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

Chapter 4: Lævateinn Alights, the Valditte Takes Flight

The twenty-sixth day of the twelfth month of Imperial Year 1023

Hoffnung Plains, in the south of the central territories

Ranks of horses and men milled about. Armor clanked and spearpoints glinted. The sun hung high in the sky, showering the land with its rays and lighting the way for the people who dwelled below. A black dragon standard fluttered in the gentle breeze alongside a crimson banner emblazoned with a lily—the livery of the fourth prince and sixth princess.

Beneath the flags’ dignified gazes, soldiers rushed to and fro. None had time to stop and talk. They attended to their duties in tense silence.

One spot stood out among the neat ranks: the command tent, where the most important persons in the army were gathered. A grave air filled the interior ahead of the start of the strategy meeting. All eyes were on the sixth princess at the head of the table, as well as the fourth prince who stood at her side.

Hiro was first to address the audience. “It looks like everybody’s present. May I have your report?” His gaze fell on one of the central noble collaborators.

“Yes, Your Highness!” The man’s voice squeaked with stress, but he stood up. With a trembling finger, he pointed to the map of the central territories on the table. “The rebel army has stopped within sight of the capital,” he said, choosing his words with audible care. “Von Loeing has taken command of the enemy forces, with the álf known as Nameless as his vice-commander.”

“Have they made any demands?”

“None, Your Highness. Although they have sent threats to the surrounding nobles.”

Side with us or stay out of this. Defy us and we’ll annihilate you. That was the gist, at any rate. Von Loeing might have lost his rank, but his prowess was known throughout the empire. The nobles were probably quaking in their boots. Given how fixated many of the central houses were on satisfying their various appetites, it was doubtful any of them had the spine to stand up to von Loeing.

“It’ll be difficult to convince those nobles to side with us, then.” Hiro and his allies had three thousand eight hundred men; the enemy had thirty thousand. They were like a pebble trying to stop a river. Every observer probably expected them to be swallowed up in an instant.

“So it seems, Your Highness. The local nobles fear inviting the rebel army’s wrath. They have holed themselves up in their castles and appear to have no intention of leaving. As soon as the rebels show any sign of weakness, I imagine they will gladly sally forth, but until then, they will watch and wait.”

Hiro breathed a sigh of disappointment. “What about the nobles from the other four territories?”

“With regard to the north, we received word several days ago that Second Prince Selene is marching for the capital. No recent news has come from the western nobles, but it would be safe to assume that they are preoccupied with the administration and reconstruction of Faerzen.” The man cleared his throat. “Little is known of the southern nobles’ intentions, and the little that is known is uncertain. For the moment, however, it appears that they intend to watch and wait.”

The eastern nobles were rising for the capital with all haste, according to a letter from Rosa that had arrived the previous day, but they were unlikely to arrive before Hiro and Liz’s forces engaged the rebel army.

“So in other words we’ve gotten here first,” Hiro remarked. This was a chance they could not pass up. He shot Liz a meaningful glance.

She nodded firmly. “Then we will rest here for two days and get ready for battle. While we’re waiting, I’ll write back to the local nobles. Perhaps I can persuade some of them to help.”

Her plan was sound. Rosa’s collaborators had bolstered their forces by three thousand, but the Crow Legion had ridden up from the south at top speed and needed to recover their strength before fighting. A difference of even eight hundred men could tip the scales of battle. Fortunately, their early arrival had bought them time to rest.

“We should still be cautious, though,” Hiro said.

Word of their arrival was bound to have reached von Loeing. Their camp was at risk of a night raid. The man had once occupied the highest seat in the imperial military; he would know battle like the back of his hand. He would almost certainly come to crush them before moving on the capital.

“I know,” Liz replied. “The rebels will have to deal with us first or their backs will be wide open.”

Hiro agreed. The rebels would have to commit every last man in order to take the capital. They could not afford to split their forces. They would come for him and Liz with all their might.

“Come to think of it, why don’t we join forces with the Knights of the Golden Lion? They’re defending the capital, aren’t they? While we’re fighting, they could ride out and attack the rebels from behind.”

That was a natural question. Hiro opened his mouth to answer, but before he could speak, Aura rose from her seat.

“That would be dangerous.”

Liz cocked her head quizzically. “Why?”

Aura reached for the map and began moving pawns. “It’s what von Loeing wants.”

If the rebel army engaged Liz’s forces, she explained, they would end up with their backs to the capital. That would present a tempting target—but if von Loeing’s intent was to draw the Knights of the Golden Lion out of the city, the battle could quickly take a disastrous turn.

“If it were me, I would assemble a separate task force. Have them ride past the knights and through the open gates.”

The men would be free to slaughter the people, torch the buildings, raze the palace, and plunder the treasury. With the empire’s heart gouged out, foreign nations would close in and its collapse would be assured. The knights had no choice; they had to remain inside the city.

Liz groaned. “So we can’t count on their support.”

“No. Consider them out of the fight.”

In short...

The Knights of the Golden Lion are trapped where they are until our battle is over.

If the knights left the city, it could spell disaster, but by the same token, as long as they stayed put, the capital would be spared the fires of war. They might sortie if the emperor felt desperate enough, but with noble reinforcements riding to the rescue, he currently had no need for anything so reckless.

What are the rebels thinking?

All the capital needed to do was dig in for a siege and wait for help to arrive from the other four great houses. The city might not have seen conflict for many years, but its walls were high, sturdy, and well-maintained.

They checkmated themselves before they even started. They’ve basically already lost.

Perhaps the enemy’s plan would become clearer after they had clashed. At any rate, Hiro had no choice but to tell himself that and move on. More pressing was the question of how they were supposed to fight with less than four thousand men.

“Let’s discuss our next moves.”

Hiro approached the table. The seated members of the gathering all rose to their feet.

He shot a glance at the central noble. “Could you tell us where von Loeing is camped?”

The man swallowed hard and moved a pawn across the map. “Here, Your Majesty. About two sel from the capital.”

The area was barren, with no cover. There was nowhere from which to launch a surprise attack—and even if there had been, the many days of rain had turned the ground to mud, which would make a quiet approach impossible. Defeating thirty thousand men would be impossible without some kind of clever plan.

“Does anybody have any ideas?” Hiro looked at each of the faces around the table in turn.

“You know,” Liz piped up, “do we really need to win?”

As soon as the words left her mouth, Hiro could tell exactly what she was thinking. He had also considered the possibility, although he had dismissed it as unwise. Still, rejecting it outright would damage her confidence, and she had only just gotten comfortable voicing her own ideas. Her growth was promising. Right now, it was best to stay quiet and listen.

“They only have thirty thousand, right? They aren’t expecting any more reinforcements?”

“That’s right. They might be able to find more allies in future, depending on how things play out, but right now, that’s all they have.”

“And we only have three thousand eight hundred, correct? But we’d end up with a lot more if we waited to join forces with the other nobles.”

“Correct. We could probably gather at least twenty thousand.”

“Then we don’t need to fight to win, do we? We can just keep them busy with small skirmishes while we coordinate with our allies, then surround them and wipe them out.” Liz gazed at Hiro with upturned eyes, trying to judge his reaction.

Hiro smiled faintly. “That’s not a bad plan. I like it.”

“Really?” Liz looked doubtful.

Hiro’s smile turned a little sheepish. He would need to take care to explain why it wouldn’t work without bruising her ego.

“The only problem,” he said, “is the Grantzian Empire isn’t a monolith.”

Her plan truly wasn’t a bad one. If possible, he would have liked to let it see the light of day. Unfortunately, the situation would not permit it.

“If the rebel army and the empire were the only sides at play, there wouldn’t be any issues.”

But the race for the throne complicated matters. If Hiro and Liz joined forces with the other nobles, the other imperial heirs would race ahead in the hopes of winning glory. They might end up tripping over one another trying to distinguish themselves—a competition that might devolve into outright conflict.

