Shinwa Densetsu no Eiyuu no Isekaitan - Volume 4 - Chapter 2

Chapter 2: Caged Flame

The nation of Faerzen had once rivaled the Grantzian Empire in size and might. The bounties of the Sea of Infini to the north had given rise to a thriving fishing industry, and with Six Kingdoms to the west and the empire to the east, it had served as a crossroads of continental trade. For many years, business had boomed.

War with the empire put paid to that. The sharp decline in public order following its defeat had scared the merchants away, and constant fighting had razed its once-fertile fields. The royal capital, formerly a hub of intermingling languages and bustling markets, had become a pitiful shadow of its former self, and repeated clashes between the Faerzen Resistance and the empire were fast reducing what was left to rubble.

The Draali encampment lay forty-five sel southwest of the ruined capital. Dinner was cooking. White smoke blanketed the camp, rising from various cookfires. Diligence was nonexistent. The soldiers had shed their armor and were busy carousing, some with bottles in their hands.

“It’s days like this make life worth livin’!” cried one such man.

“Aye to that. It’s an evening for drink and no mistake,” agreed another.

Both were grinning, a sign of the lingering giddiness of victory.

“Oy, stop that,” interrupted a stern-faced comrade. “No liquor yet. We’re meant to be on watch.”

The soldiers glanced at one another.

“If now ain’t the time, then when is?”

“Aye, we beat the bloody empire! We’ve earned ourselves an ale or two!”

They had good reason for their revelry: their victory over Sixth Princess Celia Estrella of the Grantzian Empire. Few men on the continent could claim to have defeated the wielder of a Spiritblade, let alone taken them captive.

“Where’s the lady of the hour?” one of the men asked.

“Lord Puppchen’s got her in his tent.”

“Does he now? Sounds like he’s having himself a grand old time while we’re out here stopping anyone stealing back his prize.”

“Can’t blame him! I caught a glimpse of her and she’s just as fair as they say.”

The stern-faced soldier pulled a face at the other two’s bawdy conversation. “He’s not had such an easy time of it, from what I’ve heard.”

“Oh? What do you mean by that?”

“I mean the girl’s burned six men to death.”

“She what? Sounds like witchcraft.”

“How’d she manage that, then?”

The stern-faced soldier cast a fearful glance across the camp at a tent larger than the rest. “Don’t ask me. I just hope we’re not pissin’ off the gods up in their heavens.”

The master of the tent was inside: Puppchen von Draal, firstborn son of the grand duke of Draal. He picked up a silver goblet from his desk and brought it to his lips. Even that small motion made it plain that he was of noble stock; born heir to his homeland, he carried himself with grace. Even so, his muscular build testified that he had chosen the sword over the pen, adding a brutish wildness to his refinement.

“It’s true what they say,” he mused. “Victory lends wine a special sweetness.”

He eyed the goblet’s crimson contents for a moment before directing a domineering gaze to a strange object in the corner of the tent. There, where ordinarily a chest of drawers or a bed might have been placed, stood a metal cage. Even stranger, the bars were plastered with spirit seals.

Puppchen heaved a regretful sigh. “I brought a wealth of spirit seals from my homeland. Taking you prisoner consumed every last one. Between that and our losses in battle, this war has consumed perhaps two cities’ worth of yearly tax. But when I consider it the cost of taking you prisoner...suddenly, it does not seem like such a great expense.” He peered through the bars and grinned. “Well? Do you think I have profited?”

Within the cage, bound by iron chains, sat a crimson-haired girl: Sixth Princess Celia Estrella Elizabeth von Grantz. She was known across the continent as the first wielder of Lævateinn since Artheus. Recently, whispers had abounded that her star was rapidly rising, fuelled by rumors that she had added the descendant of the War God to her retainers.

“I don’t care,” she said.

For all her defiance, her voice was weak, and the shadow of exhaustion lay across her face. It was not hard to see why: her uniform was torn open in multiple places, with bloodstained bandages visible through the holes, and countless bruises and lacerations dotted her bare limbs. Despite all that, she was conscious. She glared back at Puppchen with hate in her eyes.

“Keep on scowling like that and you’ll ruin your pretty face.”

He reached beneath the desk and pulled out a wooden box. It was full of stones of various sizes, from pebbles to large rocks. He picked up one the size of his fist and turned to Liz with a villainous smile.

“It seems that there are certain circumstances under which the Spiritblade Sovereigns protect their wielders. For instance, yours uses the flames of purgatory to sear anybody who tries to do you harm.”

Several soldiers entranced by her beauty had tried to creep into the tent to take her for themselves, only to die fiery deaths. Puppchen had no pity for them. They had earned their fates. Besides, if they had succeeded in their pursuits, he would have lopped off their heads himself.

“But consider...what if an individual were not trying to do you harm?”

Liz’s forehead creased in puzzlement, but before she could decipher the words, Puppchen’s arm blurred. A dull smack rang through the tent.

“Agh!”

Her head snapped backward, carrying the rest of her over with it. She rolled about on the floor, crying in agony.

Puppchen gazed down at her with pitiless eyes and picked up a new stone.

“Do you see? I’m just tossing stones, and who knows where they’ll end up? I might as well be tossing them into a pond. Will your sword protect you then?”

His arm swung down. A thud rang out, like a mallet pounding earth.

“Agh!”

Liz’s back arched in agony, but before she could even finish processing the pain, another stone came flying.

“Ngh!”

Puppchen didn’t even give her time to scream. The impacts of the rocks were like spears through her innards. Dull cracks echoed throughout the tent, unpleasantly reminiscent of breaking bones.

“They’re funny things, rocks. Comically crude as weapons go, but just as lethal as a blade.”

Stone after stone battered Liz’s slender body.

“Even a pebble can kill if it hits just so.”

Again and again, for as long as Puppchen had ammunition left to throw.

“Humans are such strange creatures, don’t you think? When the body judges that a certain level of pain is too much to bear, it loses consciousness. But someone strong, like you... They don’t switch off. They get to suffer forever.”

His hands continued moving as he reeled off his explanation. If anything, his throws only became more forceful and brutal, and his breathing grew steadily more ragged.

“Agh!”

Blood sprayed from Liz’s forehead and spattered across the ground. Her chains prevented her from even covering her face. Without outside intervention, there would be no escape from this storm of violence.

“Shame is not the only way to break someone, you see.”

Stone after stone struck home with pitiless accuracy as she writhed in agony.

