ACT 2
“...Dawn, eh?”
The sunlight he felt through his eyelids roused Hveðrungr from his slumber. It was hard to say he’d woken up refreshed. In fact, he was utterly exhausted.
“Sigh. The old limbs feel sluggish.”
A self-deprecating smile peeked onto the features visible beneath his mask.
He’d been fighting for several days straight. To top it all off, he had spent the entire day commanding the defense of Vígríðr, and then subsequently spent the night in pursuit of their fleeing enemy.
The four short hours he’d napped did little to abate all the fatigue he’d accumulated. He felt the urge to curl back under his blanket and return to sleep, but that wasn’t an option.
“Wake up you lot! Nap time’s over!” He yelled out words of ‘encouragement’ to the Independent Cavalry Regiment troops.
While they were usually quick to listen to Hveðrungr’s orders, they were slow to respond on this particular morning. Like Hveðrungr, they were running on almost zero energy after the long string of battles. It was, perhaps, only natural they’d be tired.
Still, they eventually rose, readied themselves, and got into formation. After he gave them a once over, Hveðrungr opened his mouth to address them.
“It’s hard to say we’ve accomplished much of note in this last war.”
The men thinned their lips into tense expressions and nodded heavily.
The truth was that the Independent Cavalry Regiment had fought magnificently in the defense of Vígríðr, so much so that, without them, the castle would have fallen. When all was said and done, though, they were still newcomers from a foreign land.
They all shared the desire to accomplish a feat so remarkable that it would silence even the most ill-disposed of their critics.
“With battle after battle, I know you’re all tired. But now is when our fate as the Independent Cavalry Regiment will be decided!”
It was a rather theatrical speech, but it was true. What they, the Independent Cavalry Regiment, needed to do to truly make their name, was take the heads of the many Alliance Army commanders.
The Alliance Army featured the major leaders of the Fang, Cloud, Spear, and Sword Clans, and with their forces in full retreat, now was the perfect opportunity.
The strength of the Independent Cavalry Regiment was in its overwhelming mobility. Further to that, they were hunters that had been raised hunting their quarry upon the plains. Pursuit battles were where they shined.
“Let’s be off! Pillaging is our way! How can we maintain our honor as hunters if we remain under another’s care? We will win our place by our own hands!”
Hveðrungr made this final statement and promptly led the Regiment onto its next foray.
“Grr, where, where are they?!” Sigrún struggled with impatience as she spurred on her favored horse.
The Múspell unit was, like the Independent Cavalry Regiment, in the midst of pursuing the enemy, but they had yet to make their mark today.
While they had captured well over a thousand enemy troops, they were all ordinary soldiers. They had yet to find the most important target of all: Fagrahvél.
“The sun is setting soon. We need to catch up to them before that, at all costs...” Sigrún bit down on her lower lip with a tense expression.
Dauwe Castle was a stone’s throw away. The Múspell unit was made up entirely of elite veterans, but even for them, it’d be difficult to break through such a fortress with only five hundred or so troops.
It was imperative that they captured Fagrahvél’s convoy before they could flee into the castle.
“Mm?”
Sigrún’s eyes took on a predatory gleam as she caught sight of a group of chariots racing ahead of her.
Chariots were one of the most advanced and expensive weapons in Yggdrasil. They took substantial funds to build and maintain, meaning only those above a certain station could afford to ride them. Given that there was a large group of them ahead, there was a very high probability that Fagrahvél was among them.
“Prepare for battle! We’re taking that group ahead!” Sigrún called out her order then spurred her horse.
Although chariots were typically the fastest means of travel on Yggdrasil, they were no match for cavalry. The Múspell unit rapidly closed the distance.
“Ah, we’ve finally found you!”
As her eye caught a chariot lavishly decorated with gold and silver, even Sigrún, known as the “Frozen Flower,” couldn’t help but break out into a wide grin. Upon its side was the crossed sword emblem of the Sword Clan. The rider was a young soldier encased in golden armor, matching the known description of Fagrahvél.
“Listen up, all of you! That is Fagrahvél! Don’t let them escape!”
“Yes, ma’am!”
With the enemy’s supreme commander in their sights, the Múspell troopers narrowed their eyes in determination.
The Múspell unit was a force renowned within the Steel Clan as its most elite unit, and all of its members were proud of their membership, but few of them had any intention of ending their careers as a mere field soldier.
Almost all of them dreamed of making a name for themselves, being recognized by the reginarch, and starting a faction all their own. This was a golden opportunity.
“Tch! The Silver Wolf! All! Defend his lordship at all costs!”
