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

Chapter 4: The Wrath of the War God

The seventeenth day of the eleventh month of Imperial Year 1023

Handhaven’s twenty-thousand-strong force took up position at Fort Terminus, three sel from Hiro’s encampment. There they remained, watching but not attacking. They were either waiting to see how the Crow Legion reacted or just being cautious. Regardless, it was clear that Hiro had been given time to think—so the day found him sitting alone in his command tent, silently pondering how to proceed.

“Your Highness,” came a voice.

He tilted his head and cracked open one eye. The voice was familiar, but its formal tone came as a surprise. He looked toward the entrance to see Garda, as expected, but employing the particular stiff manner that he only adopted around the troops or in the presence of nobility or dignitaries. At his sides were Huginn and Muninn, and behind them waited the reason for his reticence: an unfamiliar man. Hiro did not recognize the newcomer, but his attire was not the uniform of the imperial military; his features, too, clearly marked him as an outsider to the empire.

Mistaking Hiro’s lack of a response for inattention, Garda bowed his head a second time. “Your Highness, I bring an emissary from the Grand Duchy of Draal.”

So that was how they were playing it. Hiro couldn’t deny a slight feeling of surprise, but he made certain not to let it show as he waved the man in.

The emissary stepped forward and sank to one knee, bowing his head politely. “Allow me to introduce myself, Your Highness. I am Eguze von Martina, a general of Draal and a humble servant of His Highness, Lord Handhaven. It is an honor to make the acquaintance of one so illustrious as the fourth prince of the empire. Even here, we have heard tell of the exploits of Lord Hiro Schwartz von Grantz.”

“There’s no need to bow, General von Martina. We’re all equal on the battlefield.” Hiro paused. “So what brings you here?”

Von Martina gave a solemn nod and stood up straight. “Right to business, I see. Very well. I am told that you took several of our nobles captive not three days ago.”

“You have heard correctly. We have the individuals in custody.”

“I have come to offer you a ransom in exchange for their release.”

General von Martina produced a folded sheet of paper and handed it to him. Hiro’s expression turned dubious as he unfolded it. One eyebrow rose. The sum written within was more than enough for a ransom. Perhaps Handhaven simply valued his nobles highly, but such an extravagant price per head suggested some kind of ulterior motive.

“We can procure the necessary funds by the morrow,” General von Martina continued. “Until then, we swear not to engage in hostilities. Shall I tell my lord that you accept?”

This von Martina was a bold man to ride alone into the middle of an enemy encampment. Moreover, he clearly had Handhaven’s trust—in addition to the ransom offer, the letter stated that any harm to the messenger would be met with force.

The big question was why Handhaven was willing to part with so much coin for the nobles’ safe return. As Hiro studied von Martina’s expression, he noticed something: the emblem on the breast of the man’s uniform matched the standard he had found in the mud three days prior. Considering to whom he owed his allegiance, that could only mean one thing.

“Is that the crest of Lord Handhaven you wear, General?” Hiro asked, pointing.

Von Martina furrowed his brow, perturbed by the change in topic, but he quickly realized that he could not ignore the question. “Indeed it is, Your Highness,” he said with a resigned nod. “What of it?”

“Nothing. It just struck me that I’ve seen it before.”

A piece fell into place inside Hiro’s mind. If the captured nobles had carried a standard bearing that same symbol, they likely belonged to the faction backing Handhaven, which meant that taking them back to the empire as hostages would weaken the man’s support base. To his other noble patrons, such an event would be disastrous—so disastrous that they would gladly part with a large sum to avoid it.

Hiro decided on his reply. “I regret to inform you that I cannot return our prisoners,” he said.

Von Martina made no attempt to hide his bafflement. “On what grounds?” he blustered, advancing on Hiro with a rapidly reddening face. “Surely you cannot find our offer lacking?”

Garda and Muninn seized him by the shoulders. “I must ask you to keep your distance from His Highness,” the former growled.

Hiro raised a hand to his eyepatch. All was going to plan. He had known in his gut that taking the nobles alive had been the correct decision, and now it had paid off. “A matter this important must be settled between commanders,” he explained.

“You would have me bring Lord Handhaven here in person?” Von Martina sounded mortified by the prospect. “I fear he would agree to no such thing. There would be no guarantee of his safety. Is that not precisely why I am here in his stead?”

Hiro gestured for the man to be silent. “That isn’t what I said. I will go to meet with him. In person.”

If von Martina had been scandalized before, he was now slack-jawed. He stared back with a stupefied expression, trying to divine Hiro’s intentions, but he mustn’t have been able to glean very much, because eventually he gave up with a sigh of resignation.

“Permit me to ask you one question,” he sighed. “Are you quite mad?”

Hiro shook his head, raising a hand to his mouth so that von Martina could not see his smile. “Perfectly sane, I assure you. Do you have a problem with my offer?”

Von Martina looked down for a moment, pondering. At last, he met Hiro’s gaze again with a look of consternation. “I fear that this is a decision too great for a humble vassal such as I. Would you permit me to return to Fort Terminus and discuss the matter with Lord Handhaven?”

“If you want, but I’ll need an answer by nightfall.”

“It shall be done, Your Highness. I shall depart immediately.” Von Martina bowed low and hurried out of the tent.

As soon as the man was gone, Garda turned an incredulous gaze to Hiro. “You must have a death wish. You mean to walk alone into a nest of your enemies?”

“That’s right. Is that a problem?”

“We all know you fight like a champion, Your Lordship,” Huginn interrupted, “but that’s a tall order even for you.”

Muninn was quick to back his sister up. “She’s got the right of it. At least bring someone who can watch your back.”

A shrug was Hiro’s only reply.

Garda pinched the furrow between his eyebrows. “I understand that you fear for the sixth princess, but this is reckless even for the One-Eyed Dragon. They have twenty thousand men. Not even you could claim that many heads.”

Perhaps now’s the time to put that to the test, Hiro almost remarked, but he bit it back. This was no time for wisecracks. His three retainers were looking at him with concern, earnestly worried about his safety. It was only fair to engage with them honestly.

With a sigh, he explained himself. “If you think I’m rushing things, honestly, you might be right. Even a part of me thinks I’m being rash. But something tells me that we can’t afford to waste any more time. There’s no point in asking me why, it’s just a gut feeling, but please trust me on this.”

“Be that as it may,” Garda said, “they’ll not let you waltz into their fort as you please. What if you get yourself captured like the princess?”

