CHAPTER 6
The Nameless Heroes
“Central Park is under attack from every direction!” came Raul’s despair-filled voice. “They’re targeting our mages! The barrier won’t last much longer!”
Finn swore he could hear Valletta somewhere, laughing at him. He put his mind to work immediately, searching for a way out, but grim fate was not content to wait for his answer.
“None of the strongholds can spare anyone to send help! We’re doomed!”
“The horde’s just too big! What are we supposed to do?”
“Even Vana Freya can’t defend Babel from all sides at once! Anyone else we send in there is just going to get themselves killed!”
Finn was at a loss. He couldn’t divert any more first-tier adventurers without sacrificing the defense of the strongholds. Finding the numbers was an impossible task, especially since Babel needed protecting from every angle.
Perhaps if I abandon one and redirect the guard… No! If I sacrifice the people now, morale will drop to an all-time low! We can’t suffer another loss like we had on the night of the Great Conflict. We may save Babel, but it’ll all be for nothing if the city and its people are lost! Valletta still has forces monitoring the city walls. Not much, but enough to make things difficult for us!
The hectic situation demanded every aspect of Finn’s powerful mind, and it was critical that he maintained the guise of the coldhearted hero: prepared to make any sacrifice if it would bring him victory.
The only choices left now were suicidal, guaranteed to cause the chain of command to crumble. But if they were the only way forward, then…
“…Hmm?”
It was at that moment, lost in thought, that Finn’s wandering eyes fell on something.
“C-Captain? What’s the matter? What have you seen? …Erk!”
Raul followed his gaze and saw it, too. To the north, three figures, making a beeline for Central Park.
“Is that…?” he asked, shocked.
“…Noir?”
Finn completed the question, equally dumbfounded, as he recognized them. The three veterans of Loki Familia, running wildly through the streets, cutting down all in their path.
“Yaaaah!!”
“Gruuuh!!”
Noir’s slash drew a death cry from the monster. He continued on through the ruins of North Main Street, slicing apart the parade of fiends, starting from the back.
“You got any more, Dyne?”
“Yup, picked these ones up just now.”
“Well, hand ’em over, then!”
Dyne passed something to Noir, which he slipped under his clothes.
“Now we’re ready! Let’s give those monsters what for!” yelled Bahra, waving something she’d snatched from the Loki Familia home before their departure—the trickster’s flag.
“Right, then! Off we go!” cried Noir, and he and Dyne joined her, disappearing into the monster horde.
“Wh-what are they doing? They’ve lost it!” cried Raul, watching events play out from the rooftop of Guild HQ. “You can’t fight them alone! Come back!”
But Raul’s screams went unheard by those he sought to warn. The veterans all wore grim, determined smiles, slicing and dicing a path through the horde.
“Noir…don’t tell me.”
Finn already knew what they were thinking. There was only one solution to the current predicament, and Noir, Dyne, and Bahra had figured it out first. The veteran adventurers had gone on ahead, sparing Finn from the difficult decision that had to be made.
Over on the enemy side, the Evils were beginning to notice, too. It was Vendetta’s squad who spotted them first.
“M-Master Olivas! We’re under attack!” cried a scout. “A handful of adventurers have engaged the monsters in the north!”
“What?!” Olivas scowled. “Those foolish adventurers! What do they hope to accomplish?”
Burning with indignation, he led his troops northward.
Meanwhile, the other adventurers saw the changing tides.
“The monsters…they’re heading north?” remarked Shakti, perplexed.
“C-Captain! Look!”
Her subordinate pointed to a spot amid the horde…where a single faction’s war banner flew.
“…Loki Familia?”
Beside her, Ganesha wore a look of deepest regret.
“…So that’s what you’ve chosen, brave warriors…” he said, his heart full of anguish.
Even the younger ones among them were starting to notice.
“Don’t tell me…”
“…They plan to die out there?!”
Falgar and Asfi watched on in shock. Bete, Aisha, Samira, Filvis, Amid, Nahza, Tsubaki, Mia, Fels, Hedin and Hegni, and the four Gulliver brothers—all knew what the frenzied cry of the veterans meant.
“““Rooooooaaaaaaaaaaaahhh!!”””
It was a funeral dirge sung by old warriors and meant for the new. As they hacked a path, turning red with the blood of their foes and themselves, they left behind a comet tail of light. They held out life’s flaming torch for the next generation to take, and with it, they burned the raging shadows to ash.
“Noir!!” Finn screamed. For the first time, and the last, he dropped his guise. For one moment, he was not the callous commander…but a fledgling hero concerned for his dear mentors.
“Haah… Haah… …Rrraaaaaghhh!!”
Noir howled. Losing strength by the minute, he focused all his remaining life force into a thundering roar.
When did it start?
As his body weakened Noir retreated to the dark, dusty confines of his mind.
When did it start, I wonder?
The creeping feeling of inevitability. How long ago had it begun? And when did it replace the drive of youth?
His arms were tired. His vision faltered. His legs, like withered trees, refused to obey him anymore.
The gods’ blessings could only prolong his life so much. Soon enough, the realities of the flesh began to sink in.
I suppose…
He was getting too old to be a hero. He could hold his own for now, but another three years, and who knew?
I suppose it’s time to hand off…
His life. For hope. For the next generation.
“Listen to me, all you tired old dogs out there! Let’s show the little ones how it’s done!”
By Noir’s side, the dwarf Dyne lay down a challenge to all his peers. With a burly arm, he lifted Noir back to his feet. Bahra patted the dust off his back and laughed a boisterous laugh.
“We’re goin’ on ahead to take all the glory!” she yelled. “If you don’t like it, then try to keep up!”
Even if they couldn’t see her face, anyone could imagine the brazen smile across her lips as she invited the city’s old veterans to their final feast.
“You Loki Familia scoundrels…” muttered one, an animal man. “Always showin’ us up!”
“Tryin’ to egg us on, are ye?” growled a dwarf.
“You think we’ll let you outdo us?” snarled a human.
Senior adventurers from every familia grinned and set out to uphold their pride. Leaving the future in their juniors’ hands, those old men and women each embarked on a one-way trip to the city center.
In the southern stronghold, Falgar looked on in shock as the older cohorts set off on their final journey.
“You… You’re kidding, right? Don’t go!!”
He tried in vain to stop them. They all departed with a daring smile and a twinkle in their eye.
“The veterans… They’re all leaving!”
Asfi’s eyes quivered like the rippling surface of a lake. It felt like she was reliving the past, watching her captain say good-bye for the very last time.
Over in the southwest, Shakti barked after her deserting subordinates.
“Where do you think you’re going?! Return to your posts! Jaf! Rahza! Kain! Have you all lost it?!”
These were people who had defended Orario long before she became captain. Tears formed in her eyes as she called out to them.
“Please don’t follow in Adi’s footsteps!”
Long in tooth and claw, these grizzled warriors hurled themselves into combat, a smile on each of their faces. Though the monsters’ breath scorched them, claws tore at them, and jaws bit down on them, their noble charge could not be stopped.
Together, they beat back the monster horde making its way to Central Park, leaving the melody of war that thrummed at its center untouched.
“…You old bastards. What are you doin’ here?”
Allen paused and glanced toward Noir and the others. He had headed to the center of the city straightaway and had been fighting here ever since, yet the old men and women were no less tattered and bloodied than him.