“You shall not pass!”
Those to the back of the group turned their chariots around and blocked the Múspell unit’s approach with grim determination. The two sides quickly clashed.
“Skillful as expected.” Sigrún furrowed her brow as she crossed spears with the enemy.
These soldiers were the honor guard of a great clan’s patriarch. They were strong enough to put up a fight against even the elite troops that made up the Múspell unit. To top it all off, they were engaged in a battle where they cared little for their own lives. Even Sigrún had her hands full with them.
Still, the honor guard forces found themselves completely outmatched.
“Gah!”
“Gack!”
Enemies that were willing to die to take an opponent with them were dangerous, but that only meant that they took extra care to dispatch.
The Múspell unit defeated them one by one, methodically chipping away at Fagrahvél’s defenses.
“Halt! There’s no escape for you! Surrender if you value your lives!” Finally catching up to Fagrahvél’s chariot, Sigrún yelled out that final warning.
There was simply too much of a speed difference between a chariot and a mounted soldier. There was also an enormous difference in fighting ability. From her perspective, it seemed inevitable, but her target evidently disagreed.
“Hrmph! To simply surrender would dishonor those who fell in my defense!” Fagrahvél was quick to respond in complete defiance.
“Then die by my spear!” With her offer of mercy declined, Sigrún no longer had to hold back.
She loosed a full-powered lunge at the soldier in golden armor—Fagrahvél.
“This is nothing!”
Clang!
The blow from Sigrún’s spear was handily blocked and swept aside by Fagrahvél’s lance, who then quickly followed up with a counterattack.
“Hmph!”
Sigrún calmly rotated her spear, making use of the extra momentum from the deflection, and blocked her opponent’s attack. She then followed up with a flowing movement; a sweeping attack upon Fagrahvél’s shoulder.
“Tch!”
Fagrahvél’s expression twisted in pain. The blow, however, was far short of being a lethal wound.
She had slain countless opponents. She knew from feel alone that she had cut through armor rather than flesh. At most, she’d caused a flesh wound. It wouldn’t impact the fight.
Still, Sigrún’s lips curled upward as she reached a conclusion.
“You’re no match for me.” She’d realized this with that exchange.
Fagrahvél’s ‘power’ was a remarkable ability for an Einherjar; one that could turn tens of thousands of soldiers into berserkers.
Expecting that ability to provide individual combat prowess would be asking for too much, though.
“Hyaaaaah!”
“Guh! Tch! Gah!”
Unable to withstand Sigrún’s intense combination of three attacks, Fagrahvél’s lance was deflected upward.
“Got you!”
Sigrún loosed her spear at Fagrahvél’s wide-open torso—
Fwish!
Something cut through the air, causing Sigrún’s mount to let out a cry and buck upward, its front legs momentarily leaving the ground.
“What the?!”
Sigrún tensed up at the unexpected turn of events.
The fact that she had let go of her reins to fight was now working against her. She slid off the back of her beloved mount. She somehow rolled into the landing, where she promptly noticed an arrow in her horse’s right leg.
“We’ll hold them off! Hurry!”
A chariot approached them, and a rather burly man on the carriage loosed more arrows at Sigrún.
Sigrún quickly jumped back, the arrows landing in the place she had been mere moments before.
“Simba! Thank you!”
Fagrahvél’s chariot began to move further away. Sigrún’s pursuit was stopped by the rain of arrows.
“Get out... of my way!”
Sigrún wasn’t one to stay on the defensive, however. She dodged the arrows, picked up her discarded spear, and threw it with all her might.
“Whoa?! Gah!”
The spear destroyed the wheel upon Simba’s chariot, and it swerved onto its side.
Simba couldn’t escape in time and was pinned under the chariot. There was no one left to get in her way, but even Sigrún couldn’t catch up to a chariot on foot.
“Leave the rest to me, Mother!”
Her young protégé Hildegard rushed past her from the flank. Soon after came the rest of the Múspell troops. They were all Sigrún’s sworn children that she had molded into her own image. She knew better than anyone what they were capable of doing. She could leave the rest to them.
However, they were only a stone’s throw away from Dauwe Castle. Having them hole up in that fortress would be quite the problem. That was something they had to avoid at all costs.
More than anything—
“It’s somewhat irritating to have Hilde grab the glory for this one...” Sigrún snorted as she grabbed the bow on her horse’s saddle, nocked an arrow, and drew it back.
The distance was already quite substantial. The compound bows provided to the Múspell Unit had far greater range than the standard bows of Yggdrasil, but she was still at the very edge of its effective range.