Bring political squabbles to the battlefield and they would never get a restful night’s sleep again. They would spend their days in fear of assassins’ daggers. Gathering the heirs to the throne in one place would give every one of them the opportunity to eliminate their rivals in one fell swoop. It would be impossible to unite and destroy the rebel army under those conditions. Their alliance would descend into paranoia and mistrust.

And if I were the rebels, I’d take advantage of that. I’d spread fear and doubt to break us up.

Treachery would abound. Their mental fortitude would wear thin. Their union would become so uncoordinated as to be no threat at all. It would be reckless to face the rebel army like that, even with greater numbers. Put a foot wrong and they would be annihilated.

“So we’ll have to win by ourselves,” Liz sighed. “With three thousand eight hundred men.” She looked back at the map and groaned.

Hiro cast her a fond glance before turning his attention to the others. “Does anybody else have any ideas? How about you, Aura?”

Aura made a noise. “I’m thinking.”

“Scáthach?”

“All I can think is to catch them by surprise. The ground may be muddy, but we would fare better attacking under cover of night than in open battle.” Scáthach folded her arms and regarded Hiro with turquoise eyes. “And there is groundwork we might lay. I doubt many of the enemy soldiers share their commanders’ righteous fury. Their loyalty is frail. At the threat of death, many will desert.”

If the enemy had consisted entirely of nobles without renown, Hiro would have agreed. However, they were led by von Loeing. The nobles would acknowledge his authority, and their soldiers would revere his impressive military record. A half-hearted attempt at subterfuge would not be enough to split the enemy apart, and failure might even strengthen their cohesion. It was better to be careful. Von Loeing was bound to have predicted many of their prospective plans. The battle would be decided by how well the two sides could read one another’s hands.

“Are you not second-guessing yourself?” Scáthach asked. “Even if this von Loeing is as formidable as you claim, I cannot imagine he has foreseen further than you.”

“Maybe. But it always pays to be cautious.”

“I do not disagree, but...” Scáthach looked as though she was about to say something, but she relented. “No, never mind.” She stared at Hiro for a while, but closed her mouth and said no more.

Her reaction struck Hiro as a little strange, but he didn’t have time to ponder it. Aura spoke up.

“Do you have a plan?”

“I do, yes,” he said, filing away his misgivings in the corner of his mind. He looked down at the ground, and his smile widened. “I was thinking we should put all this mud to use.”

“How so?” Aura’s eyes shone as she tilted her head, not following where he was going but eager to find out.

Hiro picked up a pawn and laid it on the map, six sel north of their camp in the Hoffnung Plains and four sel south of the rebel army. “Our scouts report this area has turned into swampland. We’ll draw the enemy into here, spring our trap, and finish the battle in one fell swoop.” He turned a steely gaze on Liz and Scáthach. “And I’ll use both of your plans. It would be a shame to waste them.”

Liz looked like she could hardly contain her excitement. Scáthach, by contrast, raised only one graceful eyebrow.

Hiro faced the gathered with a theatrical gesture. “You will all have important roles to play in the days to come.” He placed a series of pawns on the map as he spoke. “First, I would like you to buy up all the oil you can from the neighboring towns and villages. We will lay it on the ground, disguised as mud.”

“A pyre,” Aura said.

Hiro nodded and pointed to the map. “Second, I need you to fetch a number of small trees from this forest. They’ll form a wall between our forces and theirs.”

The discussion continued. They hammered out the procurement of arrows, the assignment of roles, the division of command, and the necessary preparation time; stirred in Scáthach’s and Liz’s ideas; and refined the whole mix into a plan that everybody at the table was happy with.

“This is all just theoretical, of course. There will be unexpected setbacks. But as long as you’re ready for that, we’ll be fine.” Hiro looked up from the map and gave a faint smile. “Let me change our failures into successes. You just focus on winning the battle.” After a moment to let that sink in, he signaled the end of the meeting. “Well, what are we waiting for? Let’s get started.”

“Leave it to me! You just sit tight and wait for the good news!” Liz rushed from the tent, eager to get to work.

“I’ll stop her from getting into trouble.” Aura scrunched up her face, perhaps wary of giving Liz total free rein, and followed. Garda and the rest also left to see to their respective tasks.

With nothing to do, the central noble collaborator lingered behind. “And what of me, Your Highness?” he asked, his face a picture of uncertainty.

Hiro produced a pouch full of golden grantzes and laid it on the table. A metallic jangle rang through the tent. “Take all the coin you need. Spread word of Liz’s valor throughout the central territories, to commonfolk and nobles alike.”

“Is that all, Your Highness? Should I not also speak of the rebel army?”

“No, just Liz. The more rumors we spread, the more we’ll risk confusing the message. Best to keep it simple to begin with.”

Liz was riding into a national crisis at the head of only three thousand eight hundred men. Her courage in defense of the empire would set the people’s hearts aflame, and they would not be reserved with their praise. Bards would compose songs about her to which dancers would dance in taverns.

“Understood, Your Highness. I shall see to it forthwith.” The noble accepted the command but refused the gold. “Consider it an investment in the future.” With that, he excused himself.

Hiro thanked him as he left before turning to the last remaining figure in the tent: Scáthach. “Is there something you need?”

“There is...a matter I wish to discuss.” She stepped closer, rubbing the back of her head awkwardly, and stopped in front of him, peering into his eyes with irises of vivid turquoise. “You must not overburden yourself. You have many allies. Let them carry some of the weight.”

Hiro looked back, nonplussed.

She scratched her nose in embarrassment. “I realize that I have yet to earn your trust, but you ought to speak with Lady Aura and Lady Liz. They worry for you.”

“They do?”

“You have become easier to read of late. Make the time to talk with them once this battle is done. You would not want to regret words left unsaid.” She raised a hand and brushed his cheek. “Now, duty calls. I must assist Lady Liz.”

With that, she, too, swept from the tent.

Her words had weight. It ached to long to speak to someone, only to find them absent but for the scars they left in the heart. She knew better than anybody—she had lost her entire family. He couldn’t blame her for advising him to speak his heart while he could. Right now, however, he couldn’t find the right words.

“And besides, what the right words are will depend on how this battle plays out.”

He knocked down one, two, three pawns on the map and lowered his eyes. There was one thing he hadn’t brought up at the meeting—and indeed, it would be inconvenient if somebody noticed the omission. Throughout all of the discussion, he had never once mentioned a certain nameless individual.

“Aha...ha ha...”

He hadn’t even noticed.

“Ha ha...ha ha ha ha ha!”

Delight welled up from the depths of his heart. An irresistible glee swirled in his chest.

“Ha ha...ha... Ngh!”

In an instant, his face turned pained. Sweat beaded on his forehead. His heart pounded in his rib cage. He clenched his chest, trying to resist. Slowly, as though he were catching his breath, he leaned back against a chair and gazed up at the ceiling with vacant eyes.

“I’m sorry, Liz.”

The manic glee within him craved war. Malice swirled within his heart. Tendrils of darkness wrapped around his mind, and he felt himself turning into someone else. He stared at the map as though trying to distract himself, focusing on the pawns showing the locations of the opposing forces.

“If things keep going as planned...”

Soon, he would reach the world he sought. How could he contain his joy? He thirsted for war. Logic was no use. Reason held no sway.

“I don’t think I can hold this in anymore.”

Despite the defeat in his voice, a broad smile spread across his face. He laid a hand to his eyepatch and extended his senses. From outside came the hustle and bustle of soldiers readying for war. Only the command tent was strangely silent, as though it had been cut off from the rest of the world.

He looked up to the heavens and narrowed Uranos. The night sky was filled with stars, a view unchanged from one thousand years ago.

“At last... At last, they’ve come.”

He grasped the edge of his eyepatch and tore it away.

“Someone fit to inherit your will, Artheus.”

