but first you’re going to hear me out.” 

“Shut up! So, you’re the Arachnea’s queen, are you? Well, no matter! Your life ends here!” Paris proclaimed. “You shall not take even one step further. You will not besmirch this holy land any more than you already have!” 

“Oh. That’s interesting. What are you gonna do, call your angel? Sic a basilisk on us? Or maybe bring out that thing you call Metatron? It doesn’t matter what you do, so go ahead. Try me.” 

“Hmph. You know of Metatron, do you? But judging by your attitude, you have no idea how fearsome it truly is. Well then, you’ll have to learn the hard way!” 

At that moment a hymn began playing from within the basilica. I could tell it was a hymn because it was inflated with grandiosity, and it was fairly boring. Religious music really wasn’t my thing. 

And to the sound of that solemn music, light shone down on us as a giant figure came into view. Its humanoid body was covered in armor, and it carried a longsword in one hand. 

Wait. I know this. 

“The Seraph Metatron!” I blurted. “That’s the final evolved form of the Marianne’s hero unit!” 

In the game, this was the Marianne’s hero unit. It started off as the Archangel Metatron. After evolving several times, it reached its final form, the Seraph Metatron. 

When I first heard the name, I’d thought it would be the same kind of monster Maluk’s knights had summoned so long ago. But I was wrong. The Seraph Metatron was by no means just an annoying presence on the battlefield. 

I rapidly began firing off orders. “Sérignan, Lysa, concentrate your attacks on the giant! Genocide and Toxic Swarms, hold your positions! Toxic Swarms, shower it with stingers, and Genocide Swarms, brace for an attack!” 

“By your will!” Sérignan and Lysa shouted in unison. 

Sérignan charged Metatron with her corrupted holy sword in hand, while Lysa used her longbow to fire multiple arrows at once. The Genocide Swarms stood in a defensive formation, and the Toxic Swarms fired their projectiles at Metatron. 

“Raaagh! In the name of God, you shall be defeated! Only faith will bring about salvation!” the monster cried. 

Our assault should have done a number on Metatron. I’d managed to beat it in the game before with just normal attacks, even though I’d had to sacrifice a lot of Swarms to do it. There had also been one instance where an ally of mine playing the Gregoria used his Fire Drakes to reduce Metatron to ash. 

When it came to hero units, sinking them with standard units was almost impossible unless you were willing to take large losses. Sérignan was a good example of this. Hero units were so strong that you would have to send in droves of standard units to even have a chance to defeat them. 

Worse yet, the sun was shining down on us from above. The Seraph Metatron, like many other good-aligned units, was strongest in direct sunlight. In other words, that monster was currently in peak condition. 

“Faith! Unyielding, wholehearted faith!” Metatron shouted, swinging its longsword. 

“Ngh!” 

“Aaaah!” 

That one blow from Metatron sent Sérignan flying dozens of meters back, eventually slamming her against a wall, and caused Lysa to tumble down a flight of steps. The Genocide Swarms planted themselves firmly on the ground, desperately maintaining their defensive positions. 

“Sérignan! You have to chip away at Metatron, no matter what! You’re the only one here who can do it! I’m counting on you, so do whatever you can to take it down!” 

“Understood, Your Majesty!” 

Sending in one hero unit to slay another was the most effective method. In situations where a player had already lost their hero unit, they had no choice but to rely on numbers. At that point, however, the losses would be grave enough to turn the tide of battle against them. 

Still, Sérignan was only in her third form. One of the Arachnea’s weak points—the fact that its hero units matured at a slower rate in the endgame—was rearing its ugly head. 

Can she win? No, she has to win. By any means necessary. 

“Lysa! Give Sérignan covering fire from behind! Shoot fire arrows, venom-dipped arrows, anything you’ve got! Just keep firing!” 

“Roger, Your Majesty!” 

Lysa quickly got to shooting. While she had a name, she wasn’t a hero unit, so there were limits to what she could achieve. Regardless, I ordered her to do whatever she could. I had limited manpower, so I had to use it appropriately. 

“Hmph!” 

“Haaah!” 

Metatron and Sérignan locked blades with a deafening metallic clash. My knight was clearly being pushed back, but she desperately held her ground. She probably sensed my will through the collective consciousness because her movements were nimbler than usual. 

“Haaaaaah!” 

At last, she landed a blow. Her blade slashed across Metatron’s chest, and the corrupted holy sword dug deep into the giant’s flesh. But still, the damned thing wouldn’t fall. 

Even that wasn’t enough?! 

“’Tis useless! Those without faith cannot oppose me!” Metatron bellowed as its counterattack hit Sérignan head-on. 

She was sent flying backward like a leaf being blown away by a tornado, and her body crashed into the wall once again. Cracks ran through her armor. Just looking at it pained me. 