“Father, lend me your strength!” Sigrún shouted and loosed her arrow.
She ought to have prayed to the Steel Clan’s patron goddess, Angrboða, but in her heart of hearts, she felt that her beloved father would be more likely to provide some blessing.
The arrow cut through the air, making a beeline to Fagrahvél’s chariot, as though being pulled toward it by some unseen force.
“Mrmph!”
Fagrahvél tensed up in shock but managed to shake it off and dodge away from the arrow’s path at the very last moment. If that reaction had been even marginally slower, the arrow would have been lodged squarely between the eyes—a most-certainly lethal blow.
Of course, it would be asking too much for a single arrow to take down the enemy’s supreme commander. However, it seemed that the arrow yet still had a blessing to grant—
Neeeeigh!
—The sound of a horse’s high-pitched scream could be heard soon after.
Fagrahvél turned back in surprise and saw that one of the horses pulling the chariot was in a frenzy, ignoring the chariot driver’s commands. Embedded in its hindquarters... was Sigrún’s arrow.
The driver tried in a panic to tighten the reins and bring the horses back under control, but the chariot swerved back and forth, eventually crashing into a tree and coming to a stop. With the chariot now out of action, Fagrahvél was out of options.
“I, Lady Hildegard, have captured the Sword Clan patriarch, Fagrahvél!” A young woman’s joyful cry echoed into the heavens.
“Yes, yes! I’ve finally done it!” Hildegard was at the peak of happiness.
As a general rule, the women serving near Yuuto tended to be content with serving by him due to their almost fanatical love of him, but Hildegard had a strong sense of ambition.
She was driven by a desire to take a direct Oath of the Chalice from Yuuto himself and start her own clan, but that ambition had led her to try too hard and resulted in her making all kinds of mistakes.
Just as she had been wondering if her destiny was to fall short of that ambition, she came into a feat so remarkable—capturing the Alliance Army’s supreme commander. It would have been impossible for her not to be over the moon.
“Hey! Mother! I’m the one who captured Fagrahvél! Don’t try to take credit for it!”
“Of course not! Who do you think I am? You?” Sigrún quickly retorted.
“Then please tell the reginarch just how well I did! Don’t hold back a single detail!” Hildegard made sure to let her demands be known.
“Yes, all right, all right.” Sigrún frowned as though she were thoroughly displeased, making a shooing motion.
“Hey, why are you acting like it’s so bothersome?! Wait... Mother, are you jealous of me?!”
“...What? How did you come to that conclusion?!” The shock of such an accusation caught Sigrún momentarily off guard.
“Heheh, no need to hide it. I mean, I understand why you’d be jealous.”
“If anything I was rejoicing as though it were my own accomplishment...” Sigrún sighed and slumped her shoulders, shaking her head.
While she had quite an attitude, she was also studious and wasn’t afraid to make her opinions known to Sigrún. Those qualities meant Sigrún didn’t mind Hildegard.
If anything, Sigrún was starting to think of her like an actual blood sister. For this reason, she was sincerely happy for the fact Hildegard had accomplished a major feat and could understand why she wanted to boast, but...
Frankly, she was a nuisance. It was just too much. Just far, far too much...
While Sigrún originally had no intention of doing such a thing, she was so annoyed that she even briefly considered just taking all the credit for herself.
“Heheh. So this means the age of Mother Sigrún is over, and the age of the great Hildegard is about to begin, right?”
Hildegard’s ego continued to inflate.
Sigrún couldn’t help but cringe at this thought and hurriedly sent a messenger to Yuuto.
And this was how, regardless of how it happened, news of the Sword Clan patriarch Fagrahvél’s capture spread like wildfire throughout the Steel Clan army’s ranks.
At around the same time...
“Big Sister Mitsuki! It appears that Father has defeated the Anti-Steel Clan Alliance Army! It was a definitive victory! They’re now engaging in a pursuit battle!”
“Oh! Thank goodness...”
Mitsuki let out a sigh of relief as Linnea joyfully barged into the room with a letter clutched in her hand.
It had been ten days since Yuuto had left the Steel Clan capital of Gimlé. Stress was something the pregnant Mitsuki needed to avoid, and given that she had spent every day worrying about Yuuto’s safety since he had left, the news came as much-needed relief.
“Father really is amazing. To defeat the Alliance Army made up of five powerful clans...” Linnea said, thoroughly impressed.
“Uh-huh, sure seems that way.” Mitsuki nodded along, as though she were humoring her.
