CHAPTER 2
Wavering Justice
Chaos reigned in Orario, surrounded as it was on all sides by the Evils, who had taken up positions on the city walls. As Loki had put it, the city was under siege. Anyone who so much as approached the borders of the city was subjected to an incessant barrage of bombs. To prevent the townsfolk from being hurt, the adventurers had cordoned off the areas outside Central Park and the rest of the central district. Some refused to have their freedom curtailed so dramatically, but all were dragged kicking and screaming to the safe zone if that was what it took. It was an unpopular choice but necessary to prevent senseless loss of life.
Still, some people could not be convinced that these measures were for their safety and spat insults in the faces of their protectors. Friction was mounting between the city’s inhabitants and the adventurers, just as Valletta had predicted.
“Do something! We’re dying out here!”
“We’ve no food, no shelter, no clothes even! And some of us are still wounded!”
“What do you expect us to do, turn on each other?!”
Angry townsfolk closed in on the adventurers and Guild employees manning the cordon. They were cold, hungry, and fearful of an attack that could come at any time. Each voice contributed to the pandemonium, laying the foundation for mass hysteria.
“Stay calm!” shouted the war tiger, Falgar. “Rations are being handed out! Just sit quietly and do not act in haste!”
He and the other upper-class adventurers desperately pleaded with the citizens to keep them under control. Off to the side, Asfi saw all this as she spoke to an employee of the Guild.
“I’ve evacuated all the townsfolk from the gates,” she said. “I’ll leave the rest here to you.”
It had been half a day since Asfi and Shakti had witnessed the Evils attacking innocent townsfolk at the west gate. After Asfi had spent that whole time guiding people away from the other gates and walls, the exhaustion was beginning to show.
“Thank you,” replied the Guild employee. “Erm…do you mind if I ask?” The woman’s face was pallid and grim. “We’re going to win this…aren’t we?”
A pause. Asfi knew what the woman wanted to hear, but she couldn’t bring herself to say it.
“We will do everything we can,” she said at last. “But we need your help to have a chance.”
“R-r-right, yes! Of course, silly me! Good hunting, adventurer!”
Flustered and babbling, the Guild lady ran off. With a look of bitter pain, Asfi watched her go.
“Even the people in the Guild are starting to worry…”
“Yes, and there is little we can do to reassure them,” said Falgar, appearing by her side with his greatsword and shield upon his back. “Nor the common folk, for that matter. It just goes to show how deep the wounds of last night run. The Evils wear us down from within, and there is precious little hope to be found. Whoever concocted this scheme of theirs must be truly despicable.”
Falgar and Gareth were of one mind regarding the craven techniques their foe employed. Asfi could feel her heart pounding away in her chest.
At this rate we’ll lose control of the people…and then it’s only a matter of time before the city falls. We need a victory, anything, even a small one, or else…
But as if to deny her even that, Hermes suddenly appeared behind her, like an omen of calamity.
“Asfi,” he said.
“Lord Hermes?” She spun around, stunned by the god’s apparent disregard for his own safety. “What are you doing here without an escort?!” she shouted at him. “Are you aware there’s a war going on?!”
“Asfi. From now on, you lead the familia.”
“Wh-what? What do you…?”
Asfi was lost for words. She couldn’t speak. Then it slowly dawned on her that Hermes wasn’t joking. There wasn’t a shred of levity about him. No trace of a smile on his lips or a bounce in his voice like usual. His gaze was distant, devoid of light and warmth.
She couldn’t breathe. There was only one reason Hermes would say what he had said, and Asfi’s sharp mind had already deduced what it was. A terrible, sinking feeling gripped the pit of her stomach, eclipsing the beating of her heart.
“Lydis is dead,” said Hermes. “You’re the captain now.”
“What?!”
She almost didn’t hear his cold, callous command. Before she even had time to feel shock or despair, the world around her stopped, and all the color drained from Asfi’s face.
“Move in! Attack! Bathe these ignorant sinners in blood!”
Both the screams of the bystanders and their assailants’ mad yells filled the air. The agents of evil were eager to paint the ground and ruined walls in gore.
The target was a makeshift overflow camp to the north of Central Park, where any excess evacuees were placed. As if that weren’t bad enough, the cultists were deliberately targeting those who couldn’t fight back.