“Maybe they really will be able to negotiate. And if they aren’t, I’ll come back with Handhaven and von Martina’s heads.”

Garda snorted. “Bold as ever. I sense you’ll not be dissuaded.”

“What can I say? I’ve got a stubborn streak.”

Garda lowered himself into a nearby chair, folded his arms, and closed his eyes. His mouth was pursed in dissatisfaction, but he seemed to have realized that he was fighting a losing battle. Hiro felt bad for forcing the issue, but this was one point on which he would not back down.

Huginn approached, a frown creasing her brow. “Be careful, Your Lordship. If something does go wrong, we’ll be there faster than you can blink.”

“I appreciate that,” Hiro said. Privately, however, he felt confident that the negotiations would succeed. The Draali forces were probably falling over themselves laughing at what an idiot he was. He would have to show them just how wrong they were.

My apologies, Lord Handhaven, but I won’t be pulling any punches.

Hiro’s eyes narrowed savagely, his mouth curling into a half-moon smile. His expression was at once the face of a strategist spinning a scheme and of a predator closing in on its prey—a face that a snake might wear.

Perhaps half an hour later, a Draali emissary arrived at the camp—not von Martina, but some other dignitary.

“I am your escort, Your Highness,” the man explained.

Hiro’s eyebrows rose. “I assume this means Lord Handhaven is willing to negotiate?”

“I know only that I have been ordered to see you to the fort, Your Highness. Rest assured that no harm will befall you along the way.”

Reassurances of safety naturally rang hollow from an enemy. As Hiro adopted a conflicted expression, Garda leaned in to whisper in his ear.

“I will make the men ready, just in case,” the zlosta grunted. “Don’t get yourself killed.”

“I won’t. You can manage by yourself while I’m gone, I trust.”

“Are you ready to depart, Your Highness?” the emissary asked.

“Of course.”

Hiro climbed into the emissary’s carriage. The sun was sinking over the flat horizon as Garda and the siblings saw him off, leaving the vehicle to find its way by the sunset’s lingering glow.

After a while, they came to the Draali encampment, a sprawling affair resulting from the soldiers that Fort Terminus was too small to accommodate spilling out around its walls. Dinner must have been announced, because many of them sat around with wooden bowls in their hands, conversing. Others were focusing on training or maintaining their arms. All in all, it made for a peaceful sight, but as the carriage drew closer to the fort, the atmosphere transformed into something more menacing.

“They’ve certainly rolled out the welcome carpet,” Hiro murmured to himself. “Looks like they aren’t planning on letting me leave quietly if negotiations break down.”

Ranks of soldiers lined both sides of the road. Their freshly sharpened weapons glinted dully in the fading light, and their heavy armor seemed to promise that he would have no easy return.

At last, the carriage stopped before the gates of the fort, and Hiro was made to disembark alone. A wave of surprise ran through the soldiers above the gate as he stepped out into the open—they probably hadn’t believed that he would really come. Countless eyes studied him with suspicion.

They’ve got archers hidden behind the battlements. In case I try to run, probably.

He glanced back over his shoulder. The ranks of heavy infantry held their spears at the ready. The air was stretched so taut that the slightest wrong move might invite bloodshed.

As tension hung heavy, the gate opened and two men emerged. The one behind was General von Martina. In front of him walked a portly figure with stubby limbs and a swollen belly reminiscent of an ogre. A charitable observer might call his flabby face kindly; a less charitable one might have said “weak-willed.” This, presumably, was Handhaven, the grand duke’s second son.

“I-I must say,” the man stammered, “your visit comes as quite the surprise.”

“Hiro Schwartz von Grantz of the Grantzian Empire. It’s an honor.” Hiro held out his hand with a welcoming smile.

“P-Please, the honor is all mine! Ah...introductions! Of course! I am Handhaven von Draal of the Grand Duchy of Draal!”

Hiro politely ignored the trembling in Handhaven’s fingers as the pair shook hands, and let his smile relax into something more reassuring. “Not to hurry you, but shall we begin?”

“O-Of course! Please, right this way.”

Handhaven turned to head back into the fort. Hiro made to follow, but von Martina stepped into his way, one hand laid pointedly on the pommel of his sword.

“Back a little, if you please. I will not risk you taking my lord hostage.”

It was a sensible request. Hiro nodded in assent and filed in behind von Martina.

As the group passed through the gate, a wave of air washed over them from behind, sending Hiro’s hair fluttering and the Black Camellia flapping wildly. He turned around to confirm what he already knew: the gate had slammed shut.

“What is the meaning of this?” he demanded.

As he looked around, soldiers dashed out from their hiding places in the shadow of the walls to surround him with long-handled spears. Hundreds of bows trained hundreds of arrows on him from the battlements above his head.

“W-We will undertake negotiations here, Lord Hiro,” Handhaven stammered.

“Fine. Let’s hear your demands.”

“As long as you don’t resist, y-you will not be harmed. You...you will be taken captive and traded for the lives of my retainers.”

“That’s your plan?” Hiro asked.

“Eh?” Handhaven’s eyes went wide in surprise. Whatever response he had expected, it wasn’t that. “What do you mean?”

“Do you really think you can capture me with this?”

Handhaven looked at von Martina in his confusion. “Eguze, what do I say?”

Hiro leveled a finger at him with an exasperated sigh. “You’re the negotiator here, Lord Handhaven.”

“B-But...”

The man was evidently nothing more than a typical fainthearted nobleborn. A lifetime of looking to others for approval had left him entirely incapable of making a single decision for himself. It was little wonder that a faction had sprung up around him. Should he come to power, his backers would not only be able to influence his decisions, they would effectively control the nation from the shadows.

The question, then, was under whose instructions Handhaven was currently operating. They would have to be an individual of status, and someone to whom the man would be first to look for advice. Here, in this place, only one candidate fit that description: the man by Handhaven’s side, shaking his head with his hand pressed to his brow. General von Martina.

“If you want to take me prisoner, you’re welcome to try,” Hiro said, “but first, you should read this.”

He fished through his pockets and produced a letter, which he tossed through the air so that it landed at von Martina’s feet. The general looked back at him suspiciously.

“Read it,” Hiro said again. “Before we go any further.”

Von Martina’s lips pursed. He stared at the letter for a long moment as though it might explode but nevertheless irritably picked it up and passed it to Handhaven. “You ought to be the one to read it, my lord.”

“M-May I?”