His left eye glowed with an unearthly light, and yet it billowed with a darkness that struck the heart with sorrow.

The air creaked. The world groaned. Space buckled around him as it succumbed to the weight—and the muted clamor that had occupied the corner of his mind for so long at last rang clear and true.

“Someone fit to take up your dream...Rey.”

Stovell’s eyes widened in surprise. He sprang from his chair and rushed outside, his face a demonic snarl—but all was quiet. Sentries patrolled rows of tents with torches in hand. The night was too cold for anybody else to venture outside. The same old encampment spread out before him, unchanged and perfectly ordinary.

“Curses,” he muttered. The light of alarm did not fade from his eyes as he glared around. Overhead, the sun had set and the moon had risen, glowing with warm radiance. That, too, was an appraisal permitted by the blessing of his Spiritblade. To an ordinary soldier, with no such protection, the moon’s light would do little to assuage the wind’s biting chill.

“Is something amiss, Your Highness?”

A familiar voice issued from behind him. He did not need to turn to recognize von Loeing. The old soldier must have followed him out, concerned by his sudden departure.

“I sensed...a presence. One very like my own. No...alike, yet unlike.”

“I fear I sensed no such thing. Could it be that your mind is playing tricks on you?” Von Loeing rubbed the back of his neck. “You have had ale tonight, Your Highness. A drunken mind is apt to conjure all manner of illusions.”

The old soldier spoke, as ever, without fear or tact. He had long forgotten what it meant to watch his words. Stovell was too used to von Loeing’s ways to be perturbed, however. In any case, his thoughts were preoccupied by the mysterious presence.

He returned to the tent and resettled himself in his chair. “Me, drunk? Not after that. Sensing such power would render any man sober.”

“Then it must have been remarkable indeed,” von Loeing said drily. He stifled a yawn. “Well, I for one would welcome the presence of a worthy adversary. I never tire of new opportunities to test my strength.”

The old soldier reached for a bottle of ale and gulped it down. Another followed, and another. No matter how much he drank, his cheeks never reddened and his balance never faltered. He did not even seem drunk at all.

“Wine, women, and war. Once upon a time, that was all a man needed.”

“Another of your old tales?” Stovell snorted. “I have heard them all to death.”

Von Loeing’s wry smile only widened. “We may live as free as we please in our youths, but sooner or later, we all come to desire the comfort of stability. One might call it inevitable.” His eyes took on a faraway look. “Men age from the moment they are born, Your Highness. That is a fate we cannot escape. Seek a bough to rest beneath before you grow too old. There are worse things in this world than family.”

“Were you not chased out from beneath your own bough?”

The old soldier chuckled. “Indeed I was. But I have lived a full enough life. The loss of my shelter pains or grieves me none. I once stood at the apex of the Grantzian Empire, did I not? High General, they called me. It has not been a bad life, all told.”

Empty bottles amassed around his knees as he spoke. His eyes grew dark with sorrow as he abruptly caught sight of the pile. Stovell only watched, sipping his ale in silence. Although perhaps not conscious of the prince’s gaze, von Loeing shifted uncomfortably.

“But I digress. Do you still sense this queer presence?”

Stovell drew no attention to the change of subject. “And what would you do if I told you?” he asked in his usual sardonic tone. “What would a man who failed to master the power of the Origin hope to understand?”

“I fear the strength of the Demiurgos was too much for these old bones, Your Highness.” A note of genuine regret crept into von Loeing’s voice. “But come, do not berate me further. Was failing not punishment enough?”

Stovell snorted and moved on. “What state are our forces in?”

“An acceptable one. The Fiend Brigade is more or less assembled.”

“And are they battle-ready?”

“They will follow my orders, if that is what you mean. Still, there is no substitute for practical experience. This battle will teach us much. I hope you enjoy the spectacle.” Von Loeing stroked his goatee with anticipation. “But I can tell you this for certain, Your Highness: They are strong. Very strong.”

Stovell grinned. “And as luck would have it, there is more than one Spiritblade’s chosen on the field. A fitting stage for this experiment.”

“Then you would have me ignore the capital and engage Lady Celia Estrella?”

“With all your strength. The better to deceive the gale. And then, once I have accomplished my purpose, we shall bid this rotten nation a final farewell.”

“Farewell, is it?” Von Loeing lowered his eyes. A shadow crept over his features.

Stovell’s tone hardened. “Why so reluctant? Does something still tie you to this place?”

“No, Your Highness. Now that I have become...this, my bonds have been severed. So long as I can serve you until my last breath, I will have no regrets.”

“Good.” Sensing von Loeing’s resolve, Stovell said no more. For a while, the two men drank in silence.

Finally, Stovell got to his feet. “The time has come. I can tarry no longer. I may leave this field in your capable hands, I trust?”

“I will see your will done, Your Highness. I swear it on my life. Attend to your own work and spare no more thought for mine.”

Stovell turned and walked away. Von Loeing had made his will plain—there was nothing more to be said.

Brown leaves swirled past as he stepped outside, carried on an errant gust. Evenly spaced bonfires cast uneasy pools of light in the darkness. Their flames flickered wildly against the wind. Only the squelch of Stovell’s boots on mud and the occasional bark of laughter from drinking soldiers cut through the midnight chill. The sky was cloudless and clear, putting the lie to the storm of several days prior. In the clouds’ absence, the moon shone all the prouder.

Stovell rolled his shoulders with amusement. “We are here at last. Just as planned.” He stopped and stretched a hand up toward the stars. “Is there anything quite so dull as a world teeming with humans?”

The words took voice as a question, but no answer came back.

“The strong survive. The weak perish. That was the way one thousand years ago. What choice is left but to return us to that age of chaos?”

Might mantled him. The air began to buckle under the strain.

“The gods languish impotent in their heavens. I shall take their place...as the most fiendish of divinities.”

He squeezed his fist tight and crushed the full moon in his grasp.

＊＊＊＊＊

The thirty-first day of the twelfth month of Imperial Year 1023

Von Loeing’s rebel army numbered thirty thousand. Liz and Hiro’s alliance came to three thousand eight hundred. The forces met on the Hoffnung Plains. The sky was clear and carefree—almost refreshing—but hot winds swirled over the field, lighting a fire in the soldiers’ blood. The heat emanating from the two armies was more than enough to drive away the winter chill. Shouts came from all around as officers riled up their men. The center of the army, however, was shrouded in an uncanny silence.

“Lady Celia Estrella is in position, Your Highness.”

The messenger raised his head, although he remained on one knee. In front of him was a roofless carriage, inside which Hiro sat, cross-legged, surveying the field.

“Good. Raise the banners.” Hiro shot a glance at one of his guards.

“At once, Your Highness!” The man took the signal and raised his voice. “Put up the banners! Show these rebels the War God’s sacred standard!”

As the standard-bearer hoisted the flag high, similar banners bearing Hiro’s crest unfurled all across the army. An excited murmur went up from the ranks.

Amidst the noise, a rider approached—Garda. As ever, the zlosta was clad in black fluted plate to avoid unwelcome attention. “I see you’ve made ready,” he grunted.

“We have. How about you?”

“Well enough. I’ve left Muninn in charge. He awaits your signal.”

Hiro nodded and returned his attention to the battlefield. The force under his command numbered only one thousand eight hundred. The remaining two thousand were deployed one sel away, under Liz’s command. As he watched, their flags rose in response to his own, dancing daintily in the wind.

“Morale’s low, for all that there is to be done about it. You can smell the fear in the ranks.”

Garda’s observation hit the nail on the head. Even an amateur could have seen that Hiro’s troops were stiff with nerves, let alone a seasoned veteran.

“I can’t exactly blame them.”

Anybody would balk to see the horizon crowded with enemies. Besides, his soldiers were not Garda’s hardened Crow Legion, but Rosa’s men, with homes far to the east. No man wanted to die on unfamiliar soil. Their resolve was fragile, and they looked like they might pass out if someone shouted loud enough in their ear. As if that weren’t enough, they faced von Loeing, a living legend. Hiro could only imagine their trepidation. He counted himself lucky that they hadn’t turned to run.