“When you teach through pain, when you beat your superiority into your enemy’s very flesh, even a Spiritblade’s chosen will submit.”

Only once his fingers scraped the bottom of the box did Puppchen finally stop throwing.

“I may not have a Spiritblade of my own, but if I can break you through fear, what’s the difference?”

He stood up from his chair and approached the cage. Liz lay face-up, covered in blood, her chest heaving. Her cheeks were beginning to swell up. Puppchen licked his lips at the sight.

“It seems you are in need of more punishment. Well, rest assured, I will not spare the rod. I’ll turn that pretty face of yours as ugly as a sow.”

If he had hoped that stating his intentions aloud would break her spirits, he would be disappointed. Her eyes weren’t quite focused as she glared back at him, but a firm will smoldered in their depths.

“Rebellious, aren’t we?” he scoffed. “You’d have done better to submit. Now I need to put you in your place.”

He slid the box closer, picked up another rock, and threw it. Liz gritted her teeth, knowing that she couldn’t dodge it, but the pain never arrived. Lævateinn’s protection burned it to ash in midair.

“My emotions have gotten the better of me, it seems. Very well. We will resume this tomorrow.”

With a dismissive snort, Puppchen sat back down and took a sip of wine. His finger traced the rim of the goblet as he stared at Liz.

“So the Flame Sovereign does indeed have a will of its own. But from whence does its power stem? The Spiritblades are capable of conjuring supernatural phenomena, but as far as I can tell, they cannot do so on their own. One would then assume that they draw their powers from their wielders. From your mental fortitude...or perhaps a more physical part of you.”

He began to chuckle. The corners of his eyes crinkled with glee as he watched for her reaction.

“So it follows that if I break your spirit, your protection will fade. Today, I was unsuccessful, but in time, I will be able to touch you with my bare hands.”

The sight of her bloodstained body was providing a fine accompaniment for his wine. Drink and good cheer began to loosen his tongue.

“Oh, how I await that day. I will draw out your nails, break your fingers, cut off your ears, pull out your tongue, file down your nose, and send you back to the empire in a box.” His eyes widened as he seemed to remember something, and he got to his feet. “Ah, yes. And I will send your head to this scion of Mars. Do you suppose he’ll even be able to tell who— Hm?”

Although Liz had previously been unresponsive, at the mention of Mars’s scion, her lips had pulled into the tiniest of smiles.

Puppchen flew into a rage. He rushed up to the cage, heedless of the wine that spilled in the process. “And what’s so funny, hm?! Come on, shed some tears like a good little girl!”

Lævateinn’s protection be damned, he picked up another rock, intent on showing her the true meaning of fear. Before he could throw it, however, a clear voice cut through the tent.

“What is the meaning of this?”

Puppchen spun around, eyes wide with surprise. A woman stood in the tent entrance.

“I will ask only once more, Lord Puppchen,” she said, advancing to glare at him with sharply angled eyes. “What is the meaning of this?”

Puppchen only dropped the rock and shrugged. Being caught seemed to prompt no remorse from him. “Lady Scáthach. Oh, don’t scowl at me so. The sixth princess and I were simply having a friendly discussion.”

He stepped back and turned fully toward the intruder. Named Culann Scáthach du Faerzen, she was seventeen in years—perhaps eighteen—and quite beautiful. Her turquoise hair was smooth and lustrous as silk; she wore it gathered in a bun at the back, leaving the sides to hang loose. Her features were porcelain-pale and fine as spun glass, and they seemed just as likely to shatter at a touch. The weighty armor sheathing her delicate body seemed to gird her purity in violence, giving her the harsh allure of a goddess of war. As her name implied, the blood of Faerzen’s royal lineage flowed in her veins. While the empire’s official line was that the royal family had been eradicated, she was its sole survivor, hidden by the late king from the invaders’ grasp.

The imperials always did struggle to finish what they started.

“This does not look like a discussion to me.” She looked Liz over and turned an accusatory gaze on Puppchen.

“My emotions got the better of me, I admit it. I did not mean to be quite so rough.” The man flashed what might have been a diplomatic smile, but there wasn’t an ounce of sincerity in his apology.

A wind blew through the tent. Puppchen grunted in pain as heat flared in his cheek. He lifted a hand to his face to find it wet and sticky. His fingers came away covered in blood.

“What are you doing?!” he cried.

Scáthach glared at him with undisguised fury. “She is a hostage, and you will treat her accordingly.”

She’d be a fine woman if not for her precious chivalry, he thought. His lips pulled into a grin.

She seemed to read his mind. Her azure spear rose to point at him, and her ice-cold eyes pierced him with a reproachful stare. “See that this does not happen again. Or perhaps my emotions shall get the better of me, and I shall relieve you of your head.”

“V-Very well. I will be more mindful.”

Even Puppchen could tell that he had pushed the woman too far. He fell to his knees and pressed his head into the dirt. As much as he might resent it, there was no question as to which of them really had the upper hand in their alliance. Scáthach’s queer powers made her a formidable warrior, but even aside from that, the Draali had been the ones to propose cooperation. Puppchen’s incursion had vital political importance; among other things, he needed a military victory to cement his status as the successor to his sickly father and as the heir to Draal. If his accord with Scáthach broke down, his hopes would be dust in the wind. He would return home empty-handed to face the scorn of his nobles.

I’d rather bow my head a thousand times to this stuck-up wench than that.

Puppchen gritted his teeth as he pressed his head to the ground. This was the time to bite his tongue.

“I’m glad we have an understanding,” Scáthach said.

She lowered her spear and turned to Liz. She could not afford to offend Puppchen either. For one thing, she had failed in her bid to capture the Warmaiden, but more importantly, Third Prince Brutahl’s Second Legion still had strength in ample supply. As the leader of the Faerzen Resistance, it would hurt her cause immeasurably if Draal withdrew the troops currently keeping the imperials at bay. Puppchen’s interests aligned with hers, but by the same token, they needed one another. That made it difficult to demand custody of Liz, no matter how cruel the princess’s treatment at Puppchen’s hands.

“We must see to her wounds,” she said. “Would you fetch a doctor?”

“If a male one will suffice. I have no female doctors among my troops.”

Despite their clearly incompatible personalities, they had no choice but to take one another’s opinions into account. Aside from anything else, they could not fight the empire together without a common understanding to build upon.

“My troops are stationed outside the camp. I have female doctors you can call.”

