Shinwa Densetsu no Eiyuu no Isekaitan - Volume 9 - Chapter 5

Chapter 5: Gáe Bolg

The twenty-sixth day of the ninth month of Imperial Year 1026

The third army had resumed its march. Several of San Dinalle’s satellite cities had succumbed to rioting, and the imperial forces took advantage of the chaos to progress their campaign. Secure in having the moral high ground once more, they had made steady progress. Seeing the tides turn, Anguis had recalled its forces from their positions across its territories and set up camp on a plain. They had fifty thousand men to field. The empire had only twelve thousand—ten from the third army and two from the Crow Legion—and the difference was stark.

“Well, nobody would say we have the numerical advantage,” Hiro remarked. “We let our enemy prepare, and now they’ve come in force.”

He was in the center of the Crow Legion’s camp, near the rear of the third army. His chair faced a simple desk, upon which lay a map. He reached for a nearby sheet of paper and cast his eyes over it.

“The reports say Esel has fielded the most soldiers.”

The Crow Legion didn’t have the advantage of a hilltop position for this battle, so he was reliant on imperial messengers for information. Scáthach sat beside him. She, too, was staring at the map, but unlike him, she had a slight frown on her face.

“Reinforcements from their homeland, perhaps,” she said.

Hiro would have liked to pick Luka’s brains about that, but while she was there in body, she was less present in mind. She pawed at the ground, humming to herself. It didn’t look like he could expect a coherent answer. If possible, he would have preferred not to bring her to the battle at all, but as usual, she had refused to leave his side.

“Could you take care of her once the fighting starts?” he asked Scáthach.

“As you command.”

Scáthach would remain at the ready in the camp. That was both what she desired and the most her body would allow. He glanced at her. Her jaw was set and her face tense as she gazed at Six Kingdoms’ lines. There was no need to ask why. Hiro understood her feelings well.

“I’ll take it from here.”

With the numbers so overwhelmingly in the enemy’s favor, the Crow Legion was bound to have to fight, and it would be a grueling battle. Six Kingdoms might even push through as far as their encampment. The Crow Legion was granted the privilege to conduct raids on their own initiative, but that was all the more reason to take this battle seriously—they had to make a good account of themselves, both to inspire the imperial troops and to impress upon Six Kingdoms that Baum was an enemy to be feared.

“Time to repay a two-year-old debt.”

Hiro turned his gaze to the Anguis lines, where Lucia was no doubt waiting. She would want to end this battle in short order. The last thing she could afford was to let the rest of the imperial forces circle around from the north and catch her from behind. Exploiting her impatience would be the best way to overturn the difference in numbers.

“They have one day left, maybe two. Scáthach, do you know how close Liz’s troops are?”

“As of three days ago, they have defeated the forces of Tigris and Scorpius and set about assaulting Skye. They may secure the city as early as today.”

Skye was essentially a ruin. In a monetary sense, there was little value in conquering it. Its strategic importance, however, was great: located squarely in the center of Faerzen, it provided a commanding view of the entire nation. Six Kingdoms would defend it fiercely, even if only for the sake of buying time. With the remnants of Tigris’s and Scorpius’s forces joining the city’s existing Vulpes garrison, Hiro anticipated heavy resistance. Even Aura would need several days to capture it. In short, it would be a few days yet before the rest of the imperial forces arrived on the field.

“I suppose we’ll just have to pray that the third army has a skilled commander.”

Their priority right now was to delay, but the enemy was unlikely to allow that. They would attack swiftly and fiercely to bring the battle to a quick close. That meant uncertain elements—lots of them. If the third army buckled early, it would be extremely hard-pressed to regain its footing. One could only hope its commander understood that.

“Here we go,” Hiro said with some apprehension.

Music from both lines signaled the start of combat. Horns blared loud. The beating of drums filled the air. Battle cries rose from both sides as they sought to intimidate their opponents. A plume of dust rose to the fore as one or both sides initiated a charge. At length, a storm of ringing steel added to the clamor. The imperial third army had engaged Esel’s first cohort.

“Judging by that dust cloud, they’re coming out swinging. Maybe they’re planning something...or maybe they just want to see what we can do.”

The imperial forces were moving sluggishly in comparison to their foes. Even from the back lines, Hiro could tell as much. The commander seemed to have adopted a passive approach. They would dig their heels in and hold out until their allies arrived, faithfully following their marching orders. It smacked of a general of earnest and forthright character, and if the two armies had been closer in size, it might even have been a good strategy. As it was, making it so obvious the imperial troops were hoping to stall only exposed their vulnerability. It was as good as inviting Six Kingdoms to come and attack.

