35 Cornerstone

(A/N: Back to Ioann.)

"I have been reassigned to the eastern front?" I asked, looking up from my letter at the paper-pusher.

"Yes. It says here," the red-haired woman shifted a few documents around, "that it is because your abilities 'lend themselves well to being inconspicuous' more than, say, turning into a Dragon. Brawling and shooting especially well can be chalked up to advanced technology or something to that nature in the eyes of mundane soldiers, and the eastern front needs a stronger supernatural presence with the arrival of the British Wizards. You will be assigned to a new squad, while your associate," her eyes flitted over to Priska by my side, "Miss von Ernst, will go to a garrison near Romania."

She handed us a few of the sheets she had been fumbling with, details of our reassignment - where to go, how we'll do it, what will happen, things of that nature - and we began walking away.

It says here that we could potentially be conducting religious services for the common soldiers, should we prove ourselves and establish a reputation, so 'they are assured that the Light of God is never far away'. Perhaps I can tap into my priestly nature and lead a mass for those vulgar goodmen, [1] though it is unlikely that they will appreciate just what I am sacrificing for them.

I sighed, in sorrow for the state of humanity, though the feeble child nearby seemed to misinterpret the chasmal depth and true meaning behind my inflection.

"At least you shall be with your own ilk in the form of those unsavory communists," Priska muttered while we were leaving. "Meanwhile, I will be forced to accompany my reviled mentor again."

"Stop with your mewling," I said, patting down my robes for a place to hold the papers. How does Leonidas do it? "You whined before about being too late in the Alps, as well. I tire of you."

"I could say much the same, and do," she replied, crushing the mass of documents into a ball and stuffing them in a jacket pocket. "But I at least have the courtesy to keep it to a minimum, brute."

"That is an ill-conceived falsehood, and you know it. If you so wish to compel me to repeat myself, then I will say it again: Be silent. I must revise my internal gospel's notes. Something with the potential to be stringed into a moral of faith in the midst of war would not be difficult, but it must be grand," I muttered. "'Your enemies are a blight on His holy world'? Perhaps."

She gave me a strange glance and turned away with a pitying shake of her head.

"Remember Deuteronomy, chapter seven, verse sixteen," I reminded her. "'Your eye shall not pity them, neither shall you serve their gods, for that would be a snare to you.'"

"The only snare mauling me that I cannot be rid of is your pestilent presence."

"'A man's pride shall bring him low: but honor shall uphold the humble in spirit.' Keep scripture in your heart, and arrogance locked away in the depths of the mind."

…

In essence, my reassignment kills two birds with one stone, though I would never admit to murder - only retribution.

The recent concentration of Exorcists on the eastern front is a result of the majority of the British Wizardry's organizations joining hands with the Devils - no surprise, given their similarly pernicious proclivities and misdeeds - and the German army being stretched thin. The Devils largely fight in the south for them, indeed, but the country itself is fighting on two fronts, with Russia in the east and France in the west.

Occasional Devil forces helped turn the tide where necessary on both ends, but not in sufficient amounts to matter in the grand scheme of things, and the war stayed, while not completely stagnant, draining. Germany was marching forward, kilometer by kilometer, directing their tanks, but not enough to turn a net gain in their ratio of expenses to yield.

At the rate they were going, if the situation stayed the same, they had a decent chance of winning, albeit with many losses - but the situation would not have stayed the same, as us Exorcists would eventually join in as well.

It was not looking very well for them, even if France was not holding up well with the sudden switch from aggressor to defender.

That is, until Magicians of the Isles showed up and began wreaking havoc a day or two ago, in both subtle and unsubtle manner. Our presence is needed to a degree more than was required to deal with intermittent, half-hearted Devil charades. Thus, to fight back, both strength and acuity are needed - the former for obvious reasons, and the latter to enact the former in a manner that does not immediately expose the supernatural to the entire human populace.

Perhaps certain agreements and regulations will be reached later on in an attempt to curb that risk, but for now, hordes of conspiring, demon-touched sorcerers are attempting to leverage their unexpected entry with crudely fashioned guile, creating spaces for the German army to advance.

As a user of mundane yet supernatural weapons of war, I am perfectly suited to the task. That, along with the fact that I am a valuable asset - as I am capable of handling Holy Energy - that has less chance of dying facing Magicians of Middle-Class power than to potentially High-Class Devils, is why I am standing at attention in a commander's tent with four other Exorcists - two men, two women, not counting myself.