“As you wish. I will bring them forthwith.”

Puppchen turned his back on her and left the tent. Once she was certain he was gone, Scáthach approached Liz’s cage, where the princess was gingerly hugging her knees.

“I am sorry,” she said, bowing her head.

The apology appeared to be sincere, but Liz’s eyes widened regardless. She was caught so off guard that she seemed to forget her pain.

Scáthach could hardly blame her. She continued with a rueful smile, “I do not seek to hurt you. Nor to shame you. But you must understand, I cannot let you go.” Admitting the precariousness of her position clearly pained her, but her smile had a Madonna’s compassion. “I will make it clear to Lord Puppchen that this will not recur.”

“But...if you don’t want to hurt me, then...what do you want?”

Liz’s chains clinked discordantly as she moved. She grimaced—the very act of speaking seemed to cause her pain—but her crimson eyes did not waver as they held Scáthach in their gaze.

“Nothing so grand. I have no lofty aspirations of conquest. I seek something far more humble.” Her eyes flared with unrestrained emotion. Her azure spear hummed in her grip. “After all, I am not so rotten as the villains you call family.”

Murderous rage radiated from her body as her voice quavered with quiet fury.

＊＊＊＊＊

The twelfth day of the eleventh month of Imperial Year 1023

Launen, in the northwest of the western territories

The sky was clear and blue. There was not a cloud in sight, only strange black shadows in the distance—too far away to make out clearly but almost certainly monsters of some kind. The land was one great swathe of green, dotted with wildflowers swaying merrily in the breeze. The majestic Travant Mountains rising on the horizon completed the scene, a natural bulwark against the multipartite western nation known as Six Kingdoms.

An armed force advanced crisply across the plain. It was entirely jet black: the horses, the men, the weapons, the armor. In the carriage at the center of the column, Garda and Hiro discussed recent reports and their future plans.

“Berg Fortress is the picture of tranquility, the margrave’s nerves notwithstanding.” With a knowing grin, Garda handed Hiro a letter. “Here. From one Duke Karl Lichtein.”

Hiro read through the contents and a small smile spread across his face. “Excellent. It sounds like he’ll do as I asked.”

“You wrote to him before you left the capital, I presume?”

“That’s right. I told him to amass his forces on the Steissen border and look threatening.”

“If he sparks a war, we will be in no position to help.”

“Call it a gamble, but I think it’s a safe bet. Steissen won’t want to stage an invasion with their succession squabbles, and if they do try, they’ll be up against the Rising Hawk. Rankeel will be able to hold them off long enough for us to arrive.”

“You’ve thought this through.” As Garda nodded in approval, a thought struck him. “You know, I never did ask. How fared your visit to Lebering?”

“Its new queen is quite formidable. She’s someone to watch, in more ways than one. With all of the Relics, I doubt anyone will be able to oppose her.”

“Relics, hm? I heard the word more than once while I commanded the Liberation Army.”

“Have you heard of the zlosta ancestors? The ones who terrorized Soleil a thousand years ago? The Relics are weapons made from their manastones.”

“Quite the prizes, then. I’ve yet to find a blade to match Bebensleif. Perhaps this new queen will agree to cede me one of hers.”

Hiro shrugged—I doubt it—and changed the topic. “Anyway, now that we’re both up to speed, what do you know about events to the west?”

“As much as made its way to Berg Fortress—which is to say, not much. The margrave scrounged for every scrap he could, but Gurinda is on the far side of the empire. All we could glean is that they’ve been captured.”

“Then you know about as much as I do. If we could narrow down Liz’s location, we could start making plans to rescue her, but all I know is that Aura is under siege at a place called Fort Mitte.”

Garda’s face turned grave. “It sounds as though neither has time to spare.”

Hiro nodded. “That’s another reason I need to speak with High General Vakish.”

“Ah, the watcher of the west. I hear he did exactly that as the men of Draal marched into Faerzen.”

Hiro shook his head. “Let’s not make assumptions just yet. I want to hear his side of the story.”

He looked out of the window. On the other side of the glass rose a forbidding fortress: Tutelary Citadel, the keystone of the western border and the empire’s eye on Draal. Its concentric walls were lined with turrets ready to foil an attack from any side. At the front entrance loomed a sturdy iron gate. The portal opened into a central courtyard from which a unit of cavalry could sally forth to catch an enemy unawares as they gazed up in despair at the walls.

The guards in the gate watchtower reacted to the Crow Legion’s name with open surprise, and their confusion only multiplied when Hiro stepped out of the carriage. They stared down, goggle-eyed. Eventually, the gate lifted, and a man emerged with an escort of soldiers. He was of ordinary height and build and seemed generally unremarkable in every respect.

“My deepest apologies, Your Highness!” he cried, hurrying toward Hiro and sinking into a vassal’s bow. “I am Vakish von Hass, whom His Majesty Emperor Greiheit has graciously entrusted with command of Tutelary Citadel. It is an honor to welcome Lord Hiro Schwartz to my humble domain.”

Hiro blinked in surprise, not at the introduction but at the air of command that emitted from the man’s every pore. His appearance might have been unremarkable, but he radiated an aura that was anything but.

“That will do for formalities,” he answered. “But I’d appreciate it if you could fill me in on events across the border.”

“Of course, Your Highness. I followed your requests to the letter.” Vakish produced a document from his pocket. On it was Hiro’s signature. “But this is no place for such discussions. Please, if you would come inside?”

He ushered Hiro and his company through the gate. The rest of the Crow Legion followed. The townsfolk’s eyes grew wide as they watched the black-clad soldiers pass.

“They look like they’d stick you as soon as look at you!” one of them whispered.

“Look at that armor!” said another. “Dark as the abyss! They must be the Knights of the Royal Black!”

“No they en’t, idiot,” someone more knowledgeable replied. “They’re the ones what the Knights of the Royal Black took their colors from.” He pointed to the standard fluttering over the host. “See that? That’s Mars’s sacred standard. En’t no one flies that but the Crow Legion.”

The Crow Legion had been an elite fighting force led by Mars’s Black Hand one thousand years ago. Their strength had toppled the zlosta, saved humanity from an age of chaos, and brought peace to the world. Yet after the second emperor passed away, his successor feared their strength, branded them traitors, and had them exterminated—a disgrace that had lasted until the fifth emperor pardoned them decades later. Their reputation had recovered in the decades since, and they were now revered as the legendary warband of the War God.