“It looks like we’d better help.” Hiro signaled the commander of the Crow Legion.

“What do you need of me, my lord?” The man stood rigidly at attention, waiting for orders.

With a wry smile, Hiro gestured to the left hand side of the field. “Could you circle around the left flank and harry their second cohort? If they come after you, all the better. If they don’t, try to do some damage to their ranks.”

Hiro was about to ask how many soldiers that would take, but the man did not give him the time. “Five hundred will suffice, my lord,” he said, turning his back. “Your will be done.”

“Garda’s education at work,” Hiro mused. The man had turned out a little stiff, but it was good that he could think on his feet. All the better that he had understood what Hiro wanted without needing to be told.

“Well, then. What now?”

The Crow Legion was left with fifteen hundred men. Hiro sank into thought. Even if the battle proceeded as he hoped, the third army would only have a small number of cards to play. Maintaining morale was essential if they were to hold out without undue losses, but the commander’s current passive strategy would undoubtedly be having a negative effect. Ideally, the man would fight in such a way as to avoid both his allies and his foes realizing how low spirits really were in the ranks, but he did not seem to be capable of that kind of finesse. Some display of valor would be required to raise morale. Unfortunately, that was unlikely to be forthcoming from the imperial troops, which left the Crow Legion. How much they could accomplish with only two thousand men remained to be seen, but anything was better than not trying.

“I’ll leave five hundred here with you,” he said to Scáthach. “If anything goes wrong—”

“I will join you,” Luka interrupted.

Hiro turned to her, surprised. “Are you sure?”

“The sooner we end this battle, the sooner we can look for Huginn.”

He didn’t relish the prospect of taking her with him. She was in such a volatile state that there was no telling what she might do. If she remained capable of responding to commands, that would be one thing, but if she retreated back into herself again, it would put her life in danger. Still, if he rejected her request, she might simply lose control then and there.

His shoulders slumped in defeat. “All right. We’ll take a thousand men. Let’s see if we can’t do something about that first cohort.”

＊＊＊＊＊

About half an hour had passed since Six Kingdoms had engaged the imperial forces. The Anguis camp was awash with harried aides. Lucia watched them dash about for a moment before taking a bite of fruit and returning her gaze to the map.

“I sense little urgency on the empire’s part. They seek to prolong the fighting, ’twould seem.”

“Was it truly wise to commit our full strength, Your Majesty?” Her aide looked worried. No doubt he was apprehensive about the empire’s capabilities. The memory of Six Kingdoms’ defeat two years prior was still fresh in many minds.

Lucia adopted a confident tone, the better to soothe his concerns. “Wise? Why, ’tis necessary. We shall strike terror into them with our numbers so that their full attention is on us.”

Her plan was to strike fast and hard from the first, then to slowly lessen the assault, hopefully while the empire was too stunned to notice. That would help to conserve her strength, which was important in itself, but crucially...

“We shall trap them front and back and crush them in our jaws.”

Executing the pincer attack would require waiting for the three thousand or so soldiers who had been slow to arrive on the field. They had been redirected to close on the imperial forces from behind. If Lucia was to meet the rest of the imperial army at full strength, she had to end this battle with minimal losses. As such, the most important question now was which side’s reinforcements would arrive first.

“How fares Skye?” she asked.

“It still stands, Your Majesty,” the aide replied. “Tigris’s, Scorpius’s, and Vulpes’s forces continue to hold out.”

“The álfar shall run as soon as they judge it expedient, I don’t doubt.”

In fairness, it was unlikely they could keep the empire at bay for long, no matter how fiercely they had resisted. The continent had been abuzz with rumors of the sixth princess for the past two years. If even the most credible were true, Skye’s fall was all but guaranteed.

“We have five days, perhaps, before the bulk of the empire’s forces arrive.”

“That should be more than enough time, Your Majesty. Our soldiers are estimated to arrive in three.”

“Wonderful. Then we shall have all the time in the world to enjoy ourselves...shall we not, Lord Surtr?”

Lucia cast a glance out at the battlefield, where the Crow Legion was harrying Six Kingdoms’ second cohort. Their interference could hardly even be called an annoyance. Nonetheless...

“We must keep our men entertained. Send one of the reserve units to swat those gnats.”

“As you command, Your Majesty.”

“Now, what strategies shall our enemies employ? Any ape can face the enemy and brandish a sword. Let us hope they have something more interesting to offer.”

Baum and the imperial third were surely not without plans of their own. They were just as keen to stall for time. They would try something—it was only a question of when.

“Two days I shall give you to scheme as you please.”

“Our own plans proceed apace, I trust?” came a voice.