"I have been given the privilege to learn of you and of your world," the man spoke in Russian, his bushy, brown mustache looking reminiscent of a wiggling caterpillar. He steepled his hairy hands, leveraging the thick bulk of his upper body onto the desk. "The secret is safe with me, I assure you. But that is not why you are here. You are here to provide some measure of defense for this command post. It has been bombarded once with hail and sorceries, and I hope for it to not happen again. Have you a leader among you?" he asked, medals gleaming in the light, pinned onto his green uniform.

We all looked at each other, one man stepping forward. I see that it was Arthur, the Englishman who'd tried to recruit me to Protestantism during my initiation.

Ah, the days of youth. They bring me nostalgia and amusement, especially the event involving this man, for I now see the humor in that masquerade we had undergone.

A proper man of God, like myself, would have simply stayed steadfast in faith exited untroubled from that recruitment charade. After all, from what I have seen, your sect largely does not matter once you are 'in', so to speak.

Prestige is afforded to the respective figureheads of the sect you join as well as the sect itself, should you have exploits worthy of note, and rewards are distributed to successful recruiters - as evidenced by Santiago's promotion once he had 'bagged' Priska and I, as he had put it - which is why the politically inclined and involved recruiters take inducting clergymen with potential seriously. But for anyone else? It is largely irrelevant beyond the potential benefits you receive.

Anyone without powers or potential of note simply joins the sect of their faith, and those with them go through the same treatment as I, indeed. But, in the end, did my choice matter beyond having the ability to make the occasional request for ordnance or other such things?

No. Even the castle sub-dimension we had been bestowed as a domain was merely an unneeded opulence - I could have easily managed in the barrack environment most other Exorcists of my rank are subject to.

Though, now that Arthur's presence has brought up my memories of that far gone event, I do wonder what happened to that ogling Abadir fellow, the Egyptian Orthodox representative, after he was excommunicated. I've heard from Leonidas that his father and sect were displeased with his blunder, and as a consequence, brought his obfuscated malefactions of occasional salaciousness in encounters against non-Church members to light.

"I am of Bishop-rank," Arthur said, pushing up his rounded spectacles with a gloved hand. "Do any of you here surpass me?"

"Not me," someone murmured.

Ah, yes. The rankings - I had nearly forgotten about them, myself, given that they largely are not relevant to me. With the prestige that comes with being one of the few mortal wielders of Holy Energy throughout history, I am afforded superior housing compared to even an Archbishop-rank, and my 'deal' with the sect of Catholicism allows me to make requests reminiscent of one.

The rankings go from Neophyte, to Deacon, to Priest, to Bishop, to Archbishop, and then end at Cardinal, though the last has its own sub-ranks. Pope is not an available promotion, though.

"Then?" the commander asked.

One can be promoted by recognition of pure power, as each rank roughly corresponds to a capability to kill a certain Class of foe - Neophyte with Low-Class, Deacon with higher levels of Low-Class, Priest with Mid-Class, Bishop with the lowest dregs of High-Class, Archbishop with general High-Class, and Cardinal with, technically, Ultimate-Class - but generally, past Bishop-rank, if even that, pure fighting power is not what you are promoted on.

It is mostly impossible for mere humans to single-handedly vanquish beasts capable of glassing cities and flattening mountains, after all.

After Bishop-rank, you generally just ascend with accomplishments, whether they be of a political, scholarly, or valiant nature. Past Priest-rank, judging Exorcists' power based on their rank is sketchy, for the most part - which is especially true when it comes to Cardinal-ranks, as, and not to blaspheme, but I doubt a single one of them would last particularly long against Ultimate-Class heathens.

So yes, it is a very rough guideline that is not completely accurate, especially because most Exorcists best Devils through specialized strategies, preparation, and cunning, rather than destructive capability. I suppose I am an example of rank not necessarily corresponding to power - just gaze upon my visage and behold the accolades corresponding to it.

Personally, I am a Deacon. Neophyte is the rank assigned to those still in training, and obviously, I am out in the field.

"I am a Deacon," I replied.

"Same," said the girl with blonde hair next to me.

"Priest, here," said a brown-haired man, waving a spindly limb.