“You may.”

Permission thus obtained, Handhaven silently read through the letter. Halfway through, he let out a gasp and looked up at Hiro with wide eyes.

“Is something the matter?” Hiro asked.

“General? General, you must see this!”

Von Martina took the letter. His eyes blurred as he quickly scanned it, and his nostrils flared.

“If you’re done,” Hiro said, “let’s start our negotiations. I do hope we can come to an understanding.”

His lips pulled back into a savage smile, like a wild beast revealing its true colors, and he raised one hand. Excalibur appeared from nothingness in a flash of blinding light and settled into his palm. That was not all, however. With a noise like reality tearing, countless rents scored the air around him. A sudden, violent wind sent the Black Camellia dancing for joy.

“You will find my demands there. Personally, I think they’re quite reasonable.”

The soldiers stared in astonishment—or rather, in fear at the change that had come over him, as though he were a monster walking in their midst.

“General? What is he doing?!” Handhaven cowered as the gale ravaged the courtyard.

Von Martina looked stupefied. His men turned to him for orders, but he didn’t seem to hear them. Uproar spread through the enemy troops like a ripple across a pond. The archers on the ramparts had retreated behind the battlements for fear of being swept off the walls.

“Wh-What is he?!” In the face of the otherworldly scene and Hiro’s overpowering might, Handhaven’s forehead began to gush sweat.

Von Martina collected himself enough to stare Hiro down, with a trembling hand laid on the hilt of his sword. “We have the numbers!” he barked at the nearby soldiers. “Do not falter! There are over ten thousand Draali troops outside the walls! What have we to fear from one man?!”

Handhaven sank to the ground, trembling. Hiro approached the man and stood over him. “I would like your answer, Lord Handhaven. Do you agree to my terms?”

“I agree! You can have everything you want! Now cease this foul sorcery!”

Pure despair settled over the man’s soul. The might emanating from Hiro was vast enough to extinguish all hope.

Hiro leaned over and laid a hand on Handhaven’s head. “Then we have a deal?”

“Y-Yes...although there is one thing I must ask.”

“And what is that?”

“The settlements that you burned on the border... My soldiers and my people will demand restitution.” Handhaven’s voice wavered. “On this I cannot back down, even if my head should roll for it.”

That was only to be expected. Hiro nodded in assent, then lifted Handhaven under the arms and lightly pulled the corpulent man to his feet. “Unfortunately, I don’t recall burning any settlements.”

“Y-You don’t? But...” Handhaven looked around in confusion, casting a desperate glance at von Martina.

“That cannot be.” Von Martina made no attempt to disguise his anger. He glared at Hiro with murder in his eyes. “We have the word of the nearby garrison, of the townsfolk themselves! All say that you burned their homes!”

Hiro met the man’s ire with a nonplussed expression and a dismissive wave. “Did they see the flames rise with their own eyes?”

“Of course! The reports explicitly mentioned smoke rising from the— Ah!” Von Martina’s eyes went wide as he spotted the trick.

“Smoke, yes. But no fire.”

“Eh? What do you mean by that?” Handhaven looked between Hiro and von Martina in evident confusion.

Hiro took pity on him and decided to explain. “It’s quite simple. That was a ruse, nothing more.”

“A ruse?”

“It wasn’t the towns that I burned, only kindling. The townsfolk I took captive have all been freed. By now, they should all have returned to their ordinary lives.”

It would violate Hiro’s principles to harm the innocent. From the beginning, he had never intended to burn any homes—but he hadn’t been above pretending otherwise. First, he had evacuated all witnesses from the area. The rest of his work had been done by freed townsfolk and defeated soldiers, who fled to nearby villages and towns, spreading fear, terror, and warnings of the Crow Legion’s cruelty.

“Of course, it doesn’t matter if I reveal my tricks now. After all, their purpose, Lord Handhaven, was to draw you out.”

“All that subterfuge, just for the sake of creating this very moment.” Von Martina trembled with anger as he realized the extent of the deception.

Hiro smiled, raising a taunting finger to his lips. “Exactly. All to bring you to the negotiating table.”

“Enough of this farce!” The man’s fury exploded. With a roar of rage, he bore down on Hiro, steel glinting in his hand—but he was far too slow. He might as well have been wading through tar.

“Agh!”

Hiro knocked von Martina’s sword from his hands and pinned him to the ground. “Well,” he remarked, “what now?”

He looked around, keeping the struggling general restrained with one hand. The Draali soldiers seemed reluctant to approach. They glanced at Handhaven for orders, but the man was too shell-shocked to give any commands—or at least, so Hiro had assumed, but he was proven wrong. With knees trembling and voice cracking, Handhaven sank into a bow.

“A-A moment, Lord Hiro. Please forgive General von Martina’s indiscretion.”

Von Martina’s eyes went just as wide as Hiro’s. “My lord...” the general breathed.

“He has always served me faithfully. I-If you take his life...” Handhaven raised a trembling finger to point at Hiro. “Then I will consider our agreement void.”

Dozens of arrowheads swiveled toward Hiro.

“It seems your lord has made his choice,” Hiro said to von Martina. “What about you?”

“I...” The general eyed Excalibur’s blade at his throat and grimaced bitterly. “If that is Lord Handhaven’s decision, I will obey.”

Hiro relaxed his hold on von Martina, stepped away, planted his hands on his hips, and stretched. “Good. I’m glad this didn’t have to end in bloodshed. It’s always nice when negotiations go smoothly.” He glanced at Handhaven for a word of agreement, but the man only coughed awkwardly and nodded. “Now, I have some questions for you about the sixth princess. Your brother captured her, I think? I’d like you to tell me everything you know.”

“I-I fear that is very little,” Handhaven stammered. “I can tell you that one of my brother’s letters boasted of her capture, but he has mentioned nothing of her since.”

“That’s the truth, is it?”

Von Martina answered in place of his simpering lord, one hand still pressed to his aching neck. “Lord Puppchen has always been possessive of his toys, particularly with regard to his brother. He never let Lord Handhaven lay so much as a finger on his newest obsessions. I expect that he has developed a similar fascination with your princess.”

Hiro’s eyebrows rose. “Meaning?”

“He will toy with her until he is bored—which is to say, until she breaks. If you are to save her, you must hurry. I fear that Lord Puppchen was born...lacking some part of his humanity, shall we say.”

