Shinwa Densetsu no Eiyuu no Isekaitan - Volume 1 - Chapter 5

Chapter 5: The Return of the War God

A short while earlier...

The tempest raged, casting down raindrops swollen enough to sting. Atop the roof of Berg Fortress’s central tower, several dozen men and women stood in silence. The air seemed to press in on them from all directions, making it hard to breathe.

At Hiro’s side, a crimson-haired girl gazed at the battlefield. Her shapely brows furrowed with unease. “This isn’t looking good, is it?” she asked.

“It’s not over yet. They still have momentum on their side.”

The enemy’s formation was in disarray. If Aura could only kill their commander, it would shatter completely. The Knights of the Royal Black had been slowed by the sudden downpour, but their charge still carried more than enough force.

How many enemies left? Eight thousand, maybe...

If anything, now was the perfect time for the soldiers still inside the fort to sortie. They might only have a thousand men, but a thousand could still do some damage when the enemy’s attention was focused elsewhere. With the rain to hide their approach, the ducal soldiers wouldn’t see them coming until it was too late, and even if they were spotted, what could the enemy do with their chain of command in chaos?

This was their chance. They had to take it.

Hiro turned to Liz only to find she was no longer beside him. She was already some distance away, speaking with Kiork. Judging by the urgency of her gestures, she was thinking much the same thing. Kiork nodded, then barked an order to his men.

As Hiro returned his gaze to the fray, through Uranos, he saw victory ripple across the battlefield. “They’ve done it!” he gasped. Yet instead of breaking free, the black dragon split in two, as though it had slammed into a wall. It began to mill in circles inside the enemy ranks.

“Why aren’t they falling back?” Hiro placed a hand on the battlements and leaned out, squinting into the rain. Something was wrong, that much he could tell, but the data was muddled. He couldn’t separate the signal from the noise.

I need to get a closer look.

He had no time for doubts. He climbed on top of the battlements and edged up to the brink. Far below, soldiers rushed to and fro across the central courtyard. A fall from this height would kill him instantly. He took a deep breath, steeled himself, stepped out into empty space—and dropped like a stone.

“Hiro?!” Liz shrieked as she saw him fall, but the downpour snatched her voice away before it reached his ears.

I’d never make it in time taking the stairs.

His organs seemed to push up against his ribcage as gravity yanked him down. Halfway through his fall, he called on Excalibur. The Spiritblade’s hilt manifested beneath his foot and he kicked off it. In that way, he propelled himself through the air, leaping from summoned foothold to summoned foothold.

Soldiers poured through the main gate below him, heading for the fray. Liz and the rest were probably hurrying down the tower staircase to ground level at that very moment. He beat them there, leaping over the gate to land on the other side. His arrival sent a wave of astonishment through the imperial soldiers already outside the fortress, but he had neither the time nor the inclination to explain. With his silver sword in one hand, he launched into a sprint. He found his footing in the churned-up mud as surely as if he were running through sunlit grasslands.

Arriving at the battle, Hiro cast his gaze over the enemy hordes, searching for the opening he knew would be there. The ragged hole the Knights of the Royal Black had torn with their attack still remained. He found it and charged in.

“Hah!”

A streak of light laid open the back of a soldier blocking his path. Before the man’s blood had even begun to spray, Hiro had already slain the next and opened the way. The rank and file never even realized what was happening. All they knew was that a silver bolt passed by, and then their heads flew. They perished before they could recognize the light as a glittering sword.

An enemy officer sensed him coming and wheeled around. “Who are you?!” he cried, bringing his sword down in an overhand slice.

“Yah!”

Hiro dodged sideways and stepped in with a horizontal slash. The officer’s sword fell to the ground, its blade sheared clean in two. The man followed it a fraction of a second later, just another corpse in the muck. Uproar spread through the nearby soldiers, but Hiro sped onwards, leaving them behind.

The blessing of the Heavenly Sovereign bestowed inhuman speed, and he used it to its fullest, weaving through the enemy lines like a needle through cloth. At last, Uranos’s gaze caught sight of Aura. A quiet rage flared in Hiro’s eyes to see her lying bleeding in the mud. In his heart, he cried out, and space itself gave answer, splitting apart in front of him to disgorge a gem-encrusted spirit weapon. He grabbed its handle and hurled it without hesitation. Its razor-sharp blade arced through the air, severing the enemy commander’s hand at the wrist. The man reeled back, but before he even registered Hiro’s presence, Hiro closed the remaining distance in an instant. Excalibur flashed as it cleaved through the air.

He came to a stop on the other side of his enemy, the unpleasant sensation of splintering bone lingering in his hands. There was no doubt about it: he had dealt the man a mortal blow.

“So why are you still standing?” he murmured, turning around to face his enemy.

“And who are you, eh?”

The commander glared guardedly at the sudden intruder. Hiro ignored him. His attention was not on the man, but on his neck, which was inexplicably still attached.

Hiro leveled Excalibur at the man. “Once more, perhaps, and I’ll know for sure.”

“Not going to give your name? As you wish, then, but I’ll give you mine. When you’re breathing your last in the blood and the muck, you should know who ended your miserable life.” The commander bared his teeth in a savage grin. “You stand before Reihil Lumer Lichtein, the next duke of Lichtein!”

With his introduction finished, Reihil swung his spirit weapon down. Hiro caught the blow with Excalibur and knocked it back. Sparks burst in the space between them.

“You can...match me?”

Confusion spread across Reihil’s face as Hiro’s strike sent him stumbling backward. He glanced down at his hands, then looked back up at Hiro.

“What is that strange sword you wield? A spirit weapon?”