Lucia turned to see Nameless. She flicked open her fan and raised it to cover her mouth. “Well, well. Who should come calling but the defeated commander. All that confidence and yet your vaunted hound proved no better than a common mutt.”

“I miscalculated, I won’t deny it. The sixth princess proved stronger than I anticipated.”

“Did she now?” Lucia narrowed her eyes. It was unusual for Nameless to praise her enemies so readily. The álf must have been hard-pressed indeed.

“Perhaps we ought to revise our plans.”

“Are you suggesting that I will lose this battle?”

“Oh, not in the least. I daresay your prudence has been the salvation of us all. I ought to have known that a half-hearted effort would never stave her off. We must bring our full strength to bear.”

“She must be strong indeed to coax such words from your lips.”

“Indeed she is. Perhaps I will have to take this battle seriously.”

Nameless’s voice remained composed to the last, but it left just a trace of amusement in the air as it faded away. The álf was, in her own way, a seasoned warrior. No doubt she too was looking forward to the pleasures of the battlefield—the exhilaration, the terror, the despair.

“First, we shall dispose of the Crow Legion,” she announced. “This Surtr will no doubt pose the greatest threat to our plans if left unchecked. It would behoove us to cut him down here.”

Lucia loosed a bark of laughter. “’Twould be a welcome diversion indeed.”

Her eyes sparkled with amusement, insisting that she was delighted, but there was no smile behind her fan. Her lips pressed into a flat line. The schemes she had spun inside her mind, the walls that guarded her approach to the High King’s throne, were weakening. After the life she had lived, after the shame she had endured, that was no laughing matter—especially when a long-sought opportunity was within her grasp.

The time is close at hand...but not quite yet. Not quite yet...

She stared at Nameless, her eyes narrowing like a snake’s.

＊＊＊＊＊

The twenty-seventh day of the ninth month of Imperial Year 1026

Beneath a clear blue sky sprawled a vast ruin—all that remained of the old capital of Skye, once called the most beautiful city in Faerzen. Corpses littered plazas that had once been places of rest. Dried blood grew steadily blacker in avenues that had once been thriving markets. All the city’s grandeur had been reduced to rubble, leaving not a trace of what had once been. Crows wheeled overhead, starving dogs prowled the streets, and rats scurried from gaps in the rubble.

Aura walked along the central avenue, her footing made treacherous by the city’s decay.

“Her Highness is nowhere to be found, my lady,” came an anxious voice.

She turned to the aide walking beside her. “Nowhere?”

The imperial forces were hurriedly reorganizing themselves after capturing Skye the previous day. Six Kingdoms had put up its fiercest fight yet, and the empire had not escaped unscathed, losing close to ten thousand soldiers. Six Kingdoms, for its part, had lost over thirty thousand. Seeing the battle was lost, the enemy had flung open the gates and sallied forth in one last charge—a courageous maneuver, but a futile one considering they had been surrounded. The fighting had ended as anyone would have predicted. After the dust settled, however, almost all of the dead proved to be human, with only a handful of álfen corpses. It seemed the álfar had thrown their comrades to the wolves to cover their own escape.

The empire had approached the remaining defenders with a demand to surrender, partially out of sympathy after seeing them so ill-used. The soldiers had thrown down their weapons with little resistance. They had long lost the will to fight. The empire had taken the ten thousand or so survivors prisoner, but treating the many wounded would take time, significantly delaying the reorganization of their troops. As a result, the plan to pincer Anguis’s forces with the third army was on the verge of being abandoned.

Aura, naturally, was feeling hurried, but she could not let it show. That would only give the soldiers cause for concern. Liz, too, had been trying to attend to her duties as calmly as she could. Unfortunately, she seemed to have disappeared.

“She could have gone back to the palace,” Aura said.

“I can only hope so.” The aide sounded skeptical.

The pair made their way up the hill to the palace of Faerzen, where the imperial forces had set up a command center. The ruin had once been the dwelling place of Faerzen’s royal family. Now the stench of blood and fat hung in the air, and only glimpses of its former beauty remained amid the wreckage. So thoroughly had it been destroyed that it would be easier to clear the rubble and build anew.

Aura entered the command center and flagged someone down. “Have you seen Lady Celia Estrella?”

“Not today, I fear, my lady.”

Aura laid a frustrated hand on her forehead and shook her head. Historically, the heir to the throne going missing was hardly an unknown occurrence. Every generation of the imperial family had had its free spirits, not least of which was the first emperor himself. Still, precedent was no excuse. Rubbing her temple, she jabbed a finger at the soldier by her side.

“Send out a search party. There might still be enemy troops around. We can’t afford to be lax.”

The man looked a little paler than he had several minutes ago, but he nodded. “At once, my lady!”

