Shinwa Densetsu no Eiyuu no Isekaitan - Volume 10 - Chapter 1.2

“Where could she be? It’s almost dinnertime...”

Her sister’s white-furred wolf flashed through her mind. In the islands to the east of Soleil, such animals were revered as divine beasts, noble creatures kept only by those of royal blood. Liz had been very young when she first met Cerberus; she had found the wolf washed up on the seashore while visiting Baum with the emperor and taken her in. It was as if Cerberus had come to save her in her time of need. The shock of losing her mother had rendered her numb, but she had diligently nursed the wounded wolf back to health, and after watching her run around happily for the first time, she had finally smiled again.

From that day forth, the pair had been as close as sisters. It was rare for them to leave each other’s side. The fighting in Faerzen was bound to be grueling, however, so Liz had left Cerberus in Rosa’s care. Rosa still recalled how despondent the wolf had looked as she watched Liz go.

“Don’t tell me she’s gone after her...” Rose mused under her breath. She shook her head. Liz had told Cerberus very firmly that she was to stay, and the wolf would not break a promise. She was a clever beast, capable of understanding human language, sensing human emotions, and acting on her own initiative. Then again, those were precisely the qualities that might lead her to seek Liz out.

“No, it couldn’t be. Even Cerberus couldn’t follow her scent now.”

Three months had passed since Liz had left the empire. Cerberus might have been clever, but she wasn’t intelligent enough to remember a map. Or was she? For all Rosa knew, she really might have been as clever as a human. White wolves weren’t native to Soleil, after all. Who knew what they were capable of?

“If she hasn’t gone after Liz...then where is she?”

Rosa racked her brains, but with no flash of inspiration forthcoming, all she could do was wander aimlessly around the mansion. Cooking some meat in the courtyard might flush the wolf out, but if she wasn’t coming to her name, she was likely no longer in earshot.

“Perhaps I should send out a search party...”

The odds of finding her that way were small, but it was better than doing nothing. Aside from anything else, Rosa dreaded to imagine what would happen if Liz returned to find her companion missing.

“Although there’s not much chance of that happening anytime soon.”

The empire’s plans would not be easy to see through. She was unlikely to reunite with Liz until the next year, if not the year after that. The future was like a night sky shrouded in clouds. Its impenetrability made it terrifying, tempting the mind to imagine the worst. Even now, Liz and her camp were striving to stop their fears from coming to pass.

“But if all goes well, once she returns, she’ll be the empress.”

The groundwork was already being laid—a great era of peace to stabilize the nation. An empire could not exist without its people, but neither could it exist without its emperor, and Greiheit’s death could only remain hidden for so long.

“So we must take Faerzen and what lies beyond. Then nobody will be able to object to her rise.”

It was only a matter of time now. The empire’s thousand years of sins would soon come home to roost, and a revolution would envelop the world. Nobody would be exempt. Nobody could fight fate. Weep, wail, rage, or laugh, their end would be the same.

“As to how this all ends, only the gods know...”

Schemes did not always play out as one hoped. This tangle encompassed tens, thousands, hundreds of thousands of people’s desires. There was no way to truly know on whom victory would smile.

“Or,” Rosa murmured, “perhaps it’ll be the devil smiling in the end.”

＊＊＊＊＊

Friedhof, the great wall across the north of the empire, first figured in history five hundred years prior to the present day. According to the records of the time, the northern territories had been suffering from unrest caused by a surge in monster activity, and the local noble assembled task forces to cull the offending creatures. A few months into the expedition, several task forces fell out of contact. The noble thought little of it, reasoning they must have been attacked by bandits or wiped out by the very monsters they were hunting, and sent in more experienced men. However, those units soon fell silent too.

Around the same time, strange rumors took to the streets. People were vanishing by night from towns and villages. Petitioners came before the noble, asking for something to be done. With so many troops tied up in the monster cullings, however, they received only noncommittal answers.

Eventually, the noble mustered his forces and embarked upon a grand campaign of extermination, aiming to eradicate the monsters once and for all. It met with moderate results. Still, the unrest remained—if anything, the peace seemed to worsen by the day. As he dithered over what to do, worse news reached him: whole towns and villages were going missing, simply vanishing overnight. Such tidings were unprecedented, and realizing he was out of his depth, he braced himself for a reprimand and sought help from the capital.

The twenty-second emperor recognized the severity of the situation and made for the north with twenty thousand men. He arrived to find ruined towns, empty villages, rampant plunder and destruction, and a universal breakdown in order. Worse yet waited at the lord’s stronghold. Bodies littered the streets, humanoid monsters raked through the corpses, and the handful of survivors wandered in a dead-eyed daze. There was nobody sane left alive, only crazed madmen who attacked on sight. Fearing the spread of disease, the emperor hardened his heart and put the city to the torch.

While investigating the cause of the disaster, the emperor came to a troubling discovery: the monsters he had seen feasting on corpses had originally been humans—indeed, the very commonfolk who had disappeared. They had acted as though possessed, compelled by some mysterious transformation to cast aside their pride and dignity. As such, the emperor christened them archons—corpse-eaters.

Once it became clear that the creatures were not monsters but imperial citizens, voices arose to criticize the emperor’s decision. Powerful nobles used the chaos to further their own designs. Seeing this, the emperor sought aid from outside the empire—namely, from Baum and its ruler, the third archpriestess. After receiving a revelation from the Spirit King and quelling his nobles’ discontent, he made his way north again, this time at the head of more than two hundred thousand soldiers.

Over the course of the purge, the emperor discovered who led the archons. They were commanded by creatures with bodies covered in curious marks, later dubbed yaldabaoth, or “branded.” The battle was a brutal one. The yaldabaoth possessed strength far in excess of mortal men, while the archons felt no pain from the most grievous of wounds, and although they numbered fewer than twenty thousand, they made a formidable fighting force. Even the emperor’s enormous army was hard-pressed.

As casualties passed thirty thousand, the emperor summoned the third archpriestess to the north. It was then that the tide turned. With the archpriestess’s assistance, he called upon the Spirit King’s strength and the spirits’ powers to drive the archons and yaldabaoth back to the western fringes of the northern territories. Seeing that he could not eradicate them entirely, he and the Spirit King raised a great wall with a sacrifice of spirits. The Spirit Wall of Friedhof stood as a dividing line from that day onward, separating the human territories in the east from the devils’ den in the west—a hostile land known as the Sanctuarium from which it was said none returned alive. Pelted by blizzards all year round, the region was likened by many to hell.