“I don’t owe you any answers,” Hiro replied. Internally, he marveled at the man’s monstrous strength. It exceeded anything he had expected. He had driven Reihil back, but at the cost of ceding two paces from where he had begun.

Reihil broke into roaring laughter. “Bah ha ha ha! Very well! Keep your silence if it pleases you! Once you’re dead and broken, I’ll have all the time in the world to find out who you were!” With a wild lunge, he closed in on Hiro.

Hiro launched forward, twisting his body into a spin. He dove inside Reihil’s swing and unleashed a tremendous slash with Excalibur—but to his surprise, Reihil stopped his stroke effortlessly. Hiro’s hands rang with the impact.

Delight spread across Reihil’s face. “You’re a nuisance, I’ll give you that. But speed isn’t everything.” His mouth twisted into a grin as he swung his sword with all his strength.

Hiro tried to repel the strike with Excalibur, but the force of it lifted him off his feet. Damn it, he’s gotten stronger!

If there had been any spectators at this deathmatch, they would have expected Hiro to be sent flying, but it was not so. He angled his sword sideways to redirect the force of the blow past him, then sprang backwards, putting some distance between him and Reihil. That bought him a moment to breathe. He looked at his enemy—

“Wha—?!”

—but Reihil had already closed the distance.

“Raaaaaagh!”

Hiro dropped as low as he could go. Only seconds later, a gale swept over his head from right to left. He thrust Excalibur forward, but Reihil kicked the blade up high. With his arm wrenched up, Hiro was left wide open.

“Say your prayers, brat!”

Reihil’s spirit blade screamed like a bolt of lightning as it streaked towards Hiro’s head—and two spirit weapons cut themselves free from thin air to halt it in its tracks.

“What trickery?!”

With their purpose served, the two blades returned to the spirit world, where Excalibur had first stored them one thousand years before. Once more, nothing stood between Hiro and Reihil.

Reihil’s face scrunched up in confusion as he struggled to process what had happened. “What is this sorcery, boy?!”

“Yah!” Hiro owed him no answers. His only reply was a swift thrust with Excalibur.

“What kind of fool do you take me for?!”

The blade only grazed Reihil’s side.

He’s getting faster, Hiro thought. The Reihil of a few seconds prior could not have dodged that strike. Something was strange here. Something was wrong. And how is he healing so quickly?

The man’s missing hand had grown back, and the gash Hiro had just carved in his side had closed in an instant.

A spirit weapon’s blessing shouldn’t be this strong...

Perhaps they had advanced in the thousand years since Hiro was last in this world, but as far as he could remember, no spirit weapon could bestow this kind of power.

Unless...

A memory flashed into his mind, but Reihil interrupted the thought.

“What’s wrong, boy? Thought you’d killed me? Hah!” He rested his sword across his shoulders and pointed a finger at Excalibur. “Whatever that sword is, any fool could tell it’s a spirit weapon or a Noble Blade or some such. Oh, their blessing will make a man strong, no doubt about that, but how strong...well, that depends on the man. So you see...” He paused, then broke into a savage grin. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, brat! Aye, you’ve carved up a few of my soldiers, but what of it? Now that you face a real warrior, I’ll show you as a pretender! That fancy sword’s no better than a stick in the hands of a worm like you!”

As he finished, a grotesque transformation seized him. His back bulged outwards, while his arms swelled to even greater girth. Looking on, Hiro finally put his finger on the mystery of the man’s strength.

“So that’s what you are,” he whispered.

“What was that, boy?”

Hiro brought Excalibur down on the man’s shoulder, shearing his arm from his torso.

“Bah ha ha! Folly!”

Reihil didn’t even seem to feel pain. With a lurid grin splayed across his face, he swung his sword down with crushing force. Hiro caught the blade with his own. He stared at Reihil over their locked crossguards as they struggled against one another.

“What you say is true...but that’s not where your power is coming from.”

“Raaaaaagh!”

Reihil’s foot caught Hiro in the solar plexus, knocking the wind out of him and sending him flying backwards. Agony blasted through his body. He tumbled through the chaos of the battlefield, only stopping when he crashed into the enemy lines. When he slowly rose to his feet, he no longer wore the unfeeling mask of the void, but the face of the boy he was, filled with human empathy.

“I won’t ask you what drove you to poison yourself with magick.”

A cage of spears took form around him as the soldiers realized who had crash-landed in their midst. Hiro looked them over indifferently, as though they were figures in a distant scene.

“But if you really knew how to harness the power of a spirit weapon, you wouldn’t need such measures.”

He swiped his left hand through the air. As he did so, a sword sprouted from the chest of every soldier encircling him. The men fell to the ground, vomiting up their own blood. They died with confusion on their faces, clueless to the last as to what had killed them.

＊

Chaos consumed the battlefield. On the front line, Margrave von Gurinda led the Gurinda reserves in a valiant charge. In the heart of the Lichtein army, Hiro fought with the enemy commander—or perhaps it would be more accurate to say that Hiro unleashed a relentless assault while the enemy commander fended him off.

Space split apart and a spirit weapon emerged. Hiro grasped its hilt and swung, dealing Reihil yet another mortal blow. In the blink of an eye, he shifted to his enemy’s blind spot. Another tear appeared at his fingertips. Again he took the sword in hand and struck, then drove both weapons home into Reihil’s body. He turned the thrust into a leap, clearing Reihil’s head to land behind him, then conjured a third spirit weapon and rammed it through his enemy’s back.

It all took place in an instant. An onlooker would have seen only a silver streak ricocheting through the air, enclosing Reihil in a web of light. Hiro’s strikes tore through his foe’s monstrous body with tempestuous force, soaking the ground with blood.

