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

Chapter 5: The Black-Winged Lord

Sunset dyed the horizon a fiery orange. Darkness swept across the sky like water seeping into wool. Night and day’s struggle for supremacy was mirrored on the ground below, where the battle had reached its decisive phase. Cries and curses filled the air. Every man fought desperately, thinking only of cutting down his enemies and living another day.

As the battle raged on, the black-haired, black-eyed boy looked down curiously at his own hands.

“I sensed that something was wrong. I should have been more suspicious.”

The impact of the blow still lingered in his fingers. It had struck home, of that there was no doubt. But when he turned to look, von Loeing was still standing, unharmed.

“I never expected a man like you to take the plunge.”

It hadn’t taken long to surmise the reason, but the question remained—why would somebody so strong seek power so desperately?

Von Loeing’s lips pulled into a smile wholly unsuited to the battlefield. “Is something amiss, Lord Hiro?”

His expressiveness was proof that he had full control of his newfound powers. Then again, perhaps that was only to be expected of one of the empire’s five high generals.

“Raaaaaagh!” A rebel soldier came charging out of the melee.

“Hah!” Hiro cut the man down with a single slash and turned back to von Loeing. “May I ask why you’ve fallen?”

The battle was still in full swing around them. There wasn’t much point in standing and talking when they could be interrupted at any moment. Even so, he couldn’t help but ask. Von Loeing had been one of the most powerful men in the empire; he had possessed the trust of the nation, social status to rival the great houses, even a family of his own. Who would throw all that away for the sake of the spirits’ power?

“It is kind of you to ask, Lord Hiro. But cruel too.”

Hiro said nothing, prompting the man to continue.

“I do love my family. That much is true. But I could not call myself a man unless I met my end in battle. A former high general’s duty, you might call it.”

“But why go so far? There’s no going back once you’ve fallen. You’ll be cursed to live forever as a monster.”

“Forever, you say. An eternity as a warrior... I believe I would like that very much.” With a crooked smile, von Loeing drew the spirit weapon at his belt and held it in a high guard. “But enough talk. I would not grow too fond of a man I must kill.”

“It’s a shame. It really is. But you’ve made the wrong choice.” Hiro breathed a heavy sigh, and his demeanor changed. A smirk spread across his face.

Von Loeing moved before Hiro could ready Excalibur. The old soldier closed the distance between them in the blink of an eye, his sword clipping Hiro’s fringe as it sliced past with incredible force. Hiro retreated a step, only to thrust back in with blinding speed. Sparks sprayed. Excalibur’s point sailed skyward, while von Loeing’s blade came seeking Hiro’s heart.

Hiro angled his body a half-step to the side to dodge the thrust. Excalibur gleamed as he spun, but von Loeing blocked the slash and retaliated with a fist. The blow whistled past Hiro’s ear. A moment later, Hiro’s palm collided with von Loeing’s chin.

“Guh... Raaagh!”

Von Loeing staggered, but struck back even as he reeled. Hiro’s eyes widened.

He’s tough.

The old soldier’s every swing was razor-sharp and aimed at Hiro’s vitals. Hiro dodged them with the barest necessary movements and then launched a counterattack, trying to recapture the initiative.

“Hah!”

Now that von Loeing had fallen, his strength was effectively bottomless. It was vital not to let him take the lead.

“Yah!”

Excalibur carved a perfect arc and slipped between the seams of von Loeing’s armor, but the old soldier had seen the swing coming. He batted the blade away with a gauntlet, then struck back with a dagger concealed within. Hiro spun to dodge and raised Excalibur to fend off a follow-up attack, but von Loeing kicked up a foot that he had buried in the earth, blinding Hiro with a cloud of dirt. He followed up with a vicious slash, slicing open Hiro’s cheek.

“Oh?”

“Do not let your guard down, Lord Hiro. I have fought my way through many a battlefield. I have learned well how to best a foe.”

Hiro hadn’t let his guard down, exactly, but nor had he been toying with his opponent. The problem was more an inability to regulate his power. If he were to unleash it fully, however, Liz and Scáthach would sense it immediately. That was something he wanted to avoid at all costs.

If only I could take off this eyepatch...

When he had first arrived in Aletia, his brain hadn’t been able to withstand the torrent of information pouring in through Uranos, so he had donned an eyepatch sewn with a spirit seal to suppress its effects. Now that he had grown strong enough, however, the once-helpful measure was becoming detrimental. Restricting his power to such a degree made it difficult to control.

“Just a little, then. You’ve left me no choice, after all,” he whispered, trying to convince himself as much as von Loeing.

With that, he surrendered to mania. Shadows lengthened on his upper body, and an uncanny smile settled on his face. His blade swung with wild abandon.

“Ha ha ha!”

“Oho?!” The weight of the blow drove von Loeing backward, forcing an exclamation from his lips. Surprise spread across the old soldier’s face as he looked down at his numb hands, but by the time he looked back up at Hiro, his expression had changed to delight.

“Magnificent. What a formidable foe I have been blessed with. It has been a long time since last my heart danced so.”

“Is it now? Then you’ll love this.”

The pair readied their weapons and clashed again. Steel rang against steel, resonating through the air with vibrations that made the earth cry out in pain. Blood sprayed as countless cuts opened across von Loeing’s skin, many of them lethal—but he had fallen, and so they closed up again in an instant.

“It appears we are at a stalemate, Lord Hiro. Do you truly have time to squander on these old bones?”

Hiro shrugged. “This doesn’t seem to be going anywhere, does it?”

He detached his gaze from von Loeing and looked around. His allies were fighting for their lives. Without even the luxury of flinching at the rebel numbers, they flung themselves like wild beasts at whichever foe came next. Still, desperation could only carry them so far. Once the enemy’s first and second cohorts returned, they would be crushed in seconds, and that was if they held out that long.

“Without a commander, Lord Hiro, an army is nothing but a mob.”

“So it is.”

“Strike me down and the rebel army will crumble.” Von Loeing’s smile widened confidently. “But I must warn you, I will be no easy prey.”

Hiro regarded the man suspiciously.

At that moment, a riderless horse panicked and set off charging across the field, screaming at the bite of a stray arrow. Men, beasts, the land itself—all were equal on the battlefield. Death sowed the earth in vast quantities and oceans of blood dyed the soil red, and still the fighting never ended. Only when one side surrendered would the slaughter cease.

“This war was reckless from the start,” Hiro said.

Von Loeing caught his meaning and rubbed the back of his head. “True enough. We could not have started a more foolish fight. Even if we win today, we will be surrounded by enemies come the morrow. If I were still in service to the empire, I would have disbanded my forces and sent my men home.” His throat rattled with what might have been a chuckle. “But I stand here because I see hope in this foolishness. And my men follow because they believe we can prevail. I cannot very well betray their trust.”

Hiro could not object to that. His men, too, were following him because they believed in him. They were one thousand eight hundred against fifteen thousand; only one thousand now, excluding the Crow Legion task force they had left behind. In the corner of his eye, he saw Huginn bark commands to her men, bow in hand. She was staying to keep the rebels at bay because she believed that he could win. Once he joined the fray, the enemy resistance would crumble quickly—but there was no need for his presence just yet. Someone else would take his place while he dispatched von Loeing.

“It’s about time, I’d say.”

“What’s this?” Von Loeing’s eyebrows rose. “Another scheme?”

“You see the dust cloud behind you. And I’m sure you hear it too.”

From the rebel army’s rearguard, sparse now that they had run to the aid of the core, came the clashing of blades. Where there should have been no enemy and no battle, a plume of dust rose over the plain. The dying screams of rebel troops grew steadily closer.

“The rear! We’re under attack from the re— Agh!”

A messenger came racing from the rearguard, but Huginn’s arrow dispatched him. Bereft of its master, his horse turned and fled the field.

“How did you send troops behind us?” Von Loeing looked puzzled. “Surely Lady Celia Estrella could not have broken through...”