“Now that’s what I call heavy security,” the man said. “You’d need a bloody army to get through that.”

He stood out of reach of the sun beneath a sky shrouded in white, his brown skin hidden beneath heavy winter clothing and his scarred face shrouded by a hood. His manner was as rough as his speech, and his eyes darted about furtively as he crouched behind cover. Named Muninn, he was one of the most trusted servants of Surtr, the king of Baum.

As he heaved a tense sigh, a small flame struck up next to him. He turned. “Could you lay off the pipe, old man?”

His words were met with a grin from the figure beside him, a man in the early onset of old age. “Bah! They’ll never see it. It’s howling a blizzard out here. Any man who could spot pipe smoke through that could give a hawk a run for its money.”

“Aye, but it stinks. Anyone with a good nose’ll sniff us out in no time.” Muninn peeked out from his cover once more and looked around before squatting back down again. He was of half a mind to smack the man’s pipe out of his hand, but he managed to restrain himself. “Bugger me... I picked the wrong help.”

It hadn’t been easy to find someone willing to help him infiltrate Friedhof. This old man, a carriage driver, had been the only person willing to lend his help...in exchange for a healthy sum, of course, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. He had stowed away among the man’s cargo and successfully sneaked inside.

The first thing that had struck him was the height and length of the wall. It stood twenty-five rue—three hundred and seventy-five meters—tall and ran for two hundred and fifty sel—seven hundred and fifty kilometers—from end to end. One could not see one end from the other. Muninn had been able to tell at a glance that it was not a natural construction, but nor could such a thick wall of ice have been built by human hands. That would have been next to impossible with modern technology, let alone with whatever was available five hundred years ago. Still, its existence was undeniable. It reigned over the north with such majesty that it made one believe the legends might be true. Its presence was a constant reminder to the empire of the Spirit King’s power and holiness, and to the rest of Soleil of the magnificence of the Twelve Divines.

Carved out from the very heart of the wall was an imperial fort. Muninn had heard the rumors, but a picture was truly worth a thousand words. His mouth fell agape as he looked out from the cover of his crate—even if his companion’s utter lack of concern was somewhat ruining the mood.

“I appreciate the help, old man, but if you weren’t my ticket in, I’d pop you one.”

The old man cackled. “No, you wouldn’t. You’re a good lad at heart.”

“That so, aye? Well, you did come through for me in a scrape. Here’s the rest.” Muninn tossed the man a pouch full of coin and grinned. “Go buy all the ale you want, or maybe some leaf for that pipe.”

The old man stared at the pouch with more than a little surprise. “That’s more’n we agreed.”

“Call it a bonus for stickin’ your neck out. You get me into a place like Friedhof, you’ve earned a little extra.”

“Aye, s’pose I did. Well, I won’t say no to more coin.” The man stowed the pouch away with unmistakable delight and looked back to Muninn, his brows knitting. “So what’s your plan from here, son?”

Muninn frowned. He could hardly divulge the details of an important mission to someone he had only just met. Aside from anything else, it would make the old man complicit. Nor could he afford to linger for much longer; there was no telling when a guard might come by on their rounds. He wanted to get moving as soon as he could. Still, the question lingered oddly in his ears.

After a long moment of thought, he lowered his gaze to the ground, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. “I can’t say much. You know how it is. I’m just gonna look around a little, then I’ll be on my way. I don’t want to get you in trouble. You’d be best off heading on home and forgetting you ever saw me.”

He rose to his feet, but the old man stopped him. “You seem like a good sort, lad, so here’s a word to the wise. Don’t let von Heimdall catch wind of you or you’ll regret it.”

The security of Friedhof was maintained by House Heimdall, one of the three most powerful houses in the north, and its head, High General Hermes von Heimdall. Any citizen of the empire knew his name. Muninn had never met the man or even seen him, but there was no question that his strength was formidable. Weak men did not climb to a rank that high. If things somehow came to blows, Muninn doubted he would stand a chance. That was not his mission, however. He was not here to make war, only to conduct reconnaissance. He might not have been able to defeat a high general, but he was confident he could run from one. If it came to it...

“Old age is a terrible thing, you know.” The old man interrupted his thoughts. “Gets the better of the mightiest warrior. A decade or two ago, the five high generals might have matched the stories, but not anymore.” He stroked his beard with a rueful sigh. “They’ve clung to their posts for too long, I reckon. Should’ve let younger blood in years ago. Word came the other day that old Stoutarm von Cain fell in Faerzen. That proves the point as good as any, I s’pose.”

Three high generals had fallen in as many years: von Hass, the Warden of the West; von Loeing, the Warden of the Capital, and von Cain, the Warden of the South. The impact of losing such revered figures in quick succession would be profound.

“Stoutarm von Cain is dead?” Muninn was so surprised that he couldn’t help but ask.

The old man cackled. “Well, he was a much younger man when he earned that name. Even in the empire, folks were starting to doubt if he still had it in him.”

Certainly, other nations were beginning to question whether the high generals were truly to be feared. The role was now referred to mockingly as an “honorary position” outside imperial borders. Apparently, von Cain had begun to attract the same criticism from the empire’s own citizens, who believed he was embarrassing his office.

“Now there’s only two left,” the man continued. “The mongrel of the north and the she-bitch of the east.”

He did not hesitate to speak of either with contempt. Muninn cocked his head. “You got a bone to pick with them, old man?”

It certainly didn’t sound like he had a high opinion of the high generals. Perhaps that was why he had agreed to offer his assistance in the first place.

“Me? No. Just sayin’ what I see, that’s all.” The old man puffed on his pipe, looking faintly frustrated.

Muninn sensed that his question had been deflected, but he found himself intrigued. He squatted back down. “The mad dog of the north and the she-wolf of the east,” he said, using their proper monikers. “So have you seen ’em, then? For real, I mean?”

The old man stroked his beard, thinking. “The mongrel I know well enough, aye. I’m from the north, after all. As for the she-bitch, all I know’s what I’ve heard.”