People sprinted from the battlefield, tugging on the arms of crying children, sometimes leaving the old and infirm behind to save their own skins.
“Th-this way, everyone! Run as fast as you can!”
At the center of the chaos, one young man still stood up for the fleeing townsfolk: Raul of Loki Familia. While the upper-class adventurers fought on the front lines, he and his fellow lower-class adventurers were forced to steel their courage and stand on the battlefield. They took up sword and shield and risked their lives battling aggressors often more powerful than themselves.
“Raul’s almost ready for a Rank Up.”
Those words had come from Loki’s mouth ten days prior, before the onset of the Great Conflict. Raul remembered how happy he’d been to hear them at the time, but they were little reassurance now. He’d been in Orario for only a year, and the dangers of the city were already beyond his wildest nightmares.
“Th-this way! Hurry!”
“O-oh, thank you, kind adventurer…!”
Deathly pale with fright, his knees shaking, Raul felt like he might wet himself. That didn’t stop him from guiding the townsfolk to safety. After entrusting an old lady to his ally, he set out once more across the battlefield, which was riddled with danger. Then, all of a sudden, a member of the Evils appeared from out of nowhere and lunged at him with a knife.
“Hey, adventurer…! Die!”
“Eep!”
Raul was nearly run through before he had a chance to cry out in fright. Luckily, an even keener blade came to his defense.
“Silence, whelp!!”
“Gagh!”
A single-edged longsword came from behind and cut the Evils footman down.
“N-Noir!”
An old human with a beard had come to Raul’s rescue. Despite his appearance, he clearly possessed the speed and strength of a man many decades younger. His body, over 170 celches tall, was like an elegant weeping willow standing firm in the face of adversity. Even without the benefit of his Falna, he was a spry and energetic gentleman and a master of the sword besides. His name was Noir Sachsen, Level 4, and he was still actively adventuring despite being over seventy years of age.
“Get back, Raul,” he warned. “You can’t swing a blade when your knees rattle like a loose shutter in the wind.”
“B-but I gotta stand and fight—!” Raul began before being cut off by the appearance of two more figures. The first was a grizzled dwarf boasting a beard that put even Noir’s to shame, while the second was a woman who looked like the epitome of an Amazon.
“You ain’t take on anything besides monsters before, young’un,” said the former, “Leave this to us old-timers.”
“We were Finn’s equal during our prime, you know,” the second added with a grin that seemed out of place on the battlefield. “Listen to your elders, Raul.”
“Dyne… Bahra…”
These three, Noir, Dyne, and Bahra, were Loki Familia’s oldest members—in terms of age, at least. They were converts from other familia, but they had been braving the Dungeon long before Finn, Riveria, Gareth, or even Loki first set foot in the city. That alone put them on the same level as any first-class adventurer.
“Stay off the battlefield, Raul. That’s where you work best,” said Noir as the next wave of Evils cultists closed in. “Go and help the citizens to safety—all their screams are beginning to wear me down. You don’t want Anakitty to get mixed up in all this, either, do you?”
“…!”
“Raul!”
The one who called his name was a catgirl in the process of helping the fleeing old woman to safety. Her name was Anakitty Autumn, a fourteen-year-old who joined the familia about the same time Raul did. She’d always had her head screwed on properly and was more attuned to the dangers of the battlefield than Raul was. That was why when she looked at him, it was with a face of pure terror and eyes that said, “Come back, you’ll die!”
Seeing the young and tender girl on the verge of tears, Raul balled his fists in embarrassment.
“I’m sorry,” he said to the veteran trio. “Please, take care of them for me!!”
With those final words, Raul ran back to where Anakitty was. Trying not to listen too closely to the clash of blades behind him, he collected her and the old woman before fleeing the battlefield.
Still, he couldn’t help himself, so he took one quick peek over his shoulder. There he saw Noir, tearing through foes like a god of war.
We can’t fight on the front lines, and we can’t help the rear guard, either! We wouldn’t last five minutes in a fight like that!
Turning his back on the battlefield, Raul opened his mouth and screamed.
“All we can do is run! Is this the age of darkness you warned me about, Captain?!”
“Finn! Where are you going?!”
Royman’s quailing voice did not break Finn’s stride.
“To Central Park,” he answered. “I need to see for myself what’s happening out there.”