“I see.” Hiro did his best to maintain a veneer of calm, but a maelstrom of urgency and panic had arisen within his chest. “And he is still in Faerzen?”

“N-No, Your Highness. He has written to say that he is returning imminently. He means to trap you between his forces and ours.”

If the Draali forces were coming home, they would likely bring Liz with them—in which case, the logical move was to lay an ambush for this Puppchen and steal her back.

“How many men does he have?”

“He left with over thirty thousand,” Handhaven stuttered, “but clashes with Third Prince Brutahl will have whittled down his numbers. I expect he now has no more than twenty.”

“Lord Handhaven.” Hiro turned to face the man. “You want to be the next grand duke, correct?”

“I... Yes, I suppose I do, but...”

“Then I’d like you to do me a favor.” His smile made it clear that refusal was not an option.

＊＊＊＊＊

Meanwhile, the increasingly ferocious fighting over Fort Mitte was coming to a crescendo. Resistance archers loosed great clouds of arrows that vanished into the fort, but the imperial chain of command was holding firm, and results were unexpectedly meager. A more direct approach fared little better; attempts to push through and put up ladders invariably met with heavy losses. Any men who successfully scaled the walls were quickly driven back, and their ladders were kicked down after them.

“This failure is mine,” Scáthach said bitterly. “I had too much contempt for our enemy. And I thought too highly of my own strength.”

Things had initially gone so smoothly that she had thought nothing of initiating the siege. Three days, she had expected, before her exhausted enemy yielded and the fort fell—and indeed, were it not for the Warmaiden, the battle would long have been won. Scáthach should have been bringing the fight to Third Prince Brutahl by now and driving the imperial forces from her homeland for good. The thought made her shoulders slump.

“I cannot falter now,” she said with a shake of her head. “Too many men are risking their lives for their faith in me.”

It was thanks to those same men’s brave efforts that the Resistance was now so close to victory.

“If I had met her under different circumstances, I would have liked to discuss strategy with this Warmaiden.”

Rache glared vengefully up at the fort. “It seems that it will not fall today, Your Highness.”

“Always on the cusp of victory, yet never quite there, and today marks our fiercest effort yet. If even that is not enough...”

What sorcery the imperials were employing to hold out, only their gods knew. They had entered the fort with fewer than five thousand men, including wounded. Of those, no more than two thousand could still be in fighting shape. It was entirely possible that none remained unscathed at all.

“Soon the sun will set,” Rache observed. “We might attempt a night raid, but I expect it would bear little fruit.”

The enemy did not allow the dark to make them negligent. Every night, without fail, they lit bonfires along the walls and sent sentries to patrol the battlements. What training they must have endured to fight without sleep, Scáthach could only guess, but to attack such a well-defended emplacement would clearly be to the Resistance’s disadvantage. They would only incur needless losses, possibly so many that they could no longer face Third Prince Brutahl.

“Perhaps so, but we do not have the luxury of sitting on our haunches.” With no more time to wait the enemy out, Scáthach was growing anxious. “How long before the third prince arrives?”

Before daybreak, word had arrived from their spies that Brutahl was on the move.

“Four days if our task force succeeds in delaying him, two if it does not. In his urgency, he rides with only fifteen thousand men.” Rache’s expression was grave, lined with visible vexation. “But ours now number fewer than thirteen, wounded included. Hardly more than ten without our task force. Even the numbers game is turning against us.”

They had intended to corner their foes here, only to find themselves the ones with their backs against the wall. If they had only left the Warmaiden in her fort and challenged Prince Brutahl with their full thirty thousand, how different things might have been.

“Then again, it was to prevent exactly that scenario that the Warmaiden offered herself as bait...”

As loath as Scáthach was to admit it, the enemy had been at least one move ahead of her, possibly two. How much they had truly foreseen, she didn’t know, but there was no denying that their strategy had been magnificent. She would have applauded them if she could have.

“Still,” Rache ventured, “we would have taken the fort by now if the Draali forces had not withdrawn.”

“There is no use in lamenting their loss. They have their own homeland to defend. We could hardly demand that they stay.”

Four days prior, a request for aid had arrived from Draal: The scion of Mars has crossed the border and is carving a path toward the capital. Return with all haste. Puppchen had hesitated to comply—one could hardly blame him for feeling uneasy at the prospect of a battle with the One-Eyed Dragon—but ultimately decided that he could not afford to let his homeland fall. The Resistance, robbed of their shield, had assembled a task force to harry Third Prince Brutahl’s advance, but it remained to be seen how much time it could buy.

“Whatever the case, we must take the fort by tomorrow. The day after at the very latest.”

If they did not claim a victory as quickly as possible, they would find themselves broken against the very fort they were trying to capture. Their vengeance would go unrealized, and brave soldiers of Faerzen would die needlessly.

That, Scáthach had to avoid at all costs. She looked down at the azure spear in her hand. If she were to use its power now, might that be enough?

“Do not think it, Your Highness.” Rache interrupted her thoughts. “If you were to pass out as you did before, we would be robbed of our commander, and that would only lend our foes more time. Have you forgotten that you rendered yourself comatose for an entire day?”

“If I were to use my power now, I could break the fort. We would have time to prepare for the battle with Third Prince Brutahl.”

“You may well put yourself to sleep for two days, perhaps three. Where would that leave our preparations? I tell you, Your Highness, do not think it.”

“What other choice do we have? If attacking with all our might is not enough, we can but retreat—” Scáthach stopped as a plan flashed across her mind. It would work, perhaps...but it would disgrace the royal line of Faerzen.

“Your Highness? Is something the matter?”

There was concern in Rache’s voice at her sudden silence, but for a while she did not respond. After a long time brooding, she looked up at last with resolve in her eyes.

“I will do it. There is no other choice.”

“Your Highness, I cannot countenance your use of this power.”

“That is not what I mean. Order the men to fall back. Our battle is done for today.”

Rache’s eyebrows furrowed. “Your Highness, this is...a very sudden decision.”

“There is one way that we might still break our foes’ spirits,” Scáthach explained. “One way we might sap their will to fight. But I am reluctant to resort to it.”

“And what is that?”

“I will tell you later. First, you must command the men to fall back. Let them rest. Permit them a small amount of drink. Tomorrow they must fight even harder than they have today.”

“Understood, Your Highness. But when the time comes, I will insist upon that explanation.” Rache left to give the order, glancing back over his shoulder several times as though to reinforce his point.

Scáthach bowed her head silently. “Forgive me, Rache. I do only what is necessary for victory.”