“Huh...” Muninn couldn’t conceal his disappointment. The Warden of the East was notoriously reclusive, and little was known about her. He had continued the conversation in hopes of returning to Baum with something Hiro could use, but it seemed he had wasted his time.

“I can tell you this, though. She won the rank in a duel. Something like that happens, even the north hears about it.”

The so-called she-wolf had come from nowhere several years ago to defeat one of the standing high generals with raw might. In recognition of her strength, then-Emperor Greiheit had granted her the defeated general’s position. She had immediately retreated from the public eye again, flatly ignoring any imperial summons, but had somehow never been stripped of her rank, which she still retained. Theories abounded as to why, the most prominent claiming she had kept her predecessor on hand as an advisor and sent him to fulfill her obligations in her stead, but as for whether that would be enough to excuse her...

Muninn cut off his train of thought with a slap to the cheek. This was no time to be getting distracted. He was supposed to investigate the state of affairs at Friedhof.

“Sorry, old man, but I’d best be getting on. Any more chatter and I’ll freeze my toes off. Get home safe, will you?” He raised a hand in farewell. A freezing gust caught him, and he stiffened for a moment but forced himself to his feet.

The old man took a drag of his pipe and sighed regretfully. “That so? Well, I s’pose you’ve forced my hand, lad. Can’t let you go like this, see.”

“Hm?” Muninn turned around in surprise. The old man had gotten to his feet and was standing atop his crate. A shiver ran down Muninn’s spine to see that he now radiated strength.

“‘Old man’ you keep calling me. I’ve seen my share of years, it’s true...but I reckon you could stand to show me a little more respect.”

His affable manner from earlier was nowhere to be seen. Muninn gulped. The man’s gaze was so powerful, it felt like if he averted his eyes for the slightest moment, his head would roll.

“And you could start by calling me Hermes von Heimdall.”

This was unmistakably a warrior. The distinctive aura of a seasoned combatant emanated from him, hot enough to melt the surrounding snow. Before, he had seemed as thin and brittle as a twig, but now, he stood as strong and full of life as a grand old oak.

“Why don’t we talk a little more over a round of drinks? As luck would have it, I’ve just come into some coin.” Hermes rested a hand on the pommel of his sword, his grin broadening. “You wouldn’t turn an old man down, would you?”

Sweat dripped from Muninn’s brow. Clearly, he didn’t have a choice. He smiled ruefully. “Knew I shouldn’t have stayed to chat.”

＊＊＊＊＊

The stronghold of House Brommel, one of the three most powerful houses in the north, was located in Logue, a large city one hundred sel to the east of Riesenriller. A scant few years prior, its prosperity had been the envy of Soleil. Now, however, with the recent strengthening of Lebering, the fragmentation of House Scharm’s support base, the decline of confidence in Second Prince Selene, and the sixth princess’s resulting rise in favor, the entire north’s economy was flagging. Logue had been affected just as surely as anywhere else, and its merchants’ feet dragged as though they were wading through deep water.

In the center of the city rose Castle Himinbjörg. Logue was built on inhospitable land ravaged by endless blizzards, but it had still managed to become one of the largest cities in the region, and this was why. It was an important strategic location, the watchtower that held Lebering in check.

The local lord was the head of House Brommel, a man named Typhos von Brommel. The day found him not in his chambers but on the snow-blown balcony, watching the blizzard impassively with goblet in hand. He had been standing for so long that his mead had frozen over and was beginning to accumulate a dusting of snow, but he did not seem to mind the cold. His eyes were fixed on something in the distance.

“My lord,” came a voice from behind him. Footsteps crunched and fabric rustled. A knee pressed into the snow.

He showed no great surprise. With a shake of his head as if to wake himself up, he pitched his goblet over the balcony. The cold metal tore a layer of skin from his palm. “Ladon. What news?”

“The Iron Monarch of the northern continent has been slain, my lord. His head will be delivered to you forthwith.”

“Oh?” Typhos arched an eyebrow. “That did not take long.”

“He has grown weak over the past thousand years, it seems. Keeping the mountain’s rage in check took a heavy toll.”

“That was his folly. The defeated cannot choose where they dwell.”

The dwarven homeland of the northern continent was home to a great many active volcanoes. Eruptions were a daily occurrence, turning the land into an uninhabitable waste blighted by pyroclastic flow. Mount Vyse, at the center of the continent, was the only exception, and the dwarves had built a great city there after the humans drove them from Soleil. For a thousand years, they had spurned contact with other races, developing a singular culture as they built a paradise for themselves. But their utopia could only last as long as the Iron Monarch held back the eruption of the mountain.

“So too are my dear children confined to Ambition, where they spend their days consumed by war, their grand dream forgotten.”

One thousand years ago, the humans had prevailed over the zlosta and won dominion of Soleil, but their expansion had proven a threat to the other peoples. The third emperor’s reign had perhaps been the bloodiest. He had shown no mercy to his own compatriots, let alone other races.

“The man inherited his father’s worst traits and none of his strength of heart.”

The third emperor had embarked upon a campaign of relentless expansion upon taking the throne. Unprepared to fend off the rampaging lion, the empire’s neighbors had fallen one by one. Naturally, there had been resistance within the empire—the descendants of Mars’s Black Hand had opposed the man’s warmongering, but they could not contend with an emperor’s authority and quickly found themselves outmatched. Those who survived had fled west in search of a new place to call home, but dogged pursuit had pushed them to the very edge of the continent.

If the third emperor had been cruel to his fellow humans, the other peoples suffered worse. After losing in battle, they had fled Soleil entirely. All that remained for them there were the same centuries of oppression that Lebering had endured.

“How obligingly he danced to our tune,” Typhos said. “Imagine my disappointment when I learned he took his own life out of guilt. His father would have been far more shameless.”

“The human heart is frail, my lord. It is all too easily swayed by honeyed words and just as easily shattered.”

“Frail indeed, but not weak. Humans have been persistent in every age. Many trials have threatened them, but ever do they endure.”

The snowstorm blew stronger, chilling the castle and effortlessly extinguishing its bonfires. A warm hearth counted for little in the face of such extreme cold. Even so, humans made their home here, striving against all good sense to adapt to its inhospitable climes. The night would pass, the dawn would come, and they would greet one another with smiles on their faces, the blizzard little more than a distant memory.