“I will not... give up! I will not surrender! For Her Majesty!” Sérignan cried as she recovered from the impact. 

“I’ll cover for you!” Lysa yelled. 

“Ngggh!” 

Lysa’s venom-dipped arrows pierced Metatron’s eyes, blinding it. Even a hero unit would be limited without eyesight. Perhaps now we’d have an easier time. 

“The faithless will not know glory! The faithless will not know victory!” Metatron roared like a maddened machine and charged toward me. 

Crap. 

As a player, I had never needed to worry about being attacked in the game, so I hadn’t taken any measures to defend myself in this battle. At this rate, I’d be killed. 

Ahh... I’m gonna die. I wonder what’ll happen next. I feel like Sandalphon will come for me. Something tells me I’ll see her. 

“I’ve got you, Your Majesty!” Sérignan sliced into the monster’s flank before it could reach me. 

The attack took Metatron completely by surprise. Sérignan’s blade cut through its right arm, lacerating it from shoulder to wrist. 

“Gaaaaah!” Metatron shrieked in pain. 

“I will never! Let anyone! Harm a hair on Her Majesty’s head!” Sérignan howled, her eyes blazing with wrath. “I am a knight! The Arachnea’s knight!” 

Sérignan slashed and slashed and slashed. She desperately, earnestly, and hatefully cleaved through the Seraph. In that moment, Sérignan struck me as extremely dependable, as if she would always be there to save me. Well, this time, she already had. 

Now if only Metatron would fall, then we could put an end to all this. And yet... 

“Hmph! The faithless will not know victory!” Metatron shook Sérignan off and swung at her with its sword. 

“Blast!” Once again, Sérignan went flying at the wall. 

Her armor was crumbling away, and she didn’t look like she was in any condition to fight. Every time she moved, a little more of her carapace chipped off and fell to the ground. The sight of it terrified me. 

I was scared. I couldn’t bear the idea of her dying. 

I have to keep her safe. This time, I’ll protect you, Sérignan. 

“Lysa, keep it up.” After that, I made my decision. “Genocide Swarms, forward!” 

Sérignan had already wounded Metatron, who had damaged her in turn. Now we simply needed to retaliate. I commanded the Genocide Swarms to charge the creature to fight on and honor our hero unit. 

Abiding by my orders, the Genocide Swarms rushed Metatron. They crowded around it, gouging at its flesh with their claws and fangs. I had seen this sort of scene in the game before—regular units beating down a hero unit with superior numbers. 

But they too were soldiers on the battlefield, and I knew full well a hero unit alone didn’t turn the tide of a war. The game was built around standard units, and they were an important, indispensable existence that could change the course of battle. 

“Faithless insects! Your endeavors mean nothing in the face of true devotion!” 

The courage of these standard units enabled them to step up and serve their purpose as weapons of war. Metatron tore the Genocide Swarms apart, wildly swinging its longsword to drive them back. But its efforts were in vain; the damage Sérignan had dealt it earlier was slowing it down. 

“Finish it off, Genocide Swarms!” I shouted, and the Swarms obliged. 

They sank their fangs into Metatron’s neck, tearing into its flesh deeper and deeper still. Metatron desperately struggled to beat them down... but then its head was torn off with almost comical ease. The creature’s cartoonish end seemed in mockery of its frantic efforts to live. 

Its head tumbled to the ground, the face still contorted with rage and hatred, and rolled some distance away. 

“We... won?” Lysa said, surprised. 

“We did, Lysa. Oh, but poor Sérignan!” I hurried over to Sérignan’s side. 

Sérignan’s armor was in shambles, and her breathing was so labored it appeared she might die at any moment. I felt so terribly helpless. There was nothing I could do but hope with all my heart that she would pull through. 

Please, Sérignan... Don’t die! 

“Gah... Ack!” Sérignan coughed heavily. 

“Sérignan! Sérignan, are you all right?!” 

“I am... fine,” she murmured. “Though I admit my body is in great pain. But this isn’t enough to...” 

She clearly wasn’t fine, though. 

“Stay still, Sérignan. I’ll have the Worker Swarms build a Regeneration Pod, so you just sit tight and wait to recover. Lysa and the Genocide Swarms will keep you safe until you’re all better.” 

“I... appreciate your concern, Your Majesty. And I... apologize. My weakness, my ineptitude... brought this on...” 

“You’ve done so much to help us. We only won thanks to you.” 

Yes, our triumph was all thanks to Sérignan, Lysa, and the Genocide Swarms. This victory belonged to everyone. No, it belonged to everyone other than me. All of them had fought without fearing death. 

“I’m going to end this war. I’m tired of all this fighting,” I said. With that, I gathered the Toxic Swarms and strode toward Paris, who was in shock after witnessing Metatron’s defeat. 



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