“Sorry, Vana Freya,” Noir replied with a grin. “After this, the rest is up to you.”
The old man paused only to answer Allen’s question before sprinting off once more. Allen said nothing, but his gaze wandered ever so slightly downward.
“…The adventurers, they’re followin’ Noir and them into the center of town…” muttered Loki. “It’s like they’ve all chosen to die…”
Her usual devil-may-care attitude was nowhere to be seen. She didn’t have any of her usual jokes. She, Alicia, and the other members of her faction simply watched from the parapets in silence.
“Be seein’ ya, kids! Take good care of our god after I’m gone, yeah?”
“Master! You can’t leave us! Masteeer!!”
An elderly human said his final farewells and left. His disciple, too wounded to move, could only watch as his figure grew smaller and smaller.
“Don’t worry, the bonds of blood will always connect us!”
“Wait! Waaaait!!”
An old animal woman mage smiled at her daughter, her apprentice, before heading off to give her life for the cause. The stronghold walls were like the bars of a cage, preventing the young girl from giving chase.
“This is the song of those whose names will not be remembered…”
Hermes muttered a few sad words, like a eulogy, as he watched the city’s greatest sacrifice.
“Or perhaps…this is just another page in the familia myth.”
“What’s the big idea?” Valletta spat, watching it all play out. “You think a few old bags of bones are enough to stop this monster horde?”
The laughable production put a sneer on her face.
“Go ahead! Throw your lives away! It ain’t gonna change a goddamn thing!”
Maybe, thought Noir as the laughter of evil and the roars of crazed beasts rang in his ears. His clothes were stained red with blood, but still he fought.
“Roaaaaaahhh!!”
Dyne and Bahra were just like him. Marks of crimson ran down their cheeks, but their fists and ax could not be stopped. They were not alone now—all around them, many of the city’s most venerable adventurers gave their lives to halt the monstrous advance for even just a single second.
To safeguard the voice of a hero.
It was just then that Olivas appeared on the scene, accompanied by his loyal followers. From atop the roof of a building, he yelled down at Noir and the others fighting in the streets.
“Your time has long since passed, dusty fossils! Why do you continue this fruitless struggle?! You must know the horde is too great! Babel will fall!”
“Is that right? Well, you won’t mind if we just delay the inevitable for a while, then!”
“And try to take as many of these monsters down with us as we can!”
Nothing Olivas said could strike fear into the adventurers’ hearts. Bahra and Dyne just laughed and continued their slaughter.
“If you want to stop us so bad,” shouted Noir. “Then why don’t you quit your yapping and come down here yourself?!”
“Grh…!”
“Don’t tell me you’re scared of a few monsters?!” he added with a taunting grin.
“Y-you feeble little man!” fumed Olivas. “To arms, my followers! Ready your bows and magic swords!”
He raised his arm, and then…
“Attack! Kill them all!”
On his signal, bolts of fire and lightning and a hail of arrows rained down.
“…Heh.”
The lightning scorched Bahra head to toe. It was a fatal wound. She dropped to her knees, a smile on her lips.
“…Ha-ha…”
The explosive flames hit Dyne dead-on. The results were devastating. He fell to the ground with a grin.
“Gaah!!”
Blood gushed forth as Noir was riddled with arrows. They skewered his vitals, feathering his back. There was no surviving that.
Yet Noir made sure to watch the last smiles of his friends. Urged on by their final will, he roared loudly enough for the three of them.
“Raaaaaaaaahhh!!”
Then he cut down a monster, shook off the blood, and dashed forth. Olivas and his men watched on in utter shock as Noir summoned the last of his strength and ran toward the city center.
All eyes were on him and his final mad sprint. The last bright gleam of a soul’s final moments. It burned a memory into the eyes of all who saw it.
“Dyne… Bahra… Noir…”
Finn watched, too. His predecessors, leaving to join the great march in the sky. And Noir, who put off his departure for just a little while longer.
“Captain! You’ve got to send someone out there! Save them!!” Raul screamed and pleaded with tears in his eyes.
“…We can’t,” was Finn’s answer. His head was hung, his hair over his eyes, so no one could see his emotions. “We have no one to send. We have to protect the strongholds and our people. Noir’s insubordination has left holes in our ranks… Fixing them takes priority.”
“Captain!!”
“Do not defy me, Raul. This is an order.”
“No! Please! We can’t! They…!”
Raul shook his head in denial. He failed to realize how tight his captain’s fists were clenched, or how much they shook. He let the tears stream down his face, no matter how pathetic it made him seem.
“They’ve done so much for us! They’ve taught us, rescued us, watched over us! And we’ve done nothing for them!”
“………”
Finn did not cry. No tears stained his face; only rivulets of crimson rolled down his knuckles.
It’s not your fault, Finn.
Far away, Noir thought of what he wanted to say to the young prum.
We’re only passing the torch.
We’ve sat around, outliving our purpose for long enough.
It’s time we let you take over the story.
This is your age. Make of it the greatest tale of heroes this world has ever seen.
These were the words that Noir bequeathed to this city.
“Seventy years and change, huh?”
The sea of monsters turned. Noticing the lone swordfighters who had foolishly challenged them, they let out a bloodcurdling roar.
Noir kicked off the floor and leaped high into the air. Staring down at the endless horde, a wicked grin spread across his lips. One hand slipped beneath his kimono.
“Nothin’ but trouble, every last one, yet I wouldn’t change a thing about ’em!!”
The air roared. A massive wave of heat surged past as an enormous explosion spread out from the point Noir landed.
It was a combination of dozens of the Evils’s self-destruction devices, plucked from the corpses of fallen cultists.
The result was a gigantic vortex of flames, with a power far surpassing any that had been seen in the war so far.
The last light of a dying generation, a supernova that lit up the faces of all who saw it.
Any nearby monsters were incinerated immediately; even their magic stones did not survive the blast.
When the dust had settled, not a trace remained of the first-tier adventurers who had given their lives. Not even ashes to remember them by. The only proof they had ever existed…was a large void in the monster horde on the north side of the barrier.
“They blew themselves up in the middle of the horde…?”
Olivas was stunned as he gazed upon the fruits of a struggle he had called fruitless. The old adventurers had proven without a doubt the truth of their words and the strength of their wills.
“Curse you… Curse you aaaall!!”
His wild bellows joined the chaos of monster screams as they noticed the gaping hole among their number.
“Noir… All of you…”
Compared to the vastness of the monster horde, that hole was only a drop in the ocean. They had bought a minute of time at best for the boaz at its center.
But for the adventurers who would decide this city’s fate, it was a crucial win.
Loki shed no tears. She only said a few words.
“I’m sorry… And…thank you.”
“NOIIIIIIIIIIIIR!!”
Instead, it was the young man who cried. A boy forced into a war zone where he didn’t belong. Raul’s painful cries rent the city.
Elsewhere, a single chariot stopped and heard the news of the veterans’ sacrifice.
Another one returns to dust.
Another one falls by the wayside.
All I ever hear is screams.
Screaming’s not going to save anyone.
Why can’t they do anything?
Why are there only corpses in my wake?
You guys are useless.
Why can no one follow in my tracks?!
“Rrraaaaaaaaaaghhh!!”
“Grr! What’s taking so long?! Why is Babel still standing?!”
