CHAPTER 4
Those Who Struggle
It happened on a day like any other.
“Asfi, take over as captain after I die, would ya?”
“Huh?”
Asfi had been in her studio, working hard all morning to refine her latest creation in the fight against the Evils, when Lydis stepped in and whisked her away, saying, “Let’s go have lunch together!”
Asfi’s emphatic protests fell on deaf ears, and so she sighed as she was dragged away to a nearby tavern. The sign out front read, THE BENEVOLENT MISTRESS. It had been in business for two years and was surprisingly profitable, considering the times. According to Lydis, “If you want good food and a relaxing atmosphere, come here! It’s like paradise! It’s like Valhalla! Only pity is they charge adventurers extra!”
It was after sitting down at the counter and being wowed by a superb vegetable quiche that Asfi heard those unsettling words.
“What are you talking about, Captain?”
“Just something to keep in mind. Man, the food here is great!”
Lydis bit into a piping hot skewer of slow-cooked meat, ignoring Asfi’s puzzled look. Lydis was a human, and even Asfi could recognize the woman’s stunning beauty. Her long, ash-blond hair ran in a single plaited bunch down her right shoulder, and she wore a white collared blouse and a necktie that was curiously handsome.
She was a striking, unapproachable beauty until the moment she opened her mouth, at which point she sounded like a complete and utter imbecile.
“I know everyone’s saying this,” Lydis went on, speaking as she stuffed her cheeks yet miraculously without a single drop of fat staining her snow-white blouse, “but in times like these, you never know what’ll happen. Just letting you know my wishes, you know, just in case. I’ll tell Hermes as well.”
“H-hold on a second! Y-you can’t just start talking about your death like that!”
“It’s not very a happy conversation, I know. But I don’t want it to be sad, either. I just want things to go on as normal even when I’m gone, you know? That’s the best thing for the familia and for our god as well.”
Ignoring Asfi’s horrified look, Lydis reached out for another serving of food. The dwarven proprietress standing behind the bar said nothing.
“We’re followers of Hermes,” Lydis said. “That means we can’t let any holes sink our ship. We have to patch them up and keep on drifting on the winds of discovery. You understand what I mean, right?”
“Not even a little bit,” replied Asfi. “Besides, being chosen as your successor is one accolade I could do without.”
“Aha-ha! That’s because you’re always so serious, Asfi. I bet Hermes is going to have a grand old time with you. You’ll be dead on your feet trying to keep up with him!”
“Hey!”
“But I believe in you, Asfi. Nobody else cares more than you.”
Asfi was momentarily surprised by Lydis’s sudden transformation from a chuckling child into a sage and mature young woman. However, Lydis soon broke that illusion with an exclamation of “Wow, this meat pie is amazing!” as she resumed unceremoniously stuffing her cheeks.
“You’ll be fine, Asfi,” she said between mouthfuls. “Whether that day comes or not. You’re our almighty hero—our Perseus.”
“And on what basis do you say that, I wonder…?”
“Hey, are you doubting me? I’m Lydis! When have I ever been wrong?!”
“Is that supposed to be Hermes? Cut it out!”
“Ha-ha-ha! Now Hermes sad…!”
No matter how grown-up for her age, Asfi was still a child. She didn’t—couldn’t—appreciate the intent behind Lydis’s words. At the time, she considered it just another one of the captain’s tasteless jokes. But in this case, it was the playful Lydis whose mind was far more grounded in reality.
And that was why she died.
On the night of the Great Conflict, Lydis gave her life so that a band of upper-class adventurers could escape with theirs. With a calm and clear mind, she put the needs of the city above her own, and the tasteless joke became the cruel truth.
She always knew it was a possibility, even as she said it with a laugh. In the Age of Darkness, anyone could become a martyr, and anyone could find it was their turn to step up.
For Asfi, that time had come.
Footsteps came running toward her, and the Hermes Familia member shouted a report.
“Skirmishes in districts five, six, and eight! We’re seeing more movement than ever before! What do we do, Asfi?”
She was in the southern part of town, at about the same time Kaguya and Lyra were investigating the evacuee camp in the north. She was scared. How many times had she felt this way, just today? With no way in or out of the city, supplies were scarce. There wasn’t nearly enough to go around. The constant attacks by Evils groups only added to the stress, and many adventurers like her were clinging to their last strands of sanity.
It was all going according to Valletta’s scheme. Looking after the people was proving to be a herculean task, and the strain was starting to take its toll.