She drew her horse closer by the reins, swung onto its back, and rode away. Her destination lay in the heart of the Faerzen Resistance’s camp, in the tent next to her own. After coming close enough to dismount again, she made to stalk wordlessly inside, but one of the sentries called out to her.

“Is something the matter, Your Highness?”

Normally, they would let her pass with nothing more than a bow, but the unease on her face seemed to have given something away. She found herself looking down guiltily.

“I have come to see the prisoner. I trust nothing is amiss?”

“Not at all, Your Highness!”

“Good. Now, if I may...”

Scáthach passed through the entrance of the heavily guarded tent. A few more wordless steps and she arrived at her destination: a curious room with a large cage in the center.

She drew closer. “How are you feeling?” she asked the crimson-haired girl resting behind the bars.

“Much better. Thanks to you.” The sight of the girl’s bandage-swathed limbs always evinced a wince, but proper medical treatment seemed to have returned the color to her face. “Can I help you?”

Her unreserved smile was almost dazzling to look at. None could deny that she had inherited the beauty of the von Grantz line—for indeed she was Sixth Princess Celia Estrella, rescued from the now-retreated Puppchen’s clutches. The man had not given up his prize easily, but the threat of Scáthach’s strength had left him little choice.

“Is something wrong?” Liz pressed. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Know that I take no pleasure in what I am about to do,” Scáthach said. “Although no amount of regret could ever excuse it.”

Liz tilted her head in confusion. “What?”

Scáthach bowed her head in a desperate apology. “Forgive me.”

She could not bring herself to explain that she had come to take the girl’s life. The words simply would not hatch from her lips, as though they had erased themselves from her mind.

“Oh. Right.” Something seemed to tip Liz off as to what was happening, but to Scáthach’s surprise, she smiled rather than ask anything further. “Well, thank you for rescuing me, anyway.”

Her resignation could not have been genuine. Surely she still retained attachments to this world; surely she still had goals left to accomplish. Her calmness had to be a facade; beneath it, the fear of death must have swelled within her breast. And yet—and yet—she met Scáthach’s eyes with a valiant smile and nothing more.

“From the moment I set out on this road, I knew it might end like this. So...just do it. Don’t hold back.”

That was a lie. It could not possibly have been true. If she would utter just one word of resentment, it would have made Scáthach’s task so much easier...so why was she voicing thanks instead?

“Oh! Right! Sorry.” Liz waved her hands in front of her face in an endearing show of sheepishness. “It can’t make it any easier to have me staring at you.”

She flashed one final smile, closed her eyes, and let the expression drain from her face. Perhaps in an attempt to maintain her pride as a princess of the empire, she refused to flinch until her last breath.

In that brief glimpse of Liz’s heart, Scáthach only saw her own cravenness written more starkly, and she had to look away. “Gáe Bolg,” she intoned. “Grant her eternal rest.”

A fierce chill sprang up as she raised her azure spear. Whiteness blossomed inside the tent as the freezing cold swirled through. Ice began to creep and crack over the bars of Liz’s cage. Lævateinn’s blessing tried to force it back as it reached her feet, but the fire was too weak, too concerned for its master; it could not burn hot enough to contest the Boreal Sovereign’s power. In moments, the flame had guttered out, leaving Liz encased in ice.

“Your Highness!” A voice rang from the tent entrance; Scáthach did not have to turn around to recognize it as Rache. “Surely you have not lost your wits?!”

“I have not.”

“And this is no act of vengeance for the battle turning against us?”

“It is not.”

“Then tell me, why have you done this?”

She could sense the anger in Rache’s voice and dared not turn to face him. What grounds did she have to criticize Puppchen now? It was her, not him, who had taken this girl’s life in the end.

“I mean to display her frozen body in front of Fort Mitte and break the imperial soldiers’ spirits.”

Rache nodded. “Of course. Perhaps they will forget themselves and attempt to steal her back.”

“Even if they don’t go to such lengths, the sight will breed anger and sorrow. They will grow wilder and more reckless, and the scales of battle will tip in our favor.”

Scáthach approached a weapon rack in the corner, still unable to look Rache in the eye. She picked up a sword and, with a short run-up, drove it deep into the block of ice.

“What are you doing, Your Highness?! Is it not beneath you to desecrate the dead?!”

Ignoring Rache’s pleas, she picked up more swords and spears and thrust them one after another into the ice. All of the blades stopped inches before touching Liz.

“I will not stoop so low as to defile her corpse. But to see their princess in this state will shock the enemy all the same. They will imagine for themselves the treatment that she has endured, and it will fill them with rage.”

Scáthach knew only too well how such thoughts came unbidden to mind. Seeing the corpses of her own family had done much the same to her.

“I will deserve whatever mud they sling at me. I know full well that this is a coward’s act.”

But even should her road be paved with corpses, she would not stop until she had her vengeance. And though it should lead her into the bowels of hell, she would plunge into the inferno with Gáe Bolg in hand.

“My homeland is ravaged, my people slaughtered, my soldiers shamed, my family butchered.”

Her pride was a small price to pay next to what she had already lost.

“If staining my honor will wash theirs clean, I will do so gladly.”

At last, she drove Gáe Bolg into the earth and bowed her head against the pillar of ice.

“I will beg no forgiveness. I will quail not at death. My fear shall burn to ashes in the flames of vengeance.”

Sobs began to wrack her throat, and she fell to her knees as though offering a prayer.

“For that is all I have left of my family.”

Defeat would mean losing everything. Victory would bring lasting relief. The two were one—two sides of the same coin, distinguished only by how it fell.

＊＊＊＊＊

The twentieth day of the eleventh month of Imperial Year 1023

The Draali force that had been occupying Faerzen was coming up on Fort Terminus. They had arrived after just two days’ forced march: an almost miraculous feat driven by fear of losing their homeland. The price had been steep, however. Their formation was in disarray, their tanks haphazard, and their forces scattered; of the original twenty thousand men, all but five thousand had fallen by the wayside. Puppchen’s carriage trundled in the lead.

“Perhaps you ought to allow your men to rest?” ventured the guest within.

Puppchen, who was reclining on the sofa, grimaced in distaste as he glared at his associate. “That is not your concern. Besides, the enemy has only five thousand. We are more than their match.”

“If your nobles have done their jobs, there will be even fewer to contend with.”

