Shinwa Densetsu no Eiyuu no Isekaitan - Volume 4 - Chapter 5

Chapter 5: Heavenly Sovereign, Boreal Sovereign

The twenty-second day of the eleventh month, Imperial Year 1023

Within the beleaguered Fort Mitte, Aura faced a grim decision.

“This fort could fall by sunset.”

Her blunt declaration cut through the tension hanging over the tower above the gate. Bitter sighs issued from the assembled aides. None protested, however. Had it not been for her, they would never have lasted so long.

“Then what’s to be done, my lady?” one of the men asked. “Soldiers of the empire do not sit and wait for death.”

An older advisor scowled. “Are you proposing we sally forth and die with honor?”

The soldiers had fought bravely for many long days, but they were reaching their breaking point. No man remained unwounded, provisions were running out with no hope of resupply, and no rescue was coming. Once the troops’ strength dwindled, the siege would become untenable. Even so, a final doomed charge was unlikely to appreciably bloody the enemy’s nose.

“What other choice do we have? I for one mean to put up a fight that my ancestors will be proud of in the next world.”

“Even if it means dying for nothing?”

“It will not be for nothing. We will all earn our place with the Divines.”

“You’re too quick to give up hope. Third Prince Brutahl will come for us—you’ll see.”

The aides were split into two camps: those who wanted to cling to hope and continue the siege, and those who wanted to die with honor and preserve their military dignity. It fell to Aura to choose which path to take.

“I’m going outside,” she said. “I need to think.”

She found a place on the ramparts and gazed down at the battlefield, agonizing over what to do. The Faerzen Resistance’s encampment was a distant smear on the plain. Her eyes swept down a little, stopping on a point one sel from the main gate. There stood a girl encased in ice—a girl Aura knew well.

“Forgive me.”

She clenched her fist, furious at her own inefficacy. There was no telling what sequence of events had produced that sight, but two days prior, the Resistance had warned the entire fort that the same fate awaited them if they did not surrender.

“Something is happening... I just don’t know what.”

The Resistance was in a hurry, that much was plain, but there was no way to find out why. Their blockade was tight enough that a rat would have trouble getting past, let alone a spy. Fort Mitte was completely cut off from the outside world.

“The least I can do is help her.”

Aura cast another glance at Liz. There was no telling whether the princess was alive or dead, but no servant of the Grantzian royal family could fail to feel rage to see her frozen state.

“He’ll hate me for this.”

Aura’s failings had brought about Liz’s fate, and the twinblack boy would never forgive her for it. She bit her lip in chagrin as she recalled how things had reached this tragic point.

“Everything was going to plan at first.”

In order to draw the forces of the Faerzen Resistance out of hiding, she had pretended to overextend herself and fled to Fort Mitte. Once the siege was laid, more and more Resistance forces began to show themselves, smelling blood in the water. When their numbers swelled to more than thirty thousand, Aura knew that the trap had been a success. All that remained had been to coordinate with Liz, whom the emperor had newly assigned to Faerzen, to crush the enemy between them and let Third Prince Brutahl mop up what was left.

The Draali forces’ arrival had put paid to that. Thanks to their intervention, what should have been Aura’s masterstroke had instead led to Liz’s capture. Her imagination had failed her, that she could not deny. She had overlooked an important piece of the puzzle, and no amount of regret could undo the consequences.

Her mind was seizing up. She could feel it. The schemes in her head were growing hazy for want of a guiding light. Every possible path seemed doomed, the specter of failure too daunting. She could not afford to choose lightly when so much hinged on her decision. Her next move would quite literally make the difference between life and death.

“I cannot throw their lives away.”

Aura cast her gaze over the soldiers sitting dejectedly along the wall. It was only thanks to their faith in her that anyone in Fort Mitte had lasted this long. At first, they had numbered more than five thousand; now, they barely accounted for one. All bore wounds, some were too pain-stricken to sleep, and more than a few were erratic with terror.

As she pondered what to do, a figure caught her eye. The man was bearish in build and taller than most, yet he seemed strangely small looking down from the battlements. His white-flecked beard rippled in the wind as he gazed at Liz’s prison of ice.

Aura hurried to the man’s side. “Sir Tarmier, what are you doing?”

“Ah, Lady Aura. I was simply looking at Her Highness.”

She had traded few words with Tris von Tarmier, but she recalled him being far more full of life when they had met at Berg Fortress. Now, he was like a corpse without a grave.

“Go back to the infirmary. You’re too hurt to be on your feet.”

“No, lass. I’d rather be here...where I can see the princess I failed to save.”

After seeing his unit to safety, Tris had plunged back into the fray, mounting a one-man assault on the Draali forces in a desperate bid to retrieve Liz. No doubt the old soldier had been looking for a place to die—and indeed, only one thing had kept him from finding it.

“How is Cerberus?” Aura asked.

Tris clenched a fist and ground his teeth in chagrin. “Lady Cerberus is yet to wake.”

It was thanks to the white wolf that he had turned his back on death that day and withdrawn to Fort Mitte. Aura remembered it well. He had come staggering through the gate with the beast in his arms and desperation in his eyes, pleading despite his own grave wounds for them to treat her first. No sooner had the words left his mouth than he too had passed out. Only a few days prior had he regained consciousness.

“I thought you might sortie as soon as you were awake,” Aura said.

“I’ll not leave Lady Cerberus unattended.” Tris rubbed the back of his head and cracked a sheepish smile. “Her Highness would be furious.”

“She cares for Cerberus?”

“Aye. Known her longer than she’s known me.”

“I see.”

“Only seems right for her to be there when the lady wakes.”

Tris raised his head to stare at Liz again. A trickle of blood ran from the corner of his mouth. His eyes blazed, and fury lined itself into his face. He looked ready to fling himself from the walls.

Aura punched him on the hip, hard. “Go back to the infirmary.”

Tris spun around in surprise and peered down at her, his rage dissipating. “That’s no way to treat a wounded man.”

“Cerberus could wake at any moment. Go back to the infirmary.” Aura’s gaze softened as she pointed the way with a flopping sleeve. “Liz will be just as furious if you don’t take care of yourself.”

Tris gave a grunt of dissatisfaction but nodded, mollified by the mention of Liz. “Aye, right enough. I suppose I’ll return to bed, then.”

With one final rueful smile, he disappeared down the stairs to the infirmary. Aura remained atop the walls, gazing distantly out over the enemy camp.

“Sortie. Defeat. Rout. Extermination. Death with honor.”

Even saying the words out loud didn’t help. Was it better to die gloriously on the battlefield or to sit here and resign herself to her fate? No matter how hard she searched, no answer presented itself.

“Hm?”

A disturbance in the Resistance’s camp caught her eyes. She hauled herself up onto the battlements and squinted into the distance. As she watched, a female knight approached the fort’s gate with a leisurely stride.

“Hear me, Treya Verdan Aura von Bunadala of the Grantzian Empire!”

Aura dropped back down to conceal herself behind the battlements and peered between the crenelations. The knight swept her gaze over the fort, beautiful and regal in her posture. This woman, Culann Scáthach du Faerzen, was another of Aura’s miscalculations—a member of Faerzen’s royal family.

“I offer you one final chance! Surrender and save your men from needless deaths!”

She had been told that the emperor—or, more precisely, First Prince Stovell—had taken the heads of the entire royal line. The last thing she had expected was a survivor.

“If you do not surrender, we will storm the fort! How do you answer?!”

Scáthach planted her azure spear in the ground. Silence fell. Nobody made a sound. A moment passed, and then Scáthach’s features twisted in disappointment. Her shoulders slumped, but her voice rang clear and steely as the rays of the setting sun fell upon her.

“Very well! Men of the imperial army, I speak now to you! Deliver me the persons of Lady von Bunadala and Buze von Krone and you will once more tread the soil of your motherland!”

In other words, she would let them go. That, Aura had not expected. She had been certain that the woman intended to kill them all.

“I shall give you time to weigh your decision. Two lives in exchange for all of yours! Think well on what I offer!”

Aura felt her resolve waver. If she only surrendered herself, all of her soldiers would be free to return home. The wounded could receive treatment. Some of the men on death’s door might be saved. Buze von Krone, however, was unlikely to look kindly on the offer. They would have to restrain him and drag him out of the cellar where he was hiding.

Aura closed her eyes and steeled her resolve before stepping down from the wall. She returned to the turret over the main gate to find her faithful aides waiting for her, a bandage-swathed von Spitz among them. Every face was grave. They seemed to sense their impending defeat.

“I intend to surrender,” she announced.

The aides’ faces darkened with anger. “You would have us give up our commander to save our own skins?!” cried one. “Surely you jest, my lady!”

“You must reconsider,” said an older man with a disapproving shake of his head. “Surely you can imagine how you will be received.”

After how the imperial army had ravaged Faerzen, there was no question that Aura would be subjected to similar humiliation. What they had done to Liz erased any doubt. She could not expect to be treated kindly.

Von Spitz stepped forward with a warmhearted smile. “My lady, I would charge the enemy alone and go gladly to the Divines before I would ever send you into their clutches.”