He stepped briskly through the hallways of Guild Headquarters located in southwest Orario, now the second-most important base of operations in the city after Central Park.
“I have to reinspect the board,” he said, a bold determination in his voice. “There’s always another angle.”
Royman struggled to keep up, not only with the prum’s quick steps but also with his mind. Finn alone seemed to view this war from a position of logical detachment.
“How?!” yelled Royman in a tremulous voice. “Finn, how can you be so calm at a time like this?! Rarely does your arrogant behavior surprise me these days, but this truly takes the cake! Never have I seen you display such brazen disregard when we are staring down such…such calamity!”
The elf in charge of the Guild could take it no longer. Despair had claimed him, like it had so many others.
“Frankly, Finn, I don’t know what to do! Zeus’s Glutton and Hera’s Silence, fighting a war against us? It’s a nightmare! Doomsday!”
Zeus Familia and Hera Familia. The very names struck fear into all. There wasn’t a single person who hadn’t heard tales of their legendary might, and nobody understood the threat they posed more than Royman Mardeel. For over a hundred years, he had stood as Orario’s guiding presence, so that the city’s prosperity would continue into eternity.
“And to top it all off,” he cried, “nine of our familias have been decapitated! Even many gods who survived the exodus have no followers left! This is the worst thing that’s happened to Orario since…well, since ever!!”
Royman’s final words seemed so fragile, they might shatter at the gentlest touch. That finally stopped Finn in his tracks.
“You’re right,” he said. “The situation is dire. We couldn’t have dreamed of a worse enemy, and our city teeters on the brink of extinction.”
Finn offered no soothing words. The prum captain admitted that all of Royman’s fears were completely warranted.
“However,” he said, turning around, “that’s precisely why we need to stay strong. Now, perhaps, more than ever.”
The short-statured prum stood opposite Royman and looked up boldly into his eyes, wearing an indefatigable smile.
“Chin up, Royman. No more of that wailing. And remember, you’ve got me on your side. I will do whatever it takes to inspire hope in you all. Call me arrogant for that if you like, but let me ask you: Who else has what it takes to steer us through this storm?”
“…!!”
“Who else can show such courage when all seems lost?”
After an awed silence, Royman balled his right hand into a fist.
“…Only you,” he replied, begrudgingly at first, but soon with an intensity that would frighten the gods in heaven. “Only you can bring hope to this miserable city, Braver! Only you and the other first-class adventurers stand a chance at releasing us from the specters of Zeus and Hera!!”
He took a step toward Finn, as if he intended to shake the prum by his shoulders.
“Save us, Finn! You must defeat those who reached greater heights than any other in Orario for a thousand years!”
“We will,” came Finn’s simple reply. “Our city’s future depends on it.”
There was no smile on his face now, only grim determination. He turned forward once more and resumed striding down the corridor.
“But to do so,” he said, now only to himself, “to seize that faint chance of victory—I’ll need his help.”
Passing through the Guild lobby, Finn emerged onto the streets, setting his sights to the southwest—where Orario’s greatest protector fell at the hands of its conqueror.
“Gaaaaaaaaagh?!”
A single crushing swing nearly tore one man’s body to shreds. Instead, it sent him flying through the air, spewing blood. The force bent his arms and legs into terribly unnatural shapes before slamming his mangled body into the ground.
The scream that penetrated the air of southwest Orario belonged to one of the attackers encroaching on the city.
“K-kill him!” spat the leader of a group of Evils, as if his trembling voice might be able to strike down their foe when he said it with enough venom. “His fight with Master Zald has left him crippled and weak! Now’s our chance to finish him off for good!”
It was hard to blame him for believing that when their opponent trailed torn bandages while blood dripped from every cut. Despite all that, his strength seemed undiminished. His iron will and the fire burning in his eyes were alive and well. The man existed for one purpose and one purpose only: to destroy anyone unfortunate enough to step into his path.
“H-he can’t be stopped! Nobody can take on that beast!!”
The Evils foot soldiers failed to find inspiration in their leader’s words. Their unstoppable foe showed no mercy as he cut them down left and right.
“Hurgh… Hurgh… ROOOOOOAAAAAAAAGHHH!!”
Then Ottar roared, huffing steam like a mad bull. With greatsword in hand, there was nothing alive he couldn’t kill. Nothing standing he couldn’t destroy. This battle was meaningless, a futile slaughter with no winner.