Reihil roared, writhing in pain. Wounds scored his arms, his legs, his chest, all of them mortal, yet still he stood. A baleful black aura shrouded him, healing his injuries. The spirit weapons lodged in his flesh fell to the ground and disappeared.

From the beginning, Hiro had had his suspicions, but this was proof. He knew this sight. He had seen it before.

“So you’ve fallen, then.”

It was an old term. A reviled term. A word for the profane fate that awaited those foolish enough to take the power of the spirits into their own bodies.

Over a thousand years ago, there had been a king afflicted with an insatiable curiosity. He took to experimenting with spirit stones, crushing them to powder and synthesizing them into a concoction he called a spirit elixir. This he fed to one of his guards, only to be disappointed when it failed to have any effect. Yet later that night, when all were abed, the guard became afflicted by terrible agonies before transforming into a horrifying monstrosity that lived only to slay. The first to fall victim to his bloodlust was a sentry drawn by the noise. The second was the king. Thereafter, the guard fell upon the rest of the castle, devouring all he encountered in an orgy of slaughter.

The nation had never recovered from the massacre. Plunged into disarray, it was soon annexed by one of its neighbors. Hiro remembered its final battle well. He had been there on the field.

“What the hell are you thinking?” he whispered. “The raw power of the spirits, their magick... It’s poison. Once you drink it, there’s no going back.”

Many coveted the blessing of the spirits, and for good reason, but it was not a thing to be consumed. The danger exceeded that of a simple overdose; such power was too great for human flesh to contain, and those who tried would not remain human for long. Even so, Hiro recalled, there had been no shortage of those who took the plunge. Kings imbibed magick as their nations fell, hoping to spit in the eyes of their conquerors. Some even used the stuff to assassinate others in what became known as elixir poisonings. That age had been a dark one indeed.

Yet not all who fell succumbed to madness. A handful withstood the corrosive effects of the bane they had drunk, gaining bodies far mightier than any human while their minds remained intact. They had a name, these fell creations of the spirits’ magick.

The people called them “fiends.”

Even before his transformation, Reihil had been twice Hiro’s size. Now he had swollen to almost six. One glance was enough to tell that he was no longer human, but a monster akin to an ogre or a gigas.

He had failed the test.

As Hiro readied Excalibur, the creature that had been Reihil surged into motion—but not towards him. Instead, it plowed straight into the ducal troops. Screams of terror rose from their lines. The shock wave from one swipe sent five men flying. His enormous foot stomped down on a soldier’s head, splattering brain matter across the ground.

“Where’d this thing come from?!” a man cried.

“There’s a monster on the field! Drive it back!” shouted another.

“Gyaaah!”

“Where’s His Highness?! Has anybody seen him?!”

Confusion spread through the Lichtein ranks. They attacked regardless, but the monstrosity rampaged through their lines like a child throwing a tantrum, sending them to their graves. None of them realized that they were fighting Reihil, though one could hardly blame them. No trace of their commander remained in the creature’s hideous form.

Some let arrows fly from afar. Some planted themselves bravely in their foe’s path. Some turned to run with tears streaming from their eyes. The monster tore them all limb from limb. Men died with horrifying ease, like ants beneath a boot. Then something happened to finally break their spirits: a tongue of fire erupted from somewhere behind the back lines. Cries of dismay rose from the Lichtein ranks.

“Bugger me...”

“There’s nothing there...except—”

“The supplies! They got our supplies!”

“They torched them in a bloody rainstorm?!”

With one glance at the blaze, Hiro knew it was Liz. Only Lævateinn could conjure such an inferno in this downpour.

The fight was as good as over now. The Lichtein forces had lost their commander and their supplies. Their only choices were to retreat or surrender. In the current situation, however, conceding defeat wasn’t an option. If they laid down their weapons now, the fiend that had once been Reihil would mow them down. A high-ranking officer might still have been able to rally them, but Hiro had cut most of them down on his way. The only path left was to run as fast as their legs could carry them.

“Retreat, you fools! I’m getting out of here! I’m not gonna die like this!”

“Not before me, you don’t!”

“Get back here, curse you! I’m coming too!”

Nobody wants to die, much less throw their lives away against hopeless odds. The ducal soldiers turned and ran for their homeland. From the air, they might have resembled a landslide rolling towards the Lichtein border. Hiro did not deign to chase them. He had a more important enemy to face.

He closed his eyes and steadied his breathing. With both hands clasped around Excalibur’s hilt, he looked like the statue of the second emperor in Frieden come to life. His hair danced in the wind as the monster roared. For a long moment, he stared down his foe, and then he burst into motion.

Monsters were not a rarity in Aletia. This world was full of them, in all shapes and sizes. Some were weak, and some were formidable. As a rule, people only engaged the largest in groups. To challenge one alone would be to invite mockery. Anyone would scoff at such a reckless act, trained soldiers more than anyone.

Nobody was scoffing now. Nobody mocked the hero who stood valiantly against this rampaging monstrosity, matching it blow for blow.

Hiro Oguro. Held Rey Schwartz von Grantz. He whom a thousand years ago Aletia had known as Mars. Hero he was named in two tongues, and so he was, a mythical hero whose deeds were the stuff of legend.

Though he had relinquished his place in this otherworld when his conquest was done, now he had returned, a figure straight from the annals of history. In his hand he held a blazing silver sword told of in no legend: Excalibur, the long-lost fifth Spiritblade. Its pommel and crossguard gleamed achingly white, as though dusted with powder snow, and its blade trailed a thousand glimmering stars.

Hiro grunted as a colossal fist sailed past the tip of his nose. The rush of air sent his hair aflutter. He twisted around and lashed out with Excalibur. Blood sprayed from the monster’s arm, but the wound quickly closed.

