Shinwa Densetsu no Eiyuu no Isekaitan - Volume 7 - Chapter 2

Chapter 2: Holding Fast to Hope, Sinking into Sorrow

The world was awash with blood. Screams echoed through a waking nightmare painted crimson as far as the eye could see. A rain of arrows fell without mercy, wreaking cruel slaughter on the men below. Yet there was no sense in feeling pity. This was a battlefield, where monsters lurked and demons stalked. Kill or be killed—that was the rule. All that stood between its participants and calamity was the strength of their own arms. This was no place for the weak of heart; each and every one knew that a moment of sympathy would make them corpses, and Liz was no exception.

“What is this place?”

Agony exploded through her skull like a hammer blow. She grunted and staggered. As she fell to her knees, she noticed something strange. Rain poured down all around, but it made no sound and produced no splashes as it struck the mud. As her suspicions grew, her eyes strayed to Lævateinn at her hip. The crimson sword was wreathed in azure fire.

“Did you do this? Have you brought me back again?”

At last, her mind began to comprehend. Lævateinn remained stubbornly silent to her questions, but its blue flames flared brighter, as though imploring her to engrave the ghastly scene into her mind.

“Wha—” She started and looked up as something caught her eye. “Ah...”

There stood a boy—a boy she knew. His face was tilted toward the pitch-black sky, bathing in the pouring rain as though offering confession. Something squeezed painfully in Liz’s chest. It seemed for all the world as though he was trying to hide his tears.

“Hiro...”

The boy seemed to hear her voice. He looked down from the sky and turned his gaze toward her. The moment she saw his black eyes, cold fear lanced up her spine. There was nothing there—nothing at all. No perception, no identity, no emotion whatsoever. Only nothingness.

“Ah...”

Hiro stepped closer. As Liz watched, dumbfounded, he drew a black blade from his belt.

“So you still live.”

“What?”

Surprise flooded her mind for a moment, and then the blade swung down. She instinctively squeezed her eyes shut. However, no pain came. Before she could even process what had happened, a grunt issued from behind her. Gingerly opening her eyes again, she turned to see a lilac-skinned man sprawled on the ground, the black blade protruding from his cloven skull.

“Lord Schwartz! Lord Schwartz!”

A man came running, shouting as though fighting to be heard over the hiss of the downpour. He sank to one knee and bowed his head as Hiro turned.

“The enemy has raised the white flag. We believe they mean to surrender.”

“And?” Hiro’s voice was as cold as a block of ice forced down Liz’s throat.

“There is no meaning in any further battle, my lord. If the enemy desires peace...surely we must...send an emissary...” The man’s voice quavered as he spoke. He kept his head bowed, as though he feared what would come next.

His fears proved unfounded, however. Hiro’s reply was devoid of unpleasant surprises. “Very well. I accept their surrender.”

The soldier’s face lit up like a clearing sky, but it clouded over again just as quickly. He blanched at the sight of Hiro’s emotionless face peering down at him, framed against the rain.

“Still, it’s a terrible shame.”

“My lord?” the soldier asked with trepidation.

Hiro swept around and began to walk in the opposite direction. “It’s hard to see any distance at all in this downpour.”

“My lord...what are you suggesting?”

Hiro came to a stop again after a few paces. A row of prisoners knelt before him, bound with chains.

Zlosta?

Liz thought so, at least. Their faces were obscured by the rain, but from their brawny physique and lilac skin, it was easy to guess.

“We never saw any white flags. And by the time we realized our mistake, it was all too late.”

Liz gulped. She might well have forgotten how to breathe, so shocking was what happened next.

“That’s how it played out, don’t you agree?” Hiro turned his attention to the prisoners, his voice soft. The blade in his hand flashed, and one of their heads toppled from their shoulders with horrifying ease. The gory lump smacked into the mud and rolled toward Liz.

“Eek!” Liz flinched back. She had seen her share of corpses—she was no stranger to the battlefield—but the severed head was beyond anything she had experienced. Its face was twisted in agony, the eye sockets were two empty hollows, and there was a hole in the forehead where a manastone had been gouged out. The beheaded body was crisscrossed with scars, clear evidence of torture. What kind of fury could have fueled so much cruelty? She clapped her hands to her mouth, seized by the urge to vomit.

“If you want to live, tell me where he is.” Hiro’s face remained devoid of emotion. With callous strokes, he set about lopping off more heads. “Tell me, please. I beg you.”

How many tears must he have cried? How many times must his heart have broken? How many failures must he have endured to smile so desperately as tears trickled down his face?

“Hiro! Stop this!”

Liz reached out toward him, but it was no use. Even if she somehow caught hold of this phantom, she could not grasp Hiro’s heart.

“Ah... Aaahhh...!” A wordless cry forced its way from her throat.

“It wasn’t easy at first. I lay awake for nights on end, trying to deny the reality that I had taken a life.” Tears mixed with blood as he wiped the red spatters from his cheek, smiling awfully all the while. “But in time, I realized that there’s no good and evil on the battlefield, no matter what pretty words you string together to pretend otherwise.”

He radiated no anger, no intent to kill. But his sword fell again and again without a shred of mercy.

“It’s hard not to understand, once you lose someone you care about. And once you do, you shed all your reservations.”

Liz didn’t want to look, didn’t want to see him like this. But although she tried to close her eyes, the scene lingered; although she tried to block her ears, the grisly sounds never ceased. A wail slipped from her lips, but she had no way of stopping him. There was no changing the past. It was already written.

“So I abandoned my ideas of justice.”

Her heart swelled to bursting with sorrow. Explosions wracked her chest, threatening to split it apart. Brain-crushing sorrow and unbearable hatred pressed down on her like a giant hand...and all at once, the scene shifted.

“War breeds both beauty and ugliness.”