However, amid all this, Asfi had a different kind of pressure to contend with as well.
“Th-three sites at the same time? How many of them are there?”
“We’ve spotted at least eight warbands! They outnumber us two to one! What do we do?”
Asfi was struggling to adapt to a new truth. She was the one giving the orders now.
“Lydis is dead.”
“You’re the captain now.”
How many times had she heard Hermes’s humorless words in her head? For better or worse, she hadn’t even had time to process the death of her friend and captain. She was simply cast adrift in the sea of her new responsibilities without a tether. Asfi felt that if she lost focus for even a moment, the weight of it all would cause her to pass out.
“W-we don’t have enough people… I’ll go with the Berbera stationed in district three to provide reinforcements!”
Ignoring the urge to run and hide from her familia’s expectations, Asfi began coming up with a plan, but at that point, the heretofore silent Falgar spoke up.
“We can’t. If we do that, the east part of town will be completely undefended. The enemy have plenty of forces on standby, just waiting for us to lower our guard.”
Asfi was lost for words. She felt deeply embarrassed. Falgar was supposed to be operating as her aide, but it felt more like he was pointing out her mistakes.
“B-but then, what are we supposed to—”
Falgar, however, was completely right. The problem was that a young girl like Asfi couldn’t possibly figure out where to go from there. She stood, feeling alone in the overcast streets, when a new voice rang out.
“Leave that to me, lassie. Don’t change our positions—that’s exactly what our enemy is trying to provoke with these slapdash raids.”
“E-Elgarm…”
It was Gareth, greatax slung across his shoulder, with a contingent of adventurers in tow. The blood of their last battle still clung to their weapons as he offered Asfi advice as a veteran.
“In return,” he went on, “we’d like Hermes Familia to do what it does best and investigate the locations of our greatest foes: Zald, Alfia, and the dark god Erebus. Leave everything else to us and track them down.”
“Understood,” said Falgar, nodding in place of Asfi, who still stood rooted to the spot.
Gareth had not made an empty request. Up-to-date intelligence on the enemy leader and those two conquerors was crucial. But a part of him also wished to remove Hermes Familia from the battlefield. They had just lost their leader, and Asfi was clearly struggling.
“Do not falter, Perseus,” he said, looking her straight in the eye. “That is what our enemy wants most of all. They are keeping us on edge, demanding we fight without rest or knowing when the next attack will come, and instilling us with fear.”
“B-but…”
“As long as it causes chaos, our enemies don’t care if it’s a small battle or a big one. But a captain has to always be aware of what’s happening on the entire battlefield.”
“Rgh…!”
Gareth’s words shook Asfi to her core. After he had left, she hung her head in shame. Then, after a long while, she managed to open her mouth to speak.
“Falgar,” she said in a quiet voice, “I can’t do this. You’ve got to take over for me! I can’t be the captain we need right now!”
“Asfi…”
She hadn’t even raised her head. She simply screamed her desperate plea toward the ground. Falgar found it hard to watch.
“I just keep giving orders that don’t make any sense! I can’t think straight, and my voice just keeps shaking! It’s still shaking now!”
Ever since taking over the captain’s duties, Asfi found herself stumbling at every turn. It was only through Falgar’s constant advice that she managed to avoid getting everyone killed. Perhaps if Hermes were here to support her, it might not be so bad, but he wasn’t. Like many other gods, he was busy elsewhere and lacked the time to fuss over each and every member of his familia.
“All I’m doing is dragging everybody down! I’ll get you all killed! Just like Lydis!”
She buried her sweat-drenched face in her hands. Her captain’s death had triggered a visceral change. It drove home that lives hung in the balance every time she gave orders, and people could die, just as easily as Lydis had. Often Asfi had been forced to assume her captain’s duties, usually at the whim of her patron god, but never had the lives of her friends depended on their successful completion. In the Age of Darkness, the captain’s cup was a poisoned chalice.
There were very few Finns in the world, and Asfi was not one of them. The weight of her new position was unbearable.
Lydis…! What am I meant to do? Why did you pick me as your successor? What does it matter that I care more than anyone else? How is that supposed to help me support the familia now that you’re gone?!
Asfi felt her past coming back to haunt her. It was a part of her she had tried to leave behind when she left her hometown—when she abandoned the title of Princess Andromeda. She wanted to cry so badly, but she couldn’t. If she did, she would turn back into the scared, sheltered little girl she had worked so hard to grow up from.