“Then surely there is nothing to fear.” Puppchen plucked an apple from the wicker hamper at his feet and took a large bite before holding out another. “Want one?”

His companion turned down the offer with a shake of his head.

“Come to think of it,” Puppchen continued, “it strikes me as ill-advised for you to be in my company at all.”

“I will take my leave soon enough. To venture any closer to him would be an unnecessary risk.”

Puppchen snorted and threw his half-eaten apple away. “Ah, yes, of course. What was it you called yourself? The Eyes of Orcus?”

“I believe you misspeak. Did you perhaps mean Vang?”

“Yes, yes, that. Quite the selection of allies you have.” Puppchen pulled out a bottle of wine, which he brought straight to his lips. “Drink truly does taste better this way,” he chuckled as he took a swig.

“Well, I do believe that is all I can stomach of this conversation. Allow me to take my leave.”

The man from Vang opened the door and silently exited the carriage. A chorus of surprised voices went up from the guards outside. He doubtless stood out like a sore thumb in the early morning light. A fine spy he made, Puppchen thought with a snort.

“Imperial dogs! Forget about me, will they? Well, we’ll just see about that!”

In a rush of anger, he dashed his wine bottle against the floor. Glass shards sprayed in all directions, one grazing his arm deep enough to leave a shallow gash. For a moment he sat, shoulders heaving, and then there came a commotion from outside the carriage.

“Lord Puppchen,” a harried voice reported. “We have sighted the imperial soldiers surrounding Fort Terminus.”

“How many?”

“I believe perhaps three thousand.”

“Slow us down as we approach the fort. Let the units that have gotten separated catch back up. In the meantime, I’ll assemble an advance force to put these imperials in their place.”

“Understood, my lord. I will relay as much to the officers.”

The morning chill sank its claws into Puppchen fiercely enough to dispel his sleepiness. Grumbling, he buried himself back beneath his blanket.

“Curse that Handhaven. Can the fool not even handle three thousand?” When the man had sent for reinforcements, Puppchen had assumed he was beset by a much larger force. “The ‘scion of Mars’? Bah. He ought to be embarrassed to be intimidated by titles.”

If he had known what he was actually up against, he would have taken only five thousand men and left the rest in Faerzen. By now, he would have had the sixth princess in his clutches.

“My greatest regret about this accursed conflict,” he muttered. “I never should have let her go. If it weren’t for that wench’s meddling...”

Scáthach’s precious chivalry had been a constant thorn in his side. Had he had his wits about him, he would have turned on the Faerzen Resistance and stolen the sixth princess back rather than meekly retreating. It was too late now, but perhaps once the business at hand was concluded, he could return and do what he should have done then...

The sound of somebody outside the window interrupted his pondering. “What?” he called.

“The imperial army is retreating from Fort Terminus, my lord,” came a voice from outside.

“What? Has the advance force done its work already?”

“No, my lord,” the messenger said hesitantly. “The enemy fell back before swords were drawn.”

Puppchen opened the window in confusion. Sure enough, in the distance, a black shadow was moving in the opposite direction to the fort, trailing a column of dust as it went. So that was the Crow Legion that had everybody whispering? He had heard that they were fierce as demons and twice as bloodthirsty.

“Yet they turn tail and run without even drawing steel? Pathetic.”

If this was all they had to offer, they were a disappointment. It was enough to make a man wonder why he had rushed home at all. And where was this scion of the War God? Was he not supposed to have never known defeat?

“I suppose such tales have a way of growing taller with the telling. A shame.” Puppchen shut the window and sprawled back in his seat. “Ride on to Fort Terminus. I have some choice words for that useless oaf who calls himself my brother.”

“Understood, my lord.” The messenger departed.

At last, the fort came into view. A military encampment seemed to have sprung up around it. Cooking pots lay scattered on the ground, their fires still burning. The Crow Legion had left in a hurry, evidently in the middle of dinner.

“A sight to remind me how powerful I’ve grown,” Puppchen murmured.

The sun was climbing high as he arrived at the gates of Fort Terminus. A gentle breeze blew across the plain, making the grass seem studded with jewels as the morning dew caught the light. The Draali army came to a stop and a short while passed. Eventually, Puppchen noticed that something was wrong.

“What are those accursed gatemen playing at?”

A soldier came to the door, evidently just as confused. “We don’t know, my lord. We’ve hailed them several times, but they won’t respond.”

“What in the world is my fool brother doing?!”

Puppchen stormed out of the carriage, intent on confronting Handhaven in person. His aides rushed after him, although not before dismounting—they knew only too well that accompanying him on horseback while he was on foot would provoke his ire. Earning the wrath of the future grand duke was a guaranteed way to worsen a man’s standing, if not outright cost him his lands.

“Handhaven!” Puppchen called. “Open the gates, you hapless buffoon! See how your brother has ridden to your rescue!”

He stomped his foot in irritation as he glared up at his brother’s flags on the ramparts. If there were sentries on the walls, surely somebody was available to answer him.

“Do you not know who I am?! Open this gate or I’ll have all your heads!”

The aides blanched as they sensed their lord’s anger swelling. They hastily joined him in entreating the fort’s occupants to open the gate.

At last, a man appeared on the watchtower on the ramparts. “Welcome back, Lord Puppchen,” he drawled. With his head bowed low and his head covered by a hood, it was impossible to make out his face. His voice was that of a young man, but anything more was too hard to discern.

“And who are you?” Puppchen demanded.

“Merely a humble servant of Lord Handhaven.”

“Is that so? And what is that oaf playing at? Why does he not come forth himself?”

“I fear that illness has left him confined to his bed.”

“What? He mentioned nothing of the sort when he wrote to me the other day.”

“His ailment only came on yesterday, my lord. It is understandable that you might not know.”

“Bah, very well. Open these gates, then. I would visit my brother.”

Puppchen seemed to intend that command to conclude the conversation, but the hooded man made no move to obey.

“What of the sixth princess, my lord?” he asked.

“That is nothing I am prepared to discuss with a lowly servant. Now cease this nonsense and open this blasted gate!”

“Let’s try that again. What have you done with the sixth princess?”

Who did this upstart think he was? Puppchen’s entourage began to mutter amongst themselves. Puppchen himself said nothing—he had no obligation to tell some common soldier anything about his captive—although he did roll his shoulders with irritation.

“Am I to take it that you don’t mean to answer?” the hooded man asked.

Puppchen’s anger finally erupted. “You wretched ingrate!” he roared, his face twisting into a scowl. “Who do you take me for?!”