The sky shattered like glass, fragmenting into glittering snowflakes. A pulse sped across the ground as the earth bucked and broke apart. People, flora, fauna—the swell reduced all life to dust. The world fell away, and what was left was whiteness, an empty space suffused with blinding light.

Liz said nothing. She only looked steadily ahead with red-rimmed eyes.

“What do you feel, child, now that you have seen its ugliness? What emotions does it stir?”

There was no need to look for the source of the voice. It was right before her, its presence immense. The figure sat upon a chair lavishly decorated with gold and silver, a singular throne covered with treasures from all corners of the world. Strangely, she could not tell who it was. Despite the light, his face was covered by shadow.

“Tell me your answer, child.”

The voice hung oddly in the air, rich with both the depth of the onset of old age and the vigor of an adult in his prime. His slender frame radiated both the gallantry of a proven youth and the green freshness of a plucky young boy. Liz knew at a glance that this was no ordinary man.

“Were you disillusioned? Did you despair? Were you filled with righteous fury?”

A blush of wonderment came to her face at the sight. Although her brain was still struggling to catch up, somehow, her mouth knew what to say.

“I felt...sad.”

She touched her fingers to her lips, startled by how easily the words had come, but before she could regain her composure, the figure asked another question.

“And why is that?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know, but...I wanted to help somehow.”

The figure chuckled, long and low. “I see. To help, indeed. A curious answer.”

“Hiro... He looked like he was in so much pain...” Liz’s lips pressed together bitterly. “But I couldn’t do anything for him. I couldn’t...”

A mask of dreadful grief had lain on Hiro’s face, which he had struggled to maintain lest tears seep through. Yet she had failed to offer him any words of kindness, any small comfort. There was no telling what feelings lay behind his choice, but she knew that it was not the answer he had truly hoped to give.

“Such is the instinct of all living beings. The fear of loss results in overcompensation. The fear of regret leads one to measures they would otherwise disavow. One’s reason might protest, but it cannot resist the urgings of primal dread.” The figure’s tone was matter-of-fact, but his sigh seemed regretful. “Human beings are covetous creatures. They chase grand ideals only to despair when they fall short, and the further they fall, the harsher the landing. Hence, they turn to one another for support, for with no shoulder to lean on, they would soon topple beneath their own weight.”

How much torment would one have to endure at the hands of solitude, Liz wondered, to end up like that?

“I was powerless. To bring him salvation, to bring him succor, I could do naught but pile more weight upon his shoulders.” The figure raised a finger. “But one hope yet remains.”

“What hope?”

“It was not chance that brought you here, child.” The figure lifted his finger to the sky. “It was fate.”

Liz looked up to see an enormous gate floating in the air above her head. It was oddly lacking in grandeur for its size, covered in intricate patterns but otherwise unadorned. In a word, it was plain, a circular wooden portal without decoration or embellishment. Yet its distinctive air was as arresting as the greatest beauties of the natural world.

“The Time of Turning is coming. You must prepare.”

“The Time of Turning?” Liz sounded out the weight of the words in her mouth and felt her tongue go dry. At once, the figure fixed her with a piercing gaze, and she stiffened.

“If you would seek your own justice, if you would hold high your own ideals, nurture a strong heart.”

With her current knowledge, Liz could make no sense of the words...but then, perhaps there was no need to try. She got the impression that the man did not expect her to understand.

“All I have left undone, I leave to you.”

And the sky screamed.

“Wha—”

Liz looked up in shock. The door was falling, its mouth yawning wide. It plummeted toward her, streaming motes of some kind of dust, roaring as it came. She reflexively shut her eyes and crossed her arms over her head. A gust of wind sent her hair whipping wildly as it blew down over her, but that was all. No matter how long she waited, no impact came.

She uncrossed her arms and tentatively opened her eyes.

“Are you all right?” asked a voice.

There was no door before her, but a human face. She issued a bemused squeak. It was someone she knew. Working automatically, her memories connected the features with a name.

“Scáthach.”

“In the flesh. Forgive me if I startled you.” The bed creaked beneath the woman’s weight as she drew away apologetically.

Liz shook her head as she propped herself upright. “And Aura too...”

Over Scáthach’s shoulder was a petite, silver-haired girl. She was seated in a chair by the wall, the book she had been reading still wide open in front of her.

Liz heaved a sigh, more out of regret than relief. She still had a mountain of questions she had wanted to ask the man in her dream.

Seeing her deflate, Scáthach frowned. “You were moaning in your sleep. A bad dream, perhaps?”

“No. Just a sad one.”

That, Liz could say for certain. Even now, thinking back to it made her chest ache so fiercely it might burst. She wrapped her arms around herself.

At that moment, the doorknob rattled. The trio spun around to face the entrance, eyes sharp and faces taut with alarm. A few seconds passed and the door swung open, letting in a chill breeze from the corridor beyond.

“Rosa?”

The woman nodded. “I have returned just in time, I see.”

Something was clearly weighing on her mind. She seemed subdued, her usual confidence nowhere to be seen. Her hair had lost its luster and her skin its rosiness. The other three regarded her transformation with surprise.

“Rosa?” Liz repeated. “What’s wrong?”

“Forgive me!” Rosa exclaimed. No sooner had the words left her mouth then she fell to her knees and bowed her head.

“What are you saying? I don’t understand!”

Liz tried to hurry to her sister’s side, but rising so quickly caused her to lose her balance and she started to topple. Only the timely extension of Scáthach’s hand saved her from falling.

“You must not move so suddenly,” Scáthach warned. “You have only just awoken.”

“Thank you,” Liz said shakily. She stepped closer to Rosa, but her sister made no move to raise her head. “I can’t hear you if you’re talking to the floor. Could you tell me what happened?”

“Ah... Yes, of course.”