“Therein lies my fear. They threaten to undermine all we have built.”

One boy’s impossible growth had foiled him one thousand years ago, and the knowledge that humans were capable of such miracles cast a shadow of dread over his heart.

“To hold the heavens within my grasp, only to be undone by my own poor judgment... Never have I known such regret. Who would have thought that a young boy could so defy our expectations?”

One bite of the forbidden fruit had rewritten an immortal history penned in the gods’ own hand. The common had become unique, the ordinary extraordinary, the mediocre exceptional, and the mortal divinity manifest.

“On that day,” Typhos said, “I learned there was no limit to human greed.”

“And so you chose to hide, my lord. To endure.”

They had made scrupulous preparations in order to ensure their mistake was not repeated, striving to undermine the empire from the shadows. Typhos walked up to the edge of the balcony and reached out into empty space. The blizzard obscured the outside world, but he knew what lay beyond: the city that had reigned victorious for a thousand years, the imperial capital of Cladius.

“A thousand years of planning will soon bear fruit.”

Venezyne, living witness to the height of human glory, would burn. The perfect city, laid brick by brick over long centuries, would crumble in an instant. The smug smiles of the humans who so arrogantly believed themselves rulers of Soleil would twist in despair. Awe would turn to terrible glee, and passions would run wild. Chaos would fall, and the world would once more overflow with corpses.

“Nothing shall be left to chance, my lord,” Ladon said. “Bebensleif has already been delivered to its new wielder.”

“And how fares Hydra?”

“A little more agitated than is appropriate, perhaps, but otherwise well. Still, given that he draws his strength from vengeance, I worry that he may not be able to restrain himself once he sights his foe.”

“I realize you have only just arrived, but I would ask that you return to him. Lend him your strength.”

“As you command, my lord.”

Typhos spread his arms wide, letting the freezing wind blow over him, and closed his eyes as if listening intently. “The soldiers of the empire forge deeper into the west. The south, too, shall soon fall to turmoil. Send the signal to my children beyond the wall. They are to begin.”

“Of course, my lord. May the world descend into chaos so that a new age might be born.”

“Lay before me the heads of all the world’s kings, and the empire of von Grantz shall soon fall.”

He opened his eyes. The sky was unchanged, a raging expanse of white. Nonetheless, he reached out, believing beyond question that what he sought lay beyond.

“The sun shall rise in the dark of night, and the world shall meet its end.”

＊＊＊＊＊

San Dinalle, the new capital of Faerzen

The night was growing late. The moon peeked through the gaps in the clouds, showering the land in faint silver light. A poor excuse for grassland unfurled across the barren earth. Wild birds roosted in trees hardly the height of a man’s waist, insects screeched in the undergrowth, and beasts stalked their prey with eyes agleam.

The night wore on, minute by minute and hour by hour, carrying with it small whispers of change. Quiet nights were the norm in this place, but this one was marked by an uncharacteristic tension. Something strange had sneaked in amid the usual: an encampment full of tents laid out in regular rows. Banners adorned with lion devices fluttered on the wind. The wavering light of countless bonfires turned the night to day. Boots crunched harshly as guards patrolled with wary eyes, their figures casting long shadows in the firelight.

Among the imperial tents was an even stranger sight: a patch of curious quiet where the night seemed to bleed back in. A handful of sentries, clad in pitch-black armor, kept watch there, but there were no guard patrols to speak of. Only one tent had significant security: that of Surtr, the king of Baum. The banner outside depicted a dragon on a black field clutching a silver sword.

Hiro reclined within. Before him, a woman in light armor was apologizing profusely.

“Forgive me, Your Lordship!” she cried, throwing her forehead to the floor. “It’s all my fault! I went and got myself caught, and now...now you have to work with Anguis!”

The woman’s name was Huginn. One of Hiro’s most trusted lieutenants, she had fallen into the clutches of Queen Lucia of Anguis around a month prior. Fortunately, Hiro had managed to retrieve her safe and sound, but she had remained unconscious for a long time afterward. Whether that was because of exhaustion or some strange power of Lucia’s, it was hard to say, but as soon as she awoke, she had come to make a tearful apology.

He looked down at her as she pressed her head to the ground. “There’s nothing to be sorry for,” he said, resettling himself in his chair with a rueful smile before reaching for the goblet on a nearby table. “I was just thinking I could use an informant.”

He looked around for his carafe of water, but the one-armed woman at his shoulder already had it in hand. She began to fill his goblet. He raised a hand in thanks, but she only glared back.

Luka Mammon du Vulpes was a former commander of Six Kingdoms, and she held a grudge against Hiro for killing her brother in battle. There was not a second of the day when she wasn’t looking for an opportunity to take his head. Her terseness had mellowed a little in recent months, but she was still liable to lash out whenever he let his guard down, leaving him obliged to watch his back at all times. In short, there was nothing to be gained from responding.

He took a sip from his goblet and turned back to Huginn. “I will say, though, I never expected that informant to be a queen.”

The woman pressed herself even lower—she seemed to have taken his humor as sharper than he meant.

He shrugged, smiling helplessly. “Don’t beat yourself up. It all worked out for the best. We have a friend in a high place now, and it’s all because of you. If anything, I owe you.”

There was no point talking about might-have-beens. Should have, could have, would have—none of it would yield anything useful. The more important question now was how to recognize her accomplishment.

“You deserve a reward. What would you like?”

“It’s reward enough just to make myself useful, Your Lordship. I don’t want—”

She shut her mouth, cutting herself off. Evidently, she had remembered what he had once told her: most people only tried when they stood to gain. Someone like Huginn, who served out of loyalty, was satisfied with her current lot, and had no ambitions to advance her station, might not need a reward for risking her life, but the soldiers needed to see her receive one or morale would fall. It would affect their opinion of Hiro too. A king was measured by how he treated those beneath him. If he was seen to value effort, his troops would be incentivized to follow Huginn’s example.

“I... I’ll take a new mission, then.”

“No. Choose something else.”

Huginn looked up, caught off guard by the refusal. There was a hint of pleading in her eyes.