"Also a Priest," said the other woman, relatively tall, by the looks of it - the top of her skull would likely reach the middle of my neck, though I can't be sure, as she is not standing next to me.

"Bishop," commented the last man, his black hair tied into a bun.

What egregious locks. Has he no shame, strutting around as if he dipped his head into a bucket of grease?

That one stood next to me, and so I stepped away from him, bumping into the girl on my other side. She hadn't been in my mind and I hadn't seen her in my disgust - she barely reached my shoulders in height.

The girl glanced up at me with green eyes, gave a placating shrug, and turned back to the desk and the man sitting in it.

At least this one has a modicum of professionalism, unlike Priska, that wench. Her heresy wears my nerves raw.

"Would you have any interest in taking command, then?" Arthur questioned the repulsive bundle of lard next to me, leaning forward to see around the couple Exorcists between them. "I can hardly insist on anything in the face of an equal."

Saying that implies that the rest of us - specifically, me - are lesser. It is folly, for I know the truth of my worth.

"All men are equal in the eyes of the Lord," I stated, correcting his blasphemy. Except for the Chosen - though, saying that would prompt an unnecessary interaction, so I decided to forgo the entirety of my declaration.

He gave me a curious look. "Well, that is indeed true, but that was not what I was getting at."

"Anyway," intruded the black-haired man, "no. I have no issues with being a secondary or backup leader, or something to that nature. I would actually prefer it."

"Then," the commander rumbled, "it is decided. I trust that you will execute your duties. I must emphasize that you should not interrupt our proceedings in this command site, however, as we are constantly engaged in important work for the war effort. I have heard that there might be a supernatural squad from the central government being formed and sent over in the next few weeks, so while you should not get your hopes up, there is a chance that your numbers will be bolstered by more… competent troops, you can say. You may leave."

…

"This is our housing, allegedly," Arthur said, facing a two-story, white-speckled, gray building.

Going in, we saw that the first floor was mostly a lounge area, though I suspect it was at first the same as the second floor - an actual barrack - and was then repurposed for our use. To the right of the lounge area were some stairs, and ascending them led to a hallway with four doors, two on either side. Red stars, symbolizing the plague of socialism, adorned the wooden planks bolted to the walls. I'd have to replace them with crucifixes later on. Each door led to a relatively large room with concrete floors and bunk beds laid around in equal intervals.

"The women can have one room, and us men can have another, I suppose," Arthur said. "If there are no additional lodgings and if this 'supernatural squad' the commander spoke of has decent numbers, we might need to collectively take one room and delegate the rest to them, should they arrive. Nothing to worry about for now, though."

"It's doubtful they'll bring anyone," the black-haired man commented, collapsing on a wooden chair in the lounge and leaving an arm hanging behind its backrest. "I heard they've been requesting to have their supernatural special forces back for a while, but have been denied for months - it's been nearly a year at this point, I think. Don't quote me on that, because I usually end up wrong on most stuff."

Arthur nodded. "Good to know, I suppose."

The brown-haired, tall girl took a seat next, placing herself on a white couch. To not draw attention, we were all dressed in ordinary military uniforms, of an olive green, and the slight bit of skin showing in the space between her dress and boots rippled in the exertion of powerful muscles. "It doesn't matter too much, methinks. What is important is getting to know our comrades, no? What are your names? I am Dubravka." Her brown hair reached her shoulders, spilling out from her cap, and her hazel eyes had a shadow cast over them with the mock salute she gave.

"My name is Arthur Nottingham," the man said, pulling out another wooden chair for his own use. His uniform was the same as ours, with the exception of an officer's hat given to him by the commander to signify his heightened authority, as well as the gloves - a fashion choice individual to him, it seems, as he wore them during our first meeting as well. In contrast to his brimmed cap, we all wore ushankas with red stars on the front.

I promptly threw mine onto the ground upon realizing so.

"I'm Wilhelmine, but please call me Mientje," [2] the blonde girl said, sitting next to the other woman. Her face was small, but her green eyes were large, looking disproportionate. She wore the same uniform as the other girl, with the exception that her dress tapered down lower, likely looking as an ordinary female uniform's should - only the knee visible.

In contrast, the other girl was too tall and the habit thus showcased her lower thigh with the dress' taper, her bust practically straining against the cloth because of the belt at the midsection. An indecent temptress.