Rosa smoothed herself down and launched into an explanation. Bitterly, she described how the head of House Muzuk had outplayed her at the war council, how her own lack of foresight had let him take control of the assembly, and how, as a result, she would no longer be able to accompany Liz to war.

“He was more ruthless than I expected. I have only my own ineptitude to blame, of course, but...curses. Regret is a bitter draught. To be made a fool of in this hour of crisis...” She pounded her fist against the floor. “It’s humiliating.”

A silver goblet appeared before her eyes. “Here. Drink this. It’ll calm you down.”

“Of course. Thank you.” Rosa took the cup from Aura and drained it in one before licking the remaining drops of water from her lips. “I realize that I am the last person who ought to be giving this advice, Liz, but still, be wary of him.”

“I cannot imagine you intend to take this lying down,” Scáthach remarked.

Rosa nodded. “Of course not. I have already come up with several plans. While he is away at war, I will build my strength. He will live to regret trying to make me his pawn.”

“Now that’s more like the sister I know,” Liz said. “Although I still think you need to get some rest.”

Hiro’s death was clearly weighing as heavily on Rosa’s mind as Liz’s own. It was plain to see in the exhaustion lining her face and the swollen eyelids she had tried to conceal with makeup. Liz understood her pain only too well.

“Come on,” she said, extending her sister a caring hand. “Let’s get you some sleep. As rich as that probably sounds coming from me.” She smiled to accompany the attempted joke.

Rosa’s eyes widened for a second. A long moment passed. At last, with an exhausted sigh, she took her sister’s hand. “Out of the woods for now, at least,” she murmured as she allowed herself to be pulled to her feet. “You march in two days.”

“All right.” Liz nodded.

Rosa raised a hand to brush her sister’s hair. “Queen Claudia’s letter will arrive tomorrow. Our final plans will hinge on its contents. Until then, you should get some rest...as will I.”

With that, she flung herself onto the bed that Liz had just vacated. Soon, she was fast asleep. Liz and Scáthach glanced at one another and exchanged strained smiles.

“I can’t slack off either.” Gazing fondly back at her sister, Liz took a deep breath, as though resetting herself. She and Rosa were not the only ones suffering. Aura and Scáthach bore the same pain, and yet they both strove to maintain a calm exterior and do what they could. Letting her own grief get in the way would only squander their efforts. It was not as though they had seen Hiro’s body.

It’s not certain. For all I know, he might be safe and well somewhere.

She chose to believe that he was still alive. The thought of him still brought tears to her eyes, but weeping and wailing would do no one any good.

I can’t let everything he left me go to waste.

She clenched her fist tightly and resolved, for the time being, to face forward.

“Don’t push yourself too hard.” Scáthach’s hand clapped down on her shoulder.

“It’s fine. I’ll be fine.” Liz nodded, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. Seeing was believing. She would not give the rumors any credit until she could confirm them for herself.

＊＊＊＊＊

The wild winds had subsided, and a tranquil lull hung in the air. The black specks of soldiers’ tents dotted a sunset landscape. Cookfire smoke carpeted the evening sky. After the previous day, it was strikingly quiet. The land was so still, no one would have believed it was occupied by more than a hundred thousand soldiers. The atmosphere within the city walls was similar; the merchants’ cries lacked energy, and the people walking the streets seemed listless and leaden-footed. A melancholy had descended upon the imperial capital of Cladius.

As the palace of Venezyne looked down over the city, bathed in the comforting hues of sunset, a war council was taking place in the throne room’s antechamber. Liz, Rosa, and their allies were in attendance. The land’s richest and most powerful nobles filled the rest of the seats, and they made no secret of their ambitions to ingratiate themselves to whoever would ascend the throne. Now that Hiro was gone, they had fixed their eyes on Liz, pledging their forces to the cause in hopes of winning her favor. With the central nobles fallen from grace and the western nobles in decline, the war was no longer about expelling Six Kingdoms from the empire—it was about staking a claim to the land the enemy would vacate. The greater a house’s contribution to the war effort, the more lavishly they could expect to be rewarded.

Profit was a powerful motivator. Without it, the nation would stagnate, the nobles would revolt, and the people would refuse to work. The more a position contradicted someone’s interests, the more scheming was required to win their support. Conversely, the more a position aligned with their interests, the less one would have to rely on trickery. Anything past that point, however, hinged on individual caliber.

She’ll need to cultivate the qualities of a ruler, but that’s a problem for another day. Right now, she has a war to win.

Rosa sighed. Liz had a great many ordeals in her future. Sooner or later, she would have to come face-to-face with the ugly side of politics—such was the path of all who aspired to the throne.

“Countess von Kelheit.” Chancellor Graeci’s voice pulled her back to reality. “Has Queen Claudia’s letter arrived?”

Rosa nodded. “Unfortunately, it seems that she has been unable to ascertain what has become of Lord Hiro.”

She produced a small piece of parchment and read its contents aloud. A number of nobles frowned as she concluded. They were the ones who had never given Hiro their support, and the ambiguity of his status left them in an uncomfortable position. No doubt they would have much preferred to hear definitively that he had died in the field.

Hiro’s existence was unwelcome to those who venerated the Grantzian royal family. In accordance with the first emperor’s will, Emperor Greiheit had acknowledged his status and furnished him with a title, but that did not change the fact that he was a stranger of uncertain origin. More than a few nobles balked at the idea of seating someone like that on the throne, seeing it as a threat to the divinity of the von Grantz bloodline. But they could not criticize him publicly—not when he was acknowledged as Mars’s descendant and backed by the powerful House Kelheit.

“Then his and Third Prince Brutahl’s fates remain unknown,” Chancellor Graeci said. “Six Kingdoms claims to have the bodies. We may revisit this matter after we begin negotiations for their return.”

Rosa nodded in agreement. There was no objection among the rest of the nobles.

“And what does she say about Six Kingdoms?”