Hiro sighed heavily. “To put your mind at ease, I’m not punishing you for poor performance. I just want you to rest and recover. You spent a long time in captivity. I can’t send you straight back into action.”

Technically, she had gotten plenty of rest during her monthlong period of unconsciousness, but her strength had atrophied during that time. If she wasn’t allowed to recuperate, she wouldn’t be able to perform as she had in the past.

“Your Lordship—”

“I understand your concerns, but you’re in no fit state to be out in the field. You’re desperate to prove yourself, and the smallest mistake could cost you your life.” He fixed her with a piercing gaze, compassionate yet reproachful. “There are hard times ahead. I’ll need you soon enough, and when I do, I’ll call for you. But until then, I want you here with the rest of the Crow Legion.”

She looked like she wanted to argue, but she would have to swallow her complaints. Luka’s stability hinged on her safety. If she didn’t comply, she would risk damaging the Crow Legion’s effectiveness as a fighting force.

“Is that understood?” Hiro’s tone made it clear that he would not take no for an answer.

Huginn’s shoulders slumped in undisguised disappointment. “Yes, Your Lordship.”

“All right. I’ll send your reward once I think of something suitable.”

She gave a small nod. Luka had been watching the proceedings in silence, but at that point, she approached Huginn and patted her gently on the shoulder.

“Hateful he may be,” she said with a smile, “but there is sense in what he says. You need to rest.”

“I know that, Miss Luka, but—”

“I will take care of you for the time being, but you must not leave my sight. You do not object, I trust? When your messages stopped coming, I almost died of worry.”

“Erm...Miss Luka?”

“Oh, Igel, how I feared for you. All those sleepless nights... Why, if anything were to happen to you, I could hardly go on living...”

“I-I know I’ve said this before, Miss Luka, but I’m not—”

Huginn looked uncomfortable as Luka’s arms slipped around her neck, but Luka was undeterred as she nuzzled her with a cheek. “Oh, but you are. Those defiant eyes, that coarse tongue, those slender limbs, that dark-hued skin... Who else could you be but Igel? And you are just as rewarding to tease. Yes, you are Huginn, but you are Igel too. Igel reborn. Igel returned to me. That is the truth, is it not? Tell me, is it not?”

“Erm...I don’t really think...”

“I am right, am I not? You are Igel, Igel, Igel, my Igel.”

“Miss Luka, I...I don’t know how to say this, but...I’ve already got an older brother. His name’s Muninn—”

“You have no brother!” Luka’s face was suddenly inches from Huginn’s, twisted with rage. “There is no such man!”

Huginn backed down instantly, her resolve in tatters. “Y-Yes, Miss Luka! Whatever you say, Miss Luka...”

As Hiro watched the vaguely uncomfortable exchange, he cast his mind back to his duel with Igel. He could say with certainty that Huginn was nothing like Igel in any capacity. Indeed, if the man were still alive, Luka would sooner have lopped off Huginn’s head on the battlefield than doted over her as was now her wont.

As Hiro gazed at Huginn, trying to understand the connection, Luka leaned into his line of sight. “So?” she asked. “What exactly did that witch have to say to you?”

“Weren’t you there when we were talking?”

“She was not my concern. Caring for Huginn demanded all of my attention.”

“I see.” Well, that was hardly out of character. Still, Luka was supposed to be his retainer. It would have been nice if she had at least tried to pay attention.

As Hiro breathed a weary sigh, Huginn seemed to register their topic of conversation. “Erm...should I make myself scarce, Your Lordship?” She seemed concerned that she was intruding.

With a rueful smile, he began to tell her to stay, but Luka got there first. “Not at all. You are as welcome here as you are anywhere. Show me the scoundrel who would dare refuse you and I will happily crush them to pulp with my bare hands.”

“There you have it,” Hiro sighed. “As she says, I don’t mind you hearing.”

There was no harm in telling them the details. He closed his eyes pensively, as if collecting his thoughts. At length, he began to speak.

After the fight was over, Lucia proposed an alliance.

“I offer you this, Black-Winged Lord,” she said, brushing the dirt from her clothes. “I shall give you San Dinalle. In exchange, you shall aid me in toppling the High King.”

She spoke as casually as if she were suggesting lunch. Nonetheless, Hiro could not accept her proposal lightly. There were several significant obstacles to an alliance. For one, he held no sway over the imperial forces. At a push, he could leverage his position as king of Baum, but that would cause discord in their ranks. If they were off the table, the only troops he could offer Lucia were the Crow Legion, but they were very few. Even he would struggle to take on all of Six Kingdoms with only two thousand soldiers.

“I won’t be able to guarantee the empire’s assistance,” he said. “I’m the king of Baum, after all. From the sound of it, though, you’re not interested in a public alliance.”

“Quite right. Our relationship must not come to light. Well, after we oust the High King, I care not, but it must stay hidden while he remains on his throne or all will be for naught.”

It was hard to say what specifically she was suggesting might happen—perhaps Nameless’s interference, perhaps the commonfolk turning against her. Regardless...

“If you’re contacting me like this, the stakes must be high.”

She had gone to a great deal of trouble to arrange this proposal, fending off the empire with one hand and manipulating multiple nations’ interests with the other, all while using Huginn as bait to draw him in. He had taken that to show that she was determined, more so than he had given her credit for, but she was clearly devious too. Placing his trust in her would risk betrayal. She was a snake, coiling about her prey and crushing the breath from its lungs before finally swallowing it whole. No, if her schemes were what he expected, perhaps she would be better likened to a spider, disorienting and exhausting her prey before sinking in her fangs to the music of its cries. Either way, she was not to be trusted, but then again, her capabilities were beyond dispute. Her cooperation was too dangerous to accept but too valuable to pass up. A dilemma indeed. Still, there was no harm in hearing her out.

“Even if I could persuade the empire to play along,” he said, “Nameless would see straight through your plans as soon as we attacked Greif.”

“True enough. But then, that is why I have sought your assistance.”

Hiro’s brow furrowed quizzically for a moment, but he soon nodded in understanding. “You want to keep this a secret from the empire as well as Six Kingdoms.”

“Precisely.”