But through her tear-streaked eyes, she could almost see the face of her captain again. She wanted nothing more than to run to her side. Asfi was not strong. She was just a fifteen-year-old girl, the same as Lyu, with no set sense of justice, drowning in a responsibility she didn’t ask for.
“I can’t… I can’t…”
She looked like she was about to hyperventilate. Her subordinates all stood around her, looking at one another in discomfort. Falgar, meanwhile, regarded her with a concerned frown.
There was an awkward silence as the remnants of a headless familia wallowed in despair. However, the silence lasted only a moment. Soon, Falgar made up his mind and strode over to Asfi. He took both of her shoulders in his massive grip and forced her to meet his gaze.
“Listen to me, Asfi,” he said. “Like Hermes, I thought you were the best one for this job. I still do. Because you care more than anyone else here!”
“What…? What does that mean…?!”
“You worry yourself sick because you know what needs to be done! Your sharp eyes cut through the mist and seize the present moment!”
“!!”
That moment is now.
Asfi heard a whisper of someone else’s voice. She saw, standing behind Falgar, a woman of stunning beauty.
Lydis…
She was waving, smiling her usual carefree smile. As if saying that her part in this was done. As if saying that Falgar’s thoughts mirrored her own.
“Be confident in yourself! Be proud of yourself! Because your ability to analyze a situation is no less than Braver’s!”
“!!”
Falgar Batros was a powerful war tiger. He had joined Hermes Familia around the same time Asfi did, and both of them had seen their fair share of joys and woes. Asfi had made a name for herself as a prodigal item maker, but if there was one thing she lacked, it was physical strength. That was where Falgar came in. With her brain and his brawn, they made for a fearsome combination.
If there was one person besides Hermes and Lydis who knew Asfi well, it was Falgar. If there was anyone to whom Lydis could entrust the execution of her last request, it was him. He had watched Asfi struggle, seen her highest and her lowest points, and his words were much stronger than the voices in Asfi’s head telling her she wasn’t good enough. She was good enough. She was Perseus, the almighty hero, and she was smart enough to give Finn a run for his money.
“Think back to all those times Hermes strung you along!” he said. “This is nothing compared to that! You could handle this with one arm tied behind your back!”
“Falgar…”
“This job was made for you. It’s something I could never do! So Asfi…please!!”
This was Falgar’s plea, his request to the girl who possessed what he lacked, and the fulfillment of his promise to Lydis to watch over and support the new captain.
Asfi felt a tremor in her breast. She closed her eyes, as if dropping a curtain on all that had been said and done. In the darkness, she saw the playful smile of a man who had always watched over her, and the woman who ran his familia like a ship in the wind.
There are many things I cannot do, Asfi realized. But there are also things that only I can do. And I…I know what must be done!
The girl reached out into the blustering wind and seized her unwavering determination. The one thing she was afraid of more than anything else was becoming an impotent figurehead and failing to fulfill her captain’s dying wish.
She opened her eyes. The curtain rose to reveal a new world. Lydis was gone. There was only Asfi, here to carry on her legacy.
“We’ll fulfill the request to locate the leaders of the Evils,” she said. “At the same time, try to scavenge supplies from the ruined buildings. Food, equipment, anything you can find.”
An awe-inspiring look of determination suddenly appeared on Asfi’s face. Falgar breathed a huge sigh of relief.
“…! Asfi!”
“The enemy has vacated the shopping district south of Central Park in order to occupy the walls. We’ll need supplies to continue the war. We have to secure whatever’s left for later.”
Finn would surely come up with a plan to turn the tide of the war. But supplies would be necessary to execute it. Weapons and armor were always indispensable, but the war effort required food and clothing as well. Like Gareth said, Asfi could see the battlefield clearly in her mind, and she was already thinking several moves ahead. She saw what measures needed to be taken to combat the encroaching despair.
If Finn were here, he would surely say, “That’s right.”
If Lydis were here, she would surely say, “Well done.”
“Stick together,” said Asfi, in a voice more powerful than before. “Split up into teams of four and comb the district!”
“Understood! I’ll go tell the others!”
With obvious relief, Asfi’s subordinates ran off to relay her commands. After they were gone, Asfi turned back to Falgar.
“Thank you for your encouragement,” she said. “If it’ll help us win this war, then I’m more than happy to do enough worrying for all of us!”
“Thank you, Captain! We’re counting on you to lead us to victory!”
No one worked themselves to the bone more than Asfi. Even Lydis knew that.
In response to Falgar’s smile, Asfi displayed one of her own—one that hadn’t been seen in quite some time.