A new voice interrupted, attempting to seize control of the conversation. It was Beto von Muzuk. Rosa’s hackles rose, sensing another plot at work.

“Some manner of discord appears to have arisen between the commander and vice-commander.”

“Anything else?”

Rosa gave a dismissive shrug. “Nothing of note.”

Beto made no attempt to conceal his disappointment. “Then it was hardly worth delaying our departure.”

“Do you think so?” Liz had been watching the conversation thoughtfully, but at that, she interjected. “If we start ignoring intelligence, we’ll end up losing battles we could win.”

Beto’s face stiffened as he came under attack from an unexpected quarter.

Liz’s eyes narrowed as sharply as bare steel. “There’s a rift between the commander and the vice-commander. That’s valuable information. If it’s part of some plan, we’ll have to work out what that plan is and counter it. If it’s the truth, the enemy army is on the point of splitting in two, and we’ll have to act fast to stop them from regrouping.”

She spoke her mind clearly and without hesitation. The nobles watched, wide-eyed, taken aback by her confidence.

“Let’s send out scouts to monitor their army. If we’re lucky, we might be able to guide them into doing what we want. Besides, any information we can gather will be useful for taking back the west.”

The chilly air flowing through the room took on a new heat. An authority settled over the nobles, flexible and yielding, yet powerful all the same. Something was changing, and everyone could sense it.

Beto raised a hand. A malevolent light glinted in his eyes as he fixed Liz with a searching gaze. “More likely, we have wasted a precious day. The sooner we liberate the west, the sooner the people will be free of their suffering. Do you disagree, Your Highness?”

“Rushing our troops to produce results won’t do anybody any good. If we plunge blindly into battle, we’ll bring worse tragedies to the west. Only certain victory will set the people free. There aren’t any shortcuts.”

Both had a point, but Liz had the audience’s hearts. A brief smile spread across Beto’s face before vanishing from view. As to what amused him so, the uncanny aura he exuded made his true intentions impossible to discern.

Still, Liz won that bout. She’s grown.

She must have been watching Hiro closely. Her rhetorical style was very much like his. She saw the situation clearly and articulated herself plainly while denying her opponent any opening to object. Beto, meanwhile, had resorted to emotive arguments that came across as lacking in substance. He had likely hoped to lure Liz into supporting his position, but he had been too circumspect about baiting her and suffered for it. Surely he had no intention of dragging the war out any more than she did, but being argued down had made him look like the fool. Trying to protest now would only lose him the support of other nobles in the future. His only option was to fall silent.

“Then our plans will proceed unchanged.” Graeci’s voice took command of the chamber once more. “We will march west along the agreed-upon route. Are we all in accord?”

Liz nodded.

“Good. We depart tomorrow morning. Those with positions of command, please attend to your posts before the day is through.”

With that, the council came to an end. As various nobles hurried from the room, Rosa approached Liz’s chair.

“Garda departs today. I had intended to say goodbye, if you would like to join me.”

“Oh, of course! I need to say goodbye to Huginn and Muninn too.”

As Liz rose from her chair, a nobleman approached apologetically. “Might I have a moment of your time, Your Highness?”

He was only the first. Before long, a crowd had her surrounded.

“Me as well, Your Highness!” another man cried. “I was hoping to discuss some points of our strategy.”

“What? Huh?” Liz looked around in confusion. The nobles encroached upon her, asking to consult her thoughts on troop movements and various other excuses to get close to her. She looked from them to Rosa, back to them, and finally back to Rosa, pleading with upturned eyes.

“You can send a letter later. I will give Huginn your best wishes.” Rosa flashed a strained smile and gave Liz several encouraging pats on the shoulder. Turning down the nobles’ offers would only sow needless resentment.

“All right. Please do.”

With a defeated nod, Liz turned back to the crowd. As she surrendered herself to their clamor, Rosa left the chamber, bound for House Kelheit’s mansion where Garda and his troops awaited.

Their departure will be quite the blow to our forces.

They had received word of Hiro’s passing, but that was not the only reason they were leaving the empire. Hiro’s final letter to Garda had spurred their departure. Rosa had no idea what the letter contained. She wished that she had read the contents, but she also knew that Hiro had entrusted her with it because he knew that she would not.

You know how to use people like no other.

Scowling internally, Rosa exited the corridor and passed through the heavily guarded front doors.

＊＊＊＊＊

Rosa returned to House Kelheit’s mansion to find Garda and his subordinates at the door, ready to depart. The zlosta was at their head, clad in fluted plate armor to hide his lilac skin. A man—a traveling merchant, perhaps, going by his dress—was kneeling before him, handing over a letter. Something about the scene struck her as odd, and she tilted her head as she approached.

Garda and his subordinates bowed as they heard her coming. The merchant took off, running past her and out of sight. She shot him a curious glance as he fled before turning back to Garda. As usual, the zlosta’s expression was inscrutable behind his helm, but Huginn and Muninn’s faces were downcast, their gloom on full display.

“Leaving so soon?” Rosa asked.

Garda raised his head to the sky. “We’ve no more reason to stay.”

“I see. A pity.”

On that count, Rosa had to concede. Their feelings would not change, and she could think of nothing to offer that might convince them to remain. There was one thing she wanted to know before they departed, however: the contents of Hiro’s letter.

“Was that a spy? That man in peddler’s clothing?” Her voice was probing, hoping to glean what she could from Garda’s answer.

“No. Merely one of the merchants we shall be guarding. The Crow Legion were sellswords once. So we shall be again, now that we are free.”

So they were returning to mercenary work, and the first job they had taken on was guarding a merchant caravan. A credible enough story, but not quite enough to shake Rosa’s doubts.

“Have you decided where you’re bound?”

“East, my lady. A small nation on the eastern shore.”

“Baum?”

“The very same. Founded by the One-Eyed Dragon’s forefather himself.”