That was an extremely tall order. It would be next to impossible for Hiro to direct the imperial forces while keeping his true goals hidden. In theory, there was a way: he could use the Leonine Sight that Artheus had left him to bend them to his will. In practice, however, that would not be wise. He had not yet mastered the power, and this was not the time to employ it, in any case. Now that Liz had a sight of her own, it would risk too much. He racked his brains, trying to think of another way.

Lucia supplied the answer. “Will it truly be so difficult?” she asked. “After all, I cannot imagine the empire means to stop at San Dinalle.”

Hiro nodded. “I see. You want them to take Esel. In fact, you don’t even need them to succeed. The chaos will be enough.”

“’I am glad to see you have your wits about you. Yes, indeed. I do not need the empire to push as far as Greif.” She leveled her fan at him with a lascivious smile. “In exchange for San Dinalle, you will ensure the empire moves into Esel. In the ensuing confusion, I shall lead my soldiers north to Greif, where I shall finally put an end to that instigator, Nameless.” The fan turned back, wafting her gently as her eyes narrowed like a snake’s. “And I should very much like you to join me for the confrontation.”

So Anguis was looking to use Esel’s plight as cover to take Greif. It was a good ploy. Even if the more southern kingdoms realized what they were planning, any prospective aid to Greif would have to pass through Esel or Anguis, and the former would not be easy to traverse with the empire invading. Anguis needed only to close off its own roads and Greif would be isolated.

“I think I get the picture, mostly. But I don’t understand why you want me with you.”

“Nameless is certain to stand in my way. You shall provide a distraction while I secure the High King.”

“I see. But what do I get out of this arrangement?”

“Why, plenty. Was I not clear?”

“The empire will assume control of San Dinalle no matter who captures it. Chaos in Esel doesn’t benefit me; it just moves you closer to the throne. The same goes for me accompanying you to Greif. The only parties that stand to gain are you and the empire.” Hiro grinned provocatively. “And I’m sorry to say I’m not a decent enough person to help you out of the goodness of my heart.”

Lucia moved closer, her tongue slipping out to wet her lips. “I can offer information. I daresay I know much that may interest you.” She laid a hand on his shoulder and brought her lips to his ear. “For instance...”

By the time she finished speaking, he was smiling broadly. “All right. I’ll help. But you know what’ll happen if you break your word, I assume?” The words dripped with cold threat.

“But of course. Do as you like.” Lucia did not so much as blink. She fanned herself, clearly pleased with the outcome of their negotiations. “Now, I must away. Lest you have forgotten, I have an injury to feign.”

True to her word, she had retreated from the battlefield, leaving the empire to claim the day. She had remained behind the walls of San Dinalle ever since. Meanwhile, the imperial forces were reorganizing as they prepared to lay siege to the city. The attack was scheduled to commence in the coming days.

“That’s about the long and short of it,” Hiro concluded. “I saw that we stood to gain, so I accepted her offer.” He looked between Huginn and Luka. Satisfied they understood, he added, “I know you won’t be happy about it, Luka, but I’d appreciate it if you could hold your nose.”

There was little love lost between Luka and Lucia. They had parted on bad terms three years prior, during Six Kingdoms’ invasion of the empire, and time had not healed their wounds. That much was clear from their recent clash on the battlefield. Huginn’s fate had been uncertain at the time, and once Lucia mentioned the woman had been caught, Luka had been unable to restrain her rage. There was little doubt that she still held a grudge about that episode.

“For what it’s worth,” Hiro said, “if you want the throne of Vulpes, I’d be happy to help you take it.”

“I no longer have any interest in thrones. And the thought of serving her makes my skin crawl.” Luka turned to regard him with dull eyes. The crease in her forehead made her displeasure plain. “There is nothing I could want from Vulpes, save perhaps its utter destruction.”

“All right. Never mind, then.”

It was hard to predict on what or whom her loathing would settle. Perhaps on Hiro, who had stolen her dead brother’s arm; perhaps on Huginn, in whom she saw his face; perhaps on her motherland, which she still despised. If she asked, Hiro would have no qualms about presenting her with the heads of Vulpes’s current rulers. Lucia would certainly not object; Vulpes was presently occupied by the álfar, so she might even be pleased. Sooner or later, he would return Igel’s arm as well. But once all of Luka’s scores had been settled, what then? What would she have left but nothingness?

With her wings plucked before she had even learned to walk, she had found meaning and hope in her brother. Yet Hiro had stolen away that twisted happiness, and now she lived only for vengeance. What would she do with freedom if she found it? A bird that had only ever known a cage could not survive in the outside world. It only knew how to live behind bars, dependent on the morsels offered to it by its master. And if its master was gone, and it had no wings with which to fly on its own...

Then I suppose it’ll fall to me, he thought with a rueful smile.

Just then, he noticed Huginn looking at him anxiously. She started to ask a question, but he got there first. “Now that I think about it,” he said, smiling gently, “I might have a job for you after all.”

“Eh? You do, Your Lordship?”

“I want you to check on Scáthach. They should be willing to let you in.”

Gáe Bolg—which was currently stored within the Black Camellia—had informed him of Scáthach’s clash with Stovell, but he didn’t know what had become of her since. He hoped she had recovered, but her memories suggested otherwise. Most likely, she was still on the brink of death.

“Wouldn’t you prefer to go yourself, Your Lordship?”

“I’d like to, but the imperial side is trying to suppress word of her injuries. I’d only draw unwanted attention.”

“But wouldn’t I just do the same?”

“I’ll send you in a messenger’s capacity. That way, nobody will question why you’re there.”

The imperial forces and the Crow Legion might have been working together, but that didn’t mean the members of one camp could intrude upon the other—or at least, not without permission from the higher-ups. Still, the empire had just won a significant victory against Six Kingdoms. Morale would be high, which meant vigilance would be low. The king of Baum himself might not be able to visit without causing a stir, but Huginn would be able to slip in without raising many eyebrows, especially if she was carrying a message from her master.

“Understood, Your Lordship. I’ll go make sure Miss Scáthach is all right.” Huginn moved to stand.

“I will accompany you.” Luka rose behind her like a shadow.

Huginn spun around in alarm, clapping a hand to her ear; Luka’s breath must have tickled it. Coming from anybody else, it would have made for an endearing sight, but it seemed oddly ominous when Luka did it.