Suppose there was a creature that no number of mortal wounds could slay. What would human beings do when faced with such a beast? No doubt most would choose to run, but a small handful would stand and fight. Hiro was assuredly the latter. The notion of retreat did not even cross his mind. His face betrayed neither fear nor panic, only rage.

Still not fast enough! Still not strong enough!

He yearned for what had once been his. He was still so far from his former self. To fell this monster, his current efforts would not suffice.

“Hah!”

His anger lent Excalibur weight. His swing sent the monster’s colossal arm sailing through the air. The wound would have been mortal to an ordinary man, but the beast he faced had the spirits’ magick coursing through its veins. Blood splattered across his face, but he didn’t even blink. He only increased his speed.

“Damn it!”

He had a three-year blank to contend with. His skills had surely atrophied during his peaceful convalescence in his home world. Even so, he could not accept that as an excuse. Not when all he had known, all he had cared for, was right where he had left it.

I can’t let them down.

His joints screamed in pain, but he gritted his teeth and bore it. His repeated battles were taking their toll. His body was approaching its limit. Even so, he rained down blow after blow. Again and again, a bolt of silver light plunged into his enemy’s flesh. Time after time, the beast unleashed a howl of pain as its blood spattered the earth.

My comrade-in-arms. My friends. None of my victories would have been possible without you.

He fell to his knees and pounded his fist into the ground.

All of you are long gone now.

Innumerable swords flared into being around the monster that had once been Reihil. As his foe looked around in surprise, Hiro flung Excalibur high, high above its head.

But in the name of the history, the legacy, that you built...I will seize victory once more.

Hiro again closed his eyes and calmed his breath. Seeing him standing there, blind and defenseless, the beast decided he was easy prey. Just one of its blows would spell instant death, and it rained them down by the dozen—yet not a single one found its mark.

“Now...let’s begin.”

When Hiro’s eyes snapped open, they harbored not the cold darkness of the abyss, but a light, simple and pure. The healing rain washed the blood from his skin. Motes of light rose in the air around him, blessing him with their burgeoning shine. The breath of the world was in his eyes, and a smile danced on his lips.

Artheus...I know you’re not here anymore.

Behind his back, a crimson-haired girl looked on with trepidation.

But your will lives on, bridging the future and the past.

It was chance that brought us together. It was fate that pulled us apart.

Yet no matter the distance between us, no matter if we’ll never meet again, nothing can sever the bond we share.

Though I am no longer in your world, and you are no longer in mine.

What kind of life are you leading, I wonder?

A life filled with joy?

A life filled with sorrow?

If I could choose, I’d want you to smile for the rest of your days.

And if you’re wondering the same, wherever you are...

...then hear me now.

Don’t worry about me.

He leveled his gaze at the monstrosity before him.

I’ll be all right.

The power of the spirits flooded into every corner of his being.

I’m having the time of my life.

He braced his foot against the earth...

...and left the realm of sound behind.

The spirit weapons floating around the monster vanished with fearsome speed. One, three, eight, fourteen—all gone, leaving only the swish of parting air to cut through the rain-soaked battlefield. Great slashes gouged the creature’s skin, wearing its flesh away. A cage of white light closed around it, smothering its howls of pain, but even as its cries diminished, the storm of blades only grew in speed and fury. They became a hundred sparks of light, a thousand blazing bonfires, a million newborn stars.

This was the privilege of Excalibur’s chosen. This was the true power of its blessing. Now that Hiro’s heart was free from doubt, the Heavenly Sovereign’s Godspeed revealed its true might.

Divine Lightning—Liegegrazalt.

An onslaught of ferocious slashes tore into his foe’s body at supersonic speed. As the last of his spirit weapons faded away, a blade fell from the heavens, gleaming like beauty wrought in steel. Hiro leaped high to meet it. His hand closed around its hilt.

“Yaaaaaaaaah!”

Excalibur took Reihil in the head and carried on through, burying itself deep in the earth. A thunderous boom shook the air. The ground split, sending a tremor rolling outwards. The monster’s body burst apart as though it had exploded from within. In all directions, chunks of flesh rained down into the mud.

At the epicenter stood Hiro, his chest heaving. He tilted his head back and filled his lungs with air. The rain ceased, and through a cleft in the roiling clouds a shaft of warm light fell upon him, the sun’s benediction upon the hero’s return.

“Hiro!”

Liz came running and flung her arms around him. With all his strength spent, the impact knocked him onto his rear. If he’d had the breath, he would have chided her, but his body was adamant that breathing was to be its priority.

She grabbed both his cheeks and pinched them. “I don’t even know where to start with you...” she began, but then broke off into a sigh of relief. “I’m just glad you’re all right.”

Too exhausted to even speak in his defense, Hiro was left at her mercy. As Liz continued to pull and prod at his cheeks, Cerberus trotted up to him and rubbed her head against his shoulder. Some distance to the side was Aura, staring at him intently as she leaned on a soldier for support. Von Spitz was still unconscious, being treated by the medics. Tris and Margrave von Gurinda approached, curiosity plain on their faces.

“Simply astounding,” the margrave murmured. “To face such a beast alone—and win, no less...” He slapped his cheek, as though to check if he were awake.

Beside him, Tris muttered to himself. “Hmph. Who in the blazes are you, whelp?”

As though on cue, a cheer erupted from the soldiers behind him.

“Bugger me, I’ve never seen a man fight like that. Could you even keep eyes on him?”

“Me? Err...I mean, yeah, ‘course I could!”

“Hah, keep talking. If you were that good, you’d have made officer by now!”

“Hoy, over there... Is that...?”

“C’mon, what are you—? Ah!”

A hush fell over the soldiers. All at once, their excitement cooled. A great thundering of hooves shook the air, pummeling their eardrums. Every man’s heart grew tight in his chest as the sound grew closer. Had it not been for their comrades, they might have turned and run, so formidable was the army that appeared before them.