So they were heading for Baum. Perhaps that was merely coincidence, but it felt strangely like something Hiro would have commanded.

Rosa hesitated to ask her next question, but if she allowed Garda to get away with an evasive answer, all would be for nothing. Something simple and straightforward would be the best way to gauge his reaction, not to mention the most effective way to knock him off-balance if he did indeed have something to hide.

With a deep breath, she cut straight to the point. “Was that by his order?” she asked, straining every nerve to scrutinize his reply.

Garda gave a small shrug. He looked her straight in the eyes, seeking perhaps to conceal some flicker of emotion. “Who can say? But times are changing. That much is certain.”

Some sort of mental turmoil lurked beneath his words, that much Rosa could detect, but they held so many possible meanings that it was impossible to identify. Did it pertain to Hiro’s death, the state of the empire, or even Six Kingdoms? Perhaps another question would help her narrow down the possibilities.

“True enough, and not only for the empire. Does that go for Baum as well?”

Garda didn’t answer. He drew his horse close by the reins and swung himself up into the saddle. Abruptly, he spoke again. “‘By the black dragon’s roar is the world’s fabric warped, and by the lion’s roar is order restored.’”

The quotation was the final line of both the White and Black Chronicles. Prevailing opinion among historians was that the first half referred to the Hero King freeing the people of Soleil from zlosta oppression, while the second half described the Lionheart guiding humankind to peace and prosperity. Put together, the complete stanza brought their story to a close.

“Give my regards to Lady Celia Estrella.” With an ominous grin, Garda turned his horse about. “I eagerly await our next meeting.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Rosa raised her voice after him, confused. Was he suggesting that he expected to return to Liz’s camp someday? Or perhaps he meant something else entirely...

The zlosta waved back over his shoulder, but otherwise gave no reply. The clatter of hoofsteps grew thinner between them, and Rosa could only watch in stunned silence as he and his company rode away.

＊＊＊＊＊

The ninth day of the third month of Imperial Year 1024

Beyrouth, in the northwest of the western territories

After withdrawing its forces from the Laryx Plains, where it had fought Fourth Prince Hiro, Six Kingdoms reestablished a front line in Beyrouth, where the Grantzian Empire met Faerzen. The reason was simple: it had suffered unexpected losses. While morale was high after slaying the War God’s scion, a great many officers had perished in the battle.

“What to do, what to do?”

Lucia tapped her iron fan against the surface of the desk, a report of the damage in her hand. Her army of two hundred thousand had been reduced to around one hundred and sixty thousand. She leafed to a second sheet of paper reporting that the empire had marshaled its defenses. One hundred and thirty thousand; less than she had feared, but a formidable number nonetheless. If they could manage that in two scant months, they presumably had a great deal of strength left in reserve. Six Kingdoms’ long-term position was weakening.

“’Twould be prudent to withdraw to Faerzen.”

As entertaining as it would be to remain in the western territories and wreak havoc on the imperial economy, growing too fixated on retaining their current gains would lead to defeat. On top of that, Lucia’s interest in the empire had faded. “We must call Faerzen a victory and be content with that.” She let out a tired sigh as she massaged the wrinkles between her eyebrows. “Our own safety comes above all. The next battle shall be fought on a different stage.”

Everything had started to fall apart with the Lord of Eld’s escape.

“Punishment, perhaps. For indulging my desires like some foolish maiden. A queen has responsibilities. I ought to have remembered that.”

She leaned back in her chair and gazed up at the roof of her tent, reliving the moment. The blade had fallen toward the black-haired boy’s neck—and everything had come undone.

The soldiers watched with bated breath, waiting for the moment that would carve their names into history. The desperate cries of enemy resistance had long fallen silent. All that remained was to slay a living legend. Yet the battlefield was unforgiving of complacency, even when victory seemed certain. Buoyed up by uncharacteristic excitement, Lucia let herself forget this most basic and vital of truths.

First came the whinnying of horses, then the drumming of hooves. By the time she noticed the disturbance, a large cloud of dust had shrouded the field before her eyes. The air seemed to creak under some great strain, which distracted her for a fatal moment from noticing that something was wrong with Luka.

“Agh... Gyaaah!”

Luka fell to the ground, rolling around in agony. Even in her throes, she clutched her sword and glared hatefully at the Lord of Eld, but in vain. Her blade did not have the strength to bite. Her entire left side had been frozen solid.

A female voice giggled. “Dear me. You seem to have been caught unawares.”

Lucia’s instincts flared in response to danger. She spun around, lashing out to the left with her fan, but an impact knocked the blow upward, forcing a grunt from her lungs.

As grit and dirt obscured the surroundings, one of the Vulpes riders leaped down from their horse and cast aside their helmet. A shake of their head sent amethyst locks tumbling skyward, and a woman’s face came into view. Outwardly she looked pure and dignified, but her composed exterior was betrayed by the bewitching aroma lurking beneath. Her beauty was cold to the point of sharpness, and no less striking to a woman’s eyes as to a man’s.

“Unfortunately, this man’s death would inconvenience me greatly.” She flashed a dainty smile as she stepped in front of the bloodstained Lord of Eld. “So if you wish to have him, you shall have to go through me.”

With that, she picked him up with ease in her slender arms and tossed him onto the back of an approaching horse.

For a moment, Lucia was stunned, but she soon sprang to action. “Halt!” she commanded, spreading her fan wide. As she made to pursue, however, a wall of ice sprang up to block her path. An ominous premonition seized her as she drew close, and she stopped dead. Cold mist assailed her, coiling around her limbs.

“What—?!”

A swing of her fan split the mist in two like a waterfall, but a chill wind blew through, freezing the ground where she stood.

“Surprised?” The amethyst-haired woman’s lips pulled back in delight as she ran her fingers down a sword translucent as crystal. “Behold, the fiendblade Hauteclaire.”