“Then you’re sayin’...him at the front...?”

“Got to be Mars’s scion, don’t it? The One-Eyed Dragon in the flesh.”

One townsperson’s reverent words propagated rapidly through the crowd. Like a game of telephone, retelling led to exaggeration, and exaggeration gave rise to expectation. Soon the crowd was cheering loud enough to rattle the soldiers’ breastplates. The Crow Legion, however, did not seem especially bothered by the attention. They marched onward with Hiro’s carriage at their head, faces unhurried and gait unbroken.

The procession cleared the residential quarter and came to a halt at a steep rise beyond. Castle Gehirn stood on the mound, where its position allowed for an unobstructed view of the citadel. Only Hiro and Garda were permitted entry. Huginn and Muninn were instructed to wait in the courtyard with the rest of the Crow Legion.

The war room of the famously unassailable Tutelary Citadel was on the castle’s second floor. Presumably to ensure secrecy, it was the only chamber on that floor. Its sole entrance required passing through a guarded chamber, which was fully manned twenty-four hours a day.

Hiro took his seat at the head of the table. At his right stood Garda, hand on his pommel, with a glare that warned Vakish and his vice-commander not to make any suspicious movements.

“Your bodyguard takes his duties seriously, I see,” Vakish said with a strained chuckle. He turned to his vice-commander and retrieved a bundle of reports. “Well then, Your Highness, as per your orders... First, the fate of Brigadier General von Bunadala. It appears that after learning of Lady Celia Estrella’s defeat, she retreated to Fort Mitte in the southwest of Faerzen. We have received no word that it has fallen, so it seems likely that she is still unharmed, although there can be no doubt that time is against her.”

Food and other supplies would be a mounting concern, and Aura only had so many men. If aid did not arrive soon, Fort Mitte would become the site of a corpse-strewn bloodbath. Hiro cupped his chin in his hand and sank into thought, nodding to grant Vakish permission to continue.

“It appears that Third Prince Brutahl intends to rescue her,” the general said, “but as of yet, his efforts have borne no fruit. The Draali forces are keeping him at bay.”

Left to his own devices, the third prince couldn’t hatch a plan to save his life. Before adding Aura to his retinue, his idea of strategy had been possessing larger numbers. He would not be capable of turning the tables. The Second Legion was a headless snake, devoid of both a mouth to swallow its prey and fangs with which to poison them.

“I have heard that the grand duchy has attempted to negotiate with the third prince. They have offered Lady Celia Estrella and Brigadier General von Bunadala’s safe return in exchange for certain terms.”

Judging from Vakish’s expression, those terms had been impossible to stomach. It was not difficult to imagine how that had gone.

“They demanded the empire’s withdrawal from Faerzen...along with twenty spirit swords, one hundred spirit stones, and two thousand golden grantzes. And, as if that weren’t enough, a sizable portion of the western territories.”

Hiro sighed. “Negotiations broke down, then.”

“Indeed. And we have been at an impasse ever since.”

Nobody would choose Liz and Aura when weighed against the entire empire. Still, while the situation was far from ideal, it was a blessing just to know that Aura was alive. As for Liz, however...

No sooner did the thought enter Hiro’s mind than he noticed that Vakish was wearing a conflicted expression.

“Is there something else?” he asked.

“Indeed. Regarding Lady Celia Estrella...Third Prince Brutahl asked to dispatch an envoy to ascertain her condition, but the Draali side refused point-blank.”

That could mean they feared an attempt to steal her back, or that she was already dead. The worst-case scenario was that they had traded her away. Many nations would happily pay a high price for the wielder of a Spiritblade. If Six Kingdoms had her, that could be truly problematic. Still, there was no need to jump to wild conclusions just yet. He knew too little to make any definitive judgments.

“Good work. Keep your ear to the ground. If anything changes, I want to know.”

“Of course, Your Highness.” Vakish bowed.

Hiro advanced to the next topic. “Tell me what’s happening in Draal. Why choose now to stage an attack on Faerzen? If we know their goals, we can work to foil them.”

“Their present incursion numbers thirty thousand, Your Highness. They are led by Puppchen von Draal, the first son of the grand duke. His father is bedridden with illness, and he is already the leader of the nation in all but name—or at least, he was, until the armistice with Steissen. Now, his support is crumbling.”

“What happened?”

“Are you aware of the succession conflict in Steissen, Your Highness?”

“I don’t know the details, but I’ve heard that two noble families are warring... Ah.” Immediately, Hiro realized what must have occurred. “So the Draali nobles think the time was ripe to invade. They are dissatisfied that this Puppchen agreed to an armistice instead.”

“Your wits are as sharp as they say, Your Highness. Indeed, he never even gave them a say in the matter. He negotiated the armistice himself.” Vakish paused, the report still in his hand. “The man’s popularity is falling, and his arrogant disposition is doing nothing to salvage it. A competing faction has sprung up around his younger brother, a man of more agreeable conduct...who happens to be far more pliable, of course.”

So it was not only Steissen that was on the verge of splitting in two, and yet Puppchen was ignoring his domestic troubles to march into Faerzen. The reason was all too obvious, and Hiro almost felt angry as the piece snapped into place. He knew then and there that he had made the right decision in attacking Draal. A stratagem took form inside his head. He only regretted that there was no map on the table.

“What will you do now, Your Highness?” Vakish asked.

“I will lead the Crow Legion into Draal.”

“By my count, your forces number no more than five thousand. Am I to assume that you will meet up with others en route?”

“No. They are all I have.”

“With respect, that is...ambitious. Some might even say reckless. I can spare several thousand of my own men, if you would consider it.”

“No, thank you. The Crow Legion will be enough.” Hiro turned to Vakish’s vice-commander. “Is there a map in the castle?”

“A map, Your Highness?”

“Yes. One of Draal. Any scale will do.”

“Of course, Your Highness. If you will give me a moment.” The man walked to a corner of the room. There stood a waist-high pot bristling with rolled-up maps. He picked out one of the parchment scrolls and returned. “Allow me to clear a space on the table.”

Vakish looked on with polite bemusement as his vice-commander unfurled the map with a practiced hand. Hiro stood, picked up several nearby pawns, and walked around the table to stand over it.

“This is what I will do.” He placed a pawn on the south of Draal. “The grand duchy may have reached a peace accord with Steissen, but the fires of war must still smolder on their border. Both nations will be keeping large portions of their forces in reserve in case hostilities break out again.”