“Still,” she said, “I know you said all that only because you don’t want to be captain yourself.”
“Heh, you got me there.”
The two shared a smile, then they quickly donned their serious faces once more.
“I’m going to use my magic items to scout ahead on my own,” said Asfi. “You take Thane and lead our people.”
“You got it!”
Asfi watched as Falgar departed, then she set off in the other direction.
“I know what needs to be done,” she muttered to herself. “And I know what I can do!”
The path was set. All that remained was to walk it.
“Aaagh!!”
“What?! Is there somebody there?!”
“A blast wave just came out of thin air and—gugh!!”
Fels unleashed Magic Eater, devastating the wandering group of Evils cultists. All that remained after the dust settled was an eerie silence. Nothing to show for all the losses.
They dropped the hood of their cloak, the Reverse Veil, rendering them visible once more, though there was little point in doing so now there was nobody left to see them.
“How goes the search, Fels?” came an old man’s voice. It was Ouranos, the founding god of Orario, speaking through a magic item known as an oculus.
“Just encountered another group,” replied Fels. “They’ve all been dealt with. Coming up on the entrance to the sewers now.”
Ouranos was the patron god of the Guild, and Fels was essentially his right hand. Ever since the Great Conflict began, Fels had been out in the field, assisting the adventurers from the shadows under cover of darkness. Those activities didn’t stop once dawn broke, either. They worked day and night, with no need for rest.
Four times now, they had put a stop to brewing insurrection by sending riotous groups of people to sleep with judicious use of magic items. Anyone they came across, they healed, be they adventurers or civilians. With their owl familiar, Gafiel, they scouted the city walls and relayed enemy positions via the Guild to Finn and his associates.
Now, reports had come in of suspicious activity taking place in the waterways beneath the city, so on Ouranos’s orders, they were heading to investigate.
“Be ever vigilant, Fels.”
“………”
“If our enemy really is located underground as we’ve surmised, there will be dozens of lookouts.”
“………”
“Remember that veil only cloaks you from sight and covers your scent. It does not render you undetect—Fels?”
Fels had been working tirelessly behind the scenes, unknown to all but Ouranos himself. Fels, however, didn’t mind that. So long as their efforts could help the city of heroes weather this war, Fels was content. They may have been a fool, lacking flesh and skin, held together only by bones and regret, but this was something they could do. Something only one who felt no hunger, thirst, or weariness could do.
And so, the path was set. It had been decided a long time ago, and it stretched far off into the future as well. Fels had long been prepared to walk it, but at this moment…they were not moving.
“Ouranos,” they said. “The bodies never stop.”
“………”
“I am no stranger to death, but the sheer scale of it…”
Fels had lived for eight hundred years. They had seen much in that time, and any unnecessary sentiment had been shed along with their flesh. They lived detached from the rest of the world, and that had left them with a cold, mechanical way of seeing things…or so they thought.
“Death, loss, loneliness, longing… It’s all staring me in the face.”
None could be exposed to such senseless slaughter and come out of it unshaken. Not unless they were counted among the gods themselves. Fels was beginning to realize there were emotions that not even eight hundred years of servitude to pragmatism could erode, and from which they might never be free unless they abandoned their mortal soul entirely.
Before their eyes was a mountain of corpses. One of them, a young elf boy, gazed lifelessly in Fels’s direction, arm outstretched as if seeking salvation, even in death.
For what reason had Fels sought immortality? For what reason did they dream of resurrection? They remembered their old self, mired in hubris and pain, long prior to donning the mantle of fool, and felt a quiver in a heart that should have long since rotted away to nothing.
Fels saw before them a mirror image of everything they had lost, and so like an angel of death, they extended a single bony finger toward the young boy’s.
“If my foolish magicks were good for anything…could they imbue but one of these corpses with a second life?”
But just before their digits touched, Fels heard a voice in their ear.
“You cannot.”
“………”
“I will not abide resurrection. Any life you could bring back, I would simply take away once more.”
The old god extinguished the thought. With cold, cruel yet merciful words, he took Fels’s powerlessness unto himself.
“By my divine will, you are to stand by while others perish. Remember this, Fels. To a god, your mortal sentiment is naught but petty vanity.”
“………”
“You must forsake it if you are to execute my will and build Orario ever higher. Forget everything you are and offer me only your undying service.”
“…Yes. You’re right, Ouranos.”
I’m sorry.
Thank you.