“Although I’d not object to handing over Buzen von Krone,” somebody remarked.

“Nor would I, after what he’s done,” another man agreed.

Their scorn was well earned; as administrator, Buze had been a brutal ruler. He had beheaded every noble who had served the royal family, sold their fairest wives and daughters into slavery, and reduced the famously picturesque capital to a shell of its former self. In an attempt to curry favor, he had extended carte blanche to nobles of the empire to do with the city as they pleased. By the time Aura had arrived in Faerzen by imperial decree, it had been reduced to a smoking ruin. The sorry sight had earned the dubious honor of rousing even Third Prince Brutahl’s anger.

“The enemy has given us time, my lady.” Von Spitz approached the central table. “I say we use it to plot their defeat.”

For lack of any better options, the rest of the aides pitched in and began laying out pawns on the map. They were out of reserves and almost running out of food. The soldiers’ strength and morale were both at rock bottom.

“First time I’ve ever fought long enough to truly run dry. Damned impressive, if you ask me.”

The older aide’s quip prompted nods of agreement. Something warm stirred in Aura’s chest as she watched them get to work. Even when her spirits were broken and she had been ready to surrender, they still believed in her.

“A sortie, then?”

“A feint, I say. We pretend to charge and steal back Her Highness.”

“Care to join us, Lady Aura? We could use your judgment.”

Even now, they were still striving to play their parts as her subordinates. It was only right that she showed the same resolve. Their faith gave her the strength to keep fighting, to keep hoping.

“There’s no need for any glorious deaths.” She strode briskly up to the table and placed a pawn on the map. “This should be their battle to lose, but they aren’t acting like it. Something has them in a hurry.”

Something was afoot. Therein lay their chance. They just had to survive the day, and the next, and the one after that. They would fight to live, no matter the shame that would incur. So long as they still drew breath, there was hope.

Aura thrust out a small fist. “We will survive. And we will win.”

Nobody disagreed with her declaration. They only nodded firmly, as though there was no doubt in their hearts that it was so.

“But first, we have to make it through today.”

She could feel her mind clearing. The fog was dissipating. Fear clouded her mind no more. Though her face remained as expressionless as ever, she issued commands to her aides with a newfound vivacity. The soldiers readily sprang into action, scattering in all directions. They would take personal control of each of the fort’s four walls. Some of them, she would likely never meet again, but the surety of their steps as they sped from the tower seemed to insist that such worries were groundless.

Once Aura finished issuing orders, she set out for the central courtyard with von Spitz.

“Are you certain about this, my lady?”

“I am. I will command the reserves myself.”

The sun had set by the time they stepped outside, but as Aura shivered in the growing chill, a shaft of moonlight slipped through the clouds to bathe her in warm light.

The reserves stationed in the courtyard eyed her uncertainly as she arrived. They were swathed in bandages and covered in blood. She went around, thanking every one of them in person for fighting so bravely. It did not take long. They numbered fewer than a hundred.

As she concluded, a new arrival appeared. “I fear these old bones may only cause you trouble, my lady,” he announced, “but I’ll not sit out this battle.”

It was Tris. Though still wounded, the old soldier was positively brimming with vigor. Aura thought to ask what had happened, but he preempted her question.

“Lady Cerberus has awoken,” he explained. His face shone with relief for a moment before quickly turning serious. “So it seems I have one more reason not to allow this fort to fall.”

Aura’s head dipped in a small nod. “Thank you.”

Von Spitz gripped Tris’s hand, grinning. “I would rather have you at my side than a hundred lesser men.”

In a bid to keep spirits up, the soldiers linked arms and sang songs. Over time, however, their voices grew quieter and a nervousness overtook them. The joyous banter faded to silence, and it seemed as though a crushing weight had settled over the courtyard.

At last, there came the sound of enemy footsteps and battle cries from outside the walls. Boots crunched against the earth in numbers a dozen times what they could muster.

“Your time has run out! We will now storm the fort! Expect no quarter!”

Scáthach’s voice rose above the din. It carried well and rang true in the ears, the mark of a natural commander. Aura steeled her resolve and drew the spirit weapon at her belt.

At that moment, an almighty crash rocked the front gate. Despite the imminent battle, von Spitz’s gaze flicked upward. “What’s the north wall playing at?!”

Archers ought to have been raining arrows down on the enemy, but their numbers must have been too few. The Resistance had already pushed up to the front gate and were working to crack it open.

“Down,” Aura commanded.

She raised her shield above her head. Von Spitz hurriedly followed suit. A moment later, a clatter filled the courtyard like a rain of falling rocks.

“They’re focusing everything on the north wall.”

Seeing the enemy’s strategy, Aura turned to the reserves and ordered them to lend their assistance.

“And the gate won’t hold.”

It was swaying on its hinges now. The enemy must have built some kind of siege weaponry. Another discordant crash sent dust spiraling into the air. Aura set off toward the gate, meaning to lend her assistance, but she only made it a few steps before abruptly being knocked sprawling.

“Ngh... Huh? What...?”

She lifted her head from where it had smacked into the dirt. An unfamiliar man stood over her, dressed as one of her subordinates.

“Apologies, my lady, but I’m afraid I can’t let you live.”

“Run, Lady Aura!” cried von Spitz, seeing the danger, but he was too late. The distance between them yawned far too wide for him to reach.

Aura glared up at the assassin as he raised his sword, to no avail, but as the wicked blade glinted in the moonlight, a bearish silhouette slipped in front of her: Tris.

“Ah...”

A stunned gasp slipped from her lips as blood sprayed across Tris’s shoulders. For an instant, the stars were red. Despair filled the courtyard. The onlookers stared at Tris with wide eyes.

“How...?”

With a gurgle and a heavy thud, a body toppled to the ground. It was not Tris who fell, however, but Aura’s would-be killer.

“Seems I came in the nick of time,” said a voice from behind the corpse.

“Huh? I know you...” Tris turned, his eyes widening in surprise. Warm moonlight illuminated the intruder: a brawny, olive-skinned man with a scarred face.

“How did you get in here, you knave?!” von Spitz barked.

“Easy, friend. I mean you no harm.” The man threw up his hands in a show of goodwill. “The name’s Muninn, in the gainful employ of our very own One-Eyed Dragon. I’ve got a letter for a certain Lady Aura.”

Despite his fierce appearance, he had a laid-back manner that stuck out like a sore thumb in the tense confines of Fort Mitte.

“Sir Spitz.” Aura gestured for the man to lower his sword, which he reluctantly did. She stepped closer to Muninn and looked up at him. “Who sent you?”

“Why, Lord Hiro, of course.”

The scar-faced man’s blinding grin seemed too wide to be real, and his words too good to be true. Hiro was here. Come to think of it, when was the last time they had exchanged letters? It might well have been before he left for Lebering.

“How many?”

“Fifteen hundred cavalry. The Crow Legion’s finest.”

A shiver ran down Aura’s spine, and she felt her skin grow hot. Never had she imagined that she would hear that name uttered in the modern age. “The foulest fiend falls when the Crow Legion rides,” she whispered, clutching her book to her chest.

Did they not hesitate to invite the comparison? The Crow Legion’s tale—both good and ill—had become legend, their deeds of one thousand years ago surely exaggerated. It would be no easy task to make the name their own. The idea was Hiro’s, no doubt, but it was bold even for him.

“Call them what you like,” von Spitz interjected, “they’re not the same men who fought under Mars. Fifteen hundred won’t be enough to break the Resistance.”

Neither Aura nor Muninn was listening.

“Here’s that letter. Lord Hiro says you’re to follow every word.”

“I will.”

“He’ll see to the rest. You just sit pretty here ’til the fighting’s done.”

Aura opened the letter and read it by the moon’s glow. A faint smile spread across her stoic face.

Von Spitz’s brow creased dubiously. “Does something amuse you, my lady?”

She shook her head. Her smile had been one of relief, not amusement. In any case, it quickly vanished as her face turned more grave.

“Sir Spitz, tell every unit to gather at the north wall. And light bonfires. Lots of them.”

“I fear I do not understand. Are you certain it is wise to abandon the other walls?”

“Just do it. And hurry.”

Von Spitz stiffened at the cold glare from Aura’s lead-gray eyes. “At once, my lady!” With a deep bow, he departed.

Once he was gone, Aura turned back to Muninn. “Are you staying?”

“Course I am.” He flashed her a smile brimming with confidence. “Lord Hiro’s got it in the bag without my help, just you wait and see.”

＊＊＊＊＊

Warm moonlight showered the land, but the wind cut like a frozen knife. Atop a small hill, where the gale blew strongest, the silver glow reflected darkly from a force clad in black. The boy who led them—Hiro—stretched out his hand toward the full moon and smiled.

“It’s beautiful, don’t you think? A fine night to catch a foe unawares.”

Beneath him lay Fort Mitte, and around it sprawled the Faerzen Resistance’s troops. The journey from Draal to Faerzen typically took three days, but he had managed it in just one—a feat only possible because of the fresh horses he had instructed High General Vakish to make ready. Fifteen hundred of his three thousand men had kept up with the forced march, an impressive result.