The image of Yuuto among the Steel Clan was that of an avatar of a war god who defeated all challengers, and also a ruler of unrivaled greatness who had brought wealth and prosperity to his people through his policies. This concept was something Mitsuki still struggled to wrap her mind around.
Having known him from childhood, in her eyes, the young man named Suoh Yuuto was still predominantly a normal boy in his teens with a bit of a mischievous streak.
“Yuu-kun wasn’t hurt, right?” Mitsuki asked with worry in her voice.
“The letter doesn’t mention anything of the sort. No doubt if he’d suffered any serious injuries it would’ve been mentioned, so I’m sure he’s doing just fine,” Linnea said as she served up the good news.
“That really is for the best, yup.”
While she nodded in agreement, Mitsuki couldn’t quite settle her nerves.
It was true that carrier pigeons were by far the fastest method of communication in Yggdrasil, but for Mitsuki who had been born and raised in the 21st century, it still felt torturously slow. She wanted to call him and hear his voice in real time to know he was all right. War, after all, was a place where one never knew what could happen and when.
“At any rate, I’ve sent carrier pigeons to inform Brother Ská of the Panther Clan, and Sister Lágastaf of the Wheat Clan. No doubt the news will be a great boost to their morale.”
Linnea finally felt as if she could breathe again.
As the Second-in-Command of the Steel Clan, she essentially served as the clan’s chancellor, overseeing the internal, military, and foreign affairs of the clan. The fact that she had been aware of the current situation and that she was tasked with dealing with it must have been an enormous burden on her shoulders. The long sigh of relief that she let out belied just how stressed she had been.
At any rate, as Linnea predicted, news of the great victory at the Battle of Vígríðr would serve as an enormous morale boost for the Steel Clan soldiers fighting around their territories.
“Father! Mjøsa is under attack!”
“Tch, so they went that way.” Skáviðr furrowed his brow and made clear his frustration.
He was a man of perhaps around thirty with pallid skin and sunken cheeks. Yet in spite of his pallor, his eyes were as sharp as a hawk’s, giving him a somewhat uncanny mien.
He had once served as Yuuto’s enforcer as an Assistant Second of the Wolf Clan, but in honor of his contributions, he had been made patriarch of the Panther Clan, which ruled northwestern Álfheimr and now commanded them from the front lines.
“Appearing out of nowhere. Irritating.” Skáviðr’s tone contained a substantial amount of irritation.
Given his reputation for consistently being calm and collected, it was rare to see him put voice to his frustration. Seen from another perspective, it meant that the situation he was dealing with was just that trying.
The Panther Clan was originally a nomadic clan that made its home in western Miðgarðr, but Skáviðr, an outsider, had essentially forced out the previous patriarch, Hveðrungr, and had taken over as its patriarch.
As such, there were a fair number who regarded him as a usurper and hoisted up a patriarch of their choosing, claiming to be the rightful rulers of the clan. The þjóðann’s subjugation order had provided them with the perfect opportunity to attack.
“Now, what to do...” Skáviðr stared off into space, as though he were at a loss.
The truth was that he was struggling with the lack of viable options available to him. The simple fact was that the Panther Clan’s territory was large. Too large. This was his main problem.
It hadn’t even been six months since Skáviðr had taken over as patriarch. He had yet to gain the loyalty of the clan’s people, and the enemy had plenty of justification provided by the þjóðann’s order.
The clan’s more influential members were mostly watching from the sidelines, meaning that Skáviðr didn’t exactly have a large number of soldiers at his disposal. There simply weren’t enough men to defend the borders of his territory.
Troops sent to deal with raids would inevitably find the enemy gone, with the towns and villages already thoroughly pillaged and destroyed. A ruler that can’t defend his territory, of course, loses the trust of their people.
Further to that, the numerous skirmishes that had ended with no appreciable results had thoroughly sapped his troops of their morale and tired them both physically and mentally. He was currently stuck in a vicious cycle from which he couldn’t escape.
“Father, a message from Gimlé!”
“Mm?”
Skáviðr turned to face the messenger delivering the report, and there he saw a young man covered in sweat and grime running toward him. He knew from the messenger’s appearance that he had been in quite a hurry.
“Ah... As to be expected from a man like Father.”
Having taken the letter and read through its contents, Skáviðr let out a sigh of admiration.
The report stated that Yuuto had defeated the Alliance Army’s thirty thousand at Vígríðr. Not only that, but he had done it with a far smaller army—one numbering just over ten thousand.
It had only been ten days since he had left Gimlé.
“Thanks to him, I see a way out of this.” Skáviðr’s lips bent themselves into a faint smile as he suddenly saw a path forward open in front of him.