“Of course not. But I’m sure you can work it out. Considering the time they had and the distance they would have needed to travel, there’s only one possibility—”

An enemy shriek cut Hiro off. The rearguard’s focus must have been so occupied by the fighting in front of them that they hadn’t paid any attention to their rear. As though to prove it, Garda, the leader of the ambush, burst into the fray. With his demonic visage, he looked like something crawled up from hell, soaked in blood from head to toe and radiating fell might.

“So your men still draw breath, One-Eyed Dragon! It seems we were not too late!” A swing of his greatsword sent enemy bodies flying across the field. “Hunt down the officers!” he bellowed. “Kill their commanders! Leave the rest!”

The eight hundred Crow Legion poured into the fray with unstoppable force, saving Hiro’s thousand men from the brink of destruction. While the reprieve was only temporary, it granted them enough momentum to escape the battlefield.

“You planned this from the start,” von Loeing said.

“Of course.”

The task force had detached from the rest of the army under cover of Garda’s sandstorm. The rebel army had been too distracted by the storm’s appearance to notice their departure, and Hiro’s charge through the middle of the field had further drawn their attention. The rearguard had sent reinforcements to bolster the exposed core, but that had left them vulnerable in turn—a weakness that Garda and his men had taken full advantage of, as they circled around the battle to sink their teeth into the enemy’s back. The odds were still against Hiro’s forces, but the tide was now firmly in their favor.

“Well, I suppose we’ve both outplayed each other.”

Von Loeing expelled an impressed sigh. “So you have seen straight through us.”

“Not entirely. But I have a broad idea what you’re up to.”

“You truly are a fearsome individual. I recognize now what His Highness saw in you at a glance, that day at Berg Fortress.”

The old soldier readied his spirit weapon. He fixed Hiro with a level stare, challenging him to settle their match once and for all. Victory would be his if he could simply draw the battle out, but he was a warrior to the bone, and he loved combat more than anything.

Hiro retreated to a comfortable distance. He, too, was ready to end the fight.

“Well, then. Shall we begin?”

Power swelled within him. The Black Camellia danced merrily in a sudden gale. Excalibur’s gleaming blade began to take on a dark light.

Von Loeing’s eyes narrowed at the spectacle. “Now I see. All along, His Highness knew...” He gave a slight nod, as though some piece had clicked into place.

As Hiro frowned, the old soldier stepped forward. In spite of his affable grin, inhuman power radiated from his muscular frame.

“Come, then!” he cried. “One last duel to the death!”

He was a veteran of countless battles, and his senses were honed to a point. He did not need to be able to see Hiro’s strike to block it.

“Impressive reflexes,” Hiro said. Then he planted a savage kick in von Loeing’s solar plexus. The old soldier grunted and staggered back, clutching his gut.

Hiro launched himself forward, closing the distance with lightning speed, and unleashed a flurry of slashes. Once, twice, their blades clashed. The keening of metal echoed across the battlefield. As time wore on, however, the difference in their respective speeds became apparent. Vicious slashes opened up all over von Loeing’s body. His mouth twisted in pain.

“Hnnraaaaaagh!”

With a mighty roar, he summoned all of his strength, but his resistance was child’s play before Hiro. A lightning flurry of slashes flayed him open faster than his regeneration could restore him.

“Haah!”

Hiro drove Excalibur into his enemy’s chest. The blade struck home. He made to pull it out again, intending to lop off von Loeing’s limbs and finish him off.

“Guh... Now I have you, boy.” Von Loeing seized Hiro’s arm, grinning even as a gobbet of blood burst from his mouth.

By the time Hiro realized he had been outwitted, it was too late. A gasp of surprise escaped his lips as von Loeing’s sword swung down toward his shoulder, seeking to cleave him in two.

Unfortunately, the result was not what his enemy had hoped.

“The Black Camellia! I should have known.” Von Loeing all but spat the words out, his features twisting in disappointment. If not for Hiro’s black garb, he would have struck a mortal blow.

Hiro landed a front kick in von Loeing’s chest and forced him back. As the old soldier sailed away, his regeneration took effect once more.

“You would have been strong enough without a Fallen’s powers, you know.”

“One so blessed ought not to speak so, Lord Hiro.” A pall of loneliness came over von Loeing’s face, and for a moment he looked so frail that he might shatter. “You are still young. You do not yet know the terror of watching yourself grow old.”

The Grantzian Empire’s size meant that it had no shortage of talent. Even the most exceptional of men faced the inevitability of one day being overtaken by younger, fresher blood.

“What will you do when that time comes? When a man has only ever found his worth in battle, can he truly be satisfied with breathing his last on a sickbed surrounded by his family?”

“I can’t imagine a better way to go.”

The peoples of Aletia had rebelled against the zlosta one thousand years ago for the right to exactly that kind of peace. Hiro knew well that mundane happiness was the greatest blessing one could have.

“To pass away free of regrets, with my family at my bedside... I couldn’t ask for anything more.”

“Then we are very different men.”

Hiro’s words were met with flat rejection. Evidently, his answer hadn’t been what the veteran soldier was hoping to hear. There was no chance of finding common ground, then. He and von Loeing were simply incompatible.

“Indulge me one last time, Lord Hiro. This old body can still put on a show!”

So fundamentally different that they would never see eye to eye.

“GRAAAAAAAAAHHH!!!”

Von Loeing unleashed a roar. His body swelled in size as he surrendered his mind to the spirits’ magick. His eyes grew bloodshot and drool dripped from his mouth. Second by second, he grew more grotesque, until he was almost too hideous to look at.

“It’s a bad play, abandoning your reason,” Hiro murmured. “You won’t get far relying on instinct alone.”

He spun Excalibur nimbly in his grip so that he held it backhanded. With a series of pops, space split apart around him, bathing the earth in luminescence. Forth from the rents came spirit weapons—two, five, ten, twenty. Before long, they filled the sky. The ground beneath Hiro’s feet cracked under the weight of his might. A wicked presence surged out into the void, seeking dominion.

“Let’s finish this.”

He braced his foot against the earth...

...and left the realm of sound behind.

He left nothing in his wake but an unearthly rush of wind. A hundred sparks of light, a thousand blazing bonfires, a million newborn stars crashed to earth in burning splendor. This was the privilege and the Graal bestowed upon Excalibur’s chosen.

Divine Lightning—Liegegrazalt. An inescapable attack unleashed at the speed of light.

Divine bladework scored the ground with innumerable furrows. Every glimmering trail sent a gout of blood spraying from von Loeing’s frame. Although he pursued Hiro with a hunter’s persistence, his body could not take the strain. His arm flew, his leg fell away, his throat split open, his heart was pierced through. The damage overwhelmed his regeneration until at last he collapsed into the dirt like a starved beast.

As Hiro lifted his sword to his enemy’s throat to deliver the final blow, something strange occurred. Second by second, von Loeing’s body shrank until he returned to his previous form. Hiro watched in astonishment.

Von Loeing’s wrinkled features creased into a satisfied smile. “Lord Hiro...” he whispered through ragged breaths. “You have...my thanks... Now, I can die...with no regrets...”

He wheezed. Blood trickled from his lips.

“I just want to know one thing,” Hiro said. “Where is Stovell?”

The old soldier kept his silence until the light faded from his eyes. To the end, he could not bring himself to betray his master. Still, his reticence was as good as an answer—and that meant that there was only one path to take.

Now I just need to regroup with Liz...

As Hiro affirmed his resolve, von Loeing’s body crumbled and blew away like dust on the wind. Hiro watched it go, turning to look up at the sky with lifeless black eyes. At the edge of the canopy of vibrant colors, darkness was beginning to set in. Despite the serenity in the sky, wild winds blew across the plain. Screams and roars rose across the battlefield, mingling with one another to create an unearthly atmosphere.

Von Loeing, the commander of the rebel army, was dead, but his remaining subordinates were still holding out. Vengeance, honor, pride—with so much to fight for, their spirits yet endured.

Hiro flung himself back into the fray. Excalibur danced as he fell on the enemy soldiers encircling his allies, hoping to save as many of his men as he could. His victims did not even have time to scream. Every slash took a life as he set about cutting them down.