“Huginn has infiltrated the camp,” Garda said. “The men are ready to charge whenever you please.”

At last, all of the pieces were in place to save Liz. “Excellent,” he whispered. “It’s been a long road, but we’re finally here.”

He summoned Excalibur. A silver light gleamed in the darkness, seeming to soothe the soldiers’ exhaustion with its touch. The blade floated down into Hiro’s hand, and he snatched its hilt from the air.

“Now we wait for the signal.” His instructions to Aura had been simple: keep the enemy’s forces split up and their eyes on Fort Mitte. He cast a glance at the structure. “Looks like she’s doing as we asked,” he remarked. “Muninn must have made it inside.”

Bonfires were flaring into life all along the fort’s north wall. At the same time, the enemy launched a vigorous attack on the other three sides, which were now defended only by a skeleton crew. The wind carried the sound of drums from within the fort—no doubt a ploy to keep the enemy’s attention.

“Thank you all for accompanying me on this road.”

Hiro drew Excalibur smoothly from its sheath and turned to face his men. He looked across all of their faces in turn. The moonlight cast their determined expressions into sharp relief as they awaited the command. A genuine smile spread across his face as gratitude welled up from deep within his heart.

“I dedicate this victory to the Spirit King.”

He returned to face the battlefield and raised his glittering blade to the night sky. The soldiers behind him gasped in awe. To see him silhouetted against the moon, none could deny that he was the Hero King of Twinned Black come again. They saw the War God reborn in the modern age, and they knew that victory was promised.

“Come.”

Words would slaughter no foes. The battlefield was no place for ornate proclamations. What he sought, what he asked, what he wished to say, his silhouette told as eloquently as any speech.

He was born to rule the battlefield.

He was a strategist to transcend the world of men.

Thus, Mars needed no words to move men’s hearts, for his presence alone was enough.

“All units, charge.”

Hiro swung Excalibur down and barreled down the slope. The other riders could not match the speed of his swiftdrake, but that mattered little. The enemy was so fixated on Fort Mitte that they were paying no attention whatsoever to their rear. A small loss of cohesion would make no difference. The raid’s success was certain. With the Resistance sure that victory was at hand, it was all too easy to tear open their flank.

“Hey! Where’s that coming from?!”

A soldier heard the thunder of hoofbeats and spun around, but he was too late.

“We’re under atta—!”

Hiro lopped the man’s head off with one stroke and cut into the enemy lines. The Crow Legion’s cavalry followed like an avalanche, surging into the breach. The night rang with the discordant crunch of warping steel as armor crumpled beneath horseshoes.

The men of the Resistance fell like wheat before a scythe, unable to muster any effective defense. The Crow Legion drove deeper, piercing and implacable as a pointed needle, slaughtering anybody who crossed their path. Having prepared for a siege rather than open combat, most of the enemy troops were light infantry—nowhere was there a bulwark strong enough to stop a cavalry charge, leaving the Crow Legion to rampage unchecked. They might have fielded archers, but all of those were on the front lines; while they did possess units of spearmen, most of those had been sent to the front as well, their spears finding use as projectiles. Only reserves remained to defend the rear, and sparse thorns had little sting. Besides, many had their guard down, rendering them easily pulverized by the cavalry’s momentum.

As the melee grew chaotic and friend mingled with foe, more and more officers succumbed to confusion. They abandoned judgment and charged to their deaths, goaded by panic and outrage. With no superiors to command them, their troops lashed out at whoever was nearby, which in the darkness was often one another. The battlefield steadily turned to a bloodbath, a nexus of hatred of all kinds—roars, screams, battle cries, death rattles.

“Your Lordship!” a voice cried through the din.

Hiro looked around, squinting. Huginn stood in the distance, waving a torch to guide him. At first he thought that she was being reckless—that was guaranteed to draw enemy attention—but by the time he reached her, he had seen that was no concern. Her exceptional archery left every enemy that approached her dead on the ground with an arrow neatly lodged between their eyes.

Hiro dismounted his swiftdrake and stroked its head. “Go back to Garda,” he said before turning to Huginn.

She looked uncomfortable. “Your Lordship.”

“Have you found Liz?”

A shadow fell over Huginn’s face as she lowered her eyes. “I... Yes, Your Lordship. I’ve found her.”

“Well, where is she?”

If she hadn’t come with Huginn, that probably meant that she was wounded. There was always the chance that she was hiding somewhere, ready to jump out and fling her arms around him—she did love to surprise him—but the situation was a little too serious for that.

“She’s there.”

Huginn gestured to a strange object—a pillar of ice. Hiro’s breath caught in his throat at the sight of the figure sealed within.

She had loved that crimson uniform. She had taken great pleasure in adjusting it herself, sometimes quizzing him for days on end if he could tell what she had changed. Now its fabric was cruelly torn, with what looked like bandages showing through beneath. Her limbs were so swathed in cloth that she looked like a mummy. Half-healed grazes crisscrossed her forehead, and abrasions marred her cheeks and lips.

“Ahh...”

He had waited so long for their reunion, but he had never wanted it to be like this.

He slowly approached the icy tomb, stretched out a hand doomed not to reach her. Cold, oh so cold was the wall that barred his way. Sword hilts and spear hafts protruded from the crystal; merely sealing her away had not assuaged the hatred of whoever had done this.

Words failed him. The ice’s cool touch betrayed no sign of life. Even Lævateinn did not answer his call. Huginn could only watch as he sank to the ground, gazing up at Liz in horror.

“I’m sorry. I was too late. I’m always too late.”

Perhaps if he had thrown all of his plots and schemes to the wind and ridden to her rescue, he could have saved her. But no more.

“Your Lordship, we’ve got to get her out of...” Huginn trailed off and shrank back. “Your Lordship?”

Around Hiro had begun to swirl baleful darkness—a pitch black storm, wild and bottomless, a sight no sane world could hatch. To look upon him was to know heartbreak.

Excalibur’s light guttered in his hand as its radiant gleam gave way to inky darkness.

＊＊＊＊＊

A short while prior

The front line of the Resistance forces was burning with battle fervor. The soldiers’ enraged faces flickered in the wavering light of the enemy bonfires. Before them loomed the walls of Fort Mitte, against which a host of ladders now leaned.

“Orders from command! Second cohort, charge! I repeat, second cohort, charge!”

Horns blared from all around. The sharp notes split the night air as they rose to the starry sky.

“Fight hard, men!” cried the commander of the first cohort in a lusty voice. “The fort will soon fall!”

The second cohort answered with a roar as they ground into motion. The heat emanating from their ranks kept even the cold winds of the Travant Mountains at bay.

“Loose arrows! Give me suppressing fire!”

A cloud of arrows whizzed into the dark, soon becoming nothing more than the eerie whistling of their flights, but screams from the walls showed that they flew true. The cries spurred the second cohort up the ladders. Even so, the enemy was not idle. They stopped at nothing to defend the fort, dropping rocks, kicking down ladders, and pouring boiling water over the attackers.

“They can resist all they like,” Scáthach said under her breath. “It’s only a matter of time before they fall.”

She watched over the battle from the safety of the center of her army. A map lay on the table in front of her. All around, aides barked hurried orders to a fleet of messengers.

“Where is Third Prince Brutahl?”

“He is bound toward us,” Rache replied, “but it seems that the task force succeeded in their diversion. It will be three days at the least before he arrives.” He clenched his fist triumphantly, pleased by the news that they had bought some time.

Scáthach, however, was well aware of the perils of overconfidence. One had to be ready for anything on a battlefield. That was the way of war.

“Good. Reduce our rear defenses and move the men to the front.” She shot a glance at a nearby messenger. The man bowed and dashed away into the dark.

She looked back at Fort Mitte. “They’ve realized that we’re concentrating our forces on the gate.”

Bonfires had been erected along the northern wall, and shadowy figures scurried to and fro beneath them. The enemy had seen that the Resistance was gathering its men and was scrambling to do the same.

“We made no attempt to hide it,” Rache said. “And besides, it matters little. They’re too late. We’re already scaling their walls.”

The nearby aides nodded in agreement. “I took the liberty of having a battering ram constructed,” the one responsible for the engineers piped up. “It has been sent to the front. Regretfully, building siege towers proved impossible. In that I have failed you, Your Highness.” He hung his head apologetically.

Scáthach laid a hand on his shoulder, shaking her head. “There is no failure to speak of. It is a minor miracle that you accomplished what you have.”

“Your Highness, I...”

“And besides, this battle is not yet over. Do not be too quick to assume you will have no other chance.” A crooked grin lingered on her face for a moment, but it quickly vanished. She looked over each of the men in turn. “That goes equally for the rest of you. Remember, we face the Warmaiden. She is certain to be scheming something. We will be the ones ruing this day if we give her half a chance.”

“Yes, Your Highness!” they answered in unison.

Scáthach nodded, pleased, before turning to the messengers and commanding them to assess the state of the walls. “As soon as they return,” she continued, looking back at her aides, “we will commit every last man to the assault and break this fort.”