Valletta was furious. She’d watched the aged adventurers carry out their suicide attack and chalked it up as a petty hindrance at most. However, in spite of that, the monsters still hadn’t succeeded in bringing down the barrier, and it was starting to get on her nerves.
“It doesn’t matter how many idiots they send to their deaths! We have numbers on our side! Now break that shield already!”
Indeed, even if all Orario’s venerable adventurers gave their lives, they couldn’t eliminate more than a small fraction of the monster population.
Even Valletta’s subordinate understood this. Thus, he could only report to his mistress the facts.
“M-ma’am… We’ve spotted a strange ring of light surrounding Central Park. It’s tearing apart any monster that tries to approach!”
“A ring of light? What the hell are you talking about?!” she snapped, before looking to the center of town, whereupon her eyes went wide.
For she witnessed the truth of the scout’s words for herself. There, around Central Park, and amid the surging crimson sprays of monster blood, was a halo of silver and black.
“It’s the Chariot!” the Evils cultist wailed. “Nothing can stop him!”
Around and around and around he raced, pulverizing any monster that stood in his way. His legs were wheels. His blood was fire. His vision tunneled to a single point, trapping Allen in a world of absolute speed.
Faster. Faster. Faster.
Tear ’em to shreds when they step too close. Even if you’re movin’ so fast it hurts like hell when you strike.
My fingers are broken. My head is poundin’. My heart won’t stop racin’.
But who cares?
I’m a chariot. Breakin’ rules is what I do.
Those old bastards are out there buyin’ time. I gotta make the most of every last second.
Maybe I’m too worthless to save ya, but I’ll make your sacrifices worth somethin’.
“So give your lives to me, you old dogs!!”
Allen yelled, even as the extreme speed caused his eyeballs to bleed.
“Give ’em to me! Give ’em to him!”
He yelled his heart out, making his purpose known to the old veterans who even now continued to lay down their lives.
“You listenin’ to me, Ottar?! You better beat that asshole!!”
The roar of the Chariot, the light of the veterans—all of it protected the battleground at the center of town. It was there that Ottar locked eyes with the conqueror and roared.
“Roaaaaaaaahh!!”
I unleashed my strongest attack. A sword slash that could fell a dragon. But like a conductor waving his baton, the man parried my blow with no effort at all.
He was a monster. Nothing less than a demon whose sole purpose was to fight. He had eaten many things, made their blood and flesh his own, and now he had come for me.
His fiendish fangs could tear out my throat in an instant.
I had given everything I had, and it wasn’t enough. I had surpassed my limits, and it still wasn’t enough.
I howled and heard a cry of war in return. Blood dribbled from the man’s lips. His greedy eyes fell on me, and for the first time, I felt fear.
“Nrrggghhhhhh!!”
I blocked the man’s heavy sword with my own. The steel of my blade cracked, as did the bones in my wrist.
Every one of my techniques had been in vain. As for outwitting the man, I had abandoned that hope long ago. He was my better in every way that mattered.
Defeat drew near. Only one weapon of mine remained.
My willpower. The humiliation that accompanied my constant failure. The fires of rage that burned within me and demanded I bring glory to my goddess’s name. I allowed those emotions to become my strength and poured them into my blade.
““Graaaaaaaaahhh!!””
I was always alone.
I fought for my goddess alone. Sought strength for my goddess alone.
Never once did I seek to learn from others or cooperate with them; instead I fought my battles with only my blade by my side.
I am not proud of that, but nor am I ashamed. I only did what I needed to do.
Because the peak I saw, the one that always lay so far out of reach, it was one I could only climb by myself.
But now…
“You listenin’ to me, Ottar?! You better beat that asshole!!”
For the first time in all these years, my arena of solitude played host to the voice of another.
“Nothin’ but trouble, every last one, yet I wouldn’t change a thing about ’em!!”
For the first time in all these years, I felt touched by the sacrifice of another.
For the first time, I desired victory not for my goddess, or for myself, but for others.
At some point, the power of the one had become the power of the many.
All around me, I heard the clashing of blades. I heard the cries of brave men and women risking their lives. I heard the song sung only here, in the city of heroes.
I heard the voices of all of you here on this earth, and all of you in heaven above. Become a hero. My whole being demanded I answer the call. So long as those voices echo, my bones will never break.
The mantle of hero means nothing to me. I have never cared for fame or glory.
But then, what is this flame that burns in my heart? What is this fire that runs through my veins? Why do your voices stir my very soul?
I do not know.
But I do not need to know.
All I need is for this feeling to empower me—to strike down he who stands before me!!
“Ottar!!” Shakti yelled as the waves of sound from Central Park washed over her.
“Warlord!!” cried Asfi.
“We’re counting on you!” said Falgar as the pair sliced their way through hordes of monsters.
“You can do it!!” screamed Raul, his face still wet from watching the veterans sacrifice themselves.
Hearing the sounds of battle unfold, Ganesha filled his lungs and bellowed. “Never give up!!”
Hermes prayed. “May you reach what you seek.”
Loki watched. “Do it for us.”
Every last god and mortal in the city turned to face that sound and entrusted their prayers to the wind.
And finally, Ottar himself. As he watched the blood drip down Zald’s chin, he turned his thoughts inward and prayed to the one and only object of his unbreakable loyalty.
My lady, please forgive my foolish ways. Today, I fight not just for you—I fight for them!!
I began to chant.
“Silver moon’s mercy and the golden plains. I offer this body to the lord of battle!”
I sang the one song allowed to me.
“Charge bearing the goddess’s will!”
I prepared the most destructive blow available to me.
“Hildis Vini!”
A golden light enveloped my body. It enveloped my sword, my final weapon, transforming it into a blade of radiant light.
The spell did nothing but raise my weapon’s power. Simple, but devastating, and the product of my strength crossed with my magic, was a force that no one could stand against.
Across from me, Zald roared, his eyes wide with fury.
“O Father, forgive me, for I thieve from the plate of the gods! Let my flaming tongue devour! Let my burning fangs consume! Rea Ambrosia!!”
The flames that technique brought forth were surely not of this world. Zald’s weapon was clad in the fires of calamity, and with one swing, those fires spread to every part of our arena.
But none of it mattered. Every fiber of my being had but one purpose—to obliterate the man who stood before me!
The wall of ice had begun to melt and crack from the flames that roiled within it. What crystalline structures remained reflected firelight across the city. Finn stood with one foot planted atop the balustrade of Guild HQ, shouting his message back.
“Don’t stop now, Ottar! Keep going! Surpass him and leave us all behind!!”
From far above, Freya watched as heroic fire fought with golden light. She raised her voice and bequeathed her message below.
“Go forth, Ottar. Bring me victory!!”
This fight would begin and end in a single blow. It would come down to a single instant. Both men flexed their fabled strength and raised their slabs of ungainly steel, their swords of light and fire. Each prepared his mightiest technique and aimed it at the other unstoppable force that stood across from him.
“Roooaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhh!!”
His foe was the conqueror and he the untamed beast.
Blades of gold and fire collided.
And a shock wave was born.
The entire city shook with a force unlike any it had ever felt.
“““Grhhhhhhh?!”””
Adventurers, Evils, citizens—even the monsters—had to brace their legs so the blast winds did not blow them away.
Gouts of flames and raindrops of golden light spilled forth from the arena at the city’s center. So powerful was the blast that the ice wall continued shaking for some time, and even started breaking apart.