At that moment, a cavalry unit burst in from the side, skewering the soldiers around Hiro with their lances. Those who survived were trampled by the charge and finished off with gleaming lance points before they could so much as cry out.

“One-Eyed Dragon! Where is von Loeing?!”

A horse detached from the rest and came in front of Hiro, bearing Garda on its back.

Blood arced through the air as Hiro withdrew Excalibur from a rebel soldier’s throat. “Dead, although I didn’t get his head.”

“Then we have no more purpose here. We must fall back at once!” Garda kicked a charging rebel away and spilled the man’s life across the ground, then raised his blade to the standard-bearer. “Sound the victory cry! Beat the drums and blow the horns! Let every soul on this field know that von Loeing has fallen!”

Now all that remained was to make good their escape. Once the rebel army had no more enemies left to fight, they would come to understand their situation. They were an army without a leader, and their only choice was surrender.

“We’re ready to leave whenever, Your Lordship! Just give the order!”

Huginn rode up on horseback. The quiver on her belt was empty, and she carried a bloodstained sword. Hiro’s swiftdrake trotted next to her, equally covered in gore, none of which was its own. Hiro took the beast’s reins and swung himself onto its back.

It was then, as a cheer rose from his allies, that a great plume of fire erupted from the west, where Liz’s forces were stationed.

“It can’t be... It’s... It’s...!”

It’s a dragon, someone whispered.

The beast soared skyward on wings of flame, then plunged back down to devour its prey. The ensuing explosion was enough to shake the world, all but obliterating the noise of battle. Its overwhelming might struck Hiro’s body like a shock wave. Screams drifted through the air, not from his allies, but from the rebels.

“Now that’s a familiar sight.”

The power had the flavor of Lævateinn. Indeed, that had been one of Artheus’s favorite tricks. So Liz had reached greater heights. He could only wonder what had pushed her to grow so. Still, there were more pressing matters at hand.

“This isn’t good. She might not have the strength to retreat.”

Such an expenditure of power would quickly exhaust her.

“Garda!” he shouted to where the zlosta was busy mopping up resistance. “We have to leave at once! As soon as the men are gathered!”

With von Loeing dead, the rebel army had no choice but to surrender, but with the chain of command in disarray and information unable to disseminate, they were yet to realize it. They would continue fighting blindly. That would not only lead to needless deaths, it could wipe out Hiro’s forces entirely. First, they had to escape the fighting. Then they could present the enemy with surrender demands.

“Huginn, spread word among their ranks that nobles are flocking to support us. That will persuade them to give in quicker.” Now that von Loeing was gone, it was unlikely that anybody else would have the spine to keep fighting.

“At once, Your Lordship!” With a crisp reply, Huginn departed.

Garda approached, his shoulders heaving. “And what will you do, One-Eyed Dragon?”

“We’re done here.”

There was only one place left to go. With a glance at the sky that the dragon of flame had so recently occupied, Hiro dug his heels into his swiftdrake’s flank and sped off across the plain.

＊＊＊＊＊

The field belonged to the dead now. Around her lay nothing but corpses. A pungent stench befouled the air, rising from scattered hunks of charred flesh. None of the bodies were still intact. It was like they had been hit by an artillery bombardment.

A gale blew, threatening to push her over, but she stepped forward to catch herself. She would not fall. Not yet.

“Ah... Aah...”

It was plain to see that she was on the brink of passing out. She swayed like a rotten tree in a gale. Empty eyes scanned her surroundings, where blue flames still licked at what remained of the corpses of the Fallen.

“That was quite the sight to behold.” Scáthach limped closer. “Are you all right?”

Liz showed no reaction to her concern. Gritting her teeth, Scáthach laid a hand on the crimson-haired girl’s shoulder.

“That was reckless. Just how deep did you delve?”

Even now, remnants of Lævateinn’s power lingered in the air. Liz must have plunged deep into the Spiritblade’s domain, and fast. Without help, her mind might not return.

“Gáe Bolg, lend me your strength. Call her back.”

It would take an outside injection of power to restore her now. Gáe Bolg began to glow with azure light.

“Forgive me for this.”

Suddenly, a warmth enveloped her hand.

“I’m all right.”

Scáthach looked up to see Liz’s crimson eyes staring into her own. The princess was breathing raggedly and her face was pale, but her smile was one of satisfaction. Lævateinn glowed a fiery crimson in her grip.

“Oh, thank goodness. I’m so glad you’re unhurt. I feared you were too far gone...” Scáthach flung her arms around Liz, her voice cracking.

Liz patted her back, a faint smile on her lips. “And you.”

But they had no time to celebrate. Their expressions grew alert once more as the situation set in. This was a battlefield, where the weak were first to die. In the blink of an eye, they were surrounded.

A knight stepped forward. “Lay down your sword, Lady Celia Estrella,” he announced, seemingly unintimidated.

Liz brushed a stray lock of hair back and smiled. “I respectfully decline.”

“Then you leave us no choice but to take you by force. Draw your blades.”

The knight’s sword hissed from its sheath. The surrounding soldiers readied their swords and spears. To look at the weapons’ trembling points, however, it was clear that they feared their prey.

“It looks like the battle’s not over.” Liz pointed Lævateinn at her foes, warning them back.

“We must break through and regroup with Lady Aura.” Scáthach’s eyes flashed as she readied Gáe Bolg.

The soldiers hesitated, seeing that the duo would not go quietly.

All of a sudden, a voice rang out across the battlefield. “Help’s on its way, Your Highness!”

It belonged to Tris. The rumble of hoofbeats filled the air, and the sound of clashing steel drifted from the back lines of the enemy circle. The rebel lines fell into disarray and rapidly collapsed. A dozen and a half riders poured through the breach.

One of them, a girl of short stature, brought her horse near. “Are you all right?” she asked, flicking blood from her spirit weapon.

Liz broke into a smile. “Aura! You’re safe!”

Aura’s expression remained as stoic as ever, but she nodded. “I’m glad you’re both unhurt.”

“How fares the battle, Lady Aura?”

“It’s over. Nameless has retreated.”

Despite having the numerical advantage, the rebel army’s mysterious vice-commander had taken a small force and fled the field. As Aura finished her summary, one of her guards approached with two riderless horses in tow.

“Most of the units have fallen back. We’re the only ones left.”

As soon as Aura had seen the plume of fire engulf the battlefield, she had dispatched messengers to the other units, telling them that further fighting was meaningless and they were to retreat.

“We should get moving too, then,” Liz said. The rebel army still comprised in excess of ten thousand men. Now that their foes had retreated, there was a chance they might converge on her location. “We’ll strike hard and break through. After me!” She mounted up and turned her horse about, gesturing forward with Lævateinn.

Clearly, persuading her to rest would be fruitless. Aura sighed and turned to her own soldiers. She brandished her spirit weapon. “We’re retreating. Quickly.”

Scáthach hauled herself onto horseback. “Worry not, Lady Aura,” she said breezily. “I have some practice with fighting withdrawals.”

Aura glared at the pair, as though to say that had very much not been the cause of her concern, but it seemed to have no effect. “You’re both wounded,” she said finally.

“Follow me and it’ll be fine!” Liz called back.

Ordinarily, Aura would have protested. This time, she only slumped her shoulders, tired of arguing.

Liz, oblivious, set her sights on Hiro’s formation. “Do you think they’re all right over there?”

“I cannot say—” Scáthach cut herself off. A smile spread across her face. “No, it seems so.”

Whatever she had picked up on, Aura seemed to have noticed it too. “That way,” she said, pointing into the distance.

Liz turned to look and understanding dawned in her eyes. A dust cloud was rising in the east, growing steadily closer. “After me!” she called.

As one, they cut a straight line toward the source of the disturbance. Although they only numbered twenty, that was more than enough to punch through the enemy’s ranks. The wall of infantry quickly crumbled, stricken with fear at the sight of two Spiritblade wielders, and the following riders speared them in the back as they turned to flee.