If he were to make this news public, those that had been wavering in their support would quickly fall in line, and the Panther Clan remnants would soon struggle due to their backing suddenly vanishing.
“Well then, let us take care of these remnants. If I can’t manage that much after having had all of this done in my favor, there’s no way I would be able to face him.”
“The reginarch made adapting to the enemy’s movements so easy.”
The Horn Clan Assistant Second, Haugspori, sighed with a sour look on his face.
He had been placed in command of the Horn Clan’s army in Linnea’s stead, as she was commanding the Steel Clan’s logistical efforts in Gimlé. His forces had been sent to provide aid to the Wheat Clan, one of the Steel Clan’s affiliated clans, but frankly, he was struggling with that assignment.
The reason was because the recently-adapted phalanx wasn’t functioning well.
“There’s quite the difference between watching and executing, I suppose,” Haugspori stated, somewhat exasperated.
The Horn Clan had been the second clan after the Claw Clan to pledge themselves to Yuuto’s command, and had been fighting under him for a long time now.
The phalanx was one of the tactical formations that formed the cornerstone of Yuuto’s war strategies and saw frequent use. It had seemed like an easy enough formation to adapt, but this had been more difficult than expected.
Phalanxes were certainly difficult to break from the front, and because of their remarkable contributions in battle, it was easy to focus on their strengths, but they also had a large number of weaknesses.
The greatest of these was the formation’s utter lack of mobility.
Yuuto had covered for that weakness by making use of long-range crossbow and cavalry such as the Múspell unit. But it was perhaps too much to ask of even a skilled general like Haugspori to fully grasp and understand the strengths and weaknesses of tactics that were centuries ahead of their time.
As a result, over the course of multiple engagements, he had been unable to make an effective attack and was missing various vital battle-ending opportunities, and as a result, he had ended up surrounded by the enemy.
“So, what to do...” Haugspori gazed up at the sky, as though at a loss.
Being surrounded by the enemy was an extremely dangerous situation.
“Can’t expect much from the Wheat Clan.”
He furrowed his brow and let out a grunt of frustration.
The Wheat Clan’s soldiers had shut the gates of the clan’s capital and holed up within its walls. He had already sent several requests for them to deploy their troops but had been rebuffed at each turn.
While the Horn Clan was superior to the Wheat Clan within the Steel Clan hierarchy, that was really only applicable if any such orders came directly from the clan patriarch, Linnea. It was a bit harder for them to simply agree to do what an Assistant Second like Haugspori commanded.
It was perhaps a result of using diplomacy to avoid war over the years. They were simply not used to fighting.
Haugspori felt that, frankly, if they had moved in tandem with the Horn Clan’s forces, they wouldn’t be in the situation they were in now, but that was all hypothetical at this point.
It was unlikely they’d come out and risk their safety at this stage.
“Suppose we have no choice but to try a charge.”
With the slower ranks of the phalanxes, they’d likely take a large number of losses until they could escape the encirclement, but he couldn’t think of any other solution.
He cursed his own lack of talent. But if he were to sit here twiddling his thumbs, he could very well lose the three thousand veterans Linnea had entrusted to his care. That was something he wanted to avoid at all costs.
“All right! Angrboða, lend us your blessing! All units...”
Rabble rabble rabble...
Just as Haugspori had steeled himself to give the order for a desperate charge, a murmur shot through the enemy army’s ranks.
The people of Yggdrasil generally have keen eyesight, and Haugspori, as an expert archer, had eyesight that was far above the norm. Even within the dusk-lit gloom, he could see it clearly...
The expression of panic and fear upon the enemy soldiers’ faces.
“Sieg Reginarch! Sieg Iárn!”
“We have nothing to fear from the þjóðann!”
“Now is the time to strike back!”
And then from the distance, though faint, came the cheers of their own forces.
Haugspori came to a realization based upon those two observations.
It would seem that, far to the east of here, the reginarch had defeated the main forces of the Alliance Army. As a result, the reports of that victory had practically blown away the fear that had gripped the Wheat Clan’s soldiers.
The situation turned quickly. The Hoof Clan’s army scattered as it fled.
The Steel Clan Encirclement that had formed under the þjóðann’s subjugation order had completely collapsed.
“Mm? Mmrrmph... Where... am I...?”
Erna woke from her slumber in a dimly lit room.
Erna was a member of the Maidens of the Waves, a group of nine elite Einherjar who served under the Sword Clan, one of Ásgarðr’s great clans. She wielded her immense lower body strength to move as swift as lightning across the battlefield, and many considered her the strongest of the Maidens of the Waves.