“As you say, Your Highness.”

“As a result, Draal cannot afford to leave its southern territories undermanned. Which means that Puppchen must have gathered his forces from the north.” He placed another pawn on the north of the nation. “If his popularity is waning, he may even have resorted to conscription. Either way, we can be certain that the military presence in the northern regions is light. Even five thousand men will be able to inflict a surprising amount of damage.”

As Vakish gazed down at the map, Hiro handed him a letter.

“Still, I need your help to maximize our chances of success. I won’t ask for anything demanding. It’ll be easy, even. You just have to do what’s written here.”

Vakish’s brow creased with uncertainty, but he unfolded the letter. His eyes grew wide as he took in its contents.

“Your Highness, is this some manner of jest?”

“Not at all. I’m quite serious.”

“If I read this correctly...it seems that you intend to put Draali settlements to the torch.”

“That’s right.”

The man blanched. Beside him, his vice-commander shot Hiro a disbelieving glance. Only Garda, who had known in advance about the letter’s contents, remained unperturbed.

“Keep reading,” Hiro prompted. “To the end.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

Vakish quailed under Hiro’s gaze. His lips pursed as his eyes sped down the page. At last, he set the letter down on the table and breathed a heavy sigh.

“You must understand, Your Highness, I cannot accept these orders lightly, even from a man of your station. If I were to fail, I would likely find myself shorter by a head.”

“Nobody will be coming after your head, General. His Majesty has given me his blessing. More to the point, failure will not stain your record. These instructions are mine, and I take responsibility for them. I hope that eases your fears.”

Multiple schemes would be necessary to seize victory, but that was the only way to rescue Liz and Aura. No longer was Hiro a naive child incapable of saving anyone. He had grown since the age of chaos one thousand years ago. His reach was still woefully small, but he now had the strength to save the handful of lives it could enclose.

At last, Vakish’s answer broke the silence. “Very well. You have my cooperation.”

Hiro’s smile widened with satisfaction. His fingers reached up to touch his eyepatch. “I’m glad to hear it. Oh, and one more thing.”

He beckoned Vakish closer. With trepidation on his face, the general obeyed. Hiro leaned over and whispered a few words into his ear, then clapped a hand on his shoulder.

“Can I trust you with what needs to be done?”

“You can, Your Highness. I must warn you, however, what you have asked for cannot be done within the day. Would tomorrow suffice?”

“That will be fine. Thank you.”

If possible, he would have liked to defeat Draal wholly on his own, but to put all the pieces in place entirely by himself was too tall an order. Fortunately, indebting himself to Vakish here would not be too much of a hindrance. He would simply offer the man a share of the glory when all was done.

“Well, time is pressing, and we have our own preparations to see to. If you’ll excuse me.”

Hiro left the war room with Garda at his side. He had secured High General Vakish’s cooperation. All that remained was to invade Draal, lead the enemy into a trap, and force them to the negotiating table.

＊＊＊＊＊

The thirteenth day of the eleventh month of Imperial Year 1023

The sun had not yet risen when the Crow Legion finished its preparations and departed from Tutelary Fortress. Crossing the border into the Grand Duchy of Draal took less than an hour. Under cover of night, Hiro directed his troops to surround the nearby villages. They took every inhabitant captive without discrimination—women, children, and the elderly.

“Hand them over to High General Vakish’s men on the border,” Hiro commanded.

The soldiers wasted no time in executing his orders. Soon enough, the villagers were being herded into long columns and marched back to High General Vakish. Cowed into compliance by the Crow Legion, few dared to fight back. In general, however, while the soldiers were certainly fierce enough to be intimidating, most of the villagers were simply confused. With the exception of several scuffles that broke out when someone resisted, their captors treated them with unexpected kindness. They seemed more bemused than anything else as they shuffled away toward the border.

In short order, village after village was summarily rounded up and captured. By the time the first rays of the morning sun split the blue, Hiro and his men had arrived at the town of Lessende, near the border stronghold of Hantigal Fortress.

“Will this be the last one, Your Lordship?” Huginn asked.

Hiro lifted his head from his map. The atmosphere outside his roofless carriage was heavy. Black-clad soldiers had the town surrounded, with all of its inhabitants gathered together out in the street. Every face was gray with fear. Some of the townsfolk wept while others begged for their lives.

He looked back at Huginn, whose honeyed skin was shining in the sun. “Let’s say so. We’ve taken longer with this than I planned.”

He beckoned one of his guards and commanded them to send up a smoke signal. That would direct the other forces to begin carrying out their orders in their respective villages.

“Begging your pardon, Your Lordship,” she said, “but Draal’s got seven border settlements. We’ve only nabbed four, this one included.”

For all that Huginn seemed dissatisfied with their progress, taking four settlements in such a short span of time was acceptable. It was good enough not to interfere with their future plans.

“Don’t worry. We’re well on track. And I’ve got several schemes in mind to make sure things stay that way.”

Strategy was best not thought about too deeply. It was a simple game, in the end: whichever side did a better job of deceiving the other would win. Artheus had taken issue with that assessment, objecting that it was precisely the deception that called for deep thought, but Hiro had blithely asserted that anybody could do it.

“So long as you’re certain.” Huginn didn’t sound very reassured.

Hoping to soothe the unease in his subordinate’s heart, Hiro donned a small smile and pressed a finger to his lips. “I am certain. Don’t you believe me?”

“C-Course I do, Your Lordship!” She raised both hands to hide a rapidly reddening face and waved him away. “I’d best get to scouting!”

Huginn turned her horse about—perhaps a little quicker than necessary—and rode away, trailing dust. As a nonplussed Hiro watched her go, a shadow fell over him.

“All is ready,” said a gruff voice.

He turned to see Garda, who was once again acting as his vice-commander. The tall zlosta was wearing his usual stern expression, but something about him seemed oddly disheartened. For a moment, Hiro wondered what, but he soon guessed the problem: like Huginn, Garda was concerned that they were behind schedule, and since he had been responsible for training the Crow Legion, he considered the delay a personal failure.

With a rueful sigh, Hiro got to his feet. “Good. Now let some of the captives go. Just a few will do.”

“At once.”

Garda turned and signaled to his troops, who released several youths from their bonds. The townsfolk looked around, clearly confused. It was hard to blame them. They had only just been captured; what were their captors doing setting them free?

“You have been released for one reason alone: to report what happened here to your rulers.”