“It can’t be. The Fourth Legion?!”

＊

Three sel from the site of the battle, concealed beneath the shadow of a great cliff face, an army twenty thousand strong thronged the prairie: the Grantzian Empire’s Fourth Legion. Their commander rode at their head on a white-maned horse, leading them at a gentle pace. His name was Trye Hlín von Loeing, and he was one of only five high generals in the empire. Long had he served his country, and with valor.

General von Loeing cast a glance over his shoulder. An ornate carriage followed behind him, rocking as it trundled over the uneven ground. The personage within was as dear to him as they were to the Grantzian Empire itself.

He turned back around. A rider was approaching from across the plain—one of the scouts he had sent ahead.

“General, sir!” the man cried out. “I have news! Battle has broken out near the border! The Margrave von Gurinda is hard-pressed!”

“So he should be against fifteen thousand men. I don’t know the man’s measure, but I’ll wager he stands little chance. I’m impressed he’s held out thus far.”

It had been decades since conflict had last visited the Gurinda Mark in any form, so von Loeing had no measure by which to gauge the margrave’s abilities. Still the Gurinda Mark’s standing army numbered only three thousand, and many of those men would be preoccupied with keeping the peace. By von Loeing’s estimations, the man could have gathered a thousand swords at best. That he had held off fifteen thousand for this long with so small a force was nothing short of miraculous.

“The Warmaiden is also on the field, sir,” the scout added.

Immediately the situation began to shift into focus. “The Warmaiden, eh? She’s a long way from her post in the west.”

“It seems the enemy commander wounded her grievously, sir. Some say she is alive, others that she is dead. I could not verify her condition in person.”

“She took to the field herself?” Von Loeing snorted. “She’s a child. Her only place on the battlefield is on the back lines with her mouth shut.”

He had credited her with better sense, but it seemed he had misjudged her. Courage was all too easily confused with recklessness, and Mars’s name hung poorly on the latter. Third Prince Brutahl’s whims had bested his good sense when he’d pinned that title on her. Von Loeing glanced back towards the carriage. It was the person within, and no other, who truly deserved the name of the War God.

“Von Loeing.” An imperious voice emanated from within the carriage.

The general slowed his horse to bring his head level with the window. Within the carriage’s dingy interior, reclining among nude female bodies, was the silhouette of a man—First Prince Stovell of the Grantzian Empire, who had last been seen accompanying the emperor on campaign.

Until its defeat at Aura’s hands two years prior, the nation of Faerzen had been one of the continent’s dominant powers. Not a few days earlier, Prince Stovell and his father had razed it to the ground. The prince had foregone a triumphant return to the capital following his victory. Instead, he and his imperial guard had veered south to the Gurinda Mark, bringing with him the princesses of Faerzen as spoils of war. The unfortunate women barely seemed aware of their state of disgrace. The light had left their eyes, perhaps in despair of the future that awaited them, perhaps in response to horrors they had already seen. Once Stovell tired of them, they would likely be sold into slavery. Von Loeing could not suppress a pang of sympathy for them as he answered his prince.

“What would you ask of me, Your Highness?”

“Bring me that scout. I have a question for him.”

“At once, Your Highness.” Von Loeing flashed the scout a meaningful look. The man guided his horse over. With a thrust of his chin, von Loeing urged him closer to the window. The man brought his head closer to the aperture, trepidation in his eyes.

“What of Reihil?” asked the voice from within.

Confusion spread across the scout’s face, but von Loeing knew at once what Prince Stovell meant. “You were ordered to report on Reihil’s condition, were you not?” he whispered into the man’s ear.

The scout’s eyes grew wide with comprehension. “A strange boy engaged him on the field, sir. The last I heard, they were still fighting. The boy is surely no match for a spirit weapon, but—”

“A strange boy, you say?”

“That’s right, sir. I saw it myself. He cut through their lines faster than the eye could follow— Aargh!”

No sooner had the words left the scout’s mouth than the window shattered, showering his face with shards of glass. His screams of pain did not last long. A burly arm emerged from the gap to seize him by the face with an enormous hand.

“Ggggghk!”

The horse galloped from between his legs as he fought for breath. His feet kicked uselessly in the air. With an exasperated sigh, von Loeing seized him by the waist.

“Enough of this foolishness, Your Highness. Release him—”

A sharp crack pierced the air before he could finish. The scout went limp. Inside the carriage, the princesses shrieked. Von Loeing had supposed them to have gone numb, but perhaps the sound had reawakened traumatic memories. He let go of the soldier’s body. The man fell to the dirt, his neck broken, and slowly disappeared into the distance behind them.

“Did he do something to offend you?”

“He offered me a nonsensical report for which I punished him accordingly. Do you disapprove?” The voice from the carriage dripped with murderous rage, enough to make anyone’s blood run cold, but von Loeing only shrugged. He was a hard man to shake.

“I do, but I’ll wager you wouldn’t listen.”

“Then do not trouble me with such questions. Still, this boy he spoke of intrigues me. Faster than the eye could follow, he said?”

“Assuming he saw true, the boy may very well wield one of the Noble Blades. Even armed with our gift of a spirit weapon, Reihil would be hard-pressed to contend with such a thing.”

“Not necessarily. I ensured that he was...otherwise empowered.”

Von Loeing’s brows knotted in thought. “Then the battle hangs in the balance, I suppose.”

When Prince Stovell had first revealed the true depth of his ambitions, von Loeing’s jaw had dropped at their audacity—and yet, at the same time, he had felt compelled to see where this man’s ideals would lead. Even now, thinking back on that moment lit a fire in his breast worthy of a man half his age. He smiled ruefully. “This path you walk invites the Spirit King’s curse.”