The aides around him stepped back in fear of his wrath.

“Open this gate so I can cut your head from your shoulders myself!”

At that moment, a clamor erupted behind the Draali forces. Puppchen’s aides spun around to see what was wrong, but he himself stayed glaring at the man on the watchtower. Spitting vows of vengeance, he drew his sword from his sheath.

“You there!”

“Yes?” the hooded figure replied.

“Not you!” With murder in his eyes, Puppchen glared in turn at the soldiers around the man. His lips twisted into a sadistic grin. “Bring me his head and you may name your reward!”

Curiously, nobody moved a muscle. Jeers drifted back on the wind.

“You really ought to look behind you, Lord Puppchen,” the hooded man said. “You’re in quite the predicament.”

“What?”

Puppchen swung around and gasped. Behind him sprawled an impossible scene. A sandstorm had sprung up behind the Draali forces despite the wind being all but still. Roars and battle cries reached his ears before quickly being replaced by screams.

One of his aides rode up in a panic. “Enemies to our rear, my lord! The battle is already underway!”

“How many?!”

“We cannot tell! They are hidden by the sandstorm!”

“Who are they?!”

“We don’t—”

A gentle sound passed through the air, a soft snick like a knife cutting into fruit. Puppchen watched in horror as the man toppled from his saddle, his eyes rolling back into his skull. A single arrow protruded from his forehead.

“This is no time to be getting distracted, Lord Puppchen.”

The hooded man’s voice guided Puppchen’s eyes back up to the ramparts, where a new flag was now flying.

“What...? But how...?” Puppchen raised a trembling finger to point at the sigil.

Every man in Aletia knew that banner. In one nation, it commanded tremendous fame, while among the rest, it was spoken of with dread—a black dragon clutching a silver sword.

“It cannot be... The War God’s sacred standard?!”

As Puppchen stared, aghast, the rest of Handhaven’s flags came down and black dragon banners rose in their place. A multitude of archers appeared on the battlements, all of their arrows trained on him.

“No! Stop!” he cried. “You would not dare!”

The wind hummed. Countless shafts swished through the air. Dying screams rose from Puppchen’s aides. His guards saw the peril and rushed in front of him with shields raised, but a cloud of shafts fanned out from the fort’s walls, picking them off to the last man.

What followed was hell. A merciless rain of arrows slaughtered aides and soldiers alike. Puppchen could do nothing but watch, frozen in place by the sudden slaughter.

“Now, Lord Puppchen, I believe you asked me to open the gates?”

His request was granted at last, but it brought him no hope. Out from the gate poured heavily armored cavalry. What few aides had survived the barrage of arrows were trampled to death beneath their hooves.

“You are welcome to enter. If you can, that is.”

Those who fled were struck down from behind with spears. Those who begged for their lives were put to the sword. It went without saying that none of the Draali soldiers could muster any resistance, but they had no hope of escape either—they could only die shrieking.

Puppchen, his good cheer long vanished, turned to flee on trembling legs. All the while, his aides died around him.

“And where do you think you’re going?”

“You...!”

A hooded figure appeared in front of him—the man from the watchtower who had claimed to serve Handhaven.

“Where is the sixth princess, Lord Puppchen?”

“Who are you?”

Puppchen already knew the answer, he just didn’t want to believe it. He could already picture the face beneath the hood. The rumors had been on the lips of every noble in every banquet hall in the land. They whispered in awe when they uttered his name, and their voices trembled in fear when they spoke of Hiro Schwartz von Grantz.

The man cast off his hood, exposing his face to the sun. A sudden gust snatched the scrap of cloth away to the farthest skies.

“It’s you! The One-Eyed Dragon!”

The boy’s features were too gentle for a battlefield, but that only heightened Puppchen’s terror.

“Everybody reacts like that. Maybe someday, somebody will actually surprise me.” Hiro smiled. “Now. Would you care to tell me what you’ve done with the sixth princess?”

“And what will happen if I do?”

“That will depend on your answer.”

Jet-black cavalry gathered behind Hiro, joining him in blocking Puppchen’s path. Hiro craned his neck, looking around the battlefield, before returning his gaze to Puppchen.

“It’ll be over soon,” he said.

There was no need to ask what he meant. The commander of the Draali force was indisposed and his aides had fallen beneath the rain of arrows. With the chain of command severed, Puppchen’s twenty thousand men were no better than a mob. Unable to muster an effective resistance, they were being slaughtered by the enemy’s black-clad soldiers.

“Your men must be exhausted after running all the way from Faerzen. It’s no surprise that they can’t fight back. After all,”—Hiro’s voice dropped a notch—“a commander as arrogant as you probably didn’t even let them stop to rest.”

That, Puppchen could not deny. There had been no room for breaks on his forced march.

“Now, let me ask you again. Where is the sixth princess?”

At this point, being stubborn in maintaining his silence would only be inviting torture. Divulging what he knew would at least earn him the slightly cushier treatment afforded a prisoner of war. He put on his most diplomatic smile. “She is with the Faerzen Resistance.”

“I see. Why don’t you tell me more?”

Puppchen nodded meekly. “Of course. I— Ngh!”

A blunt impact struck the back of his head. Darkness claimed him before he even felt pain.

＊＊＊＊＊

Hiro stared down at the unconscious Puppchen for a moment, then rolled him over with his foot. He plucked the man’s sword from his belt and sat down on his back.

“Now, let’s wake you up.”

He reversed the sword in his grip and drove it down hard through the back of Puppchen’s hand. The blade bit deep into the earth.

“Aaagh! Wh-What are you—? Eaaah!”

As the pain dragged Puppchen back to consciousness, Hiro seized a fistful of his hair and smashed his face against the ground. Blood spurted from his nose.

“You’re going to tell me everything you know about the sixth princess. And if you lie to me, I’ll hurt you worse.”

“I’b be hobest! Just dob’t hurt me!”

“And keep it short. We don’t have much time.”

“It’s true that I captured the sixth princess, but I made certain to treat her well. I’d never harm a member of the Grantzian royal family!”

“Really? That’s strange. I was told that when Third Prince Brutahl asked to see her, you refused.”

“How could I let him?! What if he’d stolen her back?! We were trying to negotiate. I needed her for leverage.”

“So where is she now?”

“Those accursed dogs in the Faerzen Resistance took her. They’re not human, I tell you. A host of demons. There’s no telling what they would do to her. I tried to stop them, but they used some manner of sorcery to thwart me.”