“And look at our enemy’s lines, One-Eyed Dragon. Quite the difference, is it not?”

By contrast, the rebels’ morale was high. Pounding drumbeats and wild horn blasts stoked their soldiers’ battle lust. Every roar that issued from their ranks set Hiro’s men quaking in their boots.

“Perhaps we ought to do something to raise their spirits.”

Hiro shook his head. “Not yet. We’ll hold out until the very last moment. Fire the men up too early and they’ll cool before we’re ready to fight.”

His focus since the previous day had been on maintaining morale. He had allowed the men a little drink, thanked them profusely for their efforts, and spread whispers of generous compensation once the fighting was done. In order to prevent desertion, he had also circulated the rumor that the day’s battle wasn’t a serious engagement, only a ruse intended to keep the enemy preoccupied. Judging by the fact that the ranks were holding, it seemed to have done its job.

All that’s left is the finishing touch.

But that was best saved until just before battle was joined.

“I’ve scouted out their lines, Your Lordship!”

A cheerful voice rang out like a bell. Hiro turned from the enemy lines to see Huginn kneeling before his carriage, sporting a dauntless grin.

“Good work, Huginn. I’ll hear your report on the way to the front lines.”

He beckoned the swiftdrake standing leisurely by her side. The beast approached obediently and he climbed onto its back.

“They’ve split in two, Your Lordship. There’s fifteen thousand headed our way. A line of five thousand cavalry makes up their vanguard.”

Hiro turned his swiftdrake toward the front lines. Huginn fell in beside him, still talking.

“There’s a central cohort of eight thousand behind...and von Loeing’s among them.”

“So he’s come for us himself, has he? Then he doesn’t intend to show us any mercy.”

That formation was concerning too. Its frontal line of cavalry was bound to transform once the battle began. Several of Schwartz’s eight formations unfolded in Hiro’s mind. Which was the best suited for a large force on an open field?

“He’s a formidable opponent,” Garda muttered.

Hiro made a noise of agreement. “If he was being cautious, we could make use of that, but that formation says that he doesn’t care what we’re scheming.”

While the enemy was certainly emboldened by their superior numbers, they clearly also weren’t afraid to suffer losses. Even a force of fewer than four thousand could cause damage if it broke through their lines. If their commander’s caliber was inadequate, a great deal of blood would be spilled this day.

“He’s fighting this battle like he doesn’t care about the next...or perhaps he just intends to cross that bridge when he gets there.”

Garda pulled a face atop his horse. “Better too much than not enough” seemed to be the enemy’s attitude; von Loeing would meet them with full force, no matter how small their numbers. In a sense, it was flattering that he regarded them as a genuine threat, but even so, the enemy had no reinforcements in sight with which to replenish their numbers.

“Even if they get through us, they still have to deal with the Knights of the Golden Lion. They’ll want to keep losses to a minimum...or at least, they should, but a formation this bold suggests they want to wager the battle on one big play.”

“Perhaps they are feeling bold because they have seen through our plans,” Garda remarked.

Hiro nodded. “It’s possible.”

After selecting a location pockmarked with newly created swampland for the battle, he had bought up all the oil and arrows he could find from nearby settlements and ladened the soldiers with as much of both as they could carry. His formation reflected his strategy: a vanguard of archers with a center and rearguard of cavalry behind, all in the shape of an arrowhead. The archers would strip away the foe’s armor before splitting to either side and letting the cavalry ride through to gouge their belly. It was one of Schwartz’s eight formations, designed to break open an enemy line: the spearhead formation.

“They’ve guessed we mean to use fire, like as not, or they would not have come at all,” Garda said.

“Really? I don’t think they’re so certain.”

The enemy would undoubtedly suspect as much. Hiro had taken pains to buy up more oil than he needed in order to plant the notion in their heads, and word was sure to have reached them by now. Combine that with the knowledge that he had chosen this marshy terrain for a battlefield, and a layman would assume that he meant to disguise the oil as swampland and set it alight. Von Loeing, however, was a seasoned commander and former high general. He would suspect some further trick. He would want to come and sniff the bait to check whether it was truly safe to eat.

“But it doesn’t matter. As long as Liz and her troops survive, we win.”

They arrived at the front line. Hiro looked around. An oil-soaked anti-cavalry palisade extended back along both flanks, boxing the army in. There was no such fence to the fore, but twenty rue—or sixty meters—distant there was a stack of tree trunks low enough to ride over.

“Garda, you have command of the task force.”

Garda’s task force of eight hundred Crow Legion. Six hundred cavalry from Hiro’s remaining thousand. The battle would hinge on those two forces.

“Aye, I’ll see to it. Try not to get yourself killed, One-Eyed Dragon.”

“Don’t worry about me. Just focus on playing your part.”

Hiro was prepared to lose this battle. As long as Liz’s forces survived, it didn’t matter—no matter how much he might be mocked or scorned for his defeat.

If that’s what’s required to live without regrets, I’ll take all that on and more.

That was war—and he had shed his naivete long ago.

“It’s your call when to move. Just be sure not to miss your cue.”

Garda snorted. “I know what to look for. I’ll do my duty.”

Hiro nodded and turned back to the fore.

“Here they come...”

A cry rumbled from the enemy lines like distant thunder. “An emperor who buys assassins has no honor! All who stand with him are complicit! Show these interlopers no mercy but the sword! The Spirit King smiles upon us this day!”

Drumbeats resounded to the sky. A volley of horn blasts rang out across the plain.

“First cohort, charge! Show these spineless traitors our wrath!”

The crunch of armored boots filled the air. The ground thrummed with hoofbeats.

“H-Here they come...”

“Do we really have to fight all that?”

“How can we beat those numbers?”

Worried voices went up from the soldiers. Disquiet, distrust, discontent, displeasure—all manner of negative sentiment spread quickly through the ranks. Hiro sensed their will to fight ebbing away.

“Looks like it’s about time we played our hand.”

He unsheathed Excalibur and raised it high. Its tip caught the sun, showering the battlefield with a fierce halo of rainbow light.

“Tell me, men! What have you to fear?”

His words carried with natural ease. The voice of a born king bore them through the ranks like a wild gust.

“They are only fifteen thousand, are they not?” His lips drew into a smile. “The name of Mars sounds only for victory. I dedicate this promised triumph to the Spirit King!”

Silence fell as his voice faded away. An indescribable hush settled over the battlefield. The soldiers stared up at him, stunned, as though they had forgotten how to breathe. Yet as the seconds dragged on, the meaning of his words sank in. They returned to reality with a fire in their bellies.

A moment passed, and then a roar erupted. Battle cries went up as armored fists raised spears, bows, and swords to the sky. Morale soared. The cold winter air began to take on a formidable heat.

“Ever the orator,” Garda remarked. “I still believe you might make a better player than a prince.”

Ignoring the quip, Hiro pointed Excalibur forward. Beyond the blade’s tip, the enemy’s first cohort was approaching with tremendous speed. Judging by the fact that they were charging straight ahead, they intended to ride right over the low barrier of trees.

“Ready the fire arrows!”

Several of the archers were slow to follow the command, intimidated perhaps by the enemy’s war cries. The thunder of approaching hoofbeats bred unease, which quickly propagated through the ranks.

If only they were Crow Legion. Garda’s men wouldn’t be so easily spooked.

Still, a little friction was within his expectations, and the enemy was still distant. It wasn’t time to panic yet. In the end, he said nothing, waiting silently for the men to get into position. Rushing them would only cause further mishaps. Before the battle, he had instructed the officers not to scold their men for minor mistakes for that very reason.

“I see the signal from the standard-bearer, Your Lordship!” Huginn called. “The archers are ready!”