“Tch... So it wasn’t a bad dream after all.”
She attempted to sit up, only to remember she was restrained.
In the recent battle, eight of the Maidens of the Waves had staked everything on a desperate charge at the enemy, only to be disabled by mysterious smoke. They ended up in the hands of the enemy soon after.
She couldn’t help but engage in a bit of self-hatred as she recalled how she had failed her beloved parent, Fagrahvél.
“I see you’re awake.”
A familiar voice addressed her from behind.
“Big Sister Thír?”
The voice belonged to another member of the Maidens of the Waves—their leader, Thír.
With her vaunted legs and both arms heavily restrained with thick, coarse rope, she struggled to move, but she somehow managed to turn her body. When she took a proper look, she came face to face not just with Thír, but...
“You’re all here?!”
Every member of the Maidens of the Waves, save Bára, had their arms and legs tied together like Erna and lay there in the room.
The fact that the acclaimed warriors—who were the pride and joy of the Sword Clan and were famed across the breadth of Yggdrasil—were all captives here hit Erna’s already-shaken psyche rather hard.
“Rest easy. While some haven’t yet awakened, there is still life in them.”
“Oh! Thank the gods...” Given that she had half-expected to never see them again, a sigh of relief spilled from Erna’s lips.
Thír couldn’t help but let out a faintly self-deprecating snort at Erna’s relief, however.
“Well. For now, at least.”
“...Yes, you’re right.”
Her relief was blasted away in an instant, and Erna, too, replied with a hardened voice.
No doubt morale would be heavily strengthened by a public execution of the Maidens who made up the Sword Clan’s leadership and, by extension, the Alliance Army’s too. If anything, that was probably the best possible outcome for them. They, the Maidens of the Waves, were all regarded as beautiful.
Meaning—
“Sniff... So we’re probably going to end up being playthings for the Steel Clan, aren’t we?” the youngest, Hrönn, said shakily, her eyes filled with tears.
In Yggdrasil, it wasn’t particularly uncommon for captured women to end up as comfort women. If anything, it was considered a reward for soldiers given all they had put on the line. Her fear was only natural.
“No, rest assured. That won’t happen,” Thír stated calmly.
Erna agreed with that particular observation.
The two of them had previously accompanied the þjóðann Sigrdrífa as bodyguards during her stay in Iárnviðr. Of course, they hadn’t been idle during their stay, instead using it to study the host country as much as possible.
Suoh-Yuuto prohibited those under his command from indulging in such actions. Indeed, offenders were punished severely. Many had been executed for those crimes, and it was accepted wisdom among the soldiers that the risk simply wasn’t worth it.
The Maidens of the Waves were, indeed, all beautiful, but despite the myriad of opportunities to indulge after their capture, it didn’t appear that any of them had been harmed.
At the very least they could trust that Suoh-Yuuto took a dim view of such things.
“Of course, we don’t know if the reginarch himself obeys such rules.” Thír snorted derisively.
It was well known that Suoh-Yuuto surrounded himself with beauties. The heavy punishments for those who abused women made sense if he were doing it to ensure other men didn’t lay claim to women that he wanted.
“If that’s the case, then there’s nothing to do but end our own lives before they can do anything,” Erna said simply, disgust evident in her tone.
To serve in a sworn enemy’s bed chambers was humiliation of the worst sort. If such a thing were to happen, the honor of the Maidens of the Waves, never mind herself, would be thoroughly debased.
It would be better to die than to expose oneself to that sort of fate.
“Patience, Erna. As I’ve told the others, you mustn’t die yet. Suffer through the humiliations as you must and wait for your opportunity.”
“Opportunity...?”
“That’s right.” Thír nodded faintly, her gaze fearless, as though she’d sworn a remarkable oath to herself.
At that, Erna, too, understood what Thír was trying to convey.
It’s true that leaving oneself to the mercy of the enemy was in many ways a fate worse than death. But in such situations, even the reginarch would be defenseless, and these tight bonds would likely be loosened.
Meaning there could very well be an opportunity to tear out his throat with their teeth.
As a result of them employing everything at their disposal and subsequently losing the main source of their military power—the Maidens of the Waves—the Sword Clan no longer had the strength to resist the Steel Clan.
However, the Steel Clan was young—less than six months old—and was formed around Suoh-Yuuto. If the great reginarch that held them together were to suddenly leave the stage, they would surely fall into disarray.
The Sword Clan still had Fagrahvél and Bára. They would surely rebuild the clan and turn the tide against the Steel Clan.