Riding at full speed, it did not take long to reach the heart of the battle. Shrieks and battle cries rose into the air. At the center of the press, a boy in black laid the rebel soldiers to waste from atop a reptilian steed. His gleaming blade trailed motes of light with every slash, even as it dyed the field crimson with gore. Dying screams went muffled by the earth as he sowed the ground with corpses.

One soldier’s sword was deflected and his throat crushed. Another’s spear was broken and his skull shattered. Armor was no use; the boy’s gleaming blade pierced through it like paper. He was only one soldier, but he fought with the strength of a thousand in a blood-chilling display.

Aura cocked her head. “Liz?”

The crimson-haired girl’s momentum had vanished, and she had frozen in her saddle. The path that she had fought so hard to open was threatening to close. Their escort, too, looked alarmed as they hacked at the enemies around them. Aura didn’t bother asking what was wrong. She already knew.

That’s Hiro...but at the same time, it isn’t.

When Hiro fought, he suppressed his emotions, cutting his enemies down dispassionately. Sympathy led to fatal mistakes. Regrets lasted forever. It was kill or be killed on the battlefield, and so he compartmentalized every time he entered combat. He spared those who were useful and cut down those who were not, but he never, ever sought amusement in it.

This Hiro was different. His mouth twisted in ghoulish glee as he cut down soldier after soldier. He lopped the heads off men who had lost the will to fight, stabbed deserters in the back, and showed no mercy to those who surrendered. At last, as he crushed a weeping man’s skull, he noticed their presence and turned.

“You’re all safe, I see.”

His black eyes were pools of darkness, reflecting nothing, but the air he wore was one of sorrow. A choking sadness suffused him, like a lost child searching desperately for an absent mother.

“I’m glad you’re all right.”

He smiled, but it was cold. Blood dripped from his gore-soaked hands to seep into the earth.

Liz’s hands tightened on her reins, stricken by the pitiful sight. She opened her mouth to speak but thought better of it and shook her head, donning a smile to fend off her unease as she approached.

“You too.” Her voice was full of forced cheer. “I’m happy you’re safe, Hiro.”

She was strong, Aura thought. There were plenty of questions that needed answers, but she was ignoring them all.

Hiro’s expression relaxed, and suddenly the fugue that had gripped him was gone. “Thank you. But we don’t have time to stand around.”

“What? Why?”

“Stovell’s making for the palace. He’s going to try and kill the emperor.”

“What?” Liz paled. “You mean...he’s trying to steal the throne?!”

Beside her, Scáthach bristled with bloodlust at the name of her nemesis. Only Aura cocked her head in confusion.

Hiro shook his head. “Surely not. He wouldn’t have any legitimacy after this. Emperors without clothes get their heads cut off.”

“I suppose so...but then, what’s he doing?”

“We can consider this later,” Scáthach interrupted. “First, we must escape this battlefield.”

Aura watched the trio converse from afar, a discontented expression on her face.

Why did he come here first?

Suspicion filled her leaden eyes, but she had no space to voice it.

“Anyway, Liz, you need to make for the capital. Scáthach, go with her. It’s time for me to make good on our promise.”

What sort of vow they had exchanged, Aura couldn’t guess, but Scáthach nodded firmly enough to make it clear that turning back wasn’t an option.

“Good. Then it’s settled. You two go on ahead.”

“What about you? Aren’t you coming with us?”

“I’ll join you soon enough. After I cause a little chaos back here.”

Rebel soldiers had gathered around them, forming a thick wall of steel that was gradually closing in. Now that their group had lost their momentum, it would not be easy to break free.

“Then we’ll see you there! And you’d better not be late!”

“I can only apologize. Would that I could stay to help...” Scáthach murmured.

“You’re allowed to put yourself first once in a while. Take care of Liz.”

Scáthach nodded. “It will be done.”

She and Liz cantered away, their wounds and fatigue already forgotten. A wall of soldiers blocked their path, but with two Spiritblades, they would have little trouble breaking through.

“What are you doing, Aura?” Hiro asked. “Take your men and follow them.”

He was right to hurry them along. There wasn’t much time. She kept her question brief.

“Who told you about Stovell?”

“Von Loeing, with his last breath. He said Stovell abandoned his claim to the throne to divert suspicion from himself, then orchestrated this battle to draw everyone’s attention. He never cared about winning, only taking the emperor’s head.”

“I see.”

“Aura, there’s no more time. You have to go.”

Aura made a noise of agreement. “Later, then.”

She turned her horse about and set off, but in the instant she passed Hiro—

“Ah—”

She spun in alarm, but already there was nothing behind her but a heaving mass of enemy soldiers. For a moment, she stared in silence.

“The enemy is coming, Lady Aura!” one of her men called. “We must make haste!”

“Hiro...”

With one last backward glance, she rode away.

＊＊＊＊＊

The sun had set, and a gibbous moon peeked through the clouds. Dark staked claim to the land. The buzzing of insects in the undergrowth fell flat in the dead night air.

Liz and Scáthach arrived at the capital under the shroud of darkness. The guards at the gate recognized the sixth princess on sight and ushered them in. There was no sign of an enemy lying in wait, and besides, it would have been madness to refuse. The people had been whispering that Liz was on her way with small force to save the capital from peril. If word got out that they had chased her away, there might be riots.

“Your Highness!” The captain of the Knights of the Golden Lion hailed her with a formal bow.

Liz returned the gesture from atop her horse. “The fighting isn’t over yet. There are still plenty of rebels outside the walls. Keep your men at their posts and stay vigilant.”

“Then, if I may ask, Your Highness...what brings you here?”

“I need to make certain my father is safe.”

“Then there is nothing to fear on that score, Your Highness. All four of the city’s cardinal gates have been firmly secured, by my own men, no less. Besides, His Majesty has the imperial guard to protect him. I cannot imagine that any harm will befall him.”

“Excuse me? Father only has the imperial guard to protect him? No one else?”

The captain nodded. “Broadly speaking, Your Highness. There are also the palace officials and their men.”

“Then he might as well not have any guards at all!”

If Stovell attacked the palace, the imperial guards would hardly be able to lay a finger on him, and the officials’ private troops would be even less of a threat. All told, there could not be more than a hundred men in Venezyne.

“Form up and ride for the palace immediately,” Liz commanded.

The captain pulled a sour face. Shadow danced across his features in the torchlight. “His Majesty instructed us to defend the walls with all our strength. If we were to contravene his orders, a reprimand would be the least of our concerns.”

“And it’ll be even less of one if Father was wrong!” Liz shouted. The captain flinched. “The first emperor founded your order, didn’t he? What would he say if you let the emperor come to harm on your watch? If you are true soldiers of the empire, you will assemble a unit and make for the palace! Let me take responsibility for the consequences!”

The captain looked taken aback for a moment, but he quickly composed himself and bowed. “As you command, Your Highness.”

“Good.” Liz nodded, satisfied. “We’ll ride ahead.” With that, she kicked her horse’s flanks and rode on.

“It’s quiet,” Scáthach remarked.

She spoke truly. Every house was locked and bolted in a flat refusal to have anything to do with events outside. As Liz made her way through the eerie quiet of the city streets, she sensed that she was being watched. On closer inspection, townsfolk were peeking out from inside their dwellings. Their eyes were filled with terror.

She smiled and waved as though to reassure them. “Everything will be all right! The rebel army will soon be defeated!”

Where usually the central boulevard was filled with the hustle and bustle of commerce, now only the clack of horseshoes echoed. It was as though they had wandered into a deserted ruin. Still, with no obstacles to bar their path, they arrived at the palace gates with unusual speed.

Liz was the first to spot something wrong. “That’s strange...” she murmured.

Scáthach quickly cottoned on. “Is the palace usually this quiet? Where are the sentries?”

They looked around, but there was no one to be seen. The guards were indeed absent. Darkness extended even past the gates. They made their way through the unsettling silence of the rose garden.

Liz dismounted before the palace proper and dashed up the steps. An imperial guard lay beside the doors in a pool of blood. There was no need to check whether he was still breathing. He had no head.

“Brutal work,” Scáthach observed.

“Come on. Let’s go.” Liz shot her a meaningful glance and readied Lævateinn.