“The ice wall…and the barrier! They’re coming down!”
Asfi watched as a huge slab of ice sheared off and slammed into the ground, filling the air with crystalline dust.
Meanwhile, Shakti strained her ears.
“I…don’t hear fighting anymore.”
The air had fallen painfully silent. Atop Guild HQ, Royman came running onto the rooftop, almost tripping over his own feet before reaching the balustrade and pressing his stomach against it.
“Who won…?” he asked, straining his eyes to see into the distance. “Who won?!”
“Zald did, obviously!!”
Valletta cackled, reveling in glee as Orario held its breath.
“Finally settled your score with this city, huh? Took you long enough! Come out and let’s see ya already!”
She narrowed her eyes, casting a diabolical grin toward the cauldron of fire around Central Park.
“Let Orario know the truth, and despair! Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha- ha-ha-ha!!”
She laughed. She laughed and laughed and laughed, and then—
“…Ha?”
—she noticed something. Deep within the sparks and fire. Deep within the billowing smoke. The twinkling of a pair of eyes.
“The dust is clearing…” said Falgar.
“Someone’s stepping out!” cried Raul.
All eyes converged upon Central Park.
And then…
When they caught sight of the city’s champion, Asfi shed tears of joy.
“It’s Warlord!” she cried.
Then came the cheers.
“““Hooraaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhh!!”””
It came from every corner of the city. From the hearts and lungs of deities and mortals alike. All of Orario united in proclamation of their joy.
“Ottar!” exclaimed Allen with a hint of anger.
“You did it!” cheered Ganesha.
Loki’s eyes went wider than ever before. “You defeated him! The mightiest being this city has ever known!” she cried.
Even Hermes felt the excitement creep into his voice.
“You’ve surpassed Zeus and Hera!” he said. “A thousand years of history!”
Nobody escaped the sweeping frenzy. All across the city, those who stood in the light of justice felt their hairs bristle and their hearts ignite. Even the citizens cowering in their strongholds knew. They knew their sword had pierced evil’s breast. One after the other, they stood, and their confused murmur slowly transformed into cheers.
“Raise your voices, adventurers!”
There was one man who would not let the changing tides go uncapitalized upon. Zald’s defeat was the spark that could rekindle the coals of victory.
“Salute your champion!” Finn yelled. “Your one and only: Warlord!”
“Roaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhh!!”
Finn’s burning fuse set its charge alight. From every corner of the city came an outflux of emotion, and the people’s clamor caused the earth, and even Babel itself, to quake.
“““Ottar!! Ottar!! Ottar!! Ottar!!”””
The people chanted their victor’s name. The sound echoed beyond the mountains and rose above the clouds.
“H-he defeated Master Zald?!”
“Impossible! No one can best Master Zald!”
“Th-then how…?”
This shocking turn of events was bitter news to the Evils. Morale was plummeting in the wake of their champion’s defeat, and this effect was only hastened by the rallying of Orario’s troops that was happening all around them.
It was a complete and utter reversal of fortune.
“Th-this can’t be…! It’s impossible…!”
Even Evils lieutenants such as Olivas were beginning to show concern. In fact, his humiliation seemed even greater than most.
“Was it those old fools…? Should I have stopped them after all…?”
One didn’t have to be a god to realize it was the efforts of Noir and the other veterans that had left Ottar with just enough time to seize victory. Realizing he was partially responsible for their success, Olivas tore at his hair and let out a maddened scream.
“Zald…lost?”
Valletta stared off into space.
“Hold on. You gotta be shittin’ me. There’s no way. There’s no way…”
Her shocked stupor gradually gave way to a deranged anger.
“There’s no waaaaaay!!”
She shot a deadly glare at the boaz man standing in the distance, then issued an order to her troops.
“Listen to me, you tamer shits! Ottar’s gotta be on death’s door after that! Send in the monsters and finish him off!!”
The tamers jumped to attention and hurried to execute their leader’s command. They lashed their whips, commanding their ruby-studded giants, and the monsters unquestioningly followed.
The horde converged on Central Park, where the flames of war still raged.
“Oooooooouuughhh!!”
“Grh…”
Ottar grimaced, watching them approach. The battle had left him severely injured, and it was a miracle he could even stand at all. His allies attempted to keep back the horde, but the mages’ barriers had already failed, and monsters streamed in from all directions, overwhelming the defenders.
“Dammit… Ottar!”
Even Allen had reached the limits of his stamina. He could no longer protect Central Park as he had been doing. All he could do was crouch atop a pile of rubble, watching as the monsters breached the plaza.
It was at that moment, when all hope seemed lost, that the clack-clack of a pair of glamorous heels rang out across the battlefield.
“Stay strong, Ottar. I will not permit you to bend the knee here.”
“…! Lady Freya…”
Appearing before the boaz man was a silver-haired beauty of peerless defiance. From her position atop the tower, Freya could see clearly the perils of exiting Babel, but had chosen to do so anyway.
She stepped close to her warrior and looked up into his eyes.
“You are victorious, Ottar,” she said. “A true lord of war.”
“………”
“Always stand tall, Ottar. No matter who you face. No matter how painful. You must always bear my glory for this city to see.”
“…Yes, my lady.”
There was no other answer Ottar could give. He stood straighter and concealed his pain, becoming his goddess’s rock once more.
“I shall now update your Status,” said the goddess. “Stand still and stare down our foes until I am finished.”
Freya moved behind Ottar. His armor was in tatters, revealing a large gash from his shoulder to his flank. It was there that Freya penned her ichor, rewriting the hieroglyphics that covered Warlord’s muscular back. Before long, they glowed with the sublime light of ascension.
“Your great deeds have been recorded. Take up your sword, Ottar.”
The boaz man silently obeyed.
“You have strength enough to wield it?”
“Yes…”
“It is you who stands atop the peak?”
“Yes…!”
Ottar answered each word from the goddess’s mouth with complete and utter conviction.
“Then show us. Remove those ghastly fiends from my sight.”
“As you wish, my lady.”
Ottar twisted, his body like seasoned oak. The muscles in his shoulders bulged as he positioned his sword behind him, preparing to execute his goddess’s will—a spinning slash with the two of them at its center.
All the while, the monsters drew nearer. When they came close enough, they pounced. The fangs of beasts, the claws of monstrous birds, the cries of dragons.
“““Rooooooooahhh!!”””
But Ottar was simply silent, his spirit spent in his previous duel. Warlord only raised his hefty blade and swung.
What came next was a vortex of annihilation.
The creatures were erased without a sound. Ottar’s sweeping blade bisected every last one of them before they could even cry out in pain.
“Wha—?!”
A partial cry of shock escaped Valletta’s lips.
The large monsters crumbled, drumming the earth in a melody of death, while the smaller ones returned to dust, their magic stones destroyed.
Ottar’s one attack had wiped them all out.
“That whole horde… Gone, just like that!”
Valletta couldn’t believe her eyes. But it wasn’t only her; every adventurer who witnessed it reeled in shock.
“Such overwhelming power…” said Asfi. “That can only be…!”
It was Falgar who completed her thought. What he had just seen was so destructive as to belong to a higher category; another plane of being.
“The power of a Level Seven!!” he said.
“Ottar has well and truly surpassed us all!” exclaimed Shakti, witnessing the birth of a new ruler, a person on the same level as Zald was.