“The Spirit King is no longer anything to be feared.” Stovell sounded almost disappointed. Von Loeing did not reply. “None will stop me from becoming what I must,” the prince whispered.

The torrential rain snatched away his words before they reached von Loeing’s ears, but even if the old general had heard, he could not have presumed to offer a reply.

The battle was over by the time General von Loeing arrived on the field. Four people stood before him, the sixth princess among them. All regarded him with open wariness. He could sympathize. No doubt they were burning to press him on the convenient timing of his appearance. Well, no matter what tack they took, he had no intention of giving them a straight answer.

He smoothly dismounted, placed a hand to his chest, and fell to one knee before the sixth princess. “Lady Celia Estrella, I can only apologize for my tardiness,” he said. “I fear the rain delayed our passage.”

As he raised his head, he glanced at the boy she was holding in her arms. To slay a fiend, even only a half-made one, was no mean feat. No one but the princess and her Spiritblade could do it, von Loeing had thought, and even then only with an army at her back. To think that a boy barely her elder had vanquished one alone... He could not deny his astonishment.

He has promise, this one.

Regrettably, he had arrived too late to see the boy fight in person, but the aftermath of the battle alone stoked the flame in his belly. His instincts pushed him to take this child’s measure, to see with his own hands how strong he truly was. He fought the impulse, clenching his fists so hard that blood ran down his knuckles. There would be no enjoyment in fighting a wounded opponent. In the boy’s current state, von Loeing could snuff out his life with one hand.

Such pleasures can wait. I’m not here for sport.

It was at that moment that he noticed the rank bloodlust emanating from the man beside him.

“Well,” Prince Stovell murmured, “this does present a problem.”

The prince looked like a conquering monarch, so imposing a figure did he cut astride his horse. His golden hair stood upright, ringing his head like the prongs of a crown, and his gaze skewered the boy with undisguised malice.

Von Loeing’s jaw clenched. This bodes ill.

“I cannot risk you standing in my way,” Stovell said.

“Your Highness, this is an inopportune—”

Von Loeing got no further. A bolt of lightning sprang from Stovell’s hand. It snaked towards the boy faster than the eye could see—but just before it struck him, it bounced off something invisible and ricocheted away.

A stunned whisper slipped from von Loeing’s mouth. “What in the world?”

Impossible. That was Mjölnir’s own lightning! How did the boy stop a bloody Spiritblade?!

His mind struggled to comprehend what he had just witnessed. The boy had clearly done something, but what? He was utterly at a loss.

“What exactly are you doing?”

The boy’s voice dripped with a cold fury that belied his gentle features. A dread presence swirled around him as he rose slowly to his feet. Unconsciously, von Loeing stepped back—and then froze as he realized what he had just done.

Surely I cannot fear him! A child less than half my years?!

The boy could barely stand, but he still exuded an uncompromising authority that left von Loeing overawed. The general himself had braved countless battlefields in his day, carved his way through carnage more times he could recall. Many years had passed since he had last known the chill of terror. Had he thought himself unrivaled just because of his rank? He had grown lax, and for that he felt shame.

Yet none of that mattered now so much as pacifying his master. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of Stovell’s face. The prince’s mouth was twisted in malevolent glee.

Stovell chuckled. “Aren’t you an intriguing creature? By what art do you defy me, boy?”

“You must restrain yourself, Your Highness,” von Loeing whispered. “His Majesty will surely hear of any further excess.”

Stovell ignored him. The prince thrust out his hand, not towards the boy, but towards the sixth princess.

“Show me your skill.”

The sky pealed. The air thrummed. The heavens disgorged crackling levin, raining down a barrage of dread bolts—and the boy danced.

He struck down the lightning with unimaginable speed, shielding the crimson girl from harm. Yet in his exhausted state, he could not deflect them all. Before von Loeing knew what had happened, the boy’s body was sailing through the air like a scrap of windblown paper.

“Hiro!” Liz was the first to cry out. She ran to where he had crashed to earth. “Stay with me! Oh, this can’t be happening! Why?!”

Stovell dismounted and strode towards her. He carried a great battle-axe in his hand: the Thunder Sovereign, Mjölnir. “Stand aside, Elizabeth,” he commanded.

“No! I won’t! Tell me why you’re doing this!” Tears welled in the corners of her eyes. Flame sheathed Lævateinn’s blade, as though the Spiritblade were giving voice to her anger. Mjölnir surged with lightning as it sensed its nemesis.

“To think the day would come when you would raise a blade against me. Surely you don’t imagine you can defeat me?”

“I don’t care if I can or not! I’m not letting you lay a finger on Hiro!”

The pair was a powder keg waiting for a spark. One wrong move, and they would be at each other’s throats...or rather, Liz would meet a cruel end at Stovell’s hands. That was the only possible outcome. Such was the disparity in their strength.

“I mean only to exterminate this vermin that has wormed its way into my dear sister’s good graces. Is that so wrong?”

“Hiro is not vermin!”

Von Loeing saw the situation slipping towards disaster but could find no way to stop it. If Stovell killed Liz here and now, in front of this many eyes, there would be no way to hide the truth from the emperor, and the man would not take kindly to the loss of Lævateinn’s master. They would find themselves further from the throne than ever. That much Stovell surely knew. He must. And yet...

Does he truly think this boy so great a threat?

“Is he so dear to you?” Stovell sounded irked. “Or is there some other reason you feel compelled to defend him?”

“That’s right. If you harm him, father would never forgive you.”

“And why, pray tell, is that?”

It was a bitter choice she made in that moment. She glanced at the boy lying on the ground, and a deep regret colored her face.