“Of course, Your Highness,” Rache answered. “What is to be done with the defenders?”

“Capture those who surrender. Show no mercy to those who resist.”

“I will tell the officers.” The man nodded and turned to leave the command tent, but was suddenly stopped in his tracks.

“Urgent!” a voice cried out. “I bring urgent news!”

A messenger stumbled into the tent, visibly out of breath. The aides paused in their duties and turned as one toward the entrance.

“What is it?” Scáthach asked, joining her subordinates in frowning at the man.

“We’re under attack, Your Highness! From the rear! The commander of the rearguard requests reinforcements!”

“Under attack?” she repeated dumbly.

The messenger struck the ground with his fist in a fit of frustration. “They carry a dragon bearing a silver blade on a black field!” he cried, propelling spittle across the tent. “There’s no mistaking it! It’s the scion of Mars! The One-Eyed Dragon!”

Confusion ran through Scáthach’s aides. One by one, their faces grew pale.

“That cannot be! Is he not attacking Draal?!”

“He should have been! That was why Lord Puppchen withdrew his forces!”

“Might you not be mistaken?” one man asked. “The reports said that he attacked with fewer than five thousand men, but the grand duchy has thirty thousand at the least. How could he have overcome such odds?”

“There is no mistake, my lord! The enemy bears the War God’s standard!”

Even under questioning, the messenger stayed insistent that the situation was critical, but the aides remained unconvinced. It was not easy for them to stomach the arrival of a new force on the cusp of victory—and the scion of Mars, no less.

“The dark must have had you seeing things! Go and check again! That will settle this!”

“No,” Scáthach interrupted. “That will not be necessary.”

“Your Highness?”

“Letting ourselves panic over imagined threats will only play into the enemy’s hands. Let us take a moment to cool our heads.” A fierce will blazed in her eyes, silencing her anxious subordinates. “Why do you fear this scion of Mars so? What threat is he to us?”

“Your Highness, if the rumors are to be believed...”

“They are never to be believed. Only a fool would let them cloud his judgment.” Scáthach slammed down a fist and stared around the table. “His title is just that, a title. Do not lose sight of what matters. We must drive back these faithless imperials, rout them if we can.”

She picked up her azure spear and stalked toward the entrance, making no attempt to hide her anger. With a weary sigh, Rache fell in behind her. The rest of the aides followed a second later once their shock had worn off.

“Where are you going, Your Highness?!” one of them asked.

“Where else? To the rear. I will repel them myself.” Scáthach beckoned the messenger. “Have we an account of their numbers?”

“The dark makes it hard to tell, Your Highness, but a thousand at least.”

“And how are our own forces faring?”

“Poorly, I fear. The enemy struck with tremendous force. Officers are falling by the minute, leaving the men close to rout.”

Scáthach glanced toward the back lines, where all should have been peaceful. Instead, there rose the clamor of clashing swords, the gut-shaking rumble of hoofbeats, the piercing noise of battle cries. Tents had been set alight, the blaze dyeing the night sky a fierce red.

She looked at Rache. “How many men can we muster at short notice?”

“A hundred riders, perhaps. We have committed the rest to the front lines.”

So she was supposed to lead only one hundred men on a wild chase in the darkness, hunting an enemy cutting deep into their lines who could ambush them at any time, and somehow defeat them all. That was a fool’s errand. She lifted a defeated gaze to the sky, where the stars shone oblivious to her plight.

“Still, so long as a chance remains...”

Then she would do her utmost to bring it about.

“Rache, bring me my horse.”

“At once, Your Highness.”

The sea of soldiers parted around him as he dashed away into the darkness. Once he was out of sight, Scáthach turned back to her aides, her face sober.

“First, allow me to express my gratitude. Thank you, all of you, for accompanying me on this selfish vendetta of mine.”

They knelt as one, sensing her resolve. The corners of her eyes crinkled a little to see their loyalty.

“It is only because of your tireless efforts that we have come this far.”

She thanked them all, one by one, laying an appreciative hand on their shoulders and whispering her gratitude. When at last she was done, she raised an imperious hand.

“I leave this battle in your care. There is but one command that I would have you convey to the men.”

“Whatever you ask, Your Highness! Our lives are yours!”

In all of their eyes was unwavering faith that she would order them to fight to the bitter end—to lay down their lives for Faerzen, perhaps, or to fight until their last breaths to see their homeland restored. That only made it more painful to betray them.

“Flee.”

Their faces crumpled at the word. That was not what they had hoped to hear. They stared at her in disbelief.

“Why?!”

The question was on one man’s lips, but in all of their hearts.

“We’ll stand with you to the end, Your Highness!”

“That’s right! We’ll not turn and run while you’re still fighting!”

More followed with tearful pleas, but Scáthach hardened her heart and narrowed her eyes. “This is my final order as your commander,” she said firmly. “As the last remaining scion of Faerzen’s royal line.”

To defy a royal decree was unthinkable—and yet, the aides were undaunted. One after another, they drove their blades into the earth.

“Then you’ll have to lop off all our heads!”

“Aye, he’s the right of it! If we’re a burden to you, Your Highness, then we choose death!”

“Do you believe us so fainthearted as to balk at slender odds? Do you truly think so little of us?!”

Scáthach stepped back, overwhelmed by her subordinates’ fervor. At that moment, Rache arrived with her horse.

“I suspect that you have lost the argument, Your Highness.”

“Rache?”

“There is but one queen we revere and one queen we will follow.” He flashed a wry grin and shrugged. “‘Do not lose sight of what matters. We must drive back these faithless imperials.’ Your words, I believe?”

He handed her the reins. As she took them, stunned, he sank into the same bow as the rest of the aides.

“We are yours to command, my queen,” he declared. “Set us upon Faerzen’s enemies, as is your right.”

“You pack of fools...” Despite herself, Scáthach could not help but smile. She mounted her horse. “Stay, then, and devote your utmost efforts to taking the fort. I will worry about the rest.”

“What? But, Your Highness...then nothing has changed!”

“Would you have me leave my army with no commanders? Besides, after this show of insubordination, I do not think you have any right to refuse.”

That proved decisive. Unable to argue, Rache and the aides fell silent. At last, while their faces remained conflicted, they began to nod—although they still had their objections, they were grateful simply to be allowed to share the same battlefield as their liege.

“In the meantime,” Scáthach concluded, “I will make my way to the back lines and take this One-Eyed Dragon’s head.”

Rache’s lips tightened. “With no escort? Allow me to accompany you, at the very least.”

“No. It will be hard enough to tell friend from foe in such chaos. To bring an escort would risk becoming separated, if not killing one another.”

Instead, she would wage a one-woman war. With Gáe Bolg at her side, it could be done.

“Rache, you will remain here and defend the encampment. Is that understood?”

The man fell silent for a long moment but eventually assented. “Yes, Your Highness.”

Scáthach pulled on the reins. Her horse’s neigh echoed across the battlefield, announcing her presence to the very heavens. She set off at a gallop and soon vanished into the darkness.

She knew when she had reached the battle by the sound of dying screams. The enemy was attacking from all directions, turning the field into a hellish vision of carnage and butchery. The rearguard was crumbling beneath the fierce assault. Some had lost their wits and were running around hysterically; others breathed their last, aflame and shrieking. From the heavens fell a ceaseless rain of death.

“Argh!” An enemy soldier collapsed with a gurgle, her twenty-eighth kill.

“To think they had cut so deep...”

If she had taken any longer, the enemy would have begun to encroach on the main camp.

Another soldier lunged at her. “I’ll take your head!”

“Out of my way.”

“Ghurk?!”

A thrust through the throat dispatched him. Scáthach spurred her horse over the corpses of her countrymen, her face contorted with fury. There was no time to tangle with foot soldiers. She had to find the One-Eyed Dragon, but tracking down one man on a chaotic battlefield—in the dark, no less—was like searching for a needle in a haystack.

“Could I have misjudged him?” she wondered aloud. Imperial commanders typically led from the rear, leisurely surveying the battlefield from afar, but a few gloried in fighting on the front lines. “Perhaps this One-Eyed Dragon is the latter kind...”

She scowled and turned her horse about. At that moment, something caught her eye.

“Could it be...?”

A cluster of torches wavered in the darkness. With faint hope in her chest, Scáthach drove her mount toward the light. If her memory did not fail her, that was where she had put the sixth princess’s frozen body on display.

As she drew closer, understanding dawned. A black-clad man crouched in front of the pillar of ice, surrounded by a cluster of soldiers. A chill ran down her spine at the sight of him. Never before had she seen a human being exude such raw might. In that moment, she knew that she had found the One-Eyed Dragon.

“There you are!” With a cry of savage joy, she leaned forward in the saddle and spurred her horse into a charge, Gáe Bolg raised and ready.

Needless to say, the noise did not go unnoticed. “Who are you?!” a soldier cried.

“She who will bring you the peace of death!”