“Pant… Pant…”
Soon the earth fell silent, save for the sound of Ottar’s labored breaths. A single animal person who had been watching the fight dropped from a partially destroyed building onto the rubble-lined street.
“Pickin’ on small fry ’cause you got beat? That’s embarrassin’, man.”
“Allen…!”
Ottar wheeled around to see a familiar young catman wielding a silver spear.
“I dunno if you and that armored asshole got history or what,” Allen continued, “but you gotta put it aside. You can’t just go chargin’ off by yourself like a wild animal when we got a war to fight.”
Allen spoke reason. Since the moment he awoke following his ill-fated showdown with the Conqueror, Ottar had been trapped in a thorny tangle of rage and grief, committed to hunting down Zald and destroying anyone who got in his way.
“Leave me,” he said. “I don’t have time for this.”
From his voice, it was clear Ottar believed he had nothing to lose. Without another word, he turned and tried to leave Allen behind.
“Where are you goin’ now?”
“To find Zald.”
“Yeah? So he can finish you off?”
“So I can destroy him!”
Ottar pointedly ignored Allen’s pleas. Allen had always known him to be a quiet man who nonetheless held incredible inner strength, but there was no trace of that Warlord now, only a mindless beast.
“Right, got you,” he said, staring at the boaz’s back, his eyes as narrow as knife blades. “In that case, time for you to die.”
“!”
Allen took up his silver spear and lunged. Ottar spun around and caught it on his blade just in time. A moment later and it would have pierced his heart.
“Allen!” he cried as he parried the blow. “What is the meaning of this?!”
“You ain’t kiddin’ nobody,” said Allen. “You fight Zald now, you’re as good as dead; we both know that. Might as well leave your excelia to me and save him the trouble.”
What Allen was asking, as a Level 5 to a Level 6, was for Ottar to be his doorway to a Rank Up. “Then I’m gonna tear that tin can to shreds,” he said, an undeniable fire of determination in his eyes.
“Rrgh! Allen!!”
Meanwhile, the only emotion in the boaz’s eyes was fury. He had known his vice-captain for a long, long time, and so he knew the moment he saw that spark, the ensuing fight was inevitable. Allen would not give up until he had taken the very last thing that kept Ottar going.
Their weapons clashed. Allen’s spear, swift like the wind, and Ottar’s greatsword, as heavy as a mountain. The storm of blows pealed like thunder and buffeted the area with gusts of wind. In this deadly showdown between raw speed and raw strength, the war-torn street had little hope of surviving. Shock waves from their fight were already leveling what remained of the buildings, filling the roads with dust and stone. Sounds of their duel carried several blocks away, and those who heard them turned their heads in confusion, wondering what meeting of armies could possibly create such noise.
The battle raged on. Two warriors who should have been allies looked more like wild beasts competing for the same juicy kill.
“Grh?!”
At long last, after an exchange scoring hit after hit, a decisive blow landed. One of the combatant’s weapons wheeled through the air, and its wielder slumped to his knees.
The weapon was a greatsword. The man was Ottar. But it was Allen who screwed up his face in bitterness and disgust. His arms, still locked in place after their final swing, began to tremble.
“…The hell was that?”
Then, he lifted his chin and yelled with all his might.
“What the hell was that?! Since when did you go down so easy? When did you become such a loser?!”
“Grh…”
“The hell’s wrong with you, Ottar?! Any fight between us oughta end with me gettin’ my ass laid out!”
Ottar bore his junior’s criticism with obvious despair. He was devastated in mind and body. Not once had he ever lost a duel with his cat-person associate.
He couldn’t even muster up a single word in his defense. The pitiful sight of him only angered Allen more.
“I swore to defeat you and become the greatest chariot I can be! You know how much I sacrificed! I didn’t say good-bye to that idiot so that you could go and turn out like this!!”
“…!”
Ottar froze. As the captain of Freya Familia, he understood exactly who Allen was referring to. Once upon a time, there had been another wheel to his chariot. Allen’s little sister followed in his tracks wherever he went.
“Allen…”
The catman had never once divulged how he felt about that sacrifice. Seeing him open up now, Ottar was silent. Meanwhile, Allen clicked his tongue, as if he’d accidentally said too much, and his gaze met Ottar’s rust-colored eyes once more.