“You can’t, Miss Luka. You’ll cause a fuss.”

“I have this.” Luka produced an ostentatious mask. Huginn’s mouth twitched. She seemed to be trying not to say it would only draw more attention.

Hiro had given Luka the mask when they first left Baum as a way for her to conceal her identity. In principle, she should have been wearing it at all times, but she had fallen into the habit of removing it while out of sight of the empire.

“You can’t, Luka,” he said. “You’ll cause more of a stir than I will. Leave it to Huginn—”

“Then I shall disguise myself as a common soldier.”

“That wouldn’t—”

She wheeled around to glare at him. “Wouldn’t what?”

Hiro backed down. He could try to argue the point, but knowing Luka, she would not be dissuaded. She would have no choice but to follow a direct order, but that would have its own consequences. It would be less harmful in the long run just to let her go.

“All right. But could you dress up as a man, at least? I don’t know if the size will fit, but please try.”

At least one person in the imperial camp was unlikely to be fooled by any disguise, but she knew enough to exercise discretion. It would be enough to hide Luka’s identity from the masses.

“Very well. I will gladly take a man’s armor over this ridiculous thing.”

Luka tossed the mask at Hiro and stalked out. She returned in short order with a pile of armor in her arms. The metal made an outrageous clatter as she tossed it to the ground.

After a moment, the pile began to groan. “Lady Luka...what is the meaning of this?”

The soldier sat up, took off his helmet, and looked around blearily. The blood fled from his cheeks as he registered Hiro’s presence, and he hurriedly pressed his forehead to the ground.

“L-Lord Surtr!”

He trailed off after that. Most likely, he didn’t know how to continue. He had not been summoned, nor had he come to deliver an urgent message; he had simply been abducted by Luka and dumped unceremoniously on the floor. No one could blame him for being confused.

Hiro felt much the same himself. He turned to Luka, rubbing his temple as if trying to soothe a headache. “I’m not sure I follow.”

Luka ignored him. She stood over the soldier, looking down. “Strip.”

“M-My lady?”

“You have no need of that armor.”

“I fear I don’t understand...”

A cold sweat broke out across the man’s forehead, but the invisible pressure issuing from Luka only grew more forceful. By this point, Hiro had surmised what she wanted, but he was so taken aback by the way she had gone about it that he was slow to react. Still, feeling the air grow heavier, he came to the man’s aid.

“We do have an armory, Luka. You don’t need to steal.”

The soldier looked back at him in teary-eyed gratitude. Hiro only shrugged before resting his elbows on the arms of his chair and crossing his legs.

“Could you find her a spare set of armor? Huginn, you can help her change.”

“At once, Your Majesty!”

The man all but leaped to his feet and ran from the tent, bowing to Hiro as he went. As Luka scowled after him, Huginn took hold of her arm.

“Right, then, Your Lordship! I suppose we’d best go and see Miss Scáthach!”

Huginn’s touch seemed to have a pacifying effect. Luka allowed herself to be led from the tent with no resistance. Once they were gone, Hiro heaved a sigh. He looked to the ceiling with eyes devoid of warmth.

“Four Spiritblades I have now. Just like you once did.” His voice took on the tone of a confession, but the man it was meant for could no longer hear it. “Everything is coming together. Caelus. The Spiritblade Sovereigns. Mars. The Time of Turning. All that’s left now is the coming of chaos.”

He lifted his arm to the moonlight streaming in through the entrance to the tent. A small lump of flesh writhed in his palm.

“Stovell. Why do you still cling to life in that state? What is it you want so much?”

Before Liz could deal the finishing blow to Stovell, Hiro had intervened. His intention had been to claim the remaining Spiritblades—Gáe Bolg, Mjölnir, and Gandiva—but he had found they bore an unintended passenger: a crusted scrap of Stovell’s flesh. A symbol of the first prince’s tenacity, it wriggled in his hand even now, striving stubbornly to regenerate.

“You don’t die easily, especially for a failed experiment. I suppose you’ve just absorbed that many curses.”

There were several flavors of power at work in the glob of flesh. So potent was Stovell’s resentment that touching it would drive an ordinary person mad, if not kill them outright. What could have transformed him so thoroughly? Forcing Gandiva to obey him would have invoked the spirits’ curse, but that wouldn’t have been enough on its own. Somebody had done something to him, added their own strength to the curse to produce a monster. Even as Hiro watched, the lump swelled to the size of his fist as it tried to reconstitute itself.

“Your story’s done, I’m sorry to say. Whether or not you’re willing to accept it.”

He reached into the Black Camellia with his other hand and produced a crystal: the dharmastone that had been embedded in Igel’s arm. Without hesitation, he pressed it into the lump of flesh. There was a grisly tearing noise. Blood spilled from the ragged wound, dripping to the ground in a torrent of gruesome crimson.

“A weak dharmastone won’t fully purify a curse this potent.”

The crystal shone bright, and there came the sound of sizzling meat. A stench flooded the tent. While at first Stovell’s flesh shrank away from the dharmastone’s purification, soon the tables turned, and it swelled to consume the crystal.

“Instead, the abundance of poison will turn to magick, and the two will mix...giving rise to a new power.”

The blue crystal was now lined with violet bands. Hiro gazed at it and smiled.

“You can never have too many cards to play. Don’t worry, Stovell. I’ll make sure your death isn’t in vain.”

He held the crystal up in its new, more ominous incarnation, narrowing his eyes against the moonlight glinting from its surface.

“Are you listening, Demiurgos? Why don’t we pick up where we left off a thousand years ago?”

Their paths had not yet crossed, but their plans were already circling, intersecting, transforming each other into something new. Hiro raised a hand to his mask, covering his right eye with his palm.

“Artheus...your will lives on in Liz. Everything else you left undone, I’ll take care of myself.”

His great dream now resided in Liz, where it would surely grow stronger and grander. All that was left was the final test. To ascertain her resolve.

“As for my own mistakes...I will have to pay the price.”

Everything had gone awry because of his failure, and easing it back on track had taken a great deal of time. At last, however, the end was in sight. He closed his fist around the crystal and held it to his forehead, offering a prayer to his long-dead comrades.