“...I understand. I, too, will do what I can do.” Erna swallowed as though steeling herself and nodded.
Of course, the only thing that awaited her if she were to slay the reginarch would be death, but she would happily accept that if it were for the Sword Clan and, more importantly, for Fagrahvél.
“Hey, you lot. The reginarch’s waiting.”
Suddenly a rough voice broke in, and soldiers lumbered into the room.
It seemed that their opportunity had arrived.
“Don’t get any ideas now.” With that, the soldiers began removing the binds on the Maidens’ legs. It would seem that they had determined it would be bothersome to carry them.
Eventually, the ropes on Erna’s legs were removed and she gained some semblance of freedom.
“Now, stand up!”
Though irritated at the arrogance of the soldiers barking their orders, Erna obeyed in silence.
The ásmegin from Erna’s rune was focused solely in her legs, meaning she could easily kick this irritating man to death, but killing a lowly jailer would do the Steel Clan no harm.
And being tied to the other Maidens of the Waves, she couldn’t escape. This was, by all accounts, a time for patience.
“Come with me!” The jailer pulled upon the rope and forced Erna and company to follow.
Erna bit her lower lip at the mocking looks directed at them by passersby. It felt as though they were criminals or some sort of carnival act.
Erna and the others had always been regarded with envy and longing within the Sword Clan palace. There was no other way to describe their current situation but as humiliating. Biting down on their lips in frustration and anger, they kept walking one step at a time, keeping in mind Thír’s words to them from earlier.
“We’ve arrived.”
They were brought to a large hall that could easily fit several scores of people. Finally they would face the reginarch, Erna thought and steeled herself once more.
It was true that Erna and the others had been beaten. But their spirit hadn’t been broken. If given an opportunity they would tear out his throat with their teeth. With that resolve in their hearts, they glared at the man in front of them.
“Ah, so you are the Maidens of the Waves.”
The moment the young man’s gaze fell upon her, Erna suddenly found it hard to breathe. She couldn’t stop the sweat from beading on her forehead. She wasn’t the only one. The other Maidens seemed similarly affected.
Is this really... The Steel Clan reginarch Suoh-Yuuto?! He’s like a completely different man now!
Erna swallowed hard.
While he was a bit taller than when she last saw him, his face and voice were familiar. He had a completely different air about him, however. The aura he gave off was cold, sharp, and oppressive.
“You were... the nine elite Einherjar that served under the Sword Clan’s patriarch, Fagrahvél, if I recall. Your reputations are well deserved. You fought as valiantly as the tales suggest. But you chose the wrong parent to exchange Chalices with.”
“Tch! No matter what you do to us, we’ll never regret our choice of parent!” At the reginarch’s dismissive snort, Erna couldn’t help but bark out in response.
The words had barely left her mouth before she remembered Thír’s words and realized her error. To get the opportunity she wanted, she needed to curry the enemy’s favor.
But while she had been prepared to deal with any insults and attacks upon herself, she couldn’t stay quiet when it was her beloved and respected parent that was being insulted.
Erna worriedly glanced at the reginarch’s face, but there was no sign of displeasure on his visage. If anything his lips were quirked in a smile that seemed impressed.
“Huh, it would seem you’re quite beloved, would it not?”
She felt her heart skip a beat. Golden hair rippled from the subject of the reginarch’s gaze. The handsome features were also quite familiar. It was the master of the Maidens of the Waves, Fagrahvél—
—or rather, it was their body double.
Body doubles...
Danger was an ever-present companion for those in power. As such it was a common practice in every era and on every continent for rulers to prepare a double who resembled them in appearance and dress.
Yggdrasil had no photographs, and until recently, no paper. While the name of the Sword Clan’s patriarch Fagrahvél was known throughout Yggdrasil, few members of other clans had ever met them face to face. Fagrahvél in particular, given the nature of her rune, was often in situations where she couldn’t so much as move.
Because of her virtuous personality, she had resisted the call to put up a body double, but had relented when the Maidens of the Waves had, together, prepared one for her.
“M-My lord?!” Erna cried out, doing her best to feign surprise.
The fact that the body double was currently here meant that there was a high probability that the real Fagrahvél was still at large.
Just by making the enemy believe the body double was the real Fagrahvél, she would increase her master’s chances of successfully escaping. She had to do everything in her power to make the deception stick.
“Felicia, this one’s a fake, as expected.”
“?!” At the reginarch’s casual dismissal, Erna felt something heavy grip her heart.