“Stand up,” he said. “I ain’t after your pity. This time, it’s to the death. With all of us.”
As Allen spoke those words, a series of fresh faces appeared at the border of their duel. First were the four prum brothers.
“What a sight, Ottar.”
“You look so pathetic, it’s not even funny.”
“But that’s okay, ’cause we’re the same.”
“We lost our fight, too. So kill us and bring to life a more powerful warrior. One who can strike down Apate Familia in our place.”
Following them were the white elf and the dark elf mages.
“We must bring ruin to the Evils, those despicable sisters included.”
“Ottar…we’ve always fought to win, but today we must unleash our full power.”
They all stood before Ottar, fully armed and armored for battle. It was Hegni the dark elf who stepped forward and spoke on their behalf.
“We all want to fight, Ottar. We need to. It’s the only way we can atone for the mistakes of last night.”
He spoke proudly and defiantly, without need for the magic that usually shielded him from the looks and words of others.
“Hegni and Hedin…the Gulliver Brothers…”
Ottar could scarcely believe his eyes. All of Freya Familia was out in full force.
“You better believe that prum’s got some kinda plan up his ass,” said Allen. “’Til he finally decides to share it with us, we fight.”
“!!”
“Whoever survives gets to take down Zeus and Hera’s lapdogs.”
By the time Ottar realized whom Allen was suggesting they fight, the catman confirmed it with his words.
“This is our Folkvangr now,” he said. “This street is where we’ll choose our strongest Einherjar—the one who gets to kick those two freaks into the next millennium.”
Folkvangr. That was the name of Freya Familia’s home. A place where the city’s strongest warriors trained daily to surpass their limits in mortal combat. Here they would hold one final contest, to determine who among them was powerful enough to be the last man standing.
Dusk was approaching. Ashen clouds held back the reddening sky. At long last, Ottar spoke.
“Allen. Did you come here…for me?”
“What a stupid thing to ask. There’s only one person I do anything for, and it sure as hell ain’t you.”
Allen’s decision was not his own. He was merely a vessel through which a higher power made her decree.
“Find this age’s champion for me.”
Ottar’s eyes went wide.
“It’s long past time I had my revenge on Zeus and Hera.”
He curled his boulder-like fists tightly.
“Rrgh!!”
His mistress’s divine will flowed into him, becoming his own determination. His goddess was ever noble in defeat, and so Ottar needed to be the same.
“If you’re gonna keep on sullyin’ our Lady’s good name,” said Allen, “then you can just die. I’ll take out that armor-wearing asshole instead.”
Without a trace of warmth or mercy in his voice, Allen lowered the tip of his spear to Ottar’s throat.
“…No,” came the boaz’s cracked voice. Ottar looked up, a blazing fire behind his eyes, and grabbed the spearhead in one hand. “The one who will settle the score with Zeus is me. You don’t know how many times I’ve cried and licked my wounds, waiting for the day to repay the favor!”
Then Ottar rose to his feet. He gripped the spearhead even tighter, letting the blood drip between his fingers. Before his gathered comrades, he raised his voice, letting everyone hear the Warlord’s determination.
“I will defeat Zald! I, and no one else!!”
The corners of Allen’s lips twisted. It almost looked like he was smiling. He pulled his weapon free of the giant’s firm grip and twirled it, before leveling it once more at the blood-soaked boaz.
“Raise your voices!” yelled Allen. “It’s time to fight!”
Ottar wrapped his stout fingers around the grip of his greatsword, and in chorus with the other Einherjar, he roared.
“ROOOOOOAAAAAAAAAGHHH!!”
Sword and spear clashed in endless concert, accompanied by the crackle of magic spells both black and white. This prelude was the cry of a Folkvangr reborn. The skies themselves shook with trepidation as a ferocious, never-ending battle unfolded in the streets below. These warriors fought tirelessly, thirsting for strength. They fought, because there was no other option available to them.
The sky unleashed a bestial howl, like a cornered wolf. Then the rain began. Great lashings of it, like lances falling from heaven, as the clouds above went from gray to black.
“Pant… Pant… Pant…!”
Lyu ran down empty roads, her face wet with tears and rain.
“Shakti!” she cried. “Why?! Why would you forsake Ardee like that?!”
“Do not show mercy to your foes! None of you must make the same idiotic mistake my sister did!”