As the torches swung to face her, she leaped from horseback to soar high through the night sky. A spear reached for her, but she twisted around it in midair, Gáe Bolg’s tip glinting as she drove it into its wielder’s throat. His collapsing body provided a foothold to launch herself back into the air. The acrobatic maneuver left her next target stunned for a few crucial seconds—long enough for her Spiritblade’s haft to crush his skull. As brain matter sprayed, she ran a third man through, then turned the thrust into a backhanded swing that cut down a fourth. The fifth she tore from horseback with the sheer strength of her arm and flung beneath the hooves of his own steed.

“Lady Huginn! Take Lord Hiro and—!”

“No one escapes me!”

A crack of azure lightning speared the sixth man through the gut. A gout of blood sprayed from his mouth and he slid from his horse, a gaping hole blown in his abdomen.

At last, Scáthach stopped and thrust Gáe Bolg into the earth. “A knight does not kill women or children,” she announced. “Lower your weapon and you will not be harmed.”

The words were directed to the bow-wielding soldier standing in her way. The woman had the olive skin of the south and a face that might crack easily into a cheerful grin. Her hands trembled, like a mouse caught in the gaze of a cat. Still, she did not turn to run. The One-Eyed Dragon evidently had her loyalty. Through her fear shone valiant resolve—she would rather give her life and meet a wretched end than live with the regret of abandoning him.

It would be a waste to cut down such a noble heart, Scáthach thought, but that only inflamed her anger. “For how long do you mean to hide behind women’s skirts?!” she roared.

The imperial soldier flinched like a jolt of electricity had run through her body, even though she had not been the target of the shout. Scáthach’s voice had been loud, fit to carry across a battlefield, and it had reached many ears. She might as well have announced her position to the enemy. In short order, the air was abuzz with imperial soldiers clamoring to see if the One-Eyed Dragon was safe. Even so, she had been unable to restrain her outrage. Many men had died in this man’s defense. Even now, this woman was mustering the resolve to give her life for him.

“And yet you sit on the ground like a dog!”

He had might, but no spirit. She could sense nothing from him but emptiness.

“If you refuse to face me, I’ll take your head and be done with it!”

Uncaring of the unsettling aura wreathing him, she readied Gáe Bolg.

＊＊＊＊＊

It felt as though a wall had fallen. That was no blessing. It was a wall that should have remained unbreached, the last bulwark erected to defend his humanity. Yet faced with the sight before him, holding back the impulse rising from the pit of his stomach was next to impossible.

Given enough time, hatred turns to anger, anger to grief, and grief to mirth. After enough cycles, one arrives at an empty void. Yet human emotions, ever curious things, cannot be truly destroyed. They persist even after one believes them gone, smoldering in some hidden place, and at the slightest provocation will show their faces again, altering the psyche with shocking results—the dissolution of reason, reversion to bestial instinct. A phenomenon known as the urge to slaughter.

Huginn was the first to notice the cold fury emanating from Hiro. “Your Lordship?” she asked tentatively.

“Just how long do you mean to ignore me?” the Resistance soldier demanded of him.

The woman had appeared from nowhere and slaughtered Huginn’s subordinates in the blink of an eye. Even that short glimpse of her spearwork had told Huginn that she was no match—but that left one question unanswered.

“No closer! I’m warning you!”

She nocked an arrow and leveled it at the knight, fearful of letting anybody disturb Hiro in his unstable state, but the woman ignored her and took a step toward him.

“My name is Culann Scáthach du Faerzen. I would know yours.”

Hiro gave no reply. His dead eyes saw nothing but Liz.

“I told you, don’t go near him!” Huginn scowled. Some people just didn’t listen. How could such a skilled warrior be so ignorant of what was happening?

Oblivious to Huginn’s fears, Scáthach fixed Hiro with a glare, her anger swelling. “I cast aside my very pride to fight this battle, yet with the hour of my vengeance at hand, I find you standing in my way. And you will not even do me the courtesy of telling me your name!”

Her ire resounded across the field, but still Hiro did not respond.

“I will teach you to make a fool of me!”

With her patience finally frayed, Scáthach lunged at Hiro with spear in hand.

“No! Don’t you touch him!” Huginn sensed the attack coming and loosed a barrage of arrows.

Scáthach struck the volley down with her bare hands. “To challenge me is to challenge the Boreal Sovereign,” she declared. “Fall back if you value your life.”

“You’ve got a Spiritblade?” Huginn blurted out. She had heard a little about the Spiritblade Sovereigns from Hiro, who had warned her to turn and flee if she ever encountered one. Suddenly, Scáthach’s actions made more sense—Gáe Bolg’s presence in her hand must have been dulling her awareness of the looming danger.

“A strike from behind ill befits a knight,” Scáthach said, “but I will not waste honor on discourteous men.”

She leaped high, shifting her spear from a high guard to a low one, and plunged down like a thunderbolt. It was a strike that no ordinary man could evade, forceful enough to send its target flying—but not only did the billowing hem of the Black Camellia bat her speartip aside, its fabric sharpened into a spike that launched a vicious riposte.

“What in the world—?!”

With a scowl, she twisted to avoid the strike, escaping with only a shallow slice across her cheek, but before she could so much as recover her balance, a pitch-black spear came hurtling toward her. She blanched and sprang back, deflecting the onyx point inches from her face, but that was only the first droplet of a deluge that forced her back yet again.

“What trickery resides in that garb?!”

The slightest hesitation, the most marginal loss of composure, the tiniest whisper of fear—all would spell instant death. The unfolding battle permitted not the single blink of an eye. Lances crafted from inky night tore through the air with fearsome speed, and yet Scáthach struck each and every one aside with perfect timing, matching the Black Camellia for monstrosity.

“What...is this...sorcery?!” With her chest heaving, she looked up—and her heart almost stopped. “What? When did you...?”

Hiro stood before her, having closed the distance between them with fearsome speed. Curiously, neither moved to attack. Scáthach only stared the boy down, her lips twisting into a bitter grin.

As a warrior herself, if not one of Scáthach’s caliber, Huginn could sense why the woman had frozen: she had caught sight of Hiro’s black eyes.

“Now I see. You bear Uranos.”

An ascended state of mind, a martial artist might have called it. A kind of mastery attainable only with a lifetime of training, and even then only by a select few. The ability to see the flow of an opponent’s breath in a handful of exhaled air particles, and so divine their intent.

“Just how much power resides in that small frame?” she whispered, half in dread and half in wonder. “Are you even human?”

Hiro’s mouth formed an unsettling smile. His very presence imposed quiet—no, silence, an enforced absence of noise. In the stillness, a dispassionate voice issued from his lips.

“Held Rey Schwartz von Grantz.”

He raised his hand to touch the eyepatch covering the left side of his face. His power swelled, setting the air groaning beneath its weight. Malice and murder swirled about him, twisting the surrounding space into a singular and uncanny domain.

He spoke again, in words steeped in darkness.

That is the name of your death.

Then came Excalibur, stained black, the instrument of his intent to kill. Scáthach blocked the point-blank slash, but its sheer weight cratered the earth beneath her feet. The effort forced a grunt from her throat. Not a moment later, Hiro’s right leg lashed in from her peripheral vision. She managed to raise her left arm to block but could not withstand the force of the kick, which swept her aside like a broom might dust.

“Very well. My turn.”

As soon as she landed, she lunged forward again, streaking toward Hiro to launch a blistering counteroffensive. Gáe Bolg lashed out viciously, seeking to pierce his vitals, but deft strokes of his blade foiled all of its attempts.

Scáthach did not so much as blink as sparks showered around her. Even as her assault was summarily deflected, her confident grin never faltered.

“Let me show you my true strength!”

With a voice as clear and unblemished as the wind, she invoked Gáe Bolg’s Graal. Its nature was Surestrike, and its name was Sainglend. Storm clouds obscured the stars twinkling in the sky above as a tempest began to blow.

“My Spiritblade tells me that you are Excalibur’s chosen.”

Spears of ice appeared in the heavens, blanketing the sky even as their chill called the storm. The temperature began to plummet. Combat on the ground halted as the participants looked up, alarmed by the sudden change in weather.

“Then I need show you no quarter! Take their hearts—Gáe Bolg!”

Scáthach flung down her arms. The deluge of spears fell upon the land below. White mist shrouded the battlefield, the ground split, and the earth shuddered. Yet even as the destruction threatened to engulf him, Hiro was unmoved. He stared nonchalantly at the looming cataclysm, making no move to flee.

“Run, Your Lordship!”

Huginn’s scream rang through the air as the sky darkened to black, but her warning came too late. A haphazard carpet of ice-wrought spears covered the area where Hiro had been standing. She fell to her knees in horror.

Scáthach only snorted in astonishment. “Fear not. He still lives. A strange thing—it seems Sainglend could not touch him.”

A gust of wind carried the mist away, sending a chill fierce enough to freeze the lungs spilling out across the ground. As the field cleared, Hiro came into view, alive and unharmed. Around him was a clearing in the forest of spears, a perfect circle of empty space.

“I see. So that is the Black Camellia’s protection.” Scáthach retreated a healthy distance from him as she caught her breath. “Such power... What depths you must have reached. Both the Heavenly Sovereign and the Black Camellia... It is a wonder you can wield such opposing forces without losing your mind.”