Scáthach hefted Gáe Bolg, equally wary. “We ought to be careful. An arrow could come from anywhere.”

Liz nodded and pushed the doors open. The air trapped within belched forth. She grimaced at the foul-smelling gust. Scáthach frowned, holding her nose. Within seconds, the stench dispersed in the night air.

“I don’t sense any signs of life.”

“Vile deeds have been done here. The place reeks of death.”

They stepped inside. Corpses lay on the floor in horrific numbers. The palace officials had been butchered without mercy. Noblewomen clad in fine dresses—their spouses, perhaps—had been stricken down callously alongside them. Imperial guards who had fought back were also among the dead. All of their garments were singed, whether cloth or armor. Lingering flames still licked at several of the bodies.

The clack of footsteps resounded alone in the silent hall, their echo oddly unsettling. In ordinary times, Venezyne’s corridors never slept, but one would never think it to see them now.

“I see no survivors...and no sign of reinforcements. Were they unable to sound the alarm?”

Scáthach’s doubts were understandable, but a Spiritblade wielder would easily have been capable of such a feat. The dead would have had no time to call for help. The pair walked on through corpse-littered corridors, silent but for occasional noise of tension.

Eventually, Liz stopped and laid her hand on a pair of double doors. “This is the throne room.”

The throne room doors had welcomed many visitors in their time, even those from foreign lands, and as such held a certain gravitas. Their finely decorated wood was emblazoned with a lion crest and a black dragon rising to the heavens.

Scáthach cocked her head. “It’s certainly easily defended, but it would be the first place anyone would look. Surely the emperor has some escape route prepared for times of trouble?”

“If he had no other option, I’m sure he’d already be underground. But...”

“But he wields a Spiritblade.”

“Precisely. Although not many people know about it. Only a few members of the royal family and the heads of the great houses.”

“I see.” Scáthach nodded in understanding. For a moment, she seemed to sink into thought, but then decided against it. “No, there is no use thinking about it. Forgive me. We ought to proceed.”

“I’m ready if you are.”

Scáthach nodded. Liz grasped the door handle, her features taut with trepidation.

“For how long do you mean to scurry about?”

With cries of surprise, the pair sprang back from the door and raised their weapons.

“Oh, don’t be so wary. Enter. I have readied no ambush.” A familiar voice issued from within the chamber—the low tones of First Prince Stovell.

“Let’s go, Scáthach. Stay alert.”

Liz steeled herself, kicked the doors open, stepped into the throne room...and fell silent. For a thousand long years, the throne room had persisted in grandeur and grace as the beating heart of imperial power. Now, it was awash with blood. An iron tang hung in the air, accompanied by a nauseating, charred stench.

Holding back the urge to vomit, Liz approached the throne. Since the empire’s founding, the seat had been the exclusive province of the reigning emperor, but Stovell sat in it now, radiating arrogance. She felt a rush of anger. Her rage quickly evaporated, however, as she registered the shape lying at his feet.

“Father...?”

“Is that...the emperor?” Scáthach stared incredulously as her mind tried to catch up.

Liz, too, stood aghast. “It can’t be...”

The body was headless, but she knew that it was her father. Only the emperor would have worn such fine clothes, and only the emperor was permitted to don that golden sash.

“You’re late. Had you arrived a little sooner, you might have found this old fool’s head still attached.” The emperor’s head lay at Stovell’s feet, its face contorted with agony. “But then again, there is a certain drama to your timing. In fact, you could not have planned it better if you’d tried.” Stovell rested a boot on top of it and smiled. “He resisted, you see. I was left with no choice.”

“Do you realize what you’ve done?” Liz’s voice trembled as she spoke.

Stovell scowled. “One wonders if you do. Surely such a historic moment calls for a little more celebration?” He rose from the throne, and a terrible aura began to swirl about him. “Rejoice, sister mine. Today you will witness the birth of a new god.”

His right hand crackled with lightning, and suddenly it held Mjölnir. At the same time, a strange wind swirled around his left. He lifted the gale for Liz and Scáthach to see.

“There is no power quite so marvelous as that of the Demiurgos. It can bend even the Spiritblade Sovereigns to its will.”

“Is that...Gandiva? But...you killed Father! It would never choose you...”

The Spiritblades would only appear to those they acknowledged as their masters. Should anybody attempt to manifest them by force, they would retaliate with a terrible curse—or so the legends said—and there was little chance of the Gale Sovereign choosing the man who had killed its former master.

“Oh, it resisted. But before the power of the Demiurgos, it had no choice but to bend the knee. Now one might say that I wield it by force.”

“You forced it to serve you? Spirits have minds too!”

“What of it? Mind or no mind, in the end it is merely a tool of bloodshed.” Stovell expelled an exasperated sigh. His eyes flashed as he leveled his gaze at Liz. “Now, the choice is yours. Will you stand with me...or against me?”

“You think...!”

“What was that?” The latter half of Liz’s snarl seemed not to have reached Stovell’s ears.

“You think I would ever, ever stand with you?! I’d rather die!” Liz fixed Stovell with a murderous stare, her eyes burning with crimson fire.

The first prince snorted, unruffled. “Oh, sister mine. You were a fool when you adopted that black-furred mutt, and you are a fool now. You disgrace your royal blood. But at least that proves you are your father’s daughter!” He kicked the emperor’s head away and fixed Liz with a sneer. “That doddering old fool was much the same when he took in your mother. The emperor of the greatest power in Soleil, wedded to a destitute noblewoman with naught but a pretty face to her name—a tale to warm the heart in the theater, no doubt, but the real world is a far crueler stage. Fleeting affection begets lasting tragedy. Pretending to virtue one cannot practice leads only to ruin, as they should have known.”

Liz stared back hatefully.

“What, nothing to say? She may have made for a pathetic corpse, but she was still your mother.” Silence fell between them, but Stovell smiled as he recognized the anger bubbling beneath. “Oh, but I say too much. Excuse me.” His smirk widened cruelly. “They couldn’t even be certain the body was hers, could they?”

His laughter rang through the throne room, an unpleasant noise that filled the hall.

“Aahh...” Liz’s shoulders trembled. She raised her head, cheeks stained with tears. “Aaaaaahhh!!!”

She launched herself forward with a cry of anger, fury blazing in her crimson eyes. Tears trailed behind her, glittering with scarlet flame. Lævateinn shattered the flagstones. The throne room shuddered.

“Don’t...mock...my...mother!”

The ground around her exploded with searing flames, an inferno hot enough to melt flesh.

Stovell stood where he had ducked away from the strike. His shoulders shook with laughter. “You’ve grown stronger since last we met.”

“Usurper! You’ll pay for your crimes!” Liz’s voice was clear and proud, even as tears streamed from her eyes.

Stovell snorted. “Usurper? Please. I have no interest in the throne. If you care so much for this old chair, sister dear, you may have it.”

Thunder cracked. A lightning bolt sped toward Liz, raising a chilling crunch as it scored a furrow in the stone, but Lævateinn’s flames swallowed it whole.

Stovell did not seem surprised. He only grinned scornfully. “You may have the nation itself, if so you wish...but it will be a nation of one!”

Invisible blades sliced through the air. The objects scattered around Liz fell to pieces under their assault.

“Don’t waste your time. You’ll never hurt me with that!”

The ground beneath Liz’s feet erupted as power surged through her body. A wreath of blue flames settled around her, shielding her from harm. In the blink of an eye, the inferno knocked the invisible blades aside.

Stovell narrowed his eyes, intrigued. “Oh? So you have descended to deeper depths.” His voice was an impressed whisper. “Then allow me to return the favor. Witness for yourself the splendor of the Demiurgos!”

He made to stride forward, only to find that he could not. His foot was inexplicably frozen to the floor. Ice coated his leg, billowing with freezing mist and coursing with power.

“Do not forget about me, knave.”

He turned his head to see Scáthach. Gáe Bolg was in her hands, glowing with a silver-blue light.

Stovell’s eyes widened in surprise. “And who are you, exactly? Wait, that spear... Surely not...”