“That is my justice.”
Though Lyu had run from her, Shakti’s words were not so easily escaped. They echoed in her mind, persistent, despite Lyu’s furious attempts to deny them.
“That can’t be true! Then what was it all for? Her life? Her death? Her justice?! What was any of it for?!”
She screamed into the heavy rain. Anything to drown out the thoughts piecing themselves together in her mind. Anything to stave off that dreadful realization. The realization that her friend’s principles hadn’t saved her and that she had died in vain.
She sprinted through the streets, a wind without direction. She ran and ran and ran.
At last, she arrived before a building cloaked in gloom. It was rectangular, or at least, it had been once, but like every other structure in the city, it was so full of holes, it was a wonder the place was still standing. It looked like a bomb had gone off, demolishing the walls, and every single window shutter had been blown clean off. Inside, several pillars were missing, and the entire eastern wing of the building slanted ominously, ready to come down at any moment.
Lyu went inside, forcing the bent metal door.
“…Why did I come here?”
Beyond it, dust and rubble covered the floor. The ceiling was gone, offering a view of the murky sky and letting in the incessant rain that fell instead of starlight.
This was district six, in southwest Orario. A place once believed to be an Evils stronghold…and the place Lyu’s friend had lost her life.
“Nobody’s here… Everything’s been destroyed…”
Lyu shambled into the center of the room, even as the rain fell and soaked her golden hair. She almost couldn’t recognize the place anymore.
“There’s nothing left… Not even her body… And yet…”
Even the wall stained with her blood was gone.
“Ardee…”
Lyu stood still and gazed up into a starless sky, like a condemned prisoner awaiting execution. She stood as ice-cold water beat her mercilessly, hoping against hope it would wash her sins away…but it didn’t. The ink-black night closed in around her, ready to carry her off for good, and then…
She heard a noise.
“!”
At the opposite end of the room, a metal door squeaked. Lyu quickly replaced her mask as she realized somebody else was entering the building.
“Who’s there?!” she yelled, but all she heard were tiny footsteps. A prum? Lyu twitched her long ears and focused her azure eyes on the darkness. Eventually, a figure stepped into view. A small, human girl.
“What are you doing here?” she asked Lyu in a flat voice. “Who are you? Are you alone?”
Lyu was relieved to see it wasn’t one of the cultists, but the figure’s true identity surprised her even more. She couldn’t quite make out her face in the shadow, but her long, radiant hair, like spun gold, left no question as to who she was.
A child, dressed in armor… And that hair. Could it be?
The Sword Princess. Or as she was once known, the Doll Princess. A finely honed killing machine raised to cut down monsters. Despite her young age, she was already Level 3, displaying an astonishing rate of growth that outstripped even Lyu’s swift progress. Some called her the miracle child of Loki Familia.
Her name was Aiz Wallenstein, and her terrifying strength struck fear into friend and foe alike.
“Are you…with the Evils?” Aiz asked, tilting her head.
“Wha—?!” Her impertinent accusation sent the blood rushing to Lyu’s head, expelling any worries she might have had about the girl’s safety. “How could I be? How could you even think such a thing?!”
“But you’re wearing a mask,” the Sword Princess pointed out.
“So what?! Is everyone who wears a mask a member of the Evils now?!”
“Okay, well, what are you doing here, then?”
“W-well…”
The girl’s innocent question caused Lyu to trip over her words. She didn’t quite know what to say. She’d been running around aimlessly and just kind of…ended up here, but she couldn’t exactly use that as her excuse. As she was struggling to figure out how to answer the completely unintimidating child half her size, Aiz said something else.
“There’s no light in your eyes, either.”
“!!”
This time, Lyu was left truly speechless. Aiz stared at her with the glassy eyes of a doll, as if she were looking into a mirror.
“They’re a bit like mine from before,” she said. “But also, not. Scary eyes.”
Lyu’s sky-blue eyes had lost their luster. They were the eyes of one who knew despair. Aiz saw a person on the brink. An unpredictable element that could go one way or the other.
And then Aiz unwittingly spoke the word with the potential to detonate that volatile mixture of emotion.
“Finn told me about the bombs. Do you have one, too?”
Of all the things she could say, it had to be that. The one word that Lyu in her present state couldn’t bear to hear. The word that had taken her precious friend away from her.