“Because he has the blood of the second emperor.”

All sound seemed to vanish from the world. Every tongue fell silent. Every mouth hung open. Every gaze converged on the boy’s unconscious face.

With that, the die had been cast.

The world had been set in motion, and it was around him that it would turn.

＊＊＊

After Stovell’s lightning knocked him unconscious, Hiro awoke in a strange place. A pure white void stretched away all around him, a world bereft of hue or shade. He had no idea what to make of it. As he frowned in confusion, somebody called out to him from behind his back.

“You have returned to Aletia, then. You must have, if you have found your way here.”

Hiro spun around in surprise. Before him was a young man with hair as golden as his eyes.

“It has been far too long, Held...or so I say to satisfy myself. In truth, I have no way of knowing how much time has passed for you since you returned to your Earth.”

Hiro couldn’t speak, astonished. He could only stare incredulously. In front of him rose a golden throne, encrusted with gems to the point of garishness. The young man sat upon it, his shapely features looking like a painting come to life. Wherever he went, women had doubtless greeted him with shrieks of delight. Even men surely stopped to admire his beauty. He sat atop the throne with slender legs crossed, his natural elegance at odds with its gaudy appearance. Under the gaze of those heroic golden eyes, Hiro finally regained his wits enough to speak.

“Artheus? Is that really you?”

The young man’s mouth curled into a mischievous grin. Hiro was seized by an urge to punch him, but he restrained it. He wasn’t so easily provoked, he told himself. Instead he looked around to distract himself from his anger. Featureless white space extended away in all directions.

He wondered if Artheus would be gone when he looked back, but he was still there, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

“All right. I get it,” Hiro said. “This is a dream.”

That was the only explanation. He was supposed to be on a battlefield outside of Berg Fortress. Most telling of all, Artheus was a thousand years old. In present-day Aletia, he had long since passed away. Was it possible that Hiro was dead too, and this was the afterlife? It would certainly explain Artheus’s presence...

Artheus gave a wry smile as Hiro grew increasingly worried. “I sympathize with your confusion, Held. In your place, I too would be tempted to believe thus. Alas...” He fell silent and pointed at Hiro’s chest. Hiro looked down to see a faint light emanating from beneath his blazer.

“What the...?”

He unbuttoned his uniform and rifled around in his pocket. His hand emerged holding a blank piece of stiff paper about the size of a bookmark—the very same one Artheus had given him a thousand years ago.

“I don’t know how much your dream self knows about this, but...what is it? A spirit seal?”

“Indeed,” Artheus replied. “Of a sort.”

“It doesn’t look like any spirit seal I’ve seen before. And I’ve been through a lot of books.”

“It is a singular piece. One I fashioned from a singular spirit bequeathed to me by the Spirit King. It is understandable that you might not recognize it.”

“Does it have anything to do with those dreams I keep having?” Hiro asked.

“What you converse with now are but lingering echoes I once bound within it. My only memories are those from before you returned to your Earth. All I can say is that your presence here can only mean something has triggered the seal. Something has gone awry...and I am no longer there to address it.”

A flicker of sadness passed across Artheus’s face for a moment, but then it was gone, replaced by boyish curiosity. “So, to what era were you summoned? Were you surprised by what you found?”

“A thousand years in the future. Surprise is certainly one word for it.”

Artheus laughed. “A thousand years! The mind spins to think of it!”

“You’re telling me,” Hiro said. “I still can’t believe it myself.”

“Remarkable. To think the Time of Turning would fall so distant...”

“The Time of Turning? What’s that?”

Artheus ignored him. “Ah, Held, truly interesting times are upon us. Would that I could enjoy them myself. Sadly, my soul is not so free as yours.”

“Hey, don’t talk over me,” Hiro protested. “Can you just tell me what you’re on about? I don’t get any of this.”

“Pay it no mind. You will understand in time.”

“Why are you always like this?”

“I fear it’s in my nature. In any case, there is but one direction I may give you. ‘Live life as you please.’ Only that.” Artheus rose from his throne and gazed up into space, throwing his arms wide as if to embrace the white void. “The world is vast, Held, and new possibilities spring eternal! May you walk a path of your own choosing! May you ever chase new horizons! May you live free and hunger for all that is!”

He strode up to Hiro and pressed a fist against his chest.

“No brother of mine could do less. You struggle to see your own worth, Held. That always was a failing of yours. Well, I tell you now: it is in you to surpass all kings in power, and in grandeur, and in might. Such possibilities, I cast at your feet. You need only stoop to claim them.”

With a grin, he clapped Hiro on both shoulders.

“I will be watching, brother. The path you walk. The future you forge.”

With his piece apparently said, Artheus resettled himself imperiously on his throne. He raised his right hand towards Hiro, palm extended.

“Now, the time has come for you to awaken.”

“What, already? You give me a lecture and then just say goodbye?”

“Rather vexing, is it not, to be treated so?” A smile played across Artheus’s lips.

Hiro could only shrug. There was nothing much he could say to that. Artheus had hit the nail on the head. A thousand years ago, when Hiro had abruptly decided to return to Earth, Artheus’s pleas had fallen on deaf ears. Hiro had never even given him a reason for leaving. He had no right to chastise him now.

He still had countless questions, but now that Artheus was acting affronted, he was unlikely to get any straight answers. Knowing that, he asked the simplest and most honest question, the one that was foremost in his mind.

“Is this goodbye for real, then?”

“One might argue it was never a true reunion. After all, I am nothing more than the ghost of a memory.”

Hiro fell silent for a moment. “Yeah. I guess you are.”

“Indeed, I doubt we will ever meet again. Yet before you go—” Artheus stopped, then sighed. “Time is upon us, I fear.”