Hiro turned to look. There, in the corner of his eye, a black dragon banner was waving. He raised his left arm high and swung it back down. Hundreds of arrows took flight at once, their burning tips forming a false night sky beneath the midday sun. They fell short of the enemy charge, arcing back down after twenty rue to land on the row of piled-up tree trunks. The oil-soaked wood burned readily. Flames sprouted and quickly spread, transforming in moments into a wall of fire.

The enemy’s first cohort didn’t seem surprised. They began to slow, as though they had been expecting the maneuver. Even so, they couldn’t quite check themselves in time. A handful of horses strayed too close to the flames and panicked, bucking their riders off.

“Launch the second wave.”

Hiro issued the next command. Another volley of arrows sliced through the air, spreading out like a great fan to descend on the enemy troops. The unhorsed soldiers died beneath the deluge. Some tried to raise their shields, only to lose their balance in the mud and take arrows through their windpipes. Others died begging for help beneath their fallen steeds.

Even so, the enemy’s losses were slight—a few dozen lives swallowed by the mud, nothing more.

“Looks like they’re splitting in two around the trees, Your Lordship. They’re still coming!”

So that hadn’t been enough to arrest their momentum. Very well. He would have to strike again, and deeper.

“Time for our next play.”

Again, he signaled to the standard-bearer. The Crow Legion cavalry waiting in the wings began to move—in the opposite direction of the encroaching force.

“Ready the third volley.”

As he gave the order, the ground around the burning trees began to churn. Ropes rose out of the mud, one end tied to the tree trunks, the other leading to the retreating cavalry. As the Crow Legion fell back, the ropes pulled taut, tangling the legs of enemy riders too slow to get out of the way.

“Fire.”

Another volley of arrows rose into the air. Once more, they fell mercilessly on the dismounted soldiers, plucking their lives one by one. Screams, groans, and throat-splitting shrieks rose to the sky. The ground grew dark with blood-churned muck, and the air turned foul with the red mist exuded by lifeless corpses. Yet even so...

“The enemy’s giving the ropes a wide berth, Your Lordship! They’ve read our every move!”

“They predicted that? Impressive.”

The enemy was meant to have suffered heavy losses from that maneuver, enough to take the entire cohort out of commission. Instead, they were still charging and barely scathed.

“So this is von Loeing’s strength.”

The arrows had claimed maybe two hundred lives, if that. While it might have seemed that the enemy had been forced to split up, judging by their cohesion, the movement had been planned from the start. Now they formed a perfect dragon-wing formation. The two halves of the first cohort spread across the field like a pair of wings—a little wider than was typical, probably for fear of any oil hidden in the discolored patches of ground.

“Ha ha... Wonderful. What a flexible mind you have.”

Von Loeing clearly had the wherewithal to study a situation carefully but act boldly. Not many commanders were capable of being so pliable yet so firm. His military record must have earned his soldiers’ trust, because they were following his commands without hesitation; the rebel army’s movements were crisp and precise. He was coming without mercy even as he worked to minimize his losses.

“I wish I could tell you how impressed I am.”

The man had seen magnificently through every trap Hiro had set, and had chosen precisely which to avoid and which to ignore as he came for his head. Any oil still lying on the field would be little use now.

“I’m sorry.”

Hiro looked down. His shoulders began to tremble. A gust of wind caught his hair, sending its silken strands gleaming as they danced in the sun.

“I really, truly am.”

He raised his head.

“But I’ve caught you hook, line, and sinker. There never was any oil at all.”

A smirk lay on his face, quiet and cold. It had all been a trick from the start. His only purpose in choosing this site and buying up all the oil had been to make the enemy expect a fire trap. Such a ploy would have been foolish in the first place; it would only have harmed his own forces.

“Showtime, I think.” His left eye twinged, and his smile widened as he brought a hand to his eyepatch to cover it. “Garda?”

The zlosta sprang down from his horse. “Ready and waiting. But I won’t be able to hold it for long.”

“That’s all right. I only need you to distract them for a moment.”

Garda snorted. “A harsh taskmaster indeed.” He slammed both of his palms down on the ground. “Hurry, One-Eyed Dragon! With this mud, a sandstorm will be of little use!”

Power exploded from his body. Mana surged through his hands and down into the earth. Out in the field, the ground churned, erupting into a sandstorm flecked with globs of mud.

His work done, he heaved himself back onto his horse. “Now, time for me to do my part.”

“Thank you.”

As the zlosta rode away, Hiro shot Huginn a glance.

She caught his meaning. “Torch the palisades! Vanguard, clear the way! Cavalry, prepare to charge!”

The soldiers faithfully carried out her commands. Archers rained down fire arrows onto the palisades to the left and right. Flames quickly sprouted from the oil-soaked wood, sending up plumes of smoke. A black stain spread across the blue sky. Beneath the ominous cloud, Hiro’s forces moved smoothly into position.

“The men are ready, Your Highness! They await your orders!”

“Let’s find out what kind of man von Loeing really is.”

With an easy motion, Hiro leveled Excalibur at the enemy. The sandstorm showed no sign of relenting. He narrowed his eyes and peered through the raging winds, as though marking an unseen target beyond.

“Hear me, men—”

With those words, all sound vanished from the world. The foe, the wind, the earth, the heavens—all fell away, leaving no voice but his. Its irresistible magnetism bent every ear to its words.

“Stand firm. Take heart. If fear slows your steps, raise your eyes and look ahead.”

They watched him, rapt, recalling perhaps a story from their childhood days. A legend known to every soul in the Grantzian Empire.

“Follow me, and you will follow victory.”

One thousand years ago, a boy had appeared. At first, the people had regarded his unusual features with fear, but in time, they had come to admire his strength and courage.

He had never once retreated, for his might was boundless.

He had never once fled, for his cunning was depthless.

He had never once lost, for his strategies were peerless.

Unrivaled on earth with one thousand, unrivaled in heaven with ten.

They called him the Hero King, and he had never known defeat.

“By Mars’s banner, strike down these traitors for the glory of the Divines!”

As Hiro’s last words left his mouth, Excalibur glittered with radiance. The black dragon standards streamed and snapped at the air, clearing away the dust. A great cheer welled up from his audience. Spears beat against shields, making an air-shaking racket. He listened for a while, taking in their fervor, stoking the fire within himself and marshaling his strength.

“Let’s finish this. Charge!”

His bellow rang to the heavens as he gave the decisive order. He drove his heels into his swiftdrake’s flank, and with a proud roar, the beast set off running across the plain.

“Aim for von Loeing’s head! Ignore everything else!”

Brilliance spilled from Excalibur’s gleaming blade, forming a thread of light to illuminate the way. Five hundred men thundered in its wake. The archers swapped their bows out for spears or swords and followed behind. While the weapons they carried were varied, their faces all bore the same grim set of veteran warriors. Even split in two and with several hundred lost to arrows, the enemy comprised upward of fourteen thousand men, but the imperial soldiers showed no fear. So long as they followed the black-haired boy, he would lead them to victory.

“The only difference between courage and recklessness is success.”

The sandstorm’s fury melted away as though it had never been there at all. Across the smoke-smeared battlefield, Hiro saw that the wall to their fore had disappeared. The Crow Legion’s task force had pulled the burning trees clear. The way through the center was open. In the distance, on the other end of the newly formed path, he could make out an astonished von Loeing.

“Did you really think I would fight fifteen thousand men head-on?”

He didn’t know whether the man could hear him, but he couldn’t help but ask.

“Don’t look so surprised. Breaking up the enemy’s forces is an elementary tactic.”

The eight thousand men of the enemy’s first cohort had split in two, riding at breakneck speed to encircle Hiro’s forces. The five thousand men of the second cohort followed behind them. Now that the burning wall separating the two armies had been dismantled, the enemy’s core was exposed.