“Child, I’m warning you,” muttered Lyu, a cold anger seeping through her lips. “Never say that word to me again.”
An incandescent fury took hold in her mind, forcing her to relive the scarlet flames and blood of Ardee’s death.
“If you won’t listen,” she went on, seething with rage, “I don’t know what I’ll do.”
The mere thought that she of all people could be wearing one of those despicable devices—one of the inhumane bombs that stole her friend’s life—was enough to send the high-minded elf into an outrage. Her entire body shook with the throbbing beat of fury.
It was obvious now, if it wasn’t already, that Lyu was a broken being.
“Then you are dangerous.”
Aiz remained unperturbed. Infuriatingly so. She reached over her shoulder without letting her doll-like expression waver and drew her sword.
“I have to fight you.”
Lyu didn’t understand the girl’s reasoning—what chain of logic had led her to conclude that battle was the only reasonable option?—but she couldn’t bring herself to care any longer. So Lyu drew her wooden sword, gripped it tightly in both hands, and spoke in a dark, stern voice.
“I apologize in advance. This is nothing but the futile tantrum of a lost and foolish elf.”
“I don’t understand,” said Aiz as she also assumed a stance. “Which means…I have to beat you.”
“Easier said than done!”
The two immediately readied themselves for battle. Sky-blue and golden eyes locked for only a brief instant, before each combatant launched herself at the other.
““Haargh!!””
Weapons shrieked amid the falling rain. The sword and the gale wind fought. They fought, because there was no other option available to them.
The first clash of swords was all it took for Aiz and Lyu to accurately gauge each other’s strength.
Such power!!
In the blink of an eye, the pair exchanged an uncountable flurry of high-speed slices, impossible for mortal eyes to follow, and enough to drown out all other sound. Even in the thick of it, the two girls caught each other’s gazes, and it slowly began to dawn on them that they were an even match.
She’s so small, Lyu thought, but her strikes are so clean, and she doesn’t hesitate for an instant! How many monsters must she have slain to get to this point?
Aiz fought like a mad beast. Lyu could barely keep her eyes trained on her. She was fast. Incredibly fast, and she poured everything she had into manipulating her sword, which seemed much too large for a child her size. When she swung, it was with all the muscles in her upper body. When she spun, it was with all the speed and force of a whirlwind. It seemed at first that Aiz’s weapon was the one in control of her, but the more they fought, the more Lyu realized the girl was like bottled lightning—a miraculous condensation of tempestuous violence. If Lyu faltered for an instant, she would be torn to shreds by the relentless onslaught of blows and scattered to the four winds. Meanwhile, Aiz kept coming, never letting up as she shifted, fluid and unrestrained, from one form to the next.
She’s so…fast? Aiz thought. No, not as fast as Finn. But my attacks still can’t get through.
Lyu fought like a territorial animal. Aiz couldn’t afford to take her eyes off her. She was skilled. Incredibly skilled, and she parried every last blow with minimal effort. When she moved, it was with forms she’d studied for countless nights and polished on countless battlefields. It seemed at first that Lyu was fighting a losing battle, but the more they fought, the more Aiz realized that fighting her was like fighting air itself—each time Aiz thought she managed to break her posture, the elf’s flowing techniques allowed her to recover without conceding a single opening. If Aiz let up for an instant, their roles would be reversed, and she would find herself on the back foot instead. Meanwhile, Lyu never faltered, constantly modifying the flow of battle with the lightest wave of her wooden sword, as if by magic.
Her style was influenced not only by the elven village where Lyu was born and raised, but also by the techniques from the Far East, the wisdom of the canny prum, and a bold, sunny resolve. All who laid eyes on her would recognize the seeds of justice planted within it, which Astrea continued to water even today.
““Rrgh!!””
Discarding their shock and unnerving revelations, both Aiz and Lyu threw themselves into the fight with renewed fervor. Two heads of golden hair weaved and fluttered, following the paths of their strikes. Their disparity in size offered neither side an advantage. While Lyu attempted to use her height and longer limbs to extend the range of her blows, Aiz was able to turn her short stature to her benefit, often dropping low to the ground to slip past the elf’s sweeping sword and seize an opening. But no matter how forceful and numerous her strikes, Lyu parried each one with precision and power.