Lucia knew at a glance that the sword was no normal weapon. It emanated a baleful might strong enough to warp the air around it. Mana poured from the blade in fearsome quantities. Its power was so vast and so dense, it could swallow her mind whole. Every hair on her body stood on end.

“How vexing.” She clicked her tongue in annoyance. The horse bearing the Lord of Eld was close to escaping the dust cloud, but if she diverted her attention from the woman with amethyst hair, her death would be swift and sure.

“Now who, pray tell, are you?”

This was no ordinary woman. That much was clear from the searing mana she radiated. But how had somebody without one of the Noble Blades come to wield such formidable power?

“I am Claudia van Lebering, the queen of the Kingdom of Lebering.”

“Ah, the royal line. Zlosta blood, close to pure... And from the hue of your skin...you are an auf, are you not?”

Claudia stifled an amused giggle with the back of her hand. “You are well read, I see.”

Lucia’s eyes took on a steely focus. “A bearer of King Lox’s blood... You have come far from the frozen fringes of the north.”

So she did not only possess a zlosta’s formidable constitution; she was an auf, and a descendant of a member of the Black Hand besides. With all that, perhaps she could indeed stand on par with the Noble Blades. Certainly, her mana reserves were great enough. Yet one question remained.

“What twisted mana is this?” Lucia’s brow creased. “’Tis as though many were contained within one.”

“That is the power of my forefather’s relic restored to its full glory. The power of Devouring.”

Lucia dimly recalled the term from her own forefather’s writings. Unfortunately, a great many historical records had been destroyed in the third emperor’s great purge and the memoirs she had read went into little detail, so she had never marked it as worthy of special note.

“The Kinslaying Blade. ’Tis a wonder such an ancient relic has survived at all.”

“Many texts were lost in the great purge...or perhaps it would be more apt to say that they were intentionally hidden? In any case, now you know how it survived undetected. Who would suspect that it was hiding in plain sight?”

What writings existed described a cursed blade that slew zlosta by the score, its power swelling as it gorged itself upon their manastones. How potent that ability might be, Lucia could not say, but if she could sense the enormity of the sword’s mana so clearly just by standing in its presence, it had to be a dangerous instrument indeed. Still, she was not so weak-willed as to fall back.

“I fear I have no time to play with you. I must pursue the Lord of Eld.”

There was still time. The soldiers who had snatched him away might have disguised themselves as Vulpes cavalry, but it would still not be easy for them to make their way through a battlefield teeming with Six Kingdoms troops. If she pacified Claudia quickly and gave chase as fast as her legs would carry her, she could recover him.

Claudia glanced around before returning her gaze to Lucia. “Indeed. Time grows short. I must away.”

For all the nonchalance in her voice, she could not possibly hope to break through over thirty thousand soldiers unscathed. A single order from Lucia would push her to the edge of a sheer precipice. Lucia frowned. There was something odd about the woman’s manner.

Why is she so concerned with what lies around her?

After moving to block Lucia’s path, Claudia had taken no further action. Indeed, she seemed to be avoiding taking the offensive, as though she was being exceedingly cautious about her impact on her surroundings. But why was that foremost on her mind?

“So that is your ploy...”

“My. You realize at last.”

Claudia waved a hand as though stirring the air. A sudden wind began to disperse the dust cloud.

“And you believe you shall get away? Just like that?”

“Had you been quicker to notice, I may not have made good my escape so easily.” Claudia’s lips curled in amusement. At that moment, the timbre of horns blared across the battlefield. Lucia looked around in alarm.

“Now, I have given you time enough. What comes next is for you to decide.” Claudia grasped the reins and sprang into the saddle. A wave of her hand cleared the dust from her path. She glanced back at Lucia. “Of course, if you value your honor, you have no choice at all.”

With a disdainful smirk, she took off across the battlefield. “Hiro Schwartz von Grantz is dead!” she cried as she plunged into the dust. “Victory to Six Kingdoms! Send word across the field! Unfurl the banners! Raise your voices high!”

Her voice receded into the distance, mocking to the last.

Lucia scowled, realizing that she had fallen into the enemy’s trap. She looked around frantically for a corpse, spotted a fallen soldier nearby, and cut off his head. Smacking the gory lump against the blood-soaked ground dyed the hair black enough to pass at a glance. As the dust cloud cleared, she raised it high.

“Hiro Schwartz von Grantz is dead!” she cried.

What humiliation. What disgrace. To have the enemy’s back pressed against the wall, only to be forced to watch them slip away, coerced into doing their own work for them. It was so farcical she could laugh. She had been so confident in her schemes going into the battle, but evidently the Lord of Eld had been planning this from the start. Most likely, she had been dancing to his tune before steel was ever drawn.

She had thought herself clever when she plotted the western and central nobles’ betrayal, and had been delighted when it seemed to proceed as planned. When the Lord of Eld had knelt before her, she’d flattered herself that she had surpassed the War God. Yet all the while, he had been the one pulling the strings.

“What a pitiful showing. I fancied myself far-sighted, but I could hardly see beyond the end of my own nose.”

She had come close—so tantalizingly close—to victory, only to allow a moment’s complacency to snatch it away. This disgrace would be avenged. There would be no mercy for those who denied her. Those who sullied a queen’s dignity could not be suffered to live. Blood trickled from her mouth as she bit her lip in shame, but her anger was far stronger than her pain.

“I shall see you dead for this. I swear it.”

The tent swirled with murderous rage.

“Excuse me.” At that moment, a woman’s voice cut through the stagnant air.