"Everyone knows me as Lotfi," intoned the skinny, brown-haired man, who had until now remained quiet. He remained standing, and his ensemble seemed much too baggy on his form. His face was angular and thin, but not exactly gaunt or sunken. Not emaciated, but not filled-out - overall, he had the appearance of a vagrant, stringy hair and all.

"Marcelo, but you can call me Mark if you want," said the greasy man, already in a chair. His eyes were the same color as his hair, black, and his uniform seemed perfectly tailored to him. His jawline was smooth but not what one would call strong, his nose was slightly wide, and his skin was tanner than the rest in the room.

"My name is Ioann," I said, sitting down on the floor, placing my elbows on my knees and clasping my hands together.

I've found that the position helps me think.

"Oh, that Ioann," the tall girl, Dubravka, murmured. I chalked it up to my status as the one to accidentally collapse a sub-dimension, wield Holy Energy, and give a rousing speech to thousands.

It is only natural that the masses would know the name of their savior.

"And what of all your powers?" Arthur asked, leaning forward with his hands in his lap. "I'd ask it normally, anyway, to know what I can expect from my comrades, but this time I'm actually curious. I know I was selected for having a less obviously paranormal skillset, so I'd assume you all were too?"

They nodded.

"Barbed wire," Wilhelmine, or I suppose Mientje, stated, as if that explains anything.

"Strength," Dubravka similarly proclaimed.

"Scouting," Lotfi said, conforming to the ongoing pattern.

"Teleportation and a bit of strength," Marcelo, or Mark, affirmed with a nod.

"The wrath of the Lord, our one and only God," I said, getting a strange look or two.

Arthur looked around at each of us, lingering on each for a second or two, before pushing up his spectacles and giving a shrug. "Advanced computation and slowed perception. Please, explain your strengths in detail, now, and I'll reciprocate. It will help in the future, trust me on that."

A riveting lecture from each of us followed. Personally, I gave only a cursory explanation, and Arthur left to wander with an excited grin on his face, muttering about 'potential possibilities'.

"So…" Marcelo said, pulling a deck of cards out from a pocket. "Blackjack? No betting, of course."

His booted foot tapped against the concrete floor in anticipation, creating a sound like a wooden block repeatedly slamming a wall. It seems he was not exaggerating about his supposed strength.

"What's blackjack? I only know poker," Wilhelmine commented, slightly smiling in curiosity.

"I must prepare my sermon," I murmured, retreating to my claimed bed with scripture in hand.

I would need the surety afforded by the Lord to triumph against the forces of evil, after all, and casting lots with fools would be no help in that.

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[1] 'Goodman' is an archaic title used for a man not considered a 'gentleman', usually referring to farmers and peasants. Ioann is calling the normal soldiers riffraff or common peasants with this, albeit in a nicer way.

[2] Just like how Bella would be used as a diminutive (short and/or affectionate form of a normal name, usually used by friends and relatives) for Isabella, or Mike for Michael, Mientje is the diminutive of Hermine and Wilhelmine. MC will call her Wilhelmine, because he doesn't consider her a friend, but everyone else will call her Mientje, pronounced 'me-yent-yeh' or 'mint-yeh' (the latter is more correct in this context because that's how the Dutch say it (and the character is Dutch), but both are fine) for anyone struggling with it. It's hard to convey the sound fully, because there's a very slight/vague inflection of 'ch' with the t, but it's still more than intelligible without it, and trying to pronounce it without knowing what that sounds like would butcher the entire pronunciation.

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This was mostly setup with some explanation of stuff. Not much to it other than that. Though, I notice that I went back to the format of MC ranting in his mind a lot - he hadn't been doing it as much in the last, like, dozen chapters, and for some reason it's giving me nostalgia.

Also, the USSR having a supernatural branch isn't even outside of DxD lore, technically. In DxD, America has a supernatural branch:

"I'm affiliated with the CIA. Inside it, there's something called Sacred Gear Agents, so I received orders from the higher-ups from there to come and directly see what's happening in the tournament. In this way, I came in contact with you."

— Magnus Rose, CIA agent, wielder of the Longinus known as Unknown Dictator.

From this, you can generally assume that most governments, notably the major ones, know about the supernatural. The USSR already did - Stalin even has a Sacred Gear in this story - and had a supernatural special forces, but it was disbanded by the Church until they proved their loyalty, and now they're trying to get (some of) it back.

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