“I am Culann Scáthach du Faerzen. One of many you have wronged.”

“Ah, now I recall. The princess of Faerzen—”

“And the woman who will end your life.” Scáthach did not wait for Stovell to finish. She leaped high and flung Gáe Bolg.

“Wha—?!”

There was a thunderous boom. White mist enveloped the room. A great ice crystal erupted where Stovell had been standing, piercing through the fog. As the spectacle unfolded, Scáthach landed.

“Is your leg all right?” Liz shouted.

“Of course. With revenge at last within reach, I feel no pain.” She licked her dainty lips and steadied her breathing, staring into the depths of the fog. “Do not lower your guard. He lives still. I sense it.”

“Don’t worry. I know.”

As the duo readied their weapons, a sudden gust blew the mist apart. In its place stood Stovell, unharmed. “Come, then,” he declared, spreading his arms wide in exultation. “Impress me. Show me how you defy my will.”

“I will slow him,” Scáthach whispered. “Let me create an opening. Think only of striking him down.”

For all her bravado about feeling no pain, her leg wound would only get in the way in a real fight, and she knew it. Her teeth ground bitterly as she stared at Stovell.

Liz did not question the instruction, sensing Scáthach’s chagrin. She raised Lævateinn and broke into a run. “Got it. He won’t get away!”

She accelerated further than she ever had before, carving through the air to close on Stovell in an instant. Her leading leg slid between his feet, and she unleashed a thrust up at his chin. He managed to move his head out of the way, but Liz’s sweep knocked him off-balance. His enormous frame crashed to the floor.

“Yaaaaaah!” With a battle cry, Liz brought her fist down.

Stovell made to dodge, only to realize that he was encased in ice from the waist down. He scowled in annoyance. “Very well, the first blow is yours. Take it.” The scowl became a grin as he abandoned the attempt to evade the punch, challenging her to hurt him.

Liz smiled sweetly. “Do you remember what Lævateinn’s Graal is?”

Her fist struck with explosive force, the impact spearing straight through his unprepared body. The ground around them cratered, sending up a cloud of dust. Stovell’s face twisted in pain.

“And that’s not all!”

Another punch followed, which quickly became a volley. Blood splattered across the stone, but Liz’s fists did not stop. A grisly sound, part crunching bone, part tearing flesh, echoed as she brought her heel down on Stovell’s face.

“I’ll burn you to ashes!”

Her assault was not done yet. Her anger burned bright, and Lævateinn answered. Fiery orbs flared into being in the air above her and rained down on Stovell.

The throne room shook so fiercely that it might have been falling apart. Liz leaped away to a safe distance and watched as the sea of flame burned. Dust trickled down from the ceiling.

Suddenly, a gale blew.

“Liz! Look out!”

“Huh?”

Scáthach’s warning came too late. Liz’s consciousness winked out. She came to seconds later, groaning, buried in a pile of rubble. The taste of iron filled her mouth, and she spat out blood.

“My lady! Stay with me!” Scáthach was shaking her shoulder.

“I’m all right... Urgh... What happened?”

Liz staggered to her feet and looked ahead. Where Stovell had been, a shape now stood—a man’s hulking figure, swathed in burns, glaring back with hatred in his eyes.

“Know your place, girl.”

It took several seconds to understand what she was looking at. The man’s skin was deep purple, like that of a zlosta, and his hair was white as snow. His eyes burned scarlet, and his muscular body was beginning to swell even as she watched. Mana empowered baleful strength to produce incredible might. A chill ran down Liz’s spine to see his transformation.

“Stovell... What have you done?”

“Behold the power of the Demiurgos! The power of the king who plunged this world into chaos one thousand years ago!”

Liz winced. The sheer power in his voice set her head spinning.

Stovell laughed. “A little much, perhaps, for children hardly even accustomed to their own power.”

He strode forward. The air warped around him. One step, and there came a sound like space tearing. Another step, and the floor shattered, the rubble reduced to dust beneath his heel.

“The strength of the Demiurgos and two Spiritblades besides.” His joy burgeoned. Glee filled his face. “With so much power, a man might fell an empire.”

The baleful wind swirled, crackling with lightning, feeding on Stovell’s power and growing ever stronger.

“I will slay every last soul in this misbegotten capital...and you will be the first.”

Liz gritted her teeth as a wave of palpable malice washed over her. “You’re just as blind as you always were. There are men like you around every corner.” Her defiant grin carried a hint of disdain.

“You speak truly. His appearance has changed, but his nature remains what it ever was.” Scáthach seconded Liz, shooting Stovell a contemptuous glance.

Stovell snorted. “Bark all you wish.” He began to walk slowly toward them.

Scáthach turned to Liz. “Listen well. He is fast. Far faster than us.”

“I know. And he hits even harder than I do.” Liz wiped a trickle of blood from her mouth with the back of her hand.

“If we are to defeat him, we must hold nothing back.”

Their bodies were buckling under the strain of multiple battles, and their reserves were almost exhausted. Still, if they did not bring their full strength to bear, Stovell would take both of their heads.

“Let this battle be ugly if it must. Elegance comes second to victory.”

Liz paused for a moment. “Got it.”

“Now come! Let us end this!”

They dashed forward as one. Fire engulfed the room. A gust of wind dispelled the flames, but a rain of icy spears followed. They had no time to confirm whether Stovell was alive or dead. Any pause would be a chink that their opponent might exploit.

They closed the distance to find Stovell skewed on spears of ice. Without hesitation, Liz rammed Lævateinn through his stomach and unleashed a fiery blast from within. Blood and smoke spewed from his mouth as the flames roasted his innards. His chin tipped toward the ceiling, and a shadow fell across his face.

“Too warm? Never fear, I’ll cool you soon enough.”

Scáthach carved a graceful arc through the air to drive Gáe Bolg through Stovell’s throat. As the spear struck home, Liz darted around behind his back and hacked off his arm with all her strength, turning the momentum of the cut into a spinning slice that bit deep into his leg. He staggered.

“Liz! Fall back!”

Scáthach leaped high, Gáe Bolg ready behind her back. With a burst of power, she unleashed Macha. The spear sliced through the air with a deafening whoosh and collided with Stovell, blasting a hole clean through his torso. Ice rapidly encased him. White mist billowed from the freezing mass and rolled across the floor.

For a moment, there was silence—and then there came a crack. The ice split. An eye swiveled grotesquely within Stovell’s frozen prison. Another beat, and then...

“Upstart brats.”

Lightning arced from his body. Invisible blades rained in all directions. Liz and Scáthach managed to dodge the assault, but while they were preoccupied, Stovell’s wounds began to heal.

“Know when you are outclassed!”

Mjölnir swung down. The impact split the floor and sent cracks running up the walls. Gandiva whipped up a storm, its invisible blades raging with a tempest’s fury. Fine slashes scored themselves into the floor, the ceiling, the pillars. Even so, Liz and Scáthach stood firm and weathered the assault. As soon as a lull came, they once again moved to attack.

“I tire of this farce.”

Stovell caught Lævateinn with a hand and Gáe Bolg with an arm. Blood sprayed, but his face betrayed no hint of pain. As Liz’s eyes widened, he seized her by the jaw and lifted her up, planting a foot on Lævateinn as it clattered to the floor. With his other hand, he grasped Scáthach by the leg and smashed her down onto the flagstones. He stood over her for a moment as she writhed in pain. As she tried to rise, he brought a crushing foot down on her back.

“Agh!”

Her lithe body bent like a bow. Blood spurted from her mouth.

“Scáthach, was it? A survivor of Faerzen’s royal line.”

“That’s...right... What of it?”

“I was simply wondering if you enjoyed your reunion with your sisters.” Stovell chuckled. “Did their heads reach you intact?”

Scáthach stiffened with anger. “Bastard!”

“Silence, cur.”

Stovell struck her again. She fell silent. Seemingly dissatisfied, he grasped her unconscious body by the foot.

“What now, Liz? Will you stand by and watch this mongrel die?”

“Mmmph!”