He pointed to what passed for the sky. Hiro’s gaze followed his finger. Above them, a black shadow had appeared in the void. Its dark stain was spreading through their featureless world with increasing speed.

Arthur turned back to Hiro with the barest hint of a smile. “...you will...the truth...not tread falsely...your will...this, I believe...”

His voice was hard to make out. It was breaking up. The darkness accelerated, swallowing Hiro’s vision. Artheus’s figure dissolved like morning mist.

Goodbye, brother. For the last time.

When next he opened his eyes, it was to the sight of an unfamiliar ceiling. The sterile smell of medicine pricked at his nostrils as his mind stirred awake. A soft warmth enveloped his body. He reluctantly forced himself to sit upright. Looking around, he found that color had returned to the world. Shelves of tinctures and tonics lined the walls, lent a silver sheen by the moonlight filtering through the window. He must have been in some kind of infirmary.

Glad to have a better grasp of the situation, he looked down to find Liz sleeping peacefully by his bedside. He smiled fondly and draped his blanket over her shoulders.

And so I wake from my dream, he thought idly.

He made to stand up, but the moment he set his feet on the floor, the world wobbled crazily. The room spun around him as though he were rolling his eyes. His back struck the floor with a loud thump.

“Agh!” he cried. The breath blasted out of his lungs. As he lay there groaning, something hot rose up his throat. He clapped his hands to his mouth, but to no avail. Vomit sprayed across the floor. Hiro’s face grew pale, and he began to hyperventilate.

My eye... Something’s wrong. Why...?

A vast flood of information surged into his brain through his left eye. He tried to stop it, but it wouldn’t listen. It was taking in everything in sight, and his brain was buckling under the weight. The sight persisted even with his eyelids closed. This had never happened before. It was deeply unsettling not to know what was happening to his own body.

“Hiro?!” Liz’s eyes flew open as she took notice of his distress. She ran to his side and started rubbing his back. “Just hold on! Somebody, help!”

Tris, who had been standing guard outside, was the first to arrive. “What’s the matter, Your Highness?!” he asked. His eyes flicked first to Liz, then to Hiro. Seeing immediately that something was wrong, he ran back out into the corridor. “I will fetch the doctor!”

“Thank you!” Liz called after him. “Bring him quick!”

Vomit splattered her clothes, but she paid it no mind as she laid Hiro’s head to rest on her knees. She produced a cloth and gently wiped his mouth.

“Everything will be all right. Just settle down, take some deep breaths...”

Hiro’s vomiting slowed to a dribble. As likely as not, he had thrown up everything in his stomach.

“Say, Hiro. Can I tell you something?”

She whispered to him in motherly tones, hoping to distract him. It seemed to work—he responded to her voice—but as his head shifted to look up at her, she saw that the pupil of his left eye was unnaturally dilated and its sclera was red with blood. She almost screamed but clapped her hands over her mouth just in time. It felt as if he were staring into her very soul. A shiver ran up her spine, but she resisted it. This was no time to be squeamish. She had to do what she could to relieve his suffering.

“You know,” she said, forcing a smile, “I can’t tell you how much you surprised me when I first saw you.”

Their meeting in the Anfang Forest flashed through her mind. She had returned from her bath to find Cerberus locked in a standoff with a boy about her age. A strange boy with black hair and black eyes, just like...

“You were just how I’d always imagined the second emperor would look.”

Of all the emperors in the empire’s long history, only the second had no surviving portraits. His appearance was a mystery. One could only imagine his visage from what was written in legend. Even his statue in Frieden was constructed based on written accounts rather than the man himself.

“Did I ever tell you? Emperor Schwartz... He’s my inspiration.”

Even at a young age, Liz had preferred swords to dolls. Everything a man could do, she was determined to do better. It was not nursery rhymes she begged her mother to read before bed, but tales of the Twelve Divines. In the military nation of the Grantzian Empire, the second emperor had commanded astounding popularity among the people for centuries; for a young girl with military aspirations, he made for a natural exemplar.

“I trained my hardest every day. No matter how much they told me it wasn’t ‘appropriate.’ No matter how much they looked down on me for being a girl.”

At first she had dreamed of being a soldier, then a general, then a high general. As she grew, so did her ambitions. Those around her laughed her off, never believing her efforts would amount to anything—until Lævateinn blessed her with its favor, and all of a sudden her fortune turned.

The first to approach her had been the head of one of the empire’s five great houses, House Kelheit. With his influence over the eastern territories, his endorsement encouraged many lesser nobles to follow suit. Liz’s rise grew so meteoric that it threatened the other imperial heirs until the assassination of the head of House Kelheit brought it all crashing down around her ears. Before she knew what had happened, all of her supporters had deserted her but Tris and Dios.

“That was when the news came about my reassignment. I needed to clear my head, so I went to the spring in the Anfang Forest, and...”

And there she had found him. The mirror image of the second emperor she so admired.

With a gentle smile, she laid a hand against Hiro’s cheek. His breathing was still pained, but it seemed less ragged than before. His eyes softened a little as he looked up at her.

“You know, Hiro...I have a dream.”

At that moment, footsteps thundered down the corridor. Voices rang outside the door.

“Can you go no faster?! The whelp’s life hangs in the balance!”

“Don’t you rush me, young man! I’m not as spry as I used to be!”

“I’ll carry you if I must!”

“What are you—? Eaagh!”

Liz smiled awkwardly, then leaned close to Hiro’s ear so her whisper would not be lost. Perhaps he already knew what she would say. Certainly, no surprise showed on his face.

It was a daring dream she dreamed, to say the least. She had chosen for herself no easy road.

The light of the moon fell upon her face as she drew away, suffusing her beauty with its silver glow.