Hiro raised his left hand to the standard bearer. A great flag unfurled on the wind. The townsfolk gasped as they saw the sigil it bore: a black dragon clutching a silver sword, the livery of the second emperor.

“And if you would look behind you...”

The youths and the soldiers turned around as one. All across the plain, plumes of black smoke rose into the sky, issuing from where the nearby villages should have been. The dark stain rapidly spread across the firmament like a great black dragon devouring its prey.

Screams rose from the crowd. Cries and curses filled the air as they wailed that their town would be next.

Hiro looked down on their misery with dispassionate eyes. “Spread the word across all of Draal: the Grantzian Empire is invading.”

He raised his arms wide, and a gust of wind sent the Black Camellia streaming behind him, its hem beating at the air with elegant violence. He raised a hand to brush his eyepatch. The townsfolk trembled.

“And recall what was once said of the War God’s army: that the foulest fiend falls when the Crow Legion rides.”

Those words had first been uttered long ago in praise of the Crow Legion’s valor—the same valor that had made them so fatefully dangerous to the third emperor.

“Remember those words. Now, go!”

With a thrust of his chin, Hiro directed the youths to run. Once they were gone, he collapsed back into his carriage.

“A fine performance,” Garda remarked. “You’d make a better player than a prince.”

Hiro smiled, raising a hand to the sky. “That’s the first step of our plan complete. Time for the next. We’ll start marching as soon as we hand the townsfolk over to High General Vakish.”

“Understood. I’ll recall the units at the other settlements.”

“Please. Oh, and have you brought my swiftdrake?”

Swiftdrakes were a draconid species nonindigenous to Soleil. Found primarily in the Shaitan Islands, they had been introduced to the mainland ecosystem when an enterprising adventurer had accidentally released several into the wild while returning from an excursion to the east. The specimen in question had been captured after causing trouble around Berg Fortress four months prior. It seemed happy to serve as Hiro’s mount, which had proven useful, as he had never been able to ride a horse.

“As you requested. The beast is in the back, I believe.”

Garda called Muninn over.

“Got need of me, boss?” the man asked.

“I left you in charge of Lord Hiro’s swiftdrake, did I not? Where is it?”

Muninn scratched the back of his head awkwardly, pointedly avoiding eye contact. “Right, that. Y’see...well...”

Garda clapped a hand on his shoulder. “You have not let the beast escape, I trust.”

“Nothing like that, boss! It’s just... Agh, Huginn took it out scouting!” With a panicked apology, Muninn fell to his knees and pressed his forehead to the dirt.

Garda’s eyebrows rose. “She can ride the beast?”

Nobody could blame him for his surprise. Swiftdrakes had all the pride of the dragons they called kin. They rarely condescended to allow humanoids onto their backs.

“Not ride it, boss. But it’s taken a shine to her. Likes joining her on missions and such.”

Garda pressed an exhausted hand to his forehead. “Taking that creature on reconnaissance... What is that fool thinking?”

Hiro only chuckled. “There’s never a dull moment with these two around. At least they take my mind off things.”

Garda shot him a sharp glare. “Is this really a laughing matter? She’s overstepped the mark this time. I’ll ensure she knows it once she returns.”

Hiro sat upright and shook his head, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Don’t worry about it. We’ll fight better if we don’t get worked up over every little thing.”

“We’ll fight better with discipline in the—”

A soldier interrupted their conversation. “The townsfolk have been handed over, Your Highness,” he said. “The men are ready to act on their orders.”

“Good. Send word to all units: we’re moving out.”

“Yes, Your Highness!”

The man bowed and got back onto his horse. He brought his mount around and rode away, hoisting a great standard high as he left.

“Ought to be getting to my men.” Muninn, too, rode away to join his unit.

A dust cloud rose above the Crow Legion as it hastily organized itself into ranks. Officers barked orders all around. Hiro watched for a while, pleased by their performance, before turning his gaze to Hantigal Fortress. Only one sel away across the grasslands, the fortification was a hive of activity, even to the naked eye. They must have realized that the towns were burning—the smoke was impossible to miss—but they weren’t leaving the safety of the walls. Apparently, they had been struck by a bout of cowardice.

“All units, move out! Keep those ranks in order!” Garda’s gruff voice shook the morning air, injecting the ranks with a suitable degree of tension.

As his carriage shuddered into motion, Hiro raised his right hand. “It’s time, Garda. Let’s give those men cowering in Hantigal Fortress a dose of reality.”

“Aye, let’s.” With a nod, Garda raised his sword to the standard-bearer. “Strike the torches! Teach them to fear the name of the Crow Legion!”

Soon, black smoke was rising over Lessende. It spread across the sky like an inkblot, the stain growing larger by the second. The Crow Legion marched out in perfect lockstep with a despair-inducing spectacle at their back.

Hiro and his troops proceeded southward, keeping a respectful distance from Hantigal Fortress, then pivoted to march directly past the fortification. They didn’t bother engaging the forces inside—with the situation in constant flux, they didn’t have a second to waste. They passed directly beneath the walls without incident, but as they were pulling away, at eighty-nine rue from the fortress, there was a sudden flurry of movement from inside.

“Here they come,” Hiro murmured.

A messenger rode up. “The gates have opened, Your Highness! The enemy means to sortie!”

“Either they were waiting for us to pass or they were too proud to ignore an enemy right in front of their noses.”

He looked back at the fortress, where a cloud of dust was rising. If the Crow Legion was attacked from behind, it would take heavy casualties. It seemed that his only play was to turn around and face the enemy head-on.

“How many are they?”

“We can’t tell, Your Highness, but our spies report that Hantigal Fortress’s garrison is fewer than four thousand! We surely outnumber them!”

A frontal charge would inevitably result in losses. The time had come for Hiro to employ his first scheme.

There’s no point holding back. Better to swing first and swing hard.

He touched his hand to his eyepatch, then thrust it out toward the messenger. “Tell the standard-bearer to turn their banner to the right. We’ll turn at full speed and crush them.”

The man nodded and rode off. Hiro turned to Garda.

“Do you trust Muninn to play his part?”

“The weather’s clear today. A man could see for sel. He’ll spot the signal true enough.”

Garda glanced toward the horizon. Hiro followed his gaze. A lone figure stood far out on the plain, holding a black dragon standard tilted to the right.

“I’ll lead the first cohort. The front will be mine today,” Garda said.

“Not this time. I’ll lead the charge.”