Scáthach rose into the air, her limbs dangling helplessly. Blood dribbled from her mouth to form a puddle on the floor. Tears beaded in the corners of Liz’s eyes as she struggled against Stovell’s grasp, but with her mouth in his grip, she could not even form words to reply.

Stovell snorted in disdain. “Or would you have me let her live?”

Liz’s jaw worked against his grip. Her eyes pleaded her answer.

“Very well.” A smile spread across Stovell’s face, kind yet cruel. “I will kill you both.”

He flung Scáthach away and smashed Liz into the floor. Scáthach flew clear through two pillars with a great crash and vanished in a pile of rubble. A dust cloud rose where she had landed. Liz lay motionless where she had fallen. A pool of blood slowly grew around her. Once more, silence fell over the throne room.

Stovell removed his foot from Lævateinn, grasped it by the hilt and raised it toward the ceiling.

“You, I will take for my own. The first emperor’s beloved blade, mine at last...”

The sword glowed crimson in protest, but Stovell paid it no notice. Ecstasy filled his face as his mouth opened wide. He would crush it in his jaws, devour it whole, and take its power for himself.

Abruptly, his body listed sideways and he toppled to the ground. Lævateinn skittered from his grasp.

“What...?”

He stretched out his arm after the Spiritblade, but his efforts were in vain. A hand seized his wrist and stopped it fast. The cracking of his bones echoed through the throne room, an unpleasant crunch like a falling tree.

“Don’t you dare touch my Lævateinn.”

Liz stood over him, wreathed in blue fire. Her eyes flashed with anger as she glared down.

“All that, and still you live?” Stovell tried to rise, only to realize that his leg was broken. As he finally registered the cause of his fall, searing pain assailed him.

“Gaaah!”

Neither his arm nor his leg were regenerating. On closer inspection, both were covered in blue welts.

“What...is this...?”

The welts slowly faded. His wounds began to heal once more. The pain ebbed away, giving him room to think again. His brows knitted in a frown.

“Liz... What have you done—?”

His face burst into flame. Blue fire consumed his skull.

“Gyaaaaaaaaahhh!!!”

As Stovell rolled around the floor in agony, Liz silently retrieved Lævateinn. She set her sights on Stovell’s back and raised her arm for the killing blow. Sensing danger, Mjölnir unleashed a mighty blast of lightning, sending her crashing into a pillar. She slid down to the floor in a heap, unconscious.

“Damn it! Damn it all! The pain won’t stop... My wounds won’t heal! What is this sorcery?!”

As Stovell cursed to himself, he caught sight of his reflection in the flagstones. His face was swathed in burns. His eyes widened in confusion.

At that moment, a new set of footsteps sounded through the hall.

“How many more of you upstarts must I endure?” Stovell cast a hate-filled glance toward the noise, a hand pressed to his wounds. “Do you not realize that you are outclassed?”

Before him stood a black-haired, black-eyed boy, his features soft, his stance relaxed.

“Time for you to die,” the boy said, and his mouth pulled into a savage grin.

＊＊＊＊＊

This, Hiro had not expected. Indeed, he could not hide his shock at just how far his predictions had missed the mark.

Everything had begun so smoothly. His plan to seat Liz on the throne had proceeded apace. Stovell abandoning his claim to the throne, House Krone’s rebellion, the threat encroaching upon the capital—all had played out broadly as he had foreseen. The death of the emperor should have been the final nail. He would make Stovell a usurper and Liz the hero who brought him to justice. The nobles would have to support her after that.

With her newfound strength, she should have been able to do it. He had even sent Scáthach with her as insurance. But at the very last hurdle, everything had fallen apart.

“I should have joined them.”

“What are you prattling about, boy?” Stovell fixed him with a bloodshot eye.

Hiro couldn’t help but sigh in disappointment at the prince’s transformation. “If I had been here, they wouldn’t have gotten hurt. A fool like you wouldn’t have gotten the better of them.”

If he had joined them, fought with them, things would have been different. If only he had set aside his fear of them discovering his darkness. It was his own weakness of heart that had brought about this failure. If only he had thought more logically.

“Ever since that day, I’ve felt nothing but regret.”

Excalibur’s silver gleam faded, and the blade began to swirl with darkness. A wild squall blew through the chamber, although the windows were closed. The Black Camellia danced angrily on the wind.

“Who... What are you?” Stovell growled, a hand still nursing his injuries.

Hiro’s lips twisted with dreadful amusement. “I’m afraid those wounds won’t heal.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s Lævateinn’s Graal. Mikhael. Purification.”

There was a moment of silence.

“What nonsense is this? Lævateinn’s Graal is Might.”

“Try to remember—just who was it that Emperor Artheus fought one thousand years ago?”

“Do you mock me? Even a child knows—” Stovell cut himself off in shock. Comprehension filled his eyes.

Hiro gave a mocking shrug, astounded that it had taken him so long. “Now do you understand why he was so fond of Lævateinn? Fools like you who consume magick will never know any relief from its wounds. Only an eternity of suffering.” He raised Excalibur so that it hovered level with his chest. “But I think that’s enough talking, don’t you?”

He grasped his eyepatch and tore it away. From beneath the covering appeared the ominous light of his left iris. His eyeball twinged.

Its gleam in the darkness lay beyond the realm of the mundane.

Its terrible hue exceeded the reach of mortal men.

Once, in awe, the people had dubbed it Uranos.

The mark of a hero. The eye of the monarch. Even now, one thousand years later, the legends called it one of the three great arcane eyes.

“I’m not going to hold back. I trust you can take it.”

Hiro cast his senses out across the room, glancing at where Liz and Scáthach lay sprawled on the ground.

“I don’t think there’s any danger that they’ll see this. So...”

The air shuddered as hostility poured forth from him, blending with his aura of might to produce a deeper shade. He whispered to Excalibur’s blackened blade, in a voice impossibly soft and boundlessly clear—

“Time to wake up.”

A moment passed—and then the sword split, fractured, crumbled away from tip to hilt. As though shedding an old husk, it dissolved into glittering flakes that burst into light as they spiraled away. White turned to black, like a sinner fleeing from their fate.

“Spread wide your maw, Dáinsleif—the Abyssal Sovereign.”

Darkness fell upon the world, a gloom no light could penetrate. Despair and hunger spread through the throne room.

Stovell watched, incredulous, as the anomaly made itself manifest. Before him, as before, stood Hiro, calm and composed. His relaxed stance had not changed, but for one thing: in place of his gleaming sword, he now held a dark blade. Its edge, its hilt, its guard, all were black—the lightless hue of midnight’s deepest shade.

“Aha... Ha ha ha ha ha!”

The laughter belonged not to Hiro, but to Stovell.

“What’s so funny?”

Stovell grinned wide enough to split his face in two. “Oh, this scent... I know it well.” He raised his Spiritblades, Mjölnir in his right hand, Gandiva in his left. “We truly are alike. You too possess the power of the Demiurgos!”

That name sealed his fate. He could not have chosen a more incendiary word.

Silence fell. All sound vanished from the chamber, as though the world had been submerged in cold water.

And then...

And then...

And then.

The air screamed. Groaned. Wailed.

Crushed by pressure. Flayed by malice. Swallowed whole by sheer power.

“You’d have to be very brave or very foolish to speak that name aloud.” Uranos flared bright in the freezing darkness. The Black Camellia beat angrily at the air, although there was no wind. “Keep your bleating to yourself. Or I’ll cut you down with your delusions.”

The boy’s outer shell fell away, and beneath it lay a darkness that none had ever seen.

“Bold words,” Stovell snarled. “Let’s see you match them!”

He leaped gleefully in for the kill, swinging Mjölnir overhand, but Hiro was no longer there. The battle-axe shattered stone, sending up a plume of rubble. Stovell looked around and spotted Hiro’s silhouette in the debris.

“I shall put your strength to the test!”

He brandished Mjölnir like a twig. A crackling edge carved out a perfect arc as it swept toward its target. Hiro thrust out Dáinsleif, but otherwise, he did not move.

Impact.

Sparks sprayed as the blades ground together. A metallic keening filled the throne room. As a blast wave surged outward in all directions, lightning crashed and a razor gale blew, both converging on Hiro.