The title of mightiest adventurer was an invaluable weapon in and of itself. Simply usurping it from the Evils’ side was enough to turn the tide of war.
“All units! Eliminate the remaining enemy forces!”
Finn pounced on the opportunity to issue his next order. While the enemy faltered, he raised his spear to finish them off.
“Their morale is in tatters! Don’t let up now!!”
“““Raaaaaaaaaaaaahhh!!”””
It was a fledgling cry of rebellion.
“Orarioooo!! A filthy city of contemptible heroes!!”
As the reality of defeat set in on his army’s side, Basram roared with anger.
“This cannot be! I refuse to let it be so! I refuse to accept your wretched, righteous faith!!”
His goddess’s domain was injustice, unfairness. Everything rotten and crooked. That was why he could not acknowledge the truth—that fair and righteous justice, free of trickery, had triumphed. Zald’s defeat painted a bitter scowl across his usual calm and priestly features.
“Kill those tiny weaklings, my spirit warriors!! Show them that our profane ways trump the rule of law!!”
No longer concerned with keeping up his gentle facade, Basram swung his ringed staff in fury. In response, his four spirit warriors emitted a soulless yell. The Gullivers combined their weapons to block a single greatsword swing, yet the force of the blow sent all four of them flying backward.
They had struggled in the fight so far. The enemy Level 5s had them completely outclassed. All four prums had lost their helmets, their dashing features marred with blood.
Yet still they did not back down.
“““Dvalinn, what have you found out?”””
“The human uses fire, and the elf and dwarf use lightning, while the animal person has no magic. Only the latter two possess regenerative capabilities.”
“““Berling, are there any other foes around?”””
“Not that I can see. They must have been scared off. And our fellow adventurers are keeping the other spirit warriors busy.”
“““Grer, have you worked out their strengths and weaknesses?”””
“The human is fastest to respond to Basram’s staff, while the dwarf is slowest. Of all of them, the elf is the least proficient with a blade; it’s likely they used some other weapon when they were an adventurer.”
“““Alfrik, put it all together!”””
“We must take them out one by one, before anyone comes to help. First the elf, then the dwarf!”
The four prums readied their weapons. Among the siblings, Grer excelled at observational skills, Berling at reconnaissance, and Dvalinn at magical sensibilities, while Alfrik’s superior analysis skills enabled him to make quick decisions on behalf of the group.
“Last time, we panicked, and it ended up as four one-on-ones.”
“Yup.”
“That was silly.”
“For us, four four-on-ones is the only way!”
Four pairs of hawklike eyes fell on the spirit warriors under Basram’s control. The dark priest shuddered, before steeling his courage and swinging his ringed staff.
“Silence, you incessant chatterboxes! Don’t think for one second you could even begin to understand the true depths of my goddess’s majesty!”
The staff chimed, and the four spirit warriors flew into battle.
In response, the four siblings hit the deck.
They let their foes sail right over them, crashing into the ground behind their backs in a devastating explosion of dust and rubble. The Gullivers seized the moment to draw their weapons and make good on their word.
“Ghhhi!!”
They spun around and immediately ganged up on the elf, as planned. Greatsword and greatax came flying in from the foe’s left and right, which the spirit warrior easily blocked with a sword each. However, that was simply a distraction, allowing the greatspear to lunge for the elf’s throat. Expecting this, too, the spirit warrior leaped back—straight into the path of the greathammer.
This powerful blow sent the spirit warrior flying, separating it from its allies.
““““You’re first in line!!”””” the brothers yelled, lunging after it.
“Tch!”
The Gullivers’ plan was to split up the spirit warriors and eliminate them one by one. Basram couldn’t allow this plan to succeed, and so he clicked his tongue and swung his staff, ordering his remaining three servants to catch up and stab the prums in the back.
“………”
However, even when they came from behind, the four siblings handily evaded the spirit warriors’ blows, and their fierce charge went unhindered,
“Your back isn’t your only blind spot!”
“Be aware of attacks from all angles!”
“Leave no gaps in your defense!”
“You have to be ready to dodge, block, and counter all at once!”
Folkvangr. The clash of first-tier adventurers that took place just prior to the final showdown. It was there the Gullivers had discovered the secret to defeating Basram’s spirit warriors. It all came down to tactics. The Level 5s boasted superior might, and their attacks were damaging, but so long as the four prum brothers could endure that and focus all their energy into setting up a four-on-one fight, there was hope for victory.
““““If that boar can do it, then so can we!!””””
The fires of envious rage burned within them as they sought to replicate Ottar’s feat. Spear, sword, and ax all sliced off one of the elf’s limbs, moments before the final hammer crushed its head.
“Impossible!!”
Basram couldn’t believe what he was seeing, but the Gullivers spared him no notice and moved swiftly on to handling the dwarf. With only three foes now remaining, splitting them up was even easier than before.
Basram had made a critical error and underestimated how significant this shift would be. When it was four-on-one instead of one-on-one, Bringar’s unparalleled coordination made the difference. There was a reason it was said that the Gullivers could overcome any foe by working together. Once all four completed their individual analyses, the enemy was stripped bare, and the brothers could utilize their superior teamwork to finish things off.
“Gaaaaaaaaahhh!!”
Upon receiving their combined attacks, the dwarven spirit warrior immediately fired off a lightning spell—the power of the spirit that dwelled inside him. The human added his flame magic to the mix, creating an explosion of both elements in an attempt to tear the brothers away from his fellow thrall.
Smoke and dust swept the battlefield, and Basram covered his face to protect his eyes. Still, he wore a confident smile, assured of his opponents’ imminent demise.
…However, it was then that he heard a voice from behind.
“It was Dvalinn and Grer who figured it out. They realized the spirit warriors would use their magic if threatened.”
He spun around to see one of the prum brothers wielding an enormous spear.
“You of all people should know better than to take us at our word, Basram.”
He was bloodied and beaten, but his cold, piercing eyes revealed the truth he didn’t say. Did you really think I wouldn’t choose the quickest way to beat you?
This had been their plan from the beginning. A bluff. To state that their plan was to eliminate their foes one by one, then draw out the enemy spells, causing a smoke screen in which one brother would sneak away and get the drop on Basram himself.
“Without that staff of yours, the spirit warriors are nothing but mindless beasts, isn’t that right?”
Alfrik glared at the magic item in Basram’s hand—the only means of controlling the dark priest’s heretical creations. It took Basram half a second to get over the shock, and another half a second to raise his staff…
…But it took Alfrik far less than that to swing his spear, detaching the beastman’s arm, and with it, the golden staff responsible for so much pain and misery.
“Aaaaaaaaaaaarghhh!!”
Basram howled. Meanwhile, the artifact’s absence caused an immediate response in the spirit warriors themselves. They jerked unnaturally—only a momentary magical glitch—but Bringar were quick to capitalize upon it. Crossing their weapons to block the last few spells, Dvalinn, Berling, and Grer lunged, severing the limbs of the beastman warrior, while shattering the spirit dagger that remained lodged in the dwarven one’s brain stem.
The remaining human spirit warrior attempted to fly into a mad rage, when a thrown spear shattered his skull from the back, bringing the battle to an abrupt end.
Alfrik’s three brothers gathered at his side and handed him back his spear, then all four turned their murderous eyes on the dark priest.