Hiro, as ever, gave no answer. He did not even move. He simply stood, staring, his black eyes boring into her. She shuddered, and not from the cold. Everything about him screamed that he would pursue her to the end of the world.

“And there’s something else in you, isn’t there? At first I thought it was Uranos I sensed, but my Spiritblade is adamant that it is not so. Tell me—who are you, truly?”

Again, Hiro said nothing.

With a defeated shrug, Scáthach readied Gáe Bolg again. “Then I will take my answers from your corpse. The Black Camellia will not save you from what comes next.”

Raw cold billowed from her azure spear. Gray smoke spewed across the ground, dyeing the world the color of ash.

“There is no shield in this world that the Boreal Sovereign cannot sunder.”

Thence came Gáe Bolg’s greatest art. Macha—Godpiercer.

Power erupted from her in a concussive blast. Her azure spear bore down on Hiro like striking lightning, only for him to intercept it with a dexterous twirl of the Black Camellia. His dark garb opened its maw wide and swallowed the weapon whole.

Scáthach watched, stupefied—and smiled. “Look above you. That was but a feint.”

She pointed to the sky. Hiro followed the arc of her finger to see the true Gáe Bolg streaking toward him, trailing sound waves and frozen water vapor in its wake. The Black Camellia was preoccupied with devouring the spear of ice, leaving him defenseless. He moved to dodge, only to find that he could not.

“Sainglend froze your feet to the ground. There is no escape.”

Scáthach’s voice came in labored pants. She had used up too much strength, and fatigue was showing on her elegant features. Yet even with her chest heaving, she raised a fist to Hiro in defiance of her exhaustion.

“This battle is mine.”

Gáe Bolg slammed into him with pulverizing force, releasing a detonation like a thundercrack and sending up an enormous plume of soil. The blast wave sent him flying through the air. He smacked bodily into Liz’s prison of ice, and then the dust cloud swallowed him and he was lost from sight.

Hiro snapped awake in an instant. Hot agony lanced through his stomach, forcing a leaden breath from his lungs.

“Ngh... Gah!”

The stagnant emptiness in his eyes gave way to bright acuity, and the darkness hanging over his mind was rapidly dispelled. Leaning against the sturdy surface behind him, he glanced down at his side. Crimson poured out in formidable quantities, spurting from the wound like a tap left on full force.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve seen my own blood.”

That, he supposed, was the price of letting anger dull his reflexes, but at least it had opened his eyes. The chill plane behind him soothed his burning flesh, as though imploring him to cool his head. He turned to see Liz, still trapped in her frozen cage.

“I owe you one,” he murmured. “Thanks to you, I’ve come to my senses.”

The corners of his eyes crinkled a little with sadness. He rose to his feet. The neat hole in his side had already closed. A wave of unease passed through him at the sight of the supernatural regeneration.

“I really did come close to turning into a monster.”

Where had he strayed from the path? Where had he left his emotions by the wayside? It was enough to make him wonder if he was really human after all.

“You took my best, and still you stand?” The voice carried through the dust cloud, shocked to its core.

Hiro turned. A frigid wind carried the dust away to reveal Scáthach, staring at him with naked incredulity.

“How is it that you live? Are you truly human? Anyone would take you for a—”

“You don’t have to finish that sentence. I’m just a little hardier than most people, that’s all.”

He walked toward her with a leisurely gait. In his hand, Excalibur gleamed brilliant white once more.

On a sudden instinct, Scáthach raised Gáe Bolg in a high guard. Not a split second later, an impact rang through her bones. The ground shattered beneath her feet, burying her up to her ankles in rubble.

“Now,” Hiro said, “for real this time.”

He raised his right hand and clicked his fingers. The space around him began to warp. The air was rent open with a faint pop, then another, and another. From those gashes in space emerged spirit weapons, hanging in the night sky like a blanket of terrestrial stars. Scáthach gazed in wonder at the ethereal sight. It was as though the heavens and the earth had inverted, so warm and gentle was their light.

“What a curious man you are,” she said, hefting Gáe Bolg.

Hiro raised Excalibur to match her. “I won’t hold back if you don’t.”

Scáthach nodded. “My well is almost dry. On this next strike I bet my all.”

She sprang backward and raised Gáe Bolg behind her head. Power swelled within her, setting the air groaning with the strain—and once more, she unleashed the Boreal Sovereign’s Graal. The water vapor in the air around her froze and condensed into a forest of icy spears, all of them trained on the black-haired boy before her.

Hiro said nothing. He didn’t even take up a stance. He emanated no fear, no doubts, nothing at all—nothing but power, which radiated from him in fearsome quantities. He took one step forward and the earth cracked beneath his feet, unable to bear his might.

The nature of the Heavenly Sovereign’s Graal was Godspeed, and its name was Lucifer.

The spirit weapons around him flared with blinding light, all of them pointed at Scáthach...

And the world trembled.

By the hourglass, their match took only seconds, but to Huginn, looking on from the sidelines, it seemed to last an eternity. Hundreds, thousands, millions of blows were exchanged in the blink of an eye. Sovereign clashed with Sovereign, and the collision of their wills echoed through the heavens themselves. Their battle could only be sensed, not seen. The naked eye could not keep track.

This was a duel between Spiritblades, a battle fought upon a pinnacle far beyond the reach of mortal men. Even judging who had the upper hand was an impossible task, yet before Huginn knew it, the victor was decided.

“And so it ends. With my defeat.”

Scáthach lay flat on her back. Above her, the storm clouds began to disperse, allowing the stars to shine through bright and clear.

“Yet it seems I have been spared the fatal blow.”

Countless wounds scored her flesh, but none were mortal. She could keep fighting. She gritted her teeth and fought to rise.

“I cannot fall here. I have...a duty...”

But for all her determination, her strength was spent. She collapsed face down on the earth. Weeping bitter tears, she struck her head against the ground.

“Curse it all...”

As she began to sob, Hiro wordlessly approached her.

She raised her head at the crunch of footsteps. “Do you mean to kill me?”

Hiro said nothing. He only leveled Excalibur’s blade at her throat.

“If I must fall here,” she continued, “then I would have you deliver a message to Administrator Buze and First Prince Stovell.”

“What message?”

“Tell them death will not keep me from my vengeance.”

The hatred in her glare would have chilled most men to the bone, but it only piqued Hiro’s interest. “May I ask why?”

“It’s not a pleasant story.”

“Don’t tell it if you don’t want to. Everyone has things they’d rather not talk about.”

She stared at him for a long moment, but at last, her eyes lowered dejectedly. “My studies took me out of the kingdom when the invasion struck...but the rest of my family were not so lucky.”

While Scáthach’s studies in Six Kingdoms had spared her from personal harm, she had returned home to find Faerzen’s once-proud capital in ruins, its surviving residents butchered by imperial soldiers or treated as slaves. Her brothers had been beheaded, her younger sisters snatched away for Stovell’s amusement. The latter’s heads had later returned preserved in salt.

“I told you it wasn’t a pleasant story,” she said once her tale was told.

“No,” Hiro said. “It certainly isn’t.”

“Now, if you’ve satisfied your curiosity, take my head and be done with this.” She laid down her head for the blade, chivalrous to the end.

“You’re quick to choose death for someone with so much vengeance in her heart.”

“I am all too aware that you have good reason to want my life.” She cast a glance at Liz’s frozen figure.

Hiro followed her gaze for a moment before his eyes flicked back. “Perhaps so. If she actually was dead, I really might have killed you.”

But there was no mistaking it—Liz was alive. If Scáthach had truly meant to kill her, she wouldn’t have gone to the trouble of sealing her in ice. It served too poorly as a warning. Human beings avert their eyes from the ugly but struggle to feel animosity for the beautiful. The sight of her body hale and whole would convey no threat of cruelty, and with whether she was truly dead in question, any anger the display provoked would not last. If Scáthach’s goal had been to stoke rage and hatred in the defenders, a severed head would have done far better.

“But you didn’t kill her. Why?”

“A knight does not kill women or children. In any case, my grudge is not with her. It would have shamed the blood in my veins to take her life.”

“So it was a matter of pride?”

Scáthach nodded. “As the last survivor of Faerzen’s royal line, I have a duty to maintain a princess’s dignity. And in any case,”—she fixed him with a level gaze—“I will not stain my parents’ honor.”

Hiro found himself smiling. She and he were two of a kind. Their driving desire to protect the legacy of those dear to them, their burning vengeance poorly tempered with lingering naivete—they were all too similar.

“Does that amuse you?” she asked.

“No, sorry. Just an old memory.” His face took on a more serious cast. “I’ve decided I will spare your life.”

Scáthach’s eyes went wide. “Excuse me?”

Hiro gave a nonchalant shrug. It was not out of pity that he was letting her live, nor had he suffered a change of heart and decided to aid her cause. The prospect of killing her simply sat poorly with him. To take her life here, now, after she had suffered so cruelly at the hands of the emperor and Stovell, sounded like the punch line of a bad joke. The architects of her misery were still alive, living leisurely with smiles on their faces, and that...that could not stand.