These were the things Fels wanted to say, but they remained swaddled in darkness as Fels retracted their hand. Though they could not cry for the god who shouldered their failures, they could show their appreciation in other ways.
“I’m all right now… I’m all right.”
Muttering this underneath their breath, Fels cast aside their worries and once more donned the mask of a fool who went on living without purpose.
The depths of their devotion ran deeper still. They lifted their head.
“It’s time to go,” they said.
“Blurgh! Bleaghhh!”
Raul was heaving.
He was determined not to be outdone by the inspiring bravery of his seniors, and though, by comparison to a certain foolish immortal, the things he could accomplish were rather scant, Raul had nonetheless lied to himself and run all over the city attempting to be of use to his beloved leaders.
Though he could not fight, he contented himself to relay messages to and fro across the battlefield. However, wherever he went, the unmistakable stench of death persisted, clinging to the air. The endless devastation chipped away at his resistance bit by bit, until eventually, there was nothing left, and he collapsed to his hands and knees, emptying his guts.
“Raul?!”
“Blurgh! Cough! Cough!”
The contents of his stomach stank worse than the blood. Anakitty came running over to him, though Raul wanted nothing more than for her to stay far away.
“Raul, you have to rest!” she cried, placing her hands on his back and shoulder. “You haven’t slept at all!”
“C-can’t stop now…” Raul protested. “I gotta keep moving. All the captains are counting on me…”
He could tell his dogged persistence was worrying his fellow messenger. Tears welled in his eyes as he thought about how much this bothered her.
I’m not even fighting on the front! Others have it way worse than me; why am I so weak?!
It was no surprise Raul was finding it hard to handle. He may have been stronger than others, but he had an ordinary person’s heart, just as susceptible as anyone else to the horrors found throughout the city.
“What’s wrong with me?!”
But Raul didn’t want to face that simple truth. To him, it was shameful. Embarrassing. However, he was forced to admit one thing: his heart couldn’t take it any longer.
No matter how hard his idols worked, Raul couldn’t stop the denial building up inside him. It felt like evil itself were watching his pitiful state and laughing, and when Raul thought about what terrible things still lay in wait, he couldn’t even bring himself to lift his head.
“Raul…”
Anakitty whispered his name, sharing in his loneliness and despair. It was then, when Raul was on all fours, elbows and knees quivering, that the pair heard a noise.
Clang. Clang.
“What’s that?”
Anakitty’s cat ears perked up as she searched for the sound’s source. Raul, too, lifted his head. The pair were currently in the western part of the city, where canals crisscrossed like woven fabric, layered in a faint mist because of the unusually chilly season.
“It sounds like…a hammer?”
Raul stood up and wiped his mouth dry. Together with Anakitty, he walked as if entranced toward the source of the sound. It didn’t seem like an Evils’ trap—the sound was far too clear and peaceful for that.
The mists parted, leading the two adventurers to a large stone bridge, over sixty meders long and ten meders wide. Along the left and right edges, evenly spaced along the parapet, were statues of legendary warriors, dozens of them.
“The Bridge of Heroes?” said Raul quizzically, recognizing the location. The statues depicted those who had fought to seal off the Dungeon back in ancient times. They were responsible for one of Orario’s greatest achievements—perhaps its greatest achievement—and so were immortalized in stone.
It was a place Raul and Anakitty had both visited when they first arrived in town. They went to pay their respects to their predecessors, and they took with them the childish hope that they might one day accomplish something of equal importance.
It was a foolish dream that could not survive even the slightest contact with the harsh truth. Seeing tragedy unfold everywhere they looked, Raul and Anakitty were forced to admit that they could never be heroes. Not if this was what they had to endure.
However, upon that bridge, smith’s hammer in hand, sat a single god.
“Goibniu?”
All alone and surrounded by his tools, he was fixing the bridge. It had failed to come through the Great Conflict unscathed. Parts of it were blown away, and a huge crack ran through one of the supports. But what had been damaged most were the statues atop it. Arms and heads had been blasted off, and what remained leaned this way and that.
Stunned, Raul and Anakitty stepped onto the bridge and walked on over to its caretaker.
“Lord Goibniu?” asked Raul. “Wh-what are you doing here?”
“Not much room for me back at the forge,” replied the god, without looking up from his work. “My children are doing all they can.”
Raul felt that Goibniu’s response didn’t really answer the question, so he asked again.
“Why are you fixing the bridge? Aren’t there more important structures to—?”
“No.”
“Huh?”
Goibniu answered before Raul had even finished speaking. Baffled, the young boy stopped in his tracks.