In terms of technique, Lyu held the upper hand. But in terms of adaptability, it was the animalistic instincts of Aiz Wallenstein that won the day. Each combatant had a wealth of her own experience to draw upon, and so the battle waged on with no end in sight.
“I see why they call you the Sword Princess,” said Lyu as she directed her wooden sword toward Aiz’s head. “You certainly live up to your name!”
Her age belied an almost impossible level of mastery. She wasn’t simply a prodigy. It was almost as though the gods themselves had created her for a single purpose—slaying monsters.
“Mask… Wooden sword… Cloak… Fast…”
Aiz muttered to herself as she brought her silver blade up to parry, but she failed to realize her words were tinged with wonder. She could scarcely believe the girl’s strength.
“I can’t see your face, but your eyes are green…or maybe blue.”
It was difficult to pierce the persistent gloom that blanketed the area. Plus, her opponent was wearing a mask. But she grew more and more unruly as the battle raged on, and the rain striking her face made Aiz think of the Wild Hunt, a spirit said to appear during the blackest of storms.
“Who are you?” she asked, but nobody answered. The only conversation here took place through their blades.
The two girls were alike in more ways than they realized. Long golden hair, a combative spirit, and an affinity with the wind. They both turned themselves into storms, dancing to a tumultuous melody.
Then, both of them leaped high into the air. They crossed at high speed, each unleashing her most powerful blow yet with a thunderous crash.
Lyu landed, her cloak tattered and torn, and she turned around, panting heavily through her mask.
“I can’t get through!” she lamented. “Is this the power of Loki Familia?”
She saw Aiz land and similarly turn a short distance away. Her entire body rose and fell with each breath, but the drawn-out battle had not affected her resolution in the slightest.
“Pant… Pant… I’m…not done,” the little girl said. “I can get…even stronger.”
“She’s insane!” Lyu said to herself. “Is that why people call her the War Princess?”
She gripped her sword firmly, and so did Aiz. Neither of them felt the falling rain anymore. Lyu steeled her resolve once more.
“So that’s how it’s going to be?!” she cried. “Very well, then let’s—!!”
“Aiz! Where did you go?! Don’t run off by yourself!!”
At that very moment, a bellowing voice rang out—like that of a mother who had caught her child playing outside after dark.
“Uh-oh.”
A look of worry crossed Aiz’s face, just as a furious high elf stepped into the ruined building.
“How many times have do I have to remind you to stick close?!” she shouted. “Are you refusing to listen, or are you just plain stupid?”
“Ow!”
The woman’s fist came down hard on Aiz’s blond crown, and the little girl groaned in pain. She quickly tossed aside her sword and began rubbing her head, teary-eyed. The image that had terrified Lyu just seconds ago was now nowhere to be seen.
“L-Lady Riveria?!”
Lyu had no time to laugh at the comical display before her. She was horrified by just who had stepped onto the scene.
I can’t let a high elf know I just lost my temper and attacked a child!!
As the name implied, high elves were the most mighty and noble of all the elves. Their people were expected to revere them like gods. Perhaps even more than gods. Simply seeing Riveria brought Lyu to her senses enough to realize what she’d been doing and how bad it looked.
A few moments went by as she wondered how best to rectify the situation, and then…
“I-I’m really sorry but I have to go!”
She bolted. Pulling her mask back over her face, she ran outside into the streets as fast as her legs could carry her.
Riveria raised a single eyebrow at the sight of the fleeing figure.
“Hm? Who was that? It looked like an elf,” she said to herself. “Aiz, who were you fighting?”
“Oww…… The Evils?”
“Why is that a question? What was the fight about?”
Aiz lifted her head. “She had scary eyes,” she said. “It felt like…I had to fight her.”
She turned to look in the direction the elf girl had fled.
“But after a while…she didn’t feel so scary anymore.”
She recalled the girl’s eyes as they were at the height of their duel. They were bright, just like her own. Like nothing outside of the battle mattered.
“I think…I helped her, just a little,” she said, and somehow, the tiny girl looked just a little more grown-up as she said so.
However, Riveria was not impressed. “Well, if she’s our enemy, then you shouldn’t really be helping her, should you?”
“…True!” said Aiz, thumping her fist in her palm.
Riveria sighed and clutched her head like the girl’s stupidity was giving her a migraine. “Where did I go wrong…?” she groaned.
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