“Krh… Rgh… My…arm…” Basram groaned. His remaining hand went into the folds of his robes, pulling out his last resort—the final spirit dagger, wrapped in a hexproof cloth.
“You tiny, insignificant wretches!!”
He stabbed the blade into his stump and began to transform. This spirit dagger was not like the others. Its wild magic flowed into Basram, grotesquely enlarging one side of him, until he no longer resembled his former self.
He had turned himself into one of his own creations. This was the ultimate fate of a doctrine that abandoned intelligence and individuality.
“““What are you, stupid?””” said the three younger siblings with identical looks of exasperation.
“A man whose last resort is to trade away his mind for power…” said Alfrik, an enlightened twinkle in his eye. “Isn’t that exactly the sort of thing the gods mock us for?”
The four brothers stared down this hideous monster, then readied their cracked and battered weapons for one last symphony of death. Basram swung a magic-infused punch, which the four brothers dodged before each disposing of one of the creature’s limbs. The mass of flesh pitched forward, and Alfrik drove his spear right through its heart.
The misshapen lump oozed red effluent and was silent.
“M-Master Basram?! A-all units, retreat!!”
After watching it all play out, one Apate Familia officer raised his voice, then hurriedly retrieved the blood-soaked staff before fleeing the Amphitheatrum alongside the other spirit warriors that Mia and the others had been fighting.
“““Erm, Alfrik?””” said the three younger Gullivers, after watching the enemy abscond so easily with their artifact.
“…Apologies,” answered their eldest, wearing a look of guilt. “I let down my guard.”
All of them realized they were far too wounded to give chase. Their heroic victory over four Level 5s had come at a heavy price, and none of them could even stand upright a moment longer.
All Alfrik could do was watch as the remaining four spirit warriors fled to the southeast.
“I let them get away…” he muttered.
““Oh, Hegni and Hedin! This is so much fun!””
Fear and panic ruled the ranks of evil. The sole exception was here, where two crazed sisters carried out their frenzied dance.
The elven twins, the elder Dina and the younger Vena, kept up their assault in spite of the deep wounds inflicted upon their respective fair and tanned skin by their precious archnemeses.
““Just a little longer, and we’ll hold your cold, lifeless bodies in our loving embrace!””
““Grr!””
Dina twirled her stiletto daggers—intended to be a dying knight’s reprieve—while Vena commanded all-consuming hellfire, burning much of the Amphitheatrum to ash. Her flames formed an arena of death, preventing other members of Freya Familia from coming to the rescue. Hegni and Hedin dodged the flames and steel both, landing a short distance away.
Hegni was battered and beaten. Hedin was covered in blood. The Dis sisters had shown their true power, and chances of victory were looking slim.
“Not long now, Vena! I’ll let you have my power! Now give me yours in return!”
“Yes, Dina!”
The sisters shared deviously innocent smiles they clasped hands, sharing their magical energy. Dina began to chant.
“Black mire; red sin. We tear each other with our teeth; the slime that is our bodies mix’d!”
It was not a spell, but a curse.
“Dialv Stige!”
A crimson light wreathed the fairer-skinned of the two, which then spread to cover her sister as well. This eerie glow caused a fluctuation in the girls’ stats, almost as though they were trading blood and flesh.
“Oh, your magic always tastes so sweet, Dina! It’s going to drive me wild!”
“So is yours, my lovely Vena! Oh, it feels like your baby is in my belly, trying to burst free!”
“Oh my, Dina! How lewd!”
““Tee-hee-hee! Ah-ha-ha!””
This repulsive conversation earned a look of anger and disgust from Hedin. Ignoring him, the two sisters licked their lips, as if lapping up the excess power each had received.
Dina’s curse, Dialv Stige, had the effect of mixing her basic ability scores with those of whom she touched. Using it, she was able to steal half the target’s Strength and Agility. No curse came without a downside, however, and in this case, Dina was required to compensate the target with an equivalent amount of her own Defense and Magic.
It was a fearsome spell, evoking the image of a dismal mire, of sinners cutting each other piecemeal, and of their blood and bodies mixing in a crimson stream.
““Now we can start the feast!””
In the hands of the Dis Sisters, however, the spell’s drawback was no drawback at all. Dina took to the front lines, wielding her twin stilettos with speed that would put an animal person to shame, while Vena covered her back with powerful magic spells. This trading of ability scores only served to reinforce their respective roles.
“Their curse seems stronger than when last we fought…” muttered Hegni, panting heavily from exhaustion.
“It seems we aren’t the only ones who’ve been training,” agreed Hedin, clutching his upper arm. The blood was already beginning to seep through his fingers. “No doubt those sirens have been preying on their own monstrous allies in our absence.”
With Dina focused on melee combat, and Vena concentrating on magic, the sisters’ power level approached that of two Level 6s.
“Your magic has come undone, fool.”
“And you’ve lost your glasses. You look so lame without them.”
The elves of Freya Familia had suffered significant damage in the battle so far. Hegni’s Dáinsleif had finally worn off, while Hegni’s spectacles had been blasted off his face. While also Level 5, the Dis sisters were on another level compared to Basram’s spirit warriors, and so the elven adventurers had their work cut out for them.
Thanks to the humiliation they had suffered, Hedin and Hegni had both sworn to kill the sisters personally, and there was no room in their hearts for teamwork. Besides, they were both members of Freya Familia; they considered themselves mortal foes and rivals for their lady’s affection. In Folkvangr, they had been seeking to kill each other, and so could hardly team up now.
“Aw, even now, Hedin and Hegni are being big, mean, grumpy-pants to each other! Isn’t it sad, Dina?”
“So sad, Vena! If they just put their differences aside, they might be able to catch up with us; at least enough to lick our toes!”
One giggled while the other guffawed. Hegni and Hedin knew the girls were taunting them, but they showed no reaction. After a short pause, they spoke without turning to look the other in the eye.
“Hegni.”
“What?”
“It sounds like Ottar won.”
The cheers of adventurers could be heard behind them from Central Park. Warlord had given everything and earned the city’s praise.
“…I know.”
Hegni cut loose his anger and disgust, and cast his gaze downward.
“Everywhere, the fires of life are burning.”
The blood of the einherjar fueled their fierce cries, and Heith’s healers risked their lives to provide support. Tsubaki’s sword, Mia’s fists—nothing was being held in reserve, and the city screamed with a desire to repay the veterans who had laid down their lives.
It would all be for naught if these two prideful, stubborn, infuriating elves could not cast aside their differences now. And so, with one short meeting of their eyes, the elves of light and dark slipped the shackles of their respective oaths.
““Hmph!!””
The two sprang forward. Their paths crossed. Hegni took Vena, and Hedin faced Dina.
Up until now, it had been the other way around: Dina and Hegni, the two melee fighters, and Hedin and Vena, the two mages. From now on, they would swap targets.
But this change in tactics only caused the corners of the evil twins’ mouths to creep up, like the opening of a carnivorous plant, as though the pair had fallen right into their trap.
““Silly Billys!””
“Did you think you could take me down with magic just because I’m weak to it?”
“Did you think you could humiliate me in close combat just because I’m bad at it?”
““Sorry, boys, but that’s not going to happen!!””
Dina, holding her stilettos, flickered, and Vena with her magic sword, flared.
Just as he reached optimal range for his spell, Hedin’s eyes widened in shock. Despite the shortness of his chant, the siren’s blade moved faster still, tearing the rhomphaia from his grasp.