“Oh?” The zlosta looked back in surprise, his feet halted halfway to his horse’s flanks.

Hiro pointed to their right and grinned. “I want her to learn a thing or two.”

As Garda turned to look, a carefree voice rang out from the same direction. “I’m back, Your Lordship! And I know their numbers!”

Huginn rode in on horseback with Hiro’s swiftdrake loping along beside her. Hiro jumped down from his carriage and broke into a run. He leaped onto the swiftdrake’s back and took the reins.

“I’m heading to the front. Huginn, you come with me. Tell me your findings on the way.”

“What of me?!” Garda shouted after him.

Hiro looked back over his shoulder. “You take command of the main force. I’ll be back once I’ve sent our enemies packing.”

Before the zlosta could answer, Hiro patted the swiftdrake’s head and it sprang away. Huginn rode beside him, straining her limits to keep pace.

“They’ve got a little upward of three thousand, Your Lordship. Two thousand infantry; what’s left is cavalry.”

“Understood. We’ll charge as soon as the first cohort is ready. We should have the momentum to punch right through them.”

The foremost ranks of the first cohort were facing the right way by the time Hiro arrived at the front, but the central and rear ranks were still settling into position—not a terrible turning speed, but there was definitely room for improvement.

“They need more training...but we can’t wait for the rest of the cohort to form up.”

The Draali forces were approaching at full speed, still intent on striking their enemy from the rear. The Crow Legion needed to charge at them head-on, take them by surprise, and negate their momentum or else it would be overrun. Besides, it was vital to keep their attention facing forward.

About a thousand men were ready to charge. Hiro’s decision was swift. He raised his voice for all to hear. “Attention, first cohort! The vanguard will charge alone!”

Horseshoes thundered. Armor clanked. The clamor of the battlefield filled the air. Even so, his voice carried. Its distinctive timbre drew his men’s attention and rang clearly in their ears.

“Center and rearguard, charge when ready!”

One soldier beat his spear against his shield in answer. Another followed, then another, and another. Soon the noise grew into a great roar that shook the battlefield.

“If you hunger for victory, raise your swords! If you spit on defeat, raise your shields!” Hiro drew Excalibur from his hip and raised it high. “Scatter them before us! Victory to the Divines!”

He surged forward as his cry echoed across the plain. One thousand black-clad riders followed in his wake. Visible confusion spread through the enemy lines; they had expected to catch their foe unawares.

“So far, so good. We’ll make a dent, at least.”

The rest would come down to a clash of wills and a contest of strength. With Hiro taking direct command, the Crow Legion’s morale was as high as it could be, but could the Draali troops say the same? While the burning of the villages would have enraged some of them, it would have struck others with terror, and that discrepancy would breed disruption. A few soldiers gripping their bridles in fear was all it would take to throw their ranks into confusion.

“Their right flank’s open!”

Hiro saw the gap in the enemy’s defenses and plunged into it with tremendous force.

“Stand firm, men!” a Draali soldier cried, seeing him approach. “Stand fir— Agh!”

“Too slow!”

Hiro’s stroke lopped the soldier’s head from his shoulders, the man’s face still twisted with terror. The masterless horse bolted, crashing into its neighbor and sending the rider on top reeling. Hiro kicked the man from his saddle before he could recover, and the soldier vanished beneath the hooves of the cavalry behind him.

“Drive them back! These dogs burned our countrymen! Give them no quarter!”

Another Draali soldier stood in Hiro’s path without fear, though it was clear who was the better swordsman. Such valor was worthy of the greatest respect—and Hiro granted it.

“I’ll meet your best with mine!”

He took the man’s life with a strike of peerless skill, snatched his spear, and hurled it. The projectile passed all too easily through several soldiers’ heads, watering the ground with a rain of blood.

“Break through the center!” he cried. “Aim for the commander.”

“Follow His Highness!” came a bellow behind him. More and more soldiers picked up the battle cry until it echoed on all sides.

Faced with that bestial howl, the enemy’s momentum broke utterly. At the same instant, the Crow Legion’s center and rear ranks caught up with the charge, forming a hammer to slam the wedge in deeper.

“Fall back!” a Draali voice cried out. “Regroup with the heavies and reform ranks or we’ll be routed!”

Hiro turned toward the voice to see a middle-aged knight with a sword held high. His gaudy armor marked him immediately as a commander. Hiro pulled on his swiftdrake’s reins to turn it around, intent on running the man down, but before the beast could charge, the knight toppled lifelessly from his horse.

“Sir Beyanne?!” came a horrified cry from the Draali ranks.

By Hiro’s side, Huginn lowered her bow. She flashed a proud grin. “Got to let us lowly peons get our licks in once in a while, Your Lordship!”

Hiro shrugged as nonchalantly as he could muster, but he couldn’t hold back a smile. “I suppose I do. And I see you’re still an impressive shot.” He clapped the woman on the shoulder. “You do the honors. The day is yours.”

“Yes, Your Lordship!” Her chest swelled with pride as she held her bow up high. “The enemy commander is dead! Shot down by Huginn, foremost disciple of His Lordship the Fourth Prince!”

“Sir Beyanne, dead to a stripling brat?! Bah! To arms, men! Avenge his honor or you disgrace the name of Draal!”

A group of soldiers bore down upon Huginn, burning with vengeful anger. She faced them head-on, unafraid. Her grin only grew wider as she raised her bow.

“Aye, I did him in, and so what? The battlefield’s for the strong and he wasn’t strong enough!”

“Impudent girl! You think a lucky shot makes you victorious?!”

“What does gender matter on the battlefield?! You just sound like a sore loser!”

“You dare—” The man’s furious grimace froze forever as Huginn’s arrow nailed him through the forehead. He toppled from the saddle.

“We are the Crow Legion!” she declared. “The children of Mars!” And she unleashed a devastating hail of arrows.

“Blast it! Retreat! Retreat!” The enemy vice-commander’s eyes widened at Huginn’s bow-work. He yanked hard on his reins. “Fall back and regroup!”

He set about barking orders with a look of desperation. Unfortunately, he had left the decision until far too late. At that moment, Muninn’s detachment crashed into the Draali forces from the rear.

“An attack from behind?! Impossible! What happened to the heavies?!” Panic spread across the vice-commander’s face. “Curse it all! Retreat! Run for all you’re wor—”

His cry ended in a gurgle as a Crow Legion spear burst through his chest. If Hiro’s eyes did not deceive him, it had been Muninn who had dealt the killing blow. The burly man cut through the press with magnificent spearwork. He caught sight of Hiro and raised his weapon high in a salute.