Even so, the rebels still had numbers on their side. The true test was yet to come, and it would be bloody. Hiro might have tweaked the enemy’s nose, but the odds remained overwhelmingly in their favor.

“Sorry, but I don’t have time for mercy.”

“Wha—?!”

Excalibur traced a streak through the air. An enemy soldier’s head rolled from his shoulders. Hiro followed through and set about cutting down every man in his way. His cavalry followed his example, striving to outdo him with their ferocity, slaying those in the path of their charge and leaving the rest in the dust. Although only five hundred, they bored into the rebel ranks like a needle sharpened to a deadly point.

Crimson rain slicked the ground. The grisly crunch of armor beneath horseshoes rang through the air. Screams and groans wove together as the slaughter set in, painting the enemy formation in the gory reds of some savage beast’s hunting ground.

“We’ll wipe them out before they can rally.”

As yet, the imperial forces had only broken the skin. If the enemy’s scattered forces regrouped and returned, they would be easily wiped out. But if the needle drove just a little deeper, it would pierce the heart.

Then sink your teeth into your enemy’s throat and devour him down to his soul.

Rend his flesh, shatter his bones, crush his innards, and proclaim your victory for all to hear.

“There you are. You’re not very good at hiding.” Hiro launched himself from his swiftdrake’s back. “Hello, High General. It’s been too long.”

“Lord Hiro?!”

“Sorry I can’t stop and talk—but I’m here for your head!”

Excalibur swept toward von Loeing’s neck, seeking to carve his head from his shoulders.

＊＊＊＊＊

Meanwhile, Liz and her allies were hard-pressed. Sparks flared across the battlefield as steel rang against steel. Battle cries rose from both sides, their furious roars drowning out the screams of the wounded and dying. Boots and hooves trampled corpses underfoot, sending up a red mist that blinded the combatants. The air was so clotted with the stench of death that it was hard to breathe.

Even so, neither side gave way. Each laid the other open with blades and crushed their bones with battle-axes before moving on in search of the next victim.

“Lady Aura!” Tris bellowed as he cut down an enemy soldier. “The right flank is signaling they need to fall back!” The old soldier’s wounds from Faerzen had not yet fully healed, but he fought so fiercely that it was hard to imagine he was injured.

Liz’s two thousand men were enduring a vicious assault from fifteen thousand rebel troops, and their numbers were gradually being ground down. If anything, it was a wonder that they had lasted so long against so many. Only thanks to Aura’s calm judgment and timely orders did they continue to hold out.

“We can’t afford it. Send two hundred men to reinforce them. They need to hold the line.”

She sent the signal to the standard-bearer. Immediately, two hundred men detached from the rear and set off for the flank.

“Sir Tarmier, the center is buckling. You have to push it back, or Liz will be cut off.”

“As you command, my lady! Come on, you layabouts! After me!”

Spear in hand, Tris charged into the torrent of foes. He and his unit carved a swathe through the enemy troops, forcing back the center line. Aura followed behind them, keeping a healthy distance. Suddenly, a flag went up from the left flank, requesting reinforcements. Aura’s dainty eyebrows knitted, and her face clouded with consternation.

“Divert a hundred men from the core to the left flank,” she said after a long moment.

“The center’s barely holding as it is, my lady!” Tris shouted back. “If we lose any more men, it won’t hold out for long!”

“I know.”

The enemy had already cut deep into their core. The defenders needed every man they could get. If the left flank went down, however, the entire battlefront would quickly follow suit. They had no other choice.

Hoping against hope, Aura looked to the fore. “This is in Liz’s hands now.”

The battlefield was a brutal world where only the quick of instinct survived. On the front lines, where friend blurred with foe, an instant’s hesitation could mean death—and through that maelstrom of violence, a crimson-haired girl danced.

“Yaaah!”

Her scarlet blade belched forth a blast of flame. Soldiers fell to the ground screaming, their armor ablaze. Those who did not perish outright made easy prey for spears as they rolled around in agony.

“Stop Lady Celia Estrella!” cried an enemy soldier. “Strike her down and this battle is ours!”

“Out of my way!” Liz cried as she unleashed a mighty blow.

The man collapsed, spilling blood from a great gash across his stomach. She didn’t even spare him a glance as she stepped forward, leaning back to dodge a spear thrust from the side. The point skimmed past her nose. She twisted and lashed out with Lævateinn, slicing the shaft in half like a ripe fruit. As the wielder reeled back, she stepped in and ran him through.

“Gah!” he grunted.

She pulled her blade out again and swept it sideways, lopping off another man’s head. A switch to a reverse grip and she cut off a third soldier’s arm, then drove her bare fist into a fourth man’s face as he barreled toward her.

“Open the way!” she cried. “Or I’ll show you no mercy!”

The enemy hesitated at the taunt. As they backed away in fear, she took the chance to charge in with her blade. Despite her show of overwhelming might, however, her crimson eyes were colored with urgency.

“I told you to get out of my way!”

She surged forward, spitting fury and flame as she closed on the mass of soldiers. She would let none of them pass. Yet her focus was elsewhere, somewhere farther ahead—not that she was making light of them, but her goal lay beyond their ranks, and her faint panic spurred her toward it.

“I’m coming! Just hold out a little longer!”

Her blade swung without pity. Each slash brought death, leaving corpses scattered in her wake. None could stop her advance. She did not hesitate to take life—it was kill or be killed in this world, and every soul on the battlefield had come prepared for both. To protect those she cared for, to save those she loved, she could afford no mercy.

“Scáthach!”

She called out the name of her stranded ally, but there was no response—only the melody of death, played with steel and screams.

Had everything gone to plan, they would have been in the capital by now. Instead, an unexpected arrival on the battlefield had thrown everything into disarray. Scáthach had plunged into the fray to confront them, drawing their attention so that her forces could reform their battered front line.

Liz bit her lip in chagrin as she raced toward where she had last seen her ally, cutting men down left and right. In time, she began to see soldiers facing the other way. Something up ahead was drawing their attention.

“Clear the way!” She crouched low and launched herself forward.

Naturally, the enemy did not let her pass so easily.

“Lay down your sword, Lady Celia Estre—”

“Enough already!”

A thrust of Lævateinn laid open the enemy soldier’s throat. She spun around and struck another man’s helmet with the hilt, crushing his skull. Brain matter sprayed across the ground as the metal caved in with a gruesome crunch. As the rebels stared, aghast, she swung again, carving a path like a one-woman army. Her bladework warned the enemies around her to keep their distance as she struck cowering men out cold. At last, she returned her attention to the fore...

“Wha—?!”

...just as something came flying toward her through the ranks.

“Urgh!”

She caught the shape in both hands, but its momentum bowled her over. She bounced across the ground, plowing up mud and soil, until eventually she came to a stop.

“Nnn...” A groan issued from somewhere near her chest. She leaped to her feet. In her arms, a turquoise-haired woman grimaced in pain.

“Scáthach!” she cried, slapping the woman’s cheek to check whether she was conscious. “Stay with me!”

Scáthach’s eyes opened weakly. She had no visible injuries, but her forehead was soaked with sweat. “Ah... Lady Liz...”

“Are you all right?”

“Oh... My apologies. I fear I have somewhat overused my powers...”

With a murmur of thanks, she got to her feet and hefted Gáe Bolg. Her eyes locked on something to the fore. Liz followed her gaze and was met with a fearsome sight. Vacant eyes gazing wildly at nothing. Flesh so sturdy that it would heal from any wound in seconds. Before them, four monstrous creatures towered as tall as ogres.

“Take care, my lady.” Scáthach’s voice took on an edge of wariness.

Liz immediately understood. She had seen their kind before, if only once—on the battlefield outside of Berg Fortress, just days after meeting Hiro. The first son of Duke Lichtein had transformed into a similar creature.

He had, in other words, fallen.