Just as he entered cutting distance, Hegni was dumbstruck. Vena swung her magic sword while swiftly chanting a magic circle, unleashing a hailstorm of fire.
““You call that teamwork? How pathetic!””
““Grhhh…?!””
In close combat, there was nothing Hedin could do. He was by no means poor with the blade, but he lacked the punch and power of Dáinsleif.
At long range, Hegni was strapped for options. He possessed magic, but nothing with the range and casting proficiency of Hildsleif.
With the curse enhancing their specialties, the twins were able to draw both elven adventurers into their own private arenas and overwhelm them.
The attempt to strike at the girls’ weaknesses had failed, and in addition, the boys had been stripped of their swords, Victim Abyss and Dizaria.
“Dialv Dis!”
The twins had them in check, and their destructive magic was about to end the game. Ten magic circles appeared overhead and summoned ten pillars of hellfire, trapping Hegni and Hedin in a hurricane of destruction. Even their superior evasive maneuvers could not protect them from the blast waves that came at them from every angle.
And then…
““Now you’re ours!””
At that very moment Vena, Hedin, Hegni, and Dina lay on a perfectly straight line, in that order. The two men were completely surrounded. To the sisters, it was the perfect arrangement. To Hegni and Hedin, it was the worst. As they crawled to their feet, Vena began to chant, and Dina rushed forward.
“In paradise, the heretics face fire; let errors and perversions both be cleans’d; and in a thousand tombs those sinners burn! Let the sixth garden open! Let the ninth song howl!”
The third and final spell of Vena Dis. Incineration. It annihilated anything in her line of sight that she considered heretical, and it was impossible to dodge. It was a rare spell that could burn her foes to ash while leaving her sister Dina completely unharmed.
You’re a feisty one, Hedin! But it’s too late now; my spells are faster than yours! Why don’t the two of you just cry in our arms already?!
The range of her spell easily surpassed twenty meders, so it didn’t matter how hard Hedin scowled; there was nothing he could do to reach her in time.
Vena wanted nothing more than to burn to ash the white elf who was so repulsed by her.
Dina wanted nothing more than to tear to shreds the dark elf who was so disgusted by her.
And so, having returned to their formation so that each received the target she desired, the sisters were ecstatic. Vena prepared her final magic circle, while Dina rushed forward to skewer her love in the heart.
“…?”
But just as the magic circle opened like a devil’s eyelid, Vena noticed it.
Hedin was acting strangely. He stood side-on, blocking the contents of his left hand from view, like a fencer about to lunge. Did he plan to throw his weapon? But wait…he lost his rhomphaia—when did he retrieve it?
A fraction of a second passed as those questions flew through her head, and in the end, Hedin revealed the answer.
“I never thought this day would come,” he said.
“………”
In his hand, he held a cursed black sword. It was not his own weapon, but Hegni’s: Victim Abyss.
At the same time, Dina’s eyes went wide as plates as Hegni pulled out the Hildsleif’s rhomphaia, Dizaria.
It had all been on purpose, including the very moment the two elves had their weapons flung from their grip. A mind-numbingly simple bluff that allowed Hedin and Hegni to change swords.
“Sip and slurp, you rotten sword. Victim Abyss!”
Hegni’s trusty sword was a curse weapon, able to extend its reach at the cost of the wielder’s stamina. Hedin was never one to hold back, and so he allowed the sword to drink of all his stamina, pouring it all into a single thrust.
The resulting blade reached fifty meders in length.
“Gh…”
The thrust, like a vacuum wave of invisible energy, piercing at first Vena’s magic circle, and then her breast.
Before she even worked out what had happened, a line of blood ran down her lip. Then, the moment she realized that Hedin’s and Hegni’s teamwork was responsible for her demise, an explosion engulfed her.
An Ignis Fatuus. The inevitable result of a spell that had gone out of control. Seeing her sister consumed by blossoms of fire, Dina turned and screamed.
“Vena?!”
Hedin’s attack had been carried out with perfect and diabolical timing—planned from the very beginning to lure Vena into using her spell, and dooming her in the process.
“Hediiin!!”
The remaining elder sister screeched, and her anger drove her ever faster onward, to strike down the white elf in vengeful anger. It was then that Hegni entered her path, Dizaria raised high.
“You’re after me, remember?” he said.
Furious, Dina tried to cut him down, but then, beyond him, she watched as Hedin turned and shot her a disinterested glance. He raised the black sword in his hand and began to chant.
Hedin’s support. Caurus Hildr. A low-power, precision-strike magic that he was using to avoid hitting Hegni. Dina would have no trouble evading a spell like that.
That was Dina’s split-second reasoning.
She was wrong.
“Valiant Hildr.”
There was nothing remotely like restraint in Hedin’s response.
“………”
Dina froze for a moment, unable to speak, before the lightning engulfed her. Hedin had chosen not a hail of magic missiles, but a single great beam of light that devastated all in its path—not just Dina, but Hegni, too.
“Aaaaaaaaaaghhh!!”
She screamed. And then, amid a world of white, terror overcame her as she saw Hegni approach.
“Grgh?!”
He had not fallen. Even taking constant damage from Hedin’s twisted magic, he lunged for Dina, sword drawn.
Dina could not resist it. Through the curse, she had traded away not only her Magic, but her Defense as well, to her ill-fated sister.
There was nothing she could do. It was all the result of Hedin’s plan. A plan built on the back of Hegni’s suffering. A plan that Dina, who loved her sister, could never have conceived.
This was not trust. This was not faith. This was not teamwork.
The only word for it was spite. A strategy birthed from a single vile sentiment the knights both shared:
If it was this easy to kill him, I’d have done it a long time ago.
“Roooooaaaaaaaaaggghhh!!”
A guttural roar, issued from the depths of Hegni’s belly. He lacked any buff to block the pain, and only held Hedin’s blade.
There was a flash of steel.
“Ugh…”
Guided by all Hegni’s might, the blade cut Dina from shoulder to hip. She staggered back and fell, and Hedin’s magic finally dispersed, giving way to colorless gray skies.
It was at that moment she saw it. Hegni, sword poised for a horizontal swing, no love at all in his eyes.
“Hegni,” she said, “I—” love you.
Those final words were never spoken, interrupted by Hegni’s borrowed blade. The siren’s severed head flew through the air, a peaceful smile on its lips, and Hegni turned his back, refusing to dignify the death of his cursed kin with a moment more of his attention.
Instead, the head landed at the feet of Vena, who had escaped death due to her stolen defense. She picked up Dina’s severed head and peered at it.
“D-Dina…?”
The light softly left her own eyes, and soon she tossed it aside.
“No! No, no, no! It’s so dirty! Such a dirty thing can’t possibly be her! We’re both elves! Beautiful elves!”
After her outburst, Vena laughed. She went on laughing as the tears began to roll.
“Where are you, sister? Where did you go? Don’t leave me!”
A vital part of her destroyed, she broke.
Then again, the Dis sisters had always been broken. It was only through each other that they ever falteringly clung to sanity.
The tears and laughter overflowed. Here she was, a deviant who had only ever pursued her own lust for killing.
At last, her eyes fell upon Hedin.
“Ah, there you are, sister!”
Crawling on her front, she arrived at his feet and clung to his leg. Hedin looked down at her, at this twisted creature who had created a refuge inside her own brain, but he said nothing. Only his hair fell across his face.