“And so the trap snaps shut,” Hiro murmured.

Before even approaching the fortress, he had ordered Muninn and his detachment to peel off from the main force, using the smoke from Lessende to conceal their presence. The ploy had only been intended as insurance in case the enemy emerged, but it had paid off splendidly. The enemy heavies, late to the battle, would have made easy prey for Muninn’s cavalry.

“That’s one win under our belts.”

Huginn pouted. “There goes my oaf of a brother again, hogging all the glory.”

“Don’t worry. I said the day was yours, remember?”

The sister had slain the enemy commander, while the brother had spearheaded a perfect pincer maneuver. Together, the siblings made a formidable team.

“You mean it, Your Lordship?”

“Of course. So don’t look so down.” Hiro offered her a crooked smile and an encouraging nod before turning his attention back to the battlefield. “Let’s not chase them too enthusiastically. I don’t want any unnecessary casualties.”

Around the pair, the battle was still in full swing. Draali soldiers turned to flee even as they watched. Nearby, a unit was preparing to pursue the runaways.

“Do not follow!” Hiro called out. “If they run, let them run! Only strike them down if they resist!”

The more enemy soldiers fled the battle, the faster news of the Crow Legion’s invasion would spread. Additionally, the sight of the bedraggled troops retreating would scare the nearby townsfolk into evacuating. The more pressure the Crow Legion could put on the grand duchy, the easier it would be to force them to the negotiating table...and yet, their goal still felt so distant, and Liz almost out of sight.

Damn it, I can’t dwell on these things. The men will sense it.

Seeing the commander moping around after what was supposed to have been a victory would damage morale. Some things weren’t in his immediate power to change. He had to put them out of his mind and focus on the battle in front of him.

“Are you all right, Your Lordship?” Huginn asked. “You’re looking awfully dour.”

She sounded concerned. He must have let more of his feelings show than he’d intended.

“I’m fine. Don’t worry.”

“For true?”

“I was just thinking. That’s all.”

Hiro silently berated himself for his impatience. For someone so fond of lecturing others on the virtues of prudence, he was doing an awful job of practicing what he preached. His lips pulled into a self-deprecating smile.

Garda chose that moment to appear, his expression sour. If his armor was spattered with blood, his face was positively caked with the stuff, looking for all the world like a demon’s horrific visage. Sticky crimson dripped from the tip of a greatsword soaked with gore.

“The battle yet continues,” he grunted. “This is no time to rest...although perhaps I cannot blame you for not deigning to engage weaklings such as these.”

The stench of death was rank on the man, but if his poor mood was any indication, the fighting had not nearly satisfied him.

“We have other battles ahead of us,” Hiro said. “There’s no point in wasting our energy. We’ll need all we can get when the time comes.”

“When I am exhausted, I will rest in the rear. But the One-Eyed Dragon ought to conserve his own strength until I can no longer fight in his place.”

Garda gestured over his shoulder, where Hiro’s roofless carriage rested. Hiro took the man up on the unspoken offer and climbed in from his swiftdrake’s back.

“Thank you,” he said to the creature. “We won’t be fighting for a while, so have a good, long rest.”

He gave it an appreciative pat on the head. It trilled happily.

“Garda, you’re in charge. I have some planning to do.”

“As you command.” Orders received, Garda turned his horse about and plunged into one of the remaining skirmishes.

Hiro looked to Huginn and asked for the results of her reconnaissance.

“Of course, Your Lordship. As my men tell it, the local nobles are trying to raise an army from the nearby settlements, but they’re having a tough time. Most men of fighting age went with the grand duke’s son into Faerzen, so they’ve been left with the dregs.”

“How many do they have?”

“Six thousand. Sounds like a lot, I know, but most of them are peasants. I’d wager half don’t know how to ride. Their formations will be heavy on the infantry.”

Peasants or nor, six thousand was six thousand. Gathering that many men was an impressive feat. The Crow Legion wasn’t likely to suffer many fatalities in this engagement, but Hiro anticipated several hundred wounded, putting their effective numbers at a little over four thousand. Considering that he still didn’t know the size of the Faerzen invasion force, he would need to keep losses to a minimum in the next battle too.

Different commanders might adopt different approaches, but terrain stays constant.

He drew a map from his pocket and spread it out on the floor of the carriage. Predicting the route that the Draali nobles were likely to take, he could see that battle would be joined on a plain similar to this one, although there was nowhere with a good view for a unit like Muninn’s to conceal themselves. If the Crow Legion advanced apace and nothing unexpected happened in the meantime, the two forces would clash on the following day.

If we just charge right at them, it’ll turn into a contest of strength. With our fewer numbers, that’ll put us at a disadvantage.

The enemy would be more than willing to throw men away if it would slow Hiro’s forces down. Their goal was to buy time, either until the grand duke’s eldest son returned from Faerzen or his second son could send reinforcements. Whichever they were holding out for, Hiro had to defeat them quickly and decisively or it might come back to haunt him.

He raised his head from the map and looked around.

Looks like it’s over.

On all sides, his allies raised victory cries. Countless swords and spears reached for the sky. The ringing of steel faded away, leaving the enemy beaten and running desperately for their lives.

“Huginn, can you fetch Garda?”

“At once, Your Lordship!” Huginn bounded away.

Sure enough, Garda soon returned. “Have you some need of me?”

“It looks like we’re in for a battle with the local nobles,” Hiro said.

“I hear as much from Huginn. Six thousand, half peasants, was it?”

“I want to keep our losses to a minimum.”

“Then we shall need a plan...but resources will be scarce here in enemy territory, and we hardly have the time for trickery. What do you propose?”

“We’ll encircle them. We’ll need to be well-coordinated, so I’ll brief the battalion and brigade commanders tonight. I’ll let Vakish decide what to do with Hantigal Fortress. Can you send a messenger his way?”

“As you wish.”

As Garda beckoned a messenger to relay the details, Hiro turned to Huginn, who had been left with nothing to do.

“I need to get some rest. Can you take charge while I’m asleep?”

“Of course, Your Lordship! I’ll see no one disturbs you until you’re ready, no matter what!”

Hiro sighed. “Just wake me if there’s an emergency.”

With that, he closed his eyes and set about recovering his strength.