“Why this sudden mercy? I do not understand. It was I who treated your sixth princess so, and that is not my only crime. I slew scores of your soldiers. I brought hardship upon your people. Why, after all I have done, would you let me live?”

Scáthach shook her head in dismay. Her voice held no relief at her stay of execution. If anything, it seemed almost pleading.

“Ah. Now I see.”

At last, Hiro understood what drove her. She wanted to die. She had lost her parents, her siblings, her home, her place in the world. By gathering her old comrades in a quest for revenge, she had managed to hold herself together, but deep down, she had been searching for a grave—a punishment for failing to save her family, and atonement for the harm her vengeance had done to her soldiers and countrymen. And if that was so...

“Nobody can live without causing pain to others,” Hiro said. “If you think that requires atonement, then by all means, choose death. But that would not be an answer, only cowardice and conceit.” He leaned in closer, bringing his mouth to her ear. “If you still want to give up your life, then give it up to me. I will make you my sword and shield.”

His words bordered on arrogance. They certainly left Scáthach lost for words. But anything less, he knew, would not be enough to turn her away from her path of self-destruction. He had to give her hope.

“Join me, and when the time is ripe—”

The end of his sentence was interrupted by the victory cry that rose from the imperial troops, but from the way her eyes widened, she had heard it all the same. The seconds passed by, and understanding dawned. By the time she answered with a resolute nod, the light had returned to her eyes.

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The twenty-fifth day of the eleventh month of Imperial Year 1023

Three days had passed since the final battle for Fort Mitte. The significant number of Resistance soldiers who had fled into the night after it became clear the battle was lost still remained at large. It was unlikely that they would provoke large-scale conflict, but small skirmishes would inevitably soon break out across the province. Defeat would not quench the guerrillas’ hatred, and they would not lay down their arms while their countrymen continued to suffer. It would be a long, long time before peace came to Faerzen.

Once again, the Grantzian Empire would find itself obliged to spend an exorbitant amount of gold. Endless conflict had ravaged Faerzen, leaving its people with no homes and its soldiers with nowhere to go. Whether they turned to banditry, brigandry, or burglary, in time, looting would break out across the land, and the resulting stench of blood would attract monsters to prey on those who remained. A large-scale military deployment would be necessary to reestablish order.

But the west doesn’t have those kinds of numbers to spare.

So who would field them? Hiro saw the answer and expelled a heavy sigh. He was standing in front of a bed in the makeshift sickbay erected in the central courtyard of Fort Mitte. On top of the clean, white sheets lay Liz, breathing softly. He gently squeezed her hand.

“What else? Oh, of course, Tris and Cerberus are doing well. They were both injured in the battle, but the doctors say it’s nothing life-threatening. You wouldn’t believe how much food they’re shoveling down.”

His words were met with no response. He lowered his gaze sadly.

“Now we’re all just waiting for you to wake up.” He continued in measured tones, trying his hardest to keep his emotions from showing in his voice. “It’s like we’ve swapped places, don’t you think? I remember how much you fussed over me back then.”

Shortly after his arrival in Aletia, his overuse of Uranos had flooded his brain with an unbearable quantity of information, sending him into a delirious stupor. Although he had been little more than a stranger at the time, Liz had taken personal charge of nursing him back to health. Her kindness had almost overwhelmed him when he regained consciousness. It was for that reason that, after learning of her situation, he had sworn a private vow to support her, come what may. That vow remained engraved in his heart, although very different emotions now swelled in his chest to recall it.

“Say, Liz...what do you think my endgame really is?”

What would she think when she learned of his true intentions—those he had not divulged to anyone? He had decided what needed to be done. Very little could alter it now. There was, however, room for one small mercy.

With a sheepish smile, he stroked her hand tenderly, his fingers brushing still-fresh scars. “When the time comes, I want you to be the one—”

“How is she?” a voice interrupted.

Hiro swung around in alarm. Aura stood in the sickbay entrance. With her head swathed in bandages, she made for almost as pitiful a sight as Liz.

She cocked her head. “What?”

“How long have you been there?”

“I...I only just arrived.” Aura’s gray eyes tracked from Liz to Hiro, then spontaneously flooded with guilt. She plunged into a sudden bow. “This is my fault. Apologies won’t make it right. I know. But still.”

She looked back up, fists clenched, eyes fighting back tears. Her normally expressionless face brimmed with emotion.

“I take full responsibility.”

In her eyes was the resolve to accept any punishment or reprimand. She, too, would bear lasting scars from this battle, even if they could not be seen with the eye.

Nothing he could say would get through to her in that state. Words of comfort would have no effect. Instead, he only smiled. “I’m glad you’re all right.”

A small gasp slipped from Aura’s throat. She bit her lip and looked down at the ground, as though struggling not to cry.

“Your plan was a good one,” he said. “It wasn’t at fault.”

Still, there was no denying reality. Her plan had failed, resulting in heavy losses for the empire. Having Hiro to defend her would hopefully lessen her punishment, but she would not escape this debacle unscathed.

“The next few weeks aren’t going to be easy. You’re in a precarious position.”

Aura gave a mute nod. She knew the stakes, and the steely glint in her eyes showed that she was prepared for however the dice might fall.

“You’ll have it worse,” she said.

Hiro had not only driven the Draali forces from Faerzen, he had secured assurances that the Grand Duchy would shoulder a portion of the empire’s losses from the fighting. On top of that, he had rescued Liz, a Spiritblade wielder, as well as Aura herself, whom most had given up for dead. The unprecedented achievement was certain to alarm House Krone and their central nobles. First Prince Stovell and the other imperial heirs, too, would no longer be content to scheme in the shadows; they would step out into the light.

“I know. But I won’t get overconfident, and I won’t slip up.” He would not let what had occurred here happen again. A renewed resolve burned in his breast to protect those dear to him.

Aura nodded in agreement as though sensing his determination. A moment passed and then she cocked her head apropos nothing, as if remembering something. “I did as you asked. Administrator Buze is in the war room.”

“Thank you. I’d better go. I wouldn’t want to keep him waiting.”

“Of course.”

“Could you watch Liz while I’m gone? The doctor says she could regain consciousness at any moment.”

“That sounds like Buze can wait.”

“No, I’m afraid he can’t. I need to deal with this before Liz wakes up.”

Hiro excused himself from the sickbay. The morning sun greeted him as he stepped outside. Soldiers dashed to and fro. They were doing grim work—cleaning the fort to prevent the spread of sickness, disposing of corpses—but every one of them attended to their tasks without complaint. As he made his way from the bustling courtyard up to the walls, he flagged down a company of sentries and commanded them to join him.

The war room was located in the small tower erected in the middle of the battlements above the main gate. A large host of soldiers waited outside.

One man stepped forward as Hiro approached. “Greetings, Lord Hiro. We have been waiting for you.”

The man was Aura’s aide, von Spitz. Back on the streets of the capital, his handsome face would have raised squeals of delight from passing ladies, but now it was lined with exhaustion and sleep deprivation. The rest of Aura’s aides stood around him, their expressions apprehensive.

Von Spitz jerked a thumb toward the door. “He awaits you within.”

Before Hiro could reply, the man straightened his posture and dropped to one knee, his head lowered in a deep bow. The rest of Aura’s aides mirrored the gesture.

“Thank you, Your Highness. We owe you our lives.”

It was unusual for von Spitz to be so forthcoming with his gratitude. The defense of the fort must have been harrowing indeed. Hiro patted the man on the shoulder and gave a small shake of his head—don’t worry about it—but von Spitz remained kneeling, his gaze fixed firmly on the ground.

“Shameless though it may be, I must ask that you show Brigadier General von Bunadala clemency. She is not to blame for what happened to Lady Celia Estrella. The fault lies not with her strategy, but with our failure to carry it out. Your Highness, I beg you—please petition His Majesty on her behalf!”

Although nobody present spoke the words, they were clearly all willing to offer their heads if need be. Aura was truly blessed with loyal subordinates.

“Don’t worry,” Hiro said. “She won’t escape punishment, but it shouldn’t be too severe.”

“Do you speak truly?!” Von Spitz’s eyes widened. Behind him, the other aides’ expressions brightened.

“I do. You can return to your duties with your minds at ease. I’ll take care of business here.”

“At once, Your Highness! We leave Lady Aura in your care!”

The aides bowed low once more. Hiro dismissed them, his smile just a little fixed.

Once they were gone, he knocked twice on the tower door then entered with his escort. Seated inside with an anxious expression was the administrator of Faerzen, Buze von Krone.

“I’m sorry to keep you waiting,” Hiro said.

“Why, Lord Hiro! What an unexpected honor!” As soon as Buze registered Hiro’s identity, he sprang from his seat and bowed.

Hiro did not return the gesture, only staring back at the man coolly. “Do you know why I have summoned you here?”

“N-No, Your Highness,” Buze stammered. “I fear you have me at a loss.” He looked visibly confused; he truly seemed not to know.