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

Over a thousand years ago, there had been a king afflicted with an insatiable curiosity. He had taken to experimenting with spirit stones, crushing them to powder and synthesizing them into a concoction he called a spirit elixir, which he fed to a certain soldier. Tragedy ensued. The spirit elixir might take shorter or longer to act depending on the individual, but its effects were certain. Later that night, when all were abed, the man became afflicted by terrible agonies before transforming into a horrifying monstrosity that lived only to slay. The first to fall victim to his bloodlust was a sentry drawn by the noise. The next, after the beast had learned the taste of flesh, was the king. Thereafter, he fell upon the rest of the castle, devouring all he encountered in an orgy of slaughter.

“So this is a Fallen...” Scáthach looked surprised. “I had heard the tales, but...to think such creatures truly existed...”

Liz did not reply. She was even more confused. “Why Fallen? Why here?”

She knew well that the process for synthesizing spirit elixir had been passed down to the modern day. Many coveted the blessing of the spirits, and for good reason. Still, it was not a thing to be consumed. The danger exceeded that of a simple overdose; such power was too great for human flesh to contain, and those who tried would not remain human for long. Indeed, the spirit elixir’s dangers had grown so notorious that the people had dubbed it the “felldraft.”

“Creating the elixir is forbidden in the empire. Who in the world could have...?”

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

The people called them “fiends.”

A grating roar erupted from the Fallen. The air trembled as though it were about to split. Liz and Scáthach instinctively raised their weapons and settled into fighting stances.

“We may ponder the particulars later, my lady.”

“You’re right.”

The Fallen were not their only opponents. Hordes of soldiers still surrounded them, spearpoints glinting dully as they awaited their chance to strike.

Suddenly, Liz noticed something. “The Fallen I saw at Berg Fortress couldn’t tell friend from foe, but these...”

The four monstrosities showed no sign of turning on their allies. They merely stared at Liz and Scáthach, intimidating growls issuing from their throats.

“So it seems,” Scáthach said. “Although I did just have to slay one that was less composed.”

She had brought all her power to bear to cut it down first. That had put her on the back foot, which had ended with her being flung into Liz. She grinned ruefully.

Just then, the Fallen moved.

“Here they come!” Scáthach shouted, diving to the side. “Out of the way!”

Liz raised Lævateinn above her head. One of the Fallen closed on her with a speed that belied its bulk, swinging down with an arm like a tree trunk. The shock of the blow rang down her arms and through her bones.

“Haaaaaah!”

She pushed her opponent back with the strength of Lævateinn’s Graal, delivering a crosswise slash, then launched a fireball forward. A gale exploded outward in all directions, sending several enemy soldiers flying. Dry heat filled the vicinity as the flames scorched the air.

“No mercy, indeed,” Scáthach murmured some distance away as the blast wave swept over her. Her admiration was short-lived, however. Four wavering shadows coalesced within the sea of fire.

“What can surpass their regeneration, if they can survive that?” She shot Liz a sidelong glance. “Must we tear them to shreds if we are to best them?”

“Maybe we will... But didn’t you say you just killed one? How did you do it?”

“Age-old wisdom says that monsters are best dealt with by severing their limbs. I froze them with Sainglend and shattered them.”

With a shrug, Scáthach pointed to the site of the battle. Chunks of mud-smeared ice littered the ground.

“Enough fire might do the trick, then. From the inside.” Liz wet her lips and resettled her hands on the hilt of her sword.

“As soon as they step out of the flames, we finish this. Time is against us.”

“Right. We’re not the only ones fighting.”

Liz looked around. Allies mingled with rebel soldiers in the melee. They fought fiercely to hold the line, standing against overwhelming odds to keep the enemy away from her and Scáthach, but their time was numbered. The odds against them were too great for zeal alone to overcome. Soon they would be surrounded and annihilated.

“Let’s go!”

The four Fallen burst from the curtain of flame like wildfire. Liz launched herself forward. Beside her, Scáthach leveled her lance and charged.

A colossal fist swung with wicked speed, sending Liz’s hair fluttering as it closed the distance. She slid low under the blow and heard the ground crack behind her. Planting a hand on the ground to check her slide, she lashed out with Lævateinn, carving deep into the Fallen’s foot. The wound began to close in an instant. She swung again, this time severing the limb completely.

With a roar of agony, the Fallen sank to one knee, glaring at her hatefully. She stared back with cold scorn, as though she were looking at roadside refuse.

“Hiro wouldn’t spare you. And neither will I.”

With a light step, she leaped high, passing over the Fallen’s head as it unleashed an unearthly roar. Her blade flashed as she spun in midair. The monster’s head soared free from its neck, trailing blood. Her next blows laid open its shoulders as she unleashed a flurry of slashes.

“You’re finished!”

The final strike drove Lævateinn deep into the Fallen’s abdomen. It exploded in a flood of crimson light. Viscera skimmed her cheek as blood showered the battlefield, but her expression did not so much as flinch as she watched her opponent topple, a ragged hole blown in its torso.

“Who’s next?!”

Three Fallen remained. Scáthach had engaged two, but the third was lumbering toward Liz’s men as they held off the rebel troops.

“Stand firm! Hold the line! Hold the— Gah!”

“Fend them off until Lady Celia Estre— Aagh!”

Soldier after soldier flew high into the air, trailing gore. Still, they refused to run, standing firm even in the face of impossible odds.

“It’s me you’re fighting!” Liz shouted.

She closed the distance in an instant, cutting open the Fallen’s back from shoulder to hip. Its eyes swiveled to face her as irregular wheezes spilled from its lips.

“Get away from my men!”

She punched it with all her might, even though its colossal frame was several times her size. The force of the blow sent it rolling across the ground like a boulder down a slope.

“Watch out, my lady!” Scáthach shouted. “There’s one headed your way!”

Whether to help its comrade or simply spotting an opportunity, none could say, but another Fallen came running. Before Liz could react, it swung for her face.

“Ngh!”

She managed to dodge the blow, but her foot caught in the mud. As she stumbled, the Fallen she had sent flying lunged at her from behind.

“Tch!”

She let her legs slip out from under her and dropped flat against the ground. The roaring tempest of the Fallen’s fist swung by overhead. Once it had passed, she levered herself back up with both hands and attacked. Blows like swirling storms rained down on her, but she dodged them all as she pressed the assault.

“Too slow!”

But wounds that would kill a mortal man outright were nothing more than scratches to a Fallen. With a scowl, she began to conjure a fireball, hoping to buy herself some space.

“My lady!” Scáthach yelled. “Behind you!”

“Wha—?”

Liz spun around, but not fast enough. At first, she didn’t know what had happened. One of the Fallen was busy fighting Scáthach, and the other two were in front of her.

“Gah!”

First came the impact, a savage blow that caught her in the back and drove the breath from her lungs. Next was the sound, a cracking in her eardrums as though every bone in her body were creaking. She tried to step forward to brace herself, but her legs buckled and she slammed face-down into the dirt. She bounced with the impact, once, twice, thrice, four times.

“Agh...”

Her vision darkened. Her consciousness was fading. Through her faltering sight, she made out Scáthach engaging four Fallen. One of them had an enormous hole blown open in its belly. She had thought she had left that one for dead, but evidently that had not been enough.

“My lady! Are you all right?” Scáthach shouted.

Liz flexed her fingertips, but she didn’t have the strength to stand. She raised her head, biting her lip bitterly.

“Hold on, my lady!”

Scáthach flourished her spear with a vicious snarl. She speared the first Fallen through the throat, then kicked off its shoulder and launched into the air, crushing the second one’s skull with Gáe Bolg’s haft. As brain matter sprayed across the field, she sent the third flying with a backhanded swipe, before finally beating the fourth to the ground with her bare hands. She fought like a demon. Even the nearby rebel soldiers were astonished.

“But you will not die so easily, will you?”