“We need this bridge,” explained Goibniu, “If it falls, we all fall.”
“………”
Raul and Anakitty were both speechless. Time seemed to grind to a halt.
The Bridge of Heroes had existed since before the age of the gods began. It had survived monster attacks, earthquakes, floods, and even war. Of course, it had been repaired and restored many times over the centuries, but that made it a priceless treasure, maintained and preserved through countless generations by the inhabitants of Orario.
To Goibniu, it was a symbol of civic pride, one they couldn’t afford to lose.
“This bridge is our history,” he said. “Our history must never end.”
The old god very rarely spoke his mind like this. Raul looked down at Goibniu’s hands, to see that they were blistered beyond belief. How long had he been working on the bridge already? He may have been a god of craftsmanship, but such a feat was unimaginable alone.
Raul watched as the statue he was currently working on regained its former shape. It depicted a masked prum holding a long spear, accompanied by a gallant-looking horse. It was said that this hero once blazed a trail to this land in times long forgotten.
He didn’t know why, but Raul began to cry, and so did Anakitty. It was strange—he’d seen the statues before, but something about the way these thirty-one heroes stood bravely even now spoke to him. They were all damaged, slanting, and some were even burned. Raul wiped his eyes, and before he knew it, he was squeezing Anakitty’s hand tightly. She squeezed his back.
The two were of one mind. Raul steeled his nerves and rose unsteadily yet bravely to his feet.
It was then he heard a voice.
“Look over there! Adventurers!”
“!!”
It was the sneering voice of evil, locating its prey. A total of six cultists appeared at the far end of the bridge and began to approach. Though they all wore face coverings, the mad glint in their eyes betrayed the sadistic smiles beneath.
“Now, what are you all doing out here by yourselves? Waiting for us to come kill you?”
“They’re fixing this dumb old bridge! What’s the point?! Aha-ha-ha-ha!”
With riotous laughter and gleeful looks, the six cultists set their murderous eyes on Raul and the others. After killing him and Anakitty, no doubt they intended to destroy the bridge, just to watch the old god suffer.
“Lord Goibniu!”
“I will stay and fix the bridge,” the old god replied. “Take care of these interlopers.”
“Yes, sir!”
Raul drew his sword without fear or hesitation. Anakitty did the same. The two stood shoulder-to-shoulder, ready to fight off the city’s invaders.
None of the enemy were high-level. Supposedly. Surely. But even if they were, it wouldn’t make a difference. Raul and Anakitty would defeat them. This bridge was the one place in all of Orario where no adventurer could possibly lose.
“Let’s go, Aki!”
“Uh-huh!”
Even if they weren’t heroes themselves, they could be brave and fight to the last like their heroes had done. Even if they could no longer fight, they could keep on running forward. They could inherit their forebears’ courage, their will, their determination, and carry that into the future with them, like a flaming torch.
“Rrraaaaaaaaaahhh!!”
The pair let out a fierce yell and were repaid in courage. Everything after that was set in stone. Under the eternal gaze of heroes past, Raul and Anakitty earned their promotion to Level 2.
The voices were inescapable. Groaning, moaning, wailing. Sprawled out on the ground, with only a scant cloth between them and the hard cobbles, were the countless wounded of the Great Conflict. Many of them had still not been seen to by a healer or received more than basic first aid. The only ones who watched over them were Guild employees, lacking in medical training, as well as the goddess Astrea.
“We need to stop the bleeding!” she cried, a far cry from her usual calm self, “Gather any clean cloth you can find. Even clothing will do!”
For one with no magic or tools, she was doing an impressive job.
“Here’s everything we could find, Lady Astrea!”
“Thank you, Karen,” Astrea replied. “Now, go and help Huey treat the patients. Clean their wounds and brace their fractures. Do you know how?”
“Yes, ma’am! C’mon, Huey, you heard her!”
“Right!”
All were astonished by the depths of the goddess’s devotion to her children. Along with every able-bodied citizen in the vicinity, she was making herself busy. After the two townspeople had left, she returned her attention to the injured animal woman in her lap.
“Lady Astrea…” the woman groaned, “Please, don’t sully your clothes with my common blood…”
She was so injured, it seemed difficult for her to breathe, but Astrea simply replied with a benevolent smile.
“It makes no difference whether my clothes wipe your blood or my own sweat and tears,” she said.
“Ahh… You are too kind…”
A single tear rolled down the woman’s cheek. Astrea held her hand in hers, then, having completed her treatment, stood up. As much as she wanted to stay and watch over her recovery, there were others in need of care. She wiped her sweat and moved on to the next patient.