How did he know? She thought back to her own actions, trying to see where she’d tipped him off. She couldn’t think of anything.
“Wh-Whaaat?! A fake?! Wh-What do you mean?!” a girl with pigtails said, looking stunned and confused.
The reginarch directed his gaze briefly to the body double.
“When they saw his face, several of them let out a small sigh of relief. When I called him a fake, several of them tensed. If he was the real Fagrahvél, they wouldn’t have reacted this way.”
“Tch!”
They got us! Erna grit her teeth in frustration.
He had bluffed them. She couldn’t hide her irritation, not only at the reginarch for his trickery, but also at herself for falling into such a straightforward trap.
“Rún! Hveðrungr! Resume your pursuit!” The reginarch stood and raised his voice.
He was, after all, the man who had transformed the tiny, dying Wolf Clan into Yggdrasil’s largest clan. He was quick to respond to unexpected developments.
“Aye! As you command!”
“Understood.”
At the reginarch’s order, a silver-haired girl and a masked man hurriedly left the room.
Erna knew their faces as well. She couldn’t very well forget. They were both valiant warriors who made her blood run cold—commanders of the cavalry units that had so thoroughly harried the Alliance Army with the sheer speed of their attack. She could easily imagine how intense their pursuit would be.
“That was impressive, Big Brother. Though... it seemed you were suspicious from the very start. How did you know?” After the two commanders departed the room, a blonde beauty asked the reginarch thus, with a puzzled look plastered across her face.
“Mm? Simple. Look at him. He doesn’t look the part of a patriarch of a great clan.”
The reginarch made it sound so simple, but Erna couldn’t help but marvel at his ability to judge people. That was true of the earlier exchange as well. He honed in on the slightest expression or movement, reading his opponents and seeing right into their souls to reveal the deception.
Just what sort of experiences did one have to go through to have that sort of eye at his age?!
So this is the Black One.
Erna shuddered once again at his measureless ability.
My lady, please be safe!
The only thing left for Erna to do was to pray for the safety of her master.
Pant... Pant...
In the morning haze, Bára clutched Fagrahvél to her chest and spurred her horse onward.
It had been two whole days of non-stop riding. Even for an Einherjar, it was pushing at the limits of her endurance. Her face was clouded by fatigue—heavy bags were present under her eyes and were rather pronounced, at that.
“Seeeems there’s no one pursuuuuing. It was a bit of a gaaaamble, but it would seem that ditching the chariot was the right caaaall.”
Bára glanced backward and let out a breath, wiping the sweat from her brow. It was plainly obvious that a chariot wouldn’t be able to outrun a pursuit from a cavalry unit. For this very reason, she had placed a decoy upon the chariot and sent them off in a different direction, while she had—like the enemy—ridden directly on her horse.
It was a decision she’d come to in the heat of the moment.
Still, Bára wasn’t so reckless that she’d take risks without good reason.
“Guh!”
Her consciousness wavered for a moment as her fatigue threatened to overwhelm her. She swayed but quickly reinforced herself against her stirrups and somehow managed to right herself.
She had taken them from the Independent Cavalry Regiment they’d fought earlier. They were unfamiliar, so she had just been trying them, but their presence made an enormous difference when riding on horseback. She could understand how they would make combat on horseback easier.
“Even this one bit of riding equipment was faaaar beyond my imagining. Fraaaankly, I underestimated the enemy.”
She hadn’t been meaning to underestimate them. If anything she had thought she’d overrated them, even considering their accomplishments, but once they had actually clashed, she’d found that she hadn’t done nearly enough preparation. As a strategist, it was an unforgivable failure.
“Thiiiis last defeat was all on meee. Buuuut... the Sword Clan... No, Fagrahvél, is nooot a person whose life can end in a place like thiiiis.”
Bára fervently believed that Fagrahvél was a gift sent down from the heavens to restore the Empire’s fallen glory.
Fagrahvél’s rune, Gjallarhorn, was the “Conqueror’s Rune” used by the very first þjóðann to unite all of Yggdrasil.
Fagrahvél herself was a virtuous woman of noble character, with a close connection to the þjóðann. Bára couldn’t regard all of that as mere coincidence. And even now, that faith hadn’t wavered.
“Heheh, seems the gods haven’t abandoned us yet, after aaaall.”
As she caught a glimpse of something far in the distance, her convictions were, if anything, strengthened. This great defeat had merely been a trial that the gods had prepared for Fagrahvél to overcome and grow. They had just successfully overcome that particular trial.
Looming ahead was Dauwe Castle...
A fortress that had once been considered impregnable.
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