“Would you look at this man for me? Perhaps he will jog your memory.”

Hiro gestured to one of the guards he had brought in. The soldier removed his helmet to reveal the face of Rache du Vertra, glaring at Buze with hate-filled eyes.

“It has been far too long, Administrator.”

“Y-You?! But...why are you here?! You cannot be here!”

It was not hard to see why Buze was shocked. Rache had served in the Faerzen Resistance, and before that as captain of the royal guard. He was an enemy of the empire, with no place in an imperial encampment.

“Lord Hiro!” Buze’s voice was a panicked yelp. “What is the meaning of this?!”

Hiro smiled serenely. “These men and I have, shall we say, established a working relationship. But they need some assurance that I’m not going to go back on my word. You’re going to be that assurance.”

“Y-You cannot mean...! This is preposte— What are you doing?! Stop this at once!”

More soldiers from Hiro’s escort seized the protesting Buze from behind and forced him into an armlock. They, too, were men of the Resistance. After the end of the battle, Hiro had successfully snuck Rache and a small group of followers into the fort, disguised them as Crow Legion soldiers, and sent them to patrol the walls. It had been no great challenge—even setting aside his rank, nobody would question the activities of a prince of the empire.

“I warn you, Lord Hiro!” Buze squealed. “Kill me and you’ll regret it!”

Hiro snorted dismissively. “And why is that?”

“House Krone will not overlook my disappearance! Suspicion will fall first upon you, with your ties to the east—and then every noble in the central territories will be your enemy!”

“And?”

“And...? Erm...what?”

As Buze’s tongue tied itself in a knot, Hiro shot a meaningful glance at the soldier restraining him.

“Ungh!”

A heavy blow caught Buze in the back of the head. His eyes rolled back and he slumped to the floor, out like a light. Hiro looked down at him coldly and breathed a small sigh.

“I think I’ve had enough of this.”

No matter where he went, House Krone’s foul misdeeds seemed to lurk around every corner. He was more than angry now; he was murderous.

“House Krone will go the same way you did before long,” he said as the Resistance soldiers stuffed Buze into a sack.

Once the men were done with their task, he approached Rache.

“You have my thanks, Lord Hiro,” he said.

“Don’t thank me yet. I still haven’t kept my word.”

“Nonetheless. You have done us a great service.”

“You’d better get out of here before Buze’s subordinates notice he’s missing. This is a chance you can’t afford to waste.”

With a nod, Rache commanded one of his subordinates to lift Buze onto his back. In more peaceful times, the group would have attracted suspicion, but with the fort consumed by the chaos of the cleanup, nobody would look at them twice. They would be able to escape without notice.

“We shall be away, then.”

“Remember, I want to know everything he tells you.”

“You can count on us. We’ll wring something useful from him before we’re done.”

With a bow, Rache departed, his subordinates in tow. Once they were out of sight, Hiro exited the war room and quietly descended the stairs to ground level.

I think it’s about time for House Krone to take their last bow.

First Prince Stovell would not take that lying down, of course. He was certain to stand in Hiro’s way, and that would risk escalating into a confrontation with the emperor himself. No matter how Hiro proceeded, the situation seemed doomed to remain unpredictable.

But I’ve assembled a good hand. I can win this game—I just have to play it right.

He set out, not back to Liz’s sickbed, but outside of the fort entirely. The scars of war lingered on the landscape, fresh and raw. The fresher bodies had been disposed of to stave off disease, but countless charred corpses doubtless remained beneath the ashes of burned tents that were all that remained of the Resistance encampment. Silence shrouded the place like an ancient ruin, and discarded swords and spears littered the ground. Still-smoldering fires licked at fresh greenery, the smoke mingling with the stagnant air to form an acrid stink. Flocks of crows circled overhead, lured in search of pickings by the hint of blood in the mix.

At last, Hiro came to his destination: a tent notably larger than its abandoned fellows. It lay squarely in the center of the camp, as befitted its status as the commander’s abode. His step betrayed no hesitation as he made his way inside.

“I thought I’d find you here,” he said.

In the open space in the center of the tent, kneeling with her knees together, was a woman—Culann Scáthach du Faerzen.

“And I thought you might come,” she said, glancing back over her shoulder. “I hear that Buze von Krone is now in Rache’s hands. You are a man of your word, and for that you have my thanks.” She lay her hands on the ground and lowered her head in a deep bow.

“I’ll tell you what I told Rache—don’t thank me yet. I still haven’t made good on my word.”

“Even so, you have delivered that faithless traitor into our grasp when he would otherwise have remained out of reach. You may not wish for my gratitude, but you have it nonetheless.”

First Rache, now her. Conscientiousness seemed to be a common trait in the Resistance.

Scáthach turned away. In front of her lay a dozen or so boxes. Hiro opened his mouth to ask what they were, but she beat him to it.

“These hold my family’s heads,” she said. “Some hardly recognizable as such, but still, all that remains of those I love.”

Tears trickled down her cheeks as she brought her hands together and began to pray. From her lips came the same verses that the first archpriestess had once offered to the Spirit King—a plea for aid intoned through bitter tears, for she had been powerless to heal her countrymen’s battle-scarred hearts or free them from the yoke of the zlosta and, despite her best efforts, the fires of war had only burned brighter by the day.

Once Scáthach had finished praying, Hiro put a question to her—why had she left Liz alive?

“Again you ask? Did I not give my reasons?”

“You did, but they don’t quite add up.”

“Excuse me?”

“In the moment, I connected the dots and convinced myself that they made a line, but now that I look back on it, I’m not so sure. Why go to the trouble of freezing her at all?”

“I thought I told you, a knight does not slay women or children.”

“That’s what’s so strange. If I take that at face value, you must never have had any intention of killing her at all. So why seal her in ice? Your enemies wouldn’t know what to make of it—you’d confuse them more than you’d inflame them. Displaying her wounded and exhausted would have been much more effective.”

Scáthach’s shoulders slumped in defeat. “You must understand,” she said, again looking over her shoulder. “We had our backs against the wall, yet she could have turned the tides for us, and every man in the Resistance knew it. I had to ensure that none could do her harm.”

So she had been acting to protect Liz, not to hurt her. With so many people holding grudges, she could not be assured of Liz’s safety—and as a fellow woman on the battlefield, she doubtless felt doubly motivated to spare her potential humiliation.

“I had meant to release her immediately.”

Hiro’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

“All I demanded in exchange for her safe return was custody of First Prince Stovell and an apology from the emperor.”

After that, she explained, she had meant to capture Fort Mitte and Buze before securing Aura and Third Prince Brutahl. That was supposed to give her the leverage to negotiate an imperial retreat from Faerzen. However, not only had the emperor sent no apology, he had given no response at all.

“While Lord Puppchen did sit down at the table with Third Prince Brutahl, that was on their own prerogative.”

Hiro cupped his chin in his hand and looked down at the ground, his mind whirling. During his audience at the palace, the emperor had claimed that the Faerzen Resistance had made no demands. Why had the man withheld the truth? There could only be one reason: he had known Hiro would urge him to accept the offer and had been wary of creating a rift between them by refusing it. Nothing short of capitulation to the Resistance would satisfy Hiro, but emperors did not admit to wrongdoing.

And he had other reasons too...

Apprising Hiro of Scáthach’s situation risked persuading him to spare her life out of sympathy—or, worse, to recruit her and her Spiritblade into his ranks. That was why the emperor had kept silent: so as to avoid that outcome. Indeed, he had purposefully divulged as little about Scáthach as possible so that Hiro would not hesitate to cut her down. And if he had known enough to scheme that, he was surely also aware of Liz’s situation. As likely as not, he had contacted High General Vakish and the rest of the border guard prior to Hiro’s arrival at Tutelary Citadel and pressured them into silence.

He acted cooperative enough, but he was pulling the strings behind the scenes all the while. I don’t know whether I should be appalled or impressed.

One thing was certain: Emperor Greiheit was shrewder and more determined than Hiro had imagined. The man might just be his greatest threat.

“Lord Hiro.”

Scáthach’s voice pulled him back to reality. She had fallen to one knee before him and was looking up at him with earnest eyes.

“From this day forth, I will be your spear.” She called Gáe Bolg and raised it above her head, palms up. “A spear to serve your will. A spear to pierce your enemies. A spear to wield against all who would do you harm.”

A vow of service was sealed with the highest ceremony. Acknowledging her grave resolve, Hiro summoned Excalibur into his hand.

“This is only the beginning. The road ahead is long. But I swear, the day will come when I make good on my word.”

A contract. An oath. A binding chain. No one term quite contained what passed between them. Theirs was a vow sworn between spirits. A dazzling light poured forth from their weapons, and the air took on a tangible weight as the spirits within vied to determine which was master.

“Do you swear to deliver me my heart’s desire?”

“I swear to deliver you your heart’s desire.”

“And do you swear that you will not betray your word?”

“I swear that I will fulfill my oath.”

“Then all that I am is yours to wield.”

And so their covenant was sworn—a vow of servitude, and a curse engraved into Scáthach’s very flesh.