She radiated cold anger. Her power burgeoned. Clearly, she was about to unleash her Spiritblade’s gift—but she was exhausted and had used it several times already. Any more would render her unconscious, perhaps even killing her. Liz opened her mouth to cry out, but—

“No!” Scáthach cried. “Never again! I could not bear to lose another!”

So don’t try to stop me. Her words were at once a rebuttal and a reassurance, promising that everything would be all right.

With that, Liz’s consciousness winked out, and the battle became Scáthach’s alone.

“Prepare yourselves. There is nothing in this world Gáe Bolg cannot pierce.”

A chill settled over the battlefield as her spear took control of the skies. Gray mist descended, blanketing the ground with fog. To see her strength made manifest, her enemies knew that the end was upon them. Terror rooted them to the spot, both living and dead alike.

Then came Macha—Godpiercer.

The spear of ice left her hand like a lightning bolt, freezing the ground around it as it sped toward the Fallen. It crashed through the first, smashing it to smithereens, and carried on through, burying itself in the ground behind. An explosion detonated where it landed.

Even so, three Fallen remained.

“Gáe Bolg! Lend me your strength—the strength to shatter my enemies!”

Her spear glowed the color of the unclouded sky in answer to her plea, but while her power remained undiminished, strain began to show on her face.

“Ngh... I can stand worse than this!”

A cracking sound split the air. The temperature plummeted. White mist enveloped the vicinity as the water vapor in the air began to freeze. In short order, innumerable icy spears crystallized around Scáthach.

“My name is Culann Scáthach du Faerzen.” She brought a hand to her chest and steadied her breathing as she stared the three Fallen down. “And by my royal blood, I will strike you down.”

And she unleashed Gáe Bolg’s Graal: Sainglend.

She forced herself into a run. Grimacing with exertion, she charged, the spears of ice her weapons, their points trailing snowflakes as she sped onward. Her first target was frozen from the knees down, but she showed the Fallen no mercy as her armaments shot forward to pierce it. Before long, it resembled a pincushion, but even then, the rain of ice did not stop. Only once it had been reduced to scraps of flesh did she finally relent.

“Haah... Haah... I am not yet done!”

Two more. Breathing raggedly, she took a step forward—and all at once, her spears burst apart. Shards of ice rained down onto the earth.

To look at her standing, dazed, the cause was clear. She had run out of strength. The small reserve that had kept her going had finally burned out.

She sank to one knee, still fighting to rise.

“Ngh... Haah... Just...a little more.” She smiled at Liz’s unconscious form. “I shall tend to your wounds soon enough. This will not take long.” Driving Gáe Bolg into the earth, she forced herself to her feet, but two Fallen still blocked her path.

“Urgh!”

A mighty fist struck home. Scáthach soared through the air. Even so, her tempered fortitude did not permit her to fall unconscious. The Fallen seized her leg and flung her around like a toy. In her exhaustion, she was powerless to resist. Some of the nearby soldiers tried to rush to her aid, but they were surrounded by the enemy forces before they could come near enough to help. The sickening smack of flesh against dirt echoed through the clashing of steel.

At last, the Fallen tired of tossing her about and hurled her into the air like a sack of flour, where it seized her by the throat. It leaned close to bite off her head, yet still, she was defiant.

“Is that...all you have? That was...barely a warm-up.” Blood trickled from her brow and the corner of her mouth, but she grinned against the pain. “Now...my turn.”

And she called Gáe Bolg to her hand and thrust its point into the Fallen’s looming maw.

“You make an ardent case...but I am yet unwed, and I have the right to refuse my suitors.”

With an azure flash, the monster’s head froze over. Its grasp loosened enough for Scáthach to pry herself from its fingers. Alighting on the ground once more, she shot her opponent a cold glance. Its head was already regenerating.

“Curses...I had hoped that would kill you.” A sudden shadow fell over her. She looked up and laughed bitterly. “Ah, yes. There was one more, wasn’t there?”

The impact sent her bouncing across the ground. Still, she picked herself back up, hefting Gáe Bolg with her battered body and standing against her foes. Even the rebel soldiers could not bear to look.

“Urgh...”

Liz groaned as she awakened. Through bleary eyes, she saw Scáthach struck again and slump to the ground.

“Aahh...”

No matter how desperately Liz wanted to help, her limbs wouldn’t move. She could do nothing to protect the woman trying to shield her from harm. Even now, as the weight of regret settled on her back, the two Fallen loomed over their prey, drooling.

A call for help slipped from her lips. “Hiro...”

Her cheeks colored crimson with shame as she realized what she had said. She bit her lip and smacked her forehead hard into the dirt.

“Haven’t I learned anything?!”

She was speaking like the person she had been before Faerzen. A spoiled princess spouting bold platitudes to cover up her own weakness, only to hide behind others when the going got tough.

“I swore...that I would stand...by his side...”

She could not look to Hiro for help. She could not lean on him to solve her every problem.

“That I would fight alongside him...as an equal!”

Liz rose, tightening her trembling fingers around Lævateinn’s hilt. Her ears rang so loud that she could barely hear. Blood trickled down her forehead into her eyes. She ignored both as she looked around. Her soldiers were fighting, refusing to give in. In the distance, Aura issued frantic orders to her troops from behind a wall of bodyguards. Even Scáthach, lying slumped on the ground, had fought valiantly to fend off the Fallen.

But what had she done?

Failed to slay a Fallen and endangered Scáthach’s life? Passed out pathetically and foisted all the work onto her ally? Given up on standing on her own two feet and begged Hiro for help instead?

She had been nothing but a burden.

“Aah... Aaaaaah!”

Liz clenched her fist and struck the earth. A crack spread beneath her fingers. The ground trembled, drawing the attention of the Fallen. She stared down, breathing quietly. Anger burned in her crimson eyes—not at her enemies, but her own naivete.

“Lævateinn, lend me your strength.”

She remembered how she had vowed to one day stand at Hiro’s side.

Fear not failure. Fear not death. Believe now in the conviction you felt then.

“Grant me the power to overcome this trial!”

As she gave voice to the fury within, Lævateinn took on a crimson glow. Her heart blazed, and a great power welled up from its depths, surging through her veins and filling her up—and as it did, she heard a voice.

“I know you...”

An undying flame raged within her breast. So long as her heart stood firm, it would burn ever higher until it blossomed into a raging inferno.

“You’re...the first emperor...”

A smile came unbidden to her lips as a pleasant clarity settled over her mind.

“RAAAAAARGH!”

Alarmed by her mysterious power, one of the Fallen streaked toward her.

“Stand aside.”

She thrust Lævateinn through its chest and smoothly sheared its head from its shoulders.

“GRAAAH!”

Yet her opponent’s monstrosity was not to be underestimated. Thanks to its accelerated regeneration, its head quickly reattached.

“Enough!”

Liz unleashed a dismissive slash with Lævateinn. The Fallen’s head erupted in flames and fell to the ground with a grisly smack. With so much power flowing through her limbs, it felt like time had slowed down.

The final Fallen charged toward her with a roar, but she picked up a spear from the ground and swung it in a sweeping arc. The monstrosity toppled, sheared clean in half. As it stared in confusion at its own exposed viscera, Liz planted a foot on its shoulder. Her spear glowed with blue fire. She thrust the point through its head and demolished its brain.

Her head grew clearer. Her limbs grew lighter. Her senses grew sharper. Power surged through her. Twice, three times, she clenched her fingers, taken aback by her own strength. Joy kindled in her crimson eyes.

“At last, I can walk by his side...”

Yet her opponents were still Fallen. Two great shadows loomed over her once more as they rose to block her path.

“Scáthach needs healing...so I need you gone.”

She stepped forward and the ground beneath her foot burst into flame. The fire burned blue and clear, coiling around her like a pair of wings. Emperor Artheus’s most beloved blade unveiled its true strength.

Its flames were Sheol.

Its flames were Inferno.

Its flames were Purgatorium.

With a roar, Lævateinn voiced its birthing cry.