“Sorcery?”

“One among them...she wields a strange spear with power over ice. It can control the weather too. I’ve seen it conjure a rain of spears out of a clear sky.”

“Oh? Interesting.” Hiro couldn’t guess who this woman was, but only one spear in his memory was capable of manipulating the weather.

Taking account of this “power over ice,” there’s no doubt about it—it has to be Gáe Bolg.

One of the Archfiend’s Fellblades—the Fiend of Cerulean—matched that description too, but that took the form of a set of twin swords, not a spear. Gáe Bolg was the only possibility. He hadn’t expected to encounter it outside of the empire, but spirits were guardians of all of humanity, not just one nation—such a thing wasn’t unthinkable.

The Spirit King happens to favor the empire in particular, but there’s no reason the Spiritblades can’t choose others.

“There’s more. She’s one of the royal line of Faerzen. A survivor.”

“Is she now? It sounds like this spear has found its way into inconvenient hands.”

The Boreal Sovereign had always been fickle, but only the most eccentric of the Spiritblades would have chosen somebody so opposed to the empire.

“She despises the name of von Grantz,” Puppchen warned him. “If you don’t want your princess to come to harm, you’d better be quick. She’s not as gracious as I am.”

“What shape was Liz in when you handed her over to the Resistance?”

“I catered to her needs as best I could, but she took exception to life as a prisoner. She was accustomed to certain luxuries, you see. She was...demanding, shall we say. Rather abusive when her requests weren’t met.”

“I see.”

With a nod, Hiro withdrew the sword from Puppchen’s palm. The man groaned in pain, but there was relief in his eyes.

Hiro glared down at him coldly and drove the blade through his other hand.

“Aaaaaagh!”

“I know you’re lying.”

“On what grounds?! I told you no lies!”

“Liz? Accustomed to luxury? You don’t know half of what she’s been through.” Hiro’s voice was contemptuous as he gave the blade a vicious twist. “Yes, people flocked to her after she was chosen by Lævateinn, but only to abandon her at the first opportunity. In the end, she was left with two men and a wolf as her only allies.”

Lævateinn’s favor had thrown her life into disarray. If not for that, she would never have been forced to take up a sword, never have gone to war, never have been taken prisoner. She would have lived a happy life as a princess of the empire.

“Do you think she isn’t trying just because she doesn’t show it?”

Even in the face of doubt and pain, she had never averted her eyes from her own shortcomings, never tried to shirk her solitary burden. She had always faced forward without complaint and gotten to work with a smile.

“Don’t you dare slander her name.” Hiro withdrew the sword from Puppchen’s hand and pressed the point against the back of the man’s head. “Now, what did you do to her? No lies this time or you won’t have a head left to cut off.”

“N-Now, let’s not be hasty!” Puppchen stammered.

“You’d better hurry. Your brother is on his way right now, and I don’t have the numbers to fight him. If you tell me the truth, I’ll be willing to spare your life. You’ll be taken prisoner and traded back to Lord Handhaven once we’ve come to an agreement.”

“Truly?”

“Of course. I wouldn’t lie. I hope you’ll show me the same courtesy.” Hiro patted Puppchen’s shoulder with a reassuring smile.

His resistance worn down, Puppchen sighed and began to speak. “I wanted to examine her Spiritblade’s protection. To test the limits of what it would repel. I began by throwing smaller rocks, then moved on to bigger ones. Once her protection had grown weak enough, I pulled out her nails—”

Hiro grimaced. “That’s enough.”

“But I never laid a finger on her myself! That’s the truth, I swear it!”

“I don’t need to hear any more.”

“No!”

Hiro swung the sword down. It plunged into the ground beside Puppchen’s head, leaving the slightest cut on his cheek.

“E-Eek!” the man squealed.

“In view of your honesty, I will spare your life.” Hiro stood up, releasing his hold on Puppchen’s back.

“Thank you, my lord! You are gracious indeed!” Puppchen wrapped his arms around Hiro’s leg, his face smeared with tears and snot.

“Keep your worthless thanks. You are now my prisoner. Do you understand?”

Puppchen nodded furiously. Hiro gestured for soldiers to come and tie him up. Among them was Huginn, who glared at him with undisguised loathing.

“Turns my stomach to watch a worm like you get to keep crawling,” she spat.

The corners of Puppchen’s mouth pulled into a grin. “Do go a little softer on the bindings, would you? And my wounds will need to be seen to. We wouldn’t want them to get infected.”

Hiro, watching the interaction in silence, gestured for Muninn to bring his swiftdrake.

“Right away, chief.” The man vanished into the mass of soldiers.

Garda arrived in his place. “Most of the Draali forces have fled. I assume you do not intend to pursue?”

“No. Now that I know where Liz is, I’m heading straight to Faerzen.”

“And you mean to let this cur live?” The zlosta gestured toward Puppchen, to whom the medics were attending.

“I do keep my word.”

“Do you now.” Garda peered at Hiro searchingly for a moment, but whatever he saw seemed to satisfy him and he said nothing more on the subject. “I presume we’ll otherwise stick to the plan?”

“That’s right. Have the wounded sent back to High General Vakish.”

“Understood. I’ll notify the officers.”

With that, Garda departed. As the large man receded into the distance, Hiro approached the now-bound Puppchen.

“We’re heading into Faerzen now. You’ll be coming with us.”

“What? Then you’d best send word to my brother. He will ready a ransom—”

Puppchen got no further. Hiro shushed him with a hand. “There’s no time. We’re in for a forced march as it is.”

“Got the beast, chief!” Muninn announced, returning with swiftdrake in tow. The creature spotted Hiro and rubbed its head affectionately against his chest.

“Unfortunately, Lord Puppchen, we don’t seem to have any horses to spare.”

“Then surely that is all the more reason to trade me—” Puppchen fell abruptly silent. He had caught a glimpse of Hiro’s face as he stroked his swiftdrake.

“Of course. Once we return from Faerzen.”

With a genial smile, Hiro picked up a length of rope lying on the ground. One end was attached to Puppchen’s bindings; the other he looped around his swiftdrake’s neck.

“Try not to trip.”

“Eh?”

Hiro strode up to a frozen Puppchen and patted him twice on the shoulder. “Survive the journey and you’re a free man.”

Seeing the bottomless cruelty in Hiro’s eyes, Puppchen paled in despair.