“Too slow. I can see every move you make.”

Hiro took one step back, and somehow, impossibly, everything missed him. A twitch of his head, a shift of his leg, a wave of his arm, a twist of his shoulders—he evaded every blow with the minimal necessary movement.

“Impressive. You have some skill, I’ll give you that!”

Delight spread across Stovell’s face, although it could not quite conceal his surprise. Nonetheless, he pressed the attack, giving Hiro no room to breathe. Countless sparks showered down around them. One strike, two strikes, three—time stretched on as they exchanged a seemingly endless series of blows.

“Not yet...” Stovell roared. “Not yet! I will surpass you! I shall cut you down and rise to greater heights!”

His elation spurred him on. His rage swelled his muscles. His might became a bottomless well of strength. Symbols flared into life all over his body like castigating brands. Growth became evolution became ascendance. Through battle with his nemesis, his body strove to perfect itself for combat.

Hiro scowled. For the first time, his keen composure seemed to waver. He leaned away from Mjölnir’s wild swings, deflected the blades of wind seeking to flay his skin, cut down a lightning bolt aimed at his feet with a dismissive slash. He kicked off against empty air and leaped backward.

“Does your heart not dance, Fourth Prince?” Stovell growled. “Only in mortal combat do our souls transcend.”

His piercing glare bored into Hiro. His shoulders shook with mirth. An arrogant grin spread impossibly wide across a face grown so demonic, it seemed unthinkable that he had ever been human.

“But in the end, it will be I who climbs to heaven...atop the corpses of all who would stand in my way.”

“Even if you could, I wouldn’t let you.” Hiro gave a helpless shrug and sighed. “Only one person can stand in heaven, and it won’t be you.”

Stovell’s eyes narrowed. “What?”

Hiro’s lips curved into a crescent smile. The light in his void-black eyes was nothing so half-hearted as bloodlust. He fixed Stovell with a chilling gaze born of unbridled murder.

“The heavens are mine to devour.”

His irises swirled with darkness. Animosity emanated from him, sharp as a blade.

“I will give them up when the sun rises again...and not a day before.”

He raised Dáinsleif and held it perfectly flat, its tip leveled at Stovell.

“All lives are beckoned likewise to nothingness.”

And he unleashed Schwartzwald—Deathly Stillness.

No change came upon the chamber. The pressure in the air merely intensified. The black-haired boy stood before Stovell just as he had before, his nonchalant stance unchanged. A wide distance remained between them—and so Stovell let his guard down.

“Ngh—?!”

Blood exploded from his chest. He sank to one knee, watching dumbly as it traced a crimson arc through the air. His face was a picture of incomprehension. A moment passed in silence, and then he exploded with anger.

“What did you do?!”

His roar shook the air. His wound wasn’t healing. Like Liz’s touch earlier, the strike had done something to him. Blood dripped onto the flagstones beneath him in an ever-widening pool.

Fury overpowered pain. He rose to his feet, his features twisted in a vicious snarl.

“Raaaaaagh!”

He charged furiously at Hiro, roaring like a beast. Lightning ran amok. Razor winds scored the stone in all directions. Mana poured forth from him in a display of overpowering might.

Hiro quietly closed his eyes, half-hidden in the darkness, and waited. His face bore nothing that could be called emotion. There was no fear, no anger, not even pride—only emptiness. Sweat beaded on his brow.

“You still haven’t learned to control your power. Without reason, you’re no better than a beast.” He laid a hand against Dáinsleif’s blade and lowered his center of gravity, sinking into an iai stance. “So I’d better kill you here. Or else you might cause me trouble down the road.”

As the sentence passed his lips—

Cling. The peal of bells rang through the chamber. For just a moment, the sound drew Hiro’s attention. When he looked back, Stovell was gone.

“Dáinsleif, cursed most foully.”

Cling. The bells chimed again, louder this time. The darkness around Hiro dissolved, blown away like confetti on the wind.

“Dáinsleif, blade of tragedy.”

Cling. The bell’s third note seized Hiro and bound him tight. Invisible chains gripped him like a vise.

“Who’s there?” He marshaled his strength and broke through his bonds, sweeping the room with an angry gaze.

“Don’t you remember me? And here I went to all that trouble to introduce myself. It is I, Nameless. An álf, as you might recall.” The figure placed two fingers on either side of their hood like mock ears. “I have come in the hope that you might be amenable to...negotiation.”

“I’m not interested in bargaining. Stovell dies, here and now.”

Hiro leaped forward, closing the distance to Nameless in a single bound. His blade bit into the figure’s cloak—but where blood should have sprayed, his target only shimmered like a mirage, and all at once they were gone.

“My, my. You are terribly aggressive today. Or perhaps I should say, you’ve finally shown your true self?”

A mocking voice issued from behind Hiro’s back. He spun around to see Nameless seated on the throne. Stovell lay at the figure’s feet.

Nameless laid an arm on the armrest and raised two fingers. “I have two pieces of information to offer, my lord, both of interest to you. Will that be enough to buy your mercy?”

Hiro planted a hand on his hip and sighed. When he looked back up, it was with a smirk. “All right. Let’s hear them.”

It wouldn’t hurt to accept the offer. If worst came to worst, he could kill both Nameless and Stovell after hearing what the former had to say.

The álf’s lips pulled into a grin. “Then first, this: I maintain a mutually beneficial relationship with the assassins of Orcus, so I happen to know that they seek the revival of their Father. Lord Stovell’s present condition is part of their design. They are quite remarkable, you know. They are both everywhere and nowhere, and one might as well try to catch hold of smoke.” A titter. “And the second morsel: my countrymen in Six Kingdoms intend to launch a full-scale invasion of the empire in the coming days. Lord Stovell has sold his nation out, I fear. Children cannot choose their parents, they say, but nor can parents choose their children...a truth I know only too well.”

Nameless spread both arms wide, as though inviting Hiro’s appraisal.

“Is that all?” Hiro asked.

“Oh, yes, quite all. I have said everything I came to say.”

Then the álf was no more use. Hiro moved forward to strike.

“Is that wise, my lord? Think of what you will do to the first emperor’s throne.”

Hiro’s hand froze mid-swing.

Nameless unleashed a laugh to see him relent so easily. “But you couldn’t, could you? The throne has stood vigil over this chamber for one thousand years and borne nary a scratch.” The álf’s fingers caressed the armrest lasciviously. “What it is made of, I could not hope to guess, but I know that you could never destroy it.”

With a graceful motion, Nameless leaned over and picked Stovell up by the scruff of the neck. “Allow me to offer you a warning, my lord, in view of the compassion you have shown. One’s true foes conceal themselves. They lurk in the dark and wait for their prey to grow weak. Is it not said that the real villain only reveals themselves in the final act?”

“I think people usually say that the hero only arrives at the eleventh hour.”

“Do they? Well, I suppose it makes little difference.”

“Are you trying to say that someone out there orchestrated all this? Everything that’s happened?”

“Who can say? But I wager you will understand soon enough.” Nameless struck a metal staff against the floor, and the world shivered once more with the sound of bells. “Let us meet again. After the empire has fallen, perhaps.”

Space swirled, swallowing the darkness. A large rift opened in the throne room.

Nameless giggled. “Well, then. Farewell for now...my Black-Winged Lord.”

With one last cryptic remark, both the álf and Stovell vanished. Silence fell once more, leaving only sorrow laced with solitude—and the footsteps rushing down the outside corridor soon shattered even that.

“Look for survivors! And keep your guard up! There’s no telling what might be lurking!”

Garda’s voice resounded from somewhere in the corridor. Soldiers began filing in through the doors. All at once, the throne room was filled with noise.

“Your Ladyship? Scáthach?! Guards! These two need healing!”

As Hiro stood in silence, a silver-haired girl approached him.

“Are you hurt?”

Aura peered into his face, concern in her eyes, but he could not hear her. One name swirled within his mind, occluding all else.

The Black-Winged Lord.

A name that had once brought terror to Aletia.