A figure stepped through the tent flap without waiting for Lucia to give permission. Her left arm was gone—indeed, the entire left side of her body was grievously wounded, pitiful to look at. Even as she projected hostility, she looked as fragile as a glass sculpture. There was no trace left of the princess who had once been heralded as a great beauty. Anyone who saw her now would say the same thing: she was unsettling to look upon, her eyes clouded and dead, her skin pale as a vengeful wraith’s and just as chill. She was Luka Mammon du Vulpes, leader of the forces of Vulpes and vice-commander of the Punitive Army.

“Forgive me for being late. I was taking care of Igel.” She didn’t look the least bit contrite. Her eyes contained no emotion at all.

Luka’s younger brother had perished in the battle with the empire, his head lopped off by the fourth prince, but she refused to acknowledge his death. She had taken his remains back to her tent, where she dined with his head, slept with it, and had even been sighted laughing as she conversed with it. The eerie, whispered conversations that issued from her tent night after night were beginning to unnerve the sentries, to the point where Lucia had received multiple requests for a change of post. Igel’s death had caused her mind to unravel, and she now lived her days on the border between reality and fantasy.

“His wounds haven’t healed yet, you see. I must attend to him. If you have business with me, I ask that you make it quick.”

With a wordless sigh, Lucia gestured to the chair with her fan, but Luka refused the invitation to sit, remaining near the entrance. Lucia’s shoulders slumped in defeat, but she continued anyway.

“There is nothing to be gained by staying here. I mean to withdraw to Faerzen.”

Luka strode closer and glared down at her commander wordlessly.

“Does that displease you?” Lucia asked.

Luka gave a slight nod. “Of course. Need I remind you that you allowed the fourth prince to escape? He is surely hiding somewhere nearby. We must flush him out and take his head.”

“We need concern ourselves with him no longer. He is dead, and I, for one, have no more interest in this land.”

“You may tell yourself that if you like. But once the soldiers realize the truth, once our homeland learns of this disgrace, neither of us will be able to escape punishment.”

“True enough, but see how he makes no move to announce his survival. ’Twould seem that being dead is as convenient for him as it is for us.”

As galling as it was to admit, across the boundaries of friend and foe, their interests aligned. Lucia had no choice but to continue playing the fool and pretend she had slain the Lord of Eld.

“I have no intention of falling back. I will stay until I take his head, no matter the cost.”

“A little selfish for the commander of a hundred thousand men to say, don’t you think?”

Retreat was the wiser choice. Open combat would be challenging with the chain of command in disarray. More to the point, they had succeeded in their goal of pacifying the western territories; they ought to be content with that. The Grantzian Empire now faced the task of rebuilding the west—it would need to punish its treacherous nobles, keep its displaced population from running riot, and tackle a great many other problems besides. A wise commander would wait until it was overburdened and then take advantage of its distraction to deal a decisive blow.

“For your late brother’s sake, if nothing else, you ought to—”

“Late? Late?! Igel is not dead!” Luka’s expression twisted demonically. “He is resting in his tent! He is biding his time!”

She wore the face of a hate-bound spirit, a monstrous aspect that a human being would not—could not—ever wear. For a moment, Lucia pitied the War God.

“If you say so. But what of the soldiers you will take to their graves to have your vengeance?”

“Enough. I am their commander. They will do as they are bidden.”

“And what of the throne you so covet?”

“I would gladly give it up to take his head.” Luka bit at her thumb in frustration. Her head abruptly hung. “I will take his life with my own hands, I swear it. He deserves an eternity of torment.” A dark light gleamed in her eyes.

Lucia flicked open her fan and raised it over her mouth.

“Every night...” Luka continued. “Every night, Igel weeps like a child. ‘Save me, sister,’ he says. ‘My neck. It hurts.’ ‘My arm... Where is my arm?’ And tears of blood fall from his eyes as he begs me to avenge him.”

Luka’s breathing grew ragged, like a feral beast. Her eyes bored into Lucia, pleading. A noxious aura arose around her like a miasma as she burned with hatred.

“So I have to help him, don’t I? I’m his sister, after all. Yes, that’s right...once I get my hands on the fourth prince, I’ll chop off his arms, carve open his stomach... Aha ha! And then I’ll take his entrails, wrap them around his neck, and pull them tight until I twist it off!”

She stared wildly into space, muttering to someone who was not there. Her face was devoid of emotion; while her voice had a gleeful tinge, her words rang hollow.

“Yes, that’s it. That’s the way. I’ll kill him...kill him? Kill him, kill him, kill him...”

Her hatred brought forth a curse deep and vast enough to invite despair.

“Kill him kill him kill him kill him kill him kill him kill him kill him kill him kill him...”

The fit came over her without warning. She stared at the ground, stamping her feet feverishly, neck jittering like a broken doll. Abruptly, she jumped as though startled. “Ah... Ah! I’m sorry! Forgive me! Please, don’t—”

She retreated into a corner of the tent, wrapping her arms about herself. Her eyes flew wide in surprise as she looked around fearfully.

“Ah... Lucia. If... If that is all, I must excuse myself. Igel is calling.”

She fled through the tent flap as though trying to escape something unseen. Lucia cast a concerned glance at her retreating figure and closed her eyes.

“How cruelly she has broken. Far more so than I expected.” She expelled a sigh heavy with lament. The corners of her mouth pulled upward. “Now, how best to make use of it?”

＊＊＊＊＊

The aide’s report cut through the clamor of the tent. “General Macrill, the scouts have found the Lebering army’s encampment.”

At the head of the table, Macrill du Pius, general of the Kingdom of Vulpes, heaved himself to his feet. “Good, good. Where are they hiding?”

“At Fort Veritas, sir. A small fortress in the center of the western territories.”

“Quite the distance. Could we dispatch a task force to sack the place?”

“We don’t know their numbers, sir. I believe it would be prudent to wait for more information.”

“I see.” With a sigh, General Macrill settled back down into his chair. “A fine mess. We can’t go home empty-handed or Lady Luka will be bound for the block.”