They were currently in an evacuee camp not far from Central Park, one of the many places where the overflow from the city center gathered. Many two- and even three-story buildings were relatively undamaged here and had been repurposed into hospitals to house the many wounded. Yet even so, these makeshift hospitals were already full, and excess patients were forced to lie on the streets outside.
Just as Astrea was wandering from person to person, a woman from the Guild and a civilian townsman came running up to her.
“Lady Astrea!”
“What did you get?” she asked them. “Were there any items or healers to spare?”
“We managed to bring back bandages, ointment, and antiseptic,” the woman replied, displaying the contents of the sack she was carrying, “but potions and other items are being handed out to adventurers first. Plus, there aren’t any healers to spare…” she added in a despondent tone.
“We called on Lord Dian Cecht and Lord Miach for assistance, but there are many other camps in need just like this one,” said the human man standing beside her. He was neither an adventurer nor a healer, merely a volunteer drawn from the ordinary residents of the city. Astrea’s selfless actions had inspired him to lend a hand, but the sheer helplessness of the situation made him gnash his teeth in frustration.
“I see,” said Astrea. “As much as I hate to admit it, there isn’t much we can do about that.”
She cast her eyes downward for a moment, then just as she seemed to be lost in thought, she spoke with grim determination.
“In that case, there’s only one thing we can do,” she said. “Give me the cleanest knife or sword you have. Three of these patients need amputations.”
“Wha—?!”
The two helpers were shocked by the goddess’s macabre request.
“They are all showing signs of metal poisoning, caused by shrapnel from the bombs,” Astrea explained. “If we wait for the healers to arrive, it will be too late.”
“Th-that’s terrible!” muttered the Guild woman.
“You can’t do that!” cried the townsman. “How could a goddess be forced to perform such a cruel act?!”
“Whether I am a goddess or not is irrelevant,” said Astrea. “If there is some way I can help, then I will see it done.”
She held out her hand. Staring at her porcelain palm, the townsman gulped. After a few seconds that felt like an eternity, he reached for his belt, unhooked his sword, and handed it to her. Astrea instructed them to fetch fire and alcohol for disinfecting the blade, and after they brought them, she walked over to one patient in the sea of wounded.
He was in critical condition. A horrible burn covered most of his upper torso, and his right leg was riddled with shrapnel, causing the skin to turn a deeply unnatural shade. He had just been brought over from another camp, which had recently suffered an attack by the Evils.
“Hold him down,” Astrea said to her helpers as she kneeled at the patient’s side. “Bunch this cloth in his mouth so that he doesn’t bite his tongue off.”
The Guild woman stood and watched in horror as the townsman volunteer steeled his nerves and prepared for the operation. The man on the ground, meanwhile, looked up at Astrea with dread.
“Please…don’t do this,” he groaned. “I don’t want to lose my leg…”
“I’m sorry,” came the goddess’s reply, “but this is better than letting you die.”
It was hard to hear the compassion in her determined voice. Swiftly but carefully, she ran a flaming torch across the length of the sword’s edge. The man watched all this with chattering teeth and tears in his eyes.
“If you are truly a goddess, then why can’t you save me?” he cried. “Save all of us and put a stop to this terrible war!”
Surely it was within the power of the very gods. With a wave of their fingers, they could put Orario back to the way it was.
But Astrea only hung her head in shame.
“If I unseal my arcanum and restore this land, all it will take is one evil god to come along to undo it all.”
“…!”
“And once that happens,” she went on, “there is no going back. This realm will be a battleground of warring gods for all eternity. This is meant to be your story, my children.”
The Guild woman gasped at Astrea’s ominous prediction. Astrea lowered her words to a mutter, so that nobody else could hear her.
“And most importantly, if we break the seal before the promised time, then the Dungeon will…”
The volunteer noticed her speaking to herself as he held the makeshift gag in the patient’s mouth. “Lady Astrea…?” he ventured. But Astrea only shook her head and set her sights on the task at hand.
“Be strong, my child,” she said to the patient. “I will never forget the blood that has been taken from you.”
The sky changed as time drew on, the eternal blanket of gray acquiring a smattering of evening’s orange glow. The camp, once filled with the inescapable screams of the dying, had now fallen silent.
Astrea lay her bloodstained sword atop a table without a single word. She handed three cloth-wrapped packages, like swaddled babes, to the solemn volunteer. He took them silently, and he carefully carried them outside.