“Break me, sister! Love me, sister! Hurry up and turn our pain and suffering into joy, so I don’t have to feel so cold!”
Soon Hedin could bear her pathetic, dirty, rotten, vile and hopeless behavior no longer, and he snapped at her.
“Shut up, you filth!”
“Eep!”
His hand tightened around her skull, and he hoisted her into the air. His coral-red eyes burned like fire, causing Vena to squeal.
“It hurts! It hurts so good!”
“You abhorrent, accursed, befouled, begrimed, defiled, depraved, fiendish, foul, greasy, grimy, loathsome, lousy, malicious, malodorous, oblivious, obnoxious, perfidious, pernicious, repulsive, revolting, sinful, spiteful, toxic, treacherous, ungodly, unholy, vicious, vile, weaseling weevil! You are evil incarnate! After all this time, you seek to be absolved of your sins?! I can hardly bear to admit we are the same race! Get out of my sight!”
His anger provoked, Hedin took his revulsion, and like a fire-breathing dragon, he belched a stream of insults at the hated elf before preparing to remove her from this world entirely.
“Strike forever, indestructible lord of lightning!”
Gazing deeply into the burning hellfire of Hedin’s eyes, Vena smiled as bitter tears rolled down her cheeks.
“Hedin. Sister. I love you!”
“Valiant Hildr!!”
Lightning erupted. Once the magical embodiment of Hedin’s rage had subsided, there was nothing left of Vena.
But unlike Hegni, Hedin had been forced to bear witness to the elf’s last words.
“You make me sick!!” he spat.
“A-Apate…and Alecto, too?!”
In the Amphitheatrum, the Evils cultists paled as they beheld the fates of their masters. At that moment, there was a rallying cry from a field captain atop the eastern walls.
“S-send in the reinforcements! Take down the strongholds, now!”
He could see the smoke and flames rising all across the city, but what worried him most was the shouts of adventurers he heard. The balance of power had clearly tipped in Orario’s favor.
“The adventurers abandoned their posts to sally forth!” he yelled, seizing his last chance to scrape things back. “Strike at their weakened defenses, and we shall have victory yet!”
Central Park was a lost cause, as was the Amphitheatrum, but the other four strongholds were vulnerable due to the charge of Noir and the other veteran upper-class adventurers. Many of them had been Level 3 and above, and there was no doubt their maverick sacrifice left holes in the defensive line. That was precisely why Finn had been so reluctant to send them in the first place.
“All units, descend from the city walls! Chaaarge!!”
The troops entrusted to maintain the siege were highly skilled. Seeing the war about to come to a decisive end, this commander ordered those troops to leave their positions and join the fight below. However, just at that moment…
“Guh!”
“Gah!”
They were all hit by a frighteningly accurate hail of arrows. It came not from the streets below, but from their flank—a fact that could only mean their assailant was on the walls with them. Flabbergasted, the elite Evils troops wheeled around and were shocked by what they saw—one of the gods themselves leading a charge of her bow-wielding followers, each wearing the mark of the moon and bow.
“Shoot them!” she cried.
“A-a goddess?! Gahhh!!”
The goddess moved so fast; it was only due to his Falna that the captain could even see her. His focus was split between her fast approach and the rain of arrows loosed by her followers, to which the goddess herself seemed to pay no heed. Then, with godly timing, she leaped upon him while drawing her mythril blade. Seven swift cuts to the seams of the armor he wore beneath his robes, and the follower of darkness crumpled. He watched with growing despair as the reinforcements—allies from outside the city—streamed over the walls, until a hard blow from one of the goddess’s followers knocked him unconscious.
“Lady Artemis! We’ve captured the eastern walls!”
“Hold them. We must hold this path into the city. Our enemies have spotted us, and we can no longer rely on the element of surprise. Wait here until Lanta arrives.”
This azure-haired beauty was Artemis, goddess of chastity. Answering her follower without looking back, she instead turned her gaze left, toward the southeastern walls. Far in the distance, an Evils cultist pointed in her direction and started making a ruckus. The goddess loosed an arrow, which sailed through the air and struck the alarm raiser, who promptly exploded.
Artemis frowned. She hadn’t known that would happen.
“Still, it’s a relief to finally be here in Orario,” said her captain. “After marching for five days and five nights, I thought we would collapse!”
“Sorry about that, but we couldn’t just abandon the people here. If Orario falls, the mortal world is done for.”
Artemis continued shooting arrows even while conversing. She struck a brave and awe-inspiring form, her wise eyes constantly scanning the city for movement.
This was Artemis Familia. A familia without a home, who wandered the continent on a perpetual hunt. Though not officially part of Orario, they still counted upper-class adventurers among their number, and even the goddess herself was a formidable fighter to be reckoned with.
Three days prior, in their underground hideout, Valletta and Vito had said the following words:
“How will the other cities have resources to spare when they’re dealing with an unprecedented outbreak of riots all at the same time?”
“Even if one or two of ’em manage to put down the riots and send someone over, they’ll only be Level Two at best. Nothin’ to piss our pants over.”
They had decided that the continent had better things to do than to send aid to Orario.
They were wrong. These brave women put Orario’s needs above their own. Though the strongest of them were only Level 2, no hunt was too dangerous with the divine leadership of their goddess at their backs.
“I can appreciate why it was important to liberate all the towns and villages along our path, but shouldn’t we be out helping other world powers like the empire?”
“We’ll leave that to the School District. Their forces far outclass ours, both in quality and quantity. Plus, they have the Knight of Knights on their side.”
“You mean that brat who helped slay the Leviathan…?”
The actions of Artemis Familia had been swift. The moment she heard news of the Great Conflict, Artemis had made the decision to come here, to Orario, instead of assisting elsewhere. Having scaled the massive walls with a rope, she beheld for the first time just what had become of the inner city.
“Either a return to the ancient times, or a prelude to Makhia… Is this truly this city’s destiny?”
“…Hmm? Lady Artemis?”
“Nothing. Once Lanta returns from exterminating the monsters below, we’ll move out. Rethusa, decide who’ll join the hunting party and who’ll stay here!”
“Yes, my lady!”
Artemis’s captain returned a vigorous nod. A spark-filled wind blew over them, but the goddess tried to ignore it, pulling back her bow and resuming her archery.
“Artemis, you came!” said Hermes, seeing the azure-haired goddess and her all-female band conquering the city walls.
As he watched them proceed clockwise, Hermes felt a sense of relief, knowing the days of the enemy siege were numbered. Alone, atop one of the buildings in the casino area, he turned his gaze to the streets below.
“Things are just about settled up here,” he said. “Our brave adventurers have given too much to lose now.”
It was not a prediction, but a given. The fires of rebellion were lit and already far out of control. It was only a matter of time before evil succumbed.
“The problem now is the Dungeon… I hope you can handle it, girl.”
“…Well now. I certainly didn’t expect to see you down here.”
Erebus could hardly conceal his shock. The last of his followers lay beaten at his feet, trounced by the adventurers who accompanied his unexpected guest.
The dark god smiled and lifted his head, meeting her gaze.
“You sure do like surprising me, don’t you, Astrea?”
Standing before him was a goddess clad in purest white, with long, walnut hair that fell about her waist. For the second time, the goddess of justice had come to confront absolute evil in person.
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