Of all the kingdoms, Vulpes had suffered particularly heavy losses. Not only had their force of twenty thousand been routed at the town of Severt, the defeated troops’ arms and armor had been appropriated by the enemy and used against the Punitive Army in the battle against Fourth Prince Hiro. The other kingdoms were already sharpening their tongues. If they demanded reparations, Luka would not just be stripped of her honors, she would likely lose her life.

“I cannot let that happen, or I’ll never be able to look Lord Kratos in the eye.”

The king before last, Kratos, had earned the enmity of many, but he had been like a father to General Macrill. Now that he had passed, all that remained of him were his two children, and it broke Macrill’s heart to see what had become of them after being cheated out of their kingdom. At the time, he had been powerless to do anything but stand at watch. Yet they had endured on their own and, in no time at all, surpassed him. When they took charge of the current campaign, hope had swelled in his chest that the throne might be restored to its rightful masters. But that hope was in ruins now—Igel had perished on the field, and the loss had shattered his sister’s mind.

“What a tragic state of affairs. And I presume to call myself a general...”

As Macrill crossed his arms and brooded, an aide approached him. “Vice-Commander Luka is calling for you, sir. She requests your presence in her tent at once.”

Macrill’s mood immediately turned dour. He struggled to look at what Luka had become. Persistent rumors claimed that she slept with her dead brother’s head cradled in her arms, and the soldiers were beginning to complain about a foul stench issuing from the commander’s tent. Still, he could not turn down the invitation. There was no telling what kind of reprimand she might have in store.

“Very well. I shall be there presently.” He made his way to the tent entrance, musing that a reprimand might be the least of his concerns.

A chill assailed him as he stepped outside. He shrugged off a shiver and set out, his expression surly. Luka’s tent was not far from the main camp, and cries of merriment rose into the air on all sides as he walked in silence between the tents.

At last, he came to his destination. The sentry at the entrance gave a tense bow. The man’s hand trembled as he pulled back the tent flap, perhaps intimidated by coming face-to-face with a superior officer, perhaps out of fear of the profane deeds taking place within.

General Macrill heaved a sigh. Suppressing the desire to turn and flee, he ducked inside. Immediately, a rancid stench assailed his nostrils, vile enough to make his stomach churn. He clasped a hand over his mouth. As he staggered farther in, he spotted Luka seated in the center of the tent. She looked so ghastly that for a moment it took his breath away, but she gestured for him to sit, and he hurriedly did as he was bidden.

“You called for me, my lady?” He couldn’t quite hide the tremor of fear in his voice. Tentatively, he raised his head, fearful that he had caused offense. He found her regarding him with eyes as clouded as muddy water, her expression stripped clean of all emotion.

“Are you not going to greet Igel?”

“My lady?”

“Igel is angry. You must greet him.” Luka turned her brother’s head to face Macrill. Its flesh was dried, its skin was peeling, and the eyes had rotted out. Macrill’s gorge rose at the stench.

Swallowing hard, he lowered his head. “Of course, my lady! Lord Igel, I am pleased to see you hale!”

He could stand to watch no longer. The murky waters of a bottomless swamp crept over his feet and up his legs. He shivered at a chill that was not quite due to the cold.

“Oh, Igel. What shall we do with him?” Luka smiled as she cradled the skull lovingly. “Really? Will that satisfy you? Well...” She giggled. “You always were a kind soul.”

She gestured for General Macrill to raise his head. His old bones creaked as he looked upward, all the while fighting the nerves trying to resist.

The dim light of the tent picked out the faintest of smiles on Luka’s lips. “In view of your faithful service to our family since our father’s time, you have graciously been spared from punishment.”

General Macrill did not ask by whom. If he did, his head would roll. His voice stayed level as he expressed his gratitude. “I am delighted to hear that, my lady. I will continue to serve you—both of you—with all my being.”

“Now, to the reason I called you here.”

“I am yours to command, my lady.”

“I want you to put all the nearby towns to the torch. Cut down the refugees as they take to the roads and hang the corpses up where they will easily be seen. You are to leave no imperial alive. Turn over every last stone. Lop off every last head.”

Macrill was lowering his head a second time when the unthinkable order entered his ears. He froze mid-motion. Confusion swirled inside his skull, but knowing that he had to give an answer, he steeled himself and spoke.

“My lady...this I cannot do.”

“And why not?”

“It would make us needless enemies. It would adversely affect our prospects in battle.”

“Raise your head, General Macrill.”

With a great thump, his heart began to beat faster, as though a bucket of midwinter water had been upended over his head. His breathing grew ragged as he felt his emotions recoil. With his mind unable to accept a command it could not process, his body initiated a rejection response. Time slowed down. He felt as though he was lost in darkness, a darkness that stretched on forever—but all things must eventually meet their end.

No scream left his mouth as his head finished its arc. Terror stifled his surprise in his throat. But right before his eyes, close enough for their noses to touch, was Luka’s face. Her pupils flared as her gaze bored into him. By her side, level with her own head, she held her brother’s skull.

“Look at what the empire did to Igel. Kill them. Every last man.”

She had been so beautiful when they first met. After her father’s death, that beauty had become her curse, earmarking her to become the plaything of the nobles. Even so, she had never lost her dignity, shining graceful and pure as she kept faith in a brighter tomorrow. She had lived through hell and finally won her freedom, and yet look what had become of her—her body swathed in burns, her dead brother’s head cradled in her arms. Where her eyes had once been clear as amber, now they were clouded with malignancy.

“It will be done, my lady. All who stand in our way will know the meaning of carnage.”

She was careening toward destruction. No one else would follow her now. But if he stood by her side, if he gave her what little remained of his life, perhaps it might repay the debt he owed her father.

“I will give you twenty thousand men. Burn their villages. Raze their towns. Reduce their castles, their forts, everything with four walls to rubble.”

“Yes, my lady.”