Astrea watched him go, her hands, face, and pure-white dress all speckled with crimson.
“Lady Astrea, here,” said the Guild woman, her face pale, handing Astrea a clean rag.
“Thank you,” the goddess replied. “And how are you?”
“M-my worries are nothing compared to yours, my lady,” said the Guild woman, nervously staring down at the floor. “I could never be a kind and noble goddess such as yourself…”
To these lowly mortals, Astrea was blinding. So much so, they could hardly look at her. Here was a goddess who dirtied her own hands to save lives, who shouldered all their anger and sadness while spreading only kindness and warmth.
Astrea smiled. “This might sound a little unorthodox,” she said, “but you mustn’t put us gods on a pedestal.”
“What?” said the Guild woman, lifting her head.
“Justice, at a time like this, means fighting to help those who suffer. It makes no difference whether you’re a deity or not.”
A true angel, a true goddess—true justice—was not someone who skipped and threw daisies, but someone who fought on for the sake of the suffering. That was what Astrea believed. The Guild woman’s eyes widened at this revelation.
“No matter how painful it gets, no matter how much shame you feel, there is always something righteous you can do,” said Astrea. “Remember that.”
At this, the Guild woman’s eyes filled with tears. She pressed a hand to her chest and gave a firm nod.
“You’re right, Lady Astrea!”
Astrea smiled at the look of renewed determination on the woman’s face.
Sex, race—even mortality. Such things were not relevant. Even deities were powerless in some respects, and what did you do when you knew there was nothing you could do? Think. Choose. Have the will to go on. These things were more important than any single capability. Astrea had faith the woman would carry her confidence like a beacon, lighting the lamps of others still doubting and in need of guidance.
Then a voice called out.
“Lady Astrea! Is your familia around?!”
“Asfi?”
The girl known as Perseus, the almighty hero, raced into the camp, her cloak fluttering behind her.
“If you’re looking for the girls, they’re all over the city at the moment. What’s the matter?”
“I need to locate the enemy leader, and I was hoping they could help. Do you know where Leon is? I work best with her!”
Astrea was heartened by the resolute tone of Asfi’s voice, but at the mention of Lyu’s name, she grew crestfallen.
“Nobody’s seen her in quite some time,” she admitted. “She’s been through so much…losing her friend…and she’s been hurting…”
“Rgh… Ardee…”
Asfi scowled, remembering the tragedy that had befallen the poor girl. She, too, had been proud to call Ardee a friend. She was always happy to lend a helping hand, and Asfi had been deeply indebted to her. As the emotions swirled in her mind, it was Astrea who lifted her head and spoke.
“Asfi… Can I ask you to look for her? Kaguya and Lyra are already searching. I must go assist Alize and the others.”
“Understood,” said Asfi. “Thank you.”
Then she turned and took off running. Astrea watched her sadly for a moment, and then…
“…Hm?”
She heard a sound behind her, but when she turned, there was nobody there. For an instant, however, she thought she glimpsed the silhouette of a man as he rounded a corner and disappeared.
“Did I hear that right…?”
In a vacant alleyway, the man who had been eavesdropping pressed his back to the wall. His breathing was ragged, although he was not particularly tired. He was a man who had run into Lyu and Alize once before, when he tried to pickpocket a god.
“Ardee… Wasn’t that her name?”
A man who had been spared punishment at the hands of a bright-hearted young girl.
“That kid… She…died?”
The equipment he was wearing—the armor he had stolen—rattled as he shook. The man who had fled from those girls behind such a torrent of insults—in this moment, he knew what it was to feel loss.
“Rgh!”
He ran, for no other reason than he couldn’t stand there thinking about it for even a moment longer. Like so many others in the city, he was directionless and lacking in purpose.
“These dark days go on and on.”
Astrea looked up into the ashen clouds, attuning her mind to the troubles of the townsfolk. If only there were stars in the sky to guide them, she thought.
“But at the end of it all, surely, there is light…”
She spoke these words softly, as if not to extinguish hope.
“…I hear a sound.”
Surrendering himself to the darkness, the evil one spoke these words.
“A sound?” asked Vito, standing beside him. “Whatever could you be referring to, my lord and master?”
The apostles of darkness gathered in a vast underground cave, through which ran a drainage canal supported by stone pillars.
The dark god stood.
“The sound of struggle,” he said, and his lips curled into a twisted grin. “The sound of justice. The last dying gasps of a wriggling cockroach before it gets stepped on.”
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