“Rey...Artheus...watch over Liz. That’s all I ask.”

Once no obstacles remained to block her path, she would soar high, higher, to the highest heavens. With the lion of Soleil at her command, her name would resound across the world.

With thoughts of her future glories dancing through his mind, Hiro fell into a deep, deep sleep.

＊＊＊＊＊

The core of the imperial encampment was heavily guarded. The Knights of the Royal Black, the Knights of the Golden Lion, and the Knights of the Rose stood on watch among the veritable sea of tents, their units carefully deployed to ensure nowhere was left unsurveyed. Hardy veterans had been selected for patrol duties, and bonfires burned throughout the night, turning the camp as bright as day in a bid to extinguish every last shadow.

Next to the command center, among the quarters of the aides-de-camp, was the tent where Scáthach was sleeping. Two women were within, one with crimson hair, one with silver. The former was Liz, the sixth princess and heir apparent to the throne. She was a noble jewel, with features so fair she was rumored to have been blessed by the gods themselves. Though she was heir to the throne, her rank as princess meant she was beset by offers of marriage, even if they were no longer as frequent as they had once been. A particularly shameless merchant had once offered her a mountain of coin for a single night. In another life, she might have gone down in history as a beauty to lay nations low, or so it was whispered at court.

She approached the bed, lustrous, waist-length hair swaying behind her. “How is she, Aura?”

She addressed her question to the petite figure in a bedside chair. The girl looked up, revealing dainty features and gleaming, doe-like eyes that would stir anyone’s protective instincts. Between her silver hair and leaden gray irises, she might have looked stern, but her clipped bangs softened her cold impression. Her small frame made her look younger than her years, which caused her constant consternation, and her youthful face did not help matters.

Her name was Aura von Bunadala. A valedictorian graduate of the imperial training academy, she had been handpicked as an aide to the commander of the Third Legion at a historically young age. While failures in battle against the Grand Duchy of Draal had seen her demoted, she had steadily rebuilt her career. Now, she served as a retainer to the sixth princess and the chief strategist of the imperial army.

She shook her head weakly. “No change.”

“I see...”

Liz gazed down at the bed. Beneath the covers lay Scáthach, swathed in bandages. The woman was in a pitiful state. Her face was pale and bruised, her breathing was ragged, her arms were broken, and any new change of dressings soon became sodden with blood. Her injuries had grown infected, causing a fever that was sapping her strength. Once upon a time, she would have recovered in short order, but not now that she had lost Gáe Bolg. Without a Spiritblade’s blessing, she was an ordinary human being with ordinary weaknesses.

Her condition had stabilized, but she was by no means out of danger. She could deteriorate at any time. Liz, Aura, and their ladies-in-waiting were watching over her in shifts, ensuring there was always somebody at her bedside. A physician was on call in the neighboring tent, ready to attend to her if she worsened. She had not regained consciousness since her battle with Stovell, and Liz and Aura were growing more and more concerned. No matter how much time passed, she did not wake, and her life seemed to fade away a little more with every passing day.

“Her injuries are bad, but the physician says they aren’t why she won’t wake up. He thinks the cause is mental.”

Vengeance had been Scáthach’s raison d’être. She had lived solely to kill her nemesis, Stovell. Now her mission was done, but success had come at a heavy price: the loss of her steadfast companion and her claim to the nation she loved. Once San Dinalle fell, Faerzen would be free from Six Kingdoms’ control, but its reconstruction would progress under imperial leadership. The royal family would eventually be reinstated, but Scáthach’s name would not be among them; the throne would pass to some distant relative who might not even have du Faerzen blood. They would be a puppet of the empire, which would place Faerzen under its control and reap the rewards of their conquest. That had been the empire’s condition for lending their aid.

In short, Scáthach had no reason left to live. Her nemesis was dead, her Spiritblade was lost, and her homeland was no longer her home. Perhaps that was why her slumber remained unbroken. Still, only she knew the real reason. It was easy enough to contrive answers for someone else—to imagine a convenient might-be-truth to satisfy one’s need for explanations—that they might abhor if they heard. Speculation would not help Scáthach now. All Liz and Aura could do for her was keep calling her name, watching over her to ensure someone would be by her side when she woke.

“I’ll sit with her today,” Liz said. “You need to take a break.”

“All right.” Aura nodded. “For a little while.”

She lowered herself onto the spartan bed nearby. No matter how concerned they were about Scáthach’s well-being, it would not do to fuss over her at the expense of their own health. They were the leaders of the imperial army, and the campaign against Six Kingdoms was still ongoing. They had to ensure they were in good shape at all times.

Both Liz and Aura had slept in Scáthach’s tent since the day she was brought there. Neither had any medical knowledge; if her condition worsened, the best they could do was call for help. They were more or less nothing but a hindrance. Still, having her within sight helped to set their hearts at ease.

“We’re all selfish in our own ways, aren’t we?” With a rueful smile, Liz lowered herself into the chair. “Say, Scáthach...once you wake up, I think you should have a good, long rest. You don’t need to suffer anymore. You don’t need to cry any more tears.”

Even as the words left her mouth, she knew they were untrue. The flow of time was unforgiving, and the world would grant Scáthach no reprieve. The day she could rest was a long way off yet. Still, something told Liz that without hopeful what-ifs, her friend would never wake.

“In the east of Baum is a place the first archpriestess loved more than anywhere in the world. A hill covered in the most beautiful flowers, they say. Nobody can visit without the archpriestess’s permission. But once this is all over, I’d like it if we could all go together.”

There was no answer. Silence fell once more but for Scáthach’s pained breathing. Liz had not been expecting a reply, but she had resolved to continue these one-sided conversations nonetheless. She would do the same the next day and the day after that.

“Hm?” Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted a copy of the Black Chronicle lying by Scáthach’s pillow. She picked it up, glanced at the cover, looked it over. Her gaze turned to Aura. “Was that what you were reading her? Was it for her or for yourself?”

Aura didn’t quite meet her eyes. “Her, of course. Scáthach loves the legend of Mars.”

“Does she?” Liz cocked her head, laying a finger to her chin. She had certainly seen Aura pressing Scáthach to read the Black Chronicle more than once, but Scáthach had always looked more overwhelmed than enthusiastic.