Once he was out of sight, Aura crossed her arms and cocked her head, grumbling thoughtfully. Liz was missing. By all rights, the empire should be turning over every stone in search, but Liz was strong enough that there was little to fear. Even so, someone who intended to be empress someday should know better than to act so thoughtlessly.

“Hm?” Aura’s brow creased as a possibility crossed her mind. “Surely not. Not alone...”

One person could not change the tide of a battle, no matter how mighty. They might be able to boost morale, but they would have little effect on the state of the field. Still, it was hard to discount the possibility completely.

Aura breathed another sigh, just as heavy as the last. “Tell me something,” she said, turning to an aide—the man in charge of reorganizing the imperial forces.

“What is it, my lady?”

“How many men could we field right now if we needed to?”

He fell silent for a moment. “Ten thousand, perhaps.”

“Form an advance guard. Send them to meet up with the third army.”

“Are you suggesting that we split our forces, my lady?”

“We don’t have a choice. We need to move fast.”

They would need to play all the cards they had. And, most importantly, Aura would need to give Liz a very thorough talking-to once all this was over.

“I’m going to kill her,” she muttered. “I’ll really do it this time.”

The aide blinked in surprise.

“I bring word!” a voice cried. “Word for Lady Aura!”

“What now?” Aura spun around, glaring at the newcomer with uncharacteristic annoyance.

The man skidded to a halt. He was Lawrence Alfred von Spitz—Aura’s onetime retainer, now assigned to the Knights of the Royal Black. “Her Highness requested I give you this,” he said, holding out a letter.

Aura took it and read it through. Her frown deepened as she read, and she turned back to the aide. “Ignore what I just ordered.”

“Excuse me, my lady? Are you certain?”

“I am. There’s no need. Let her do what she wants.”

＊＊＊＊＊

The twenty-ninth day of the ninth month of Imperial Year 1026

The battle between the third army and Six Kingdoms had dragged on for multiple days. On the first day, Six Kingdoms had fought with all its might, but as of the second, its movements had grown slow. Now, on the third, the imperial forces were once more being pushed back by a forceful assault. The battlefront had receded so far that it had almost reached the Crow Legion’s camp on the back lines.

With vision obscured by blood mist, the fighting had descended into chaos. Armored boots trampled lives into the dirt as cries and bellows rang all around. Soldiers from both sides leaped on any foe they saw like wild beasts, casting aside any semblance of dignity or honor, wielding their swords in desperate defense of their own lives.

“This isn’t looking good,” Hiro remarked as he watched from the Crow Legion’s encampment.

The imperials were making a poor showing of themselves, and it was hard to contain his disappointment. Their numerical disadvantage was always going to be an obstacle, but they had let Six Kingdoms’ willingness to drag the battle out make them overconfident in their own strength, and now that the enemy had attacked in force, they had no idea how to respond. A battlefield was an ever-changing environment. No day was guaranteed to be the same as the last. The commanding officers had grown careless, letting their seeming success against a larger force inflate their egos. Now, they were paying the price.

“Never let your guard down in war. You should have known better.” There was no other way to put it—the commander was incompetent. Hiro rose from his chair. “Scáthach, can you take command while I’m away?”

“With pleasure.” Scáthach’s voice was firm as she raised Gáe Bolg in answer. “Fear not for us. Show them the fullness of your strength.”

Hiro’s smile was just a little stiff. “Then you’re in charge. Make sure... Make sure you fight a battle you can be proud of.”

“Of course. You have my gratitude.” She saw him off with a smile.

He looked at Luka as he strode away. “We’re headed for the front line. Are you ready?”

“I can fight whenever you require.”

He mounted his swiftdrake, leading the way through the lines. A brigade commander fell in alongside him as he rode.

“All is ready, Your Majesty,” the man said. “We await your command.”

“Good. Let’s push the enemy back, shall we?”

A thousand formidable soldiers stood in orderly ranks. Hiro took position at their head. With a good view of the field, he could easily make out the ragged hole in the middle of the imperial line. Six Kingdoms’ troops had broken through. Now, they were tearing the imperial ranks apart from the inside.

Hiro drew Dáinsleif from his belt. “Raise the flags.”

Two sets of banners went up: the scales of Baum and the black dragon of Schwartz. He leveled his blade at the enemy and drew a deep breath.

“Today, we show them our all. Charge!”

He thundered toward the fray at the head of a thousand Crow Legion cavalry. They overtook the disarrayed third cohort and tore through the routed second. As Hiro plowed clean into the annihilated first, he leaped from his swiftdrake’s back and into the midst of Six Kingdoms’ troops.

“What in the—?!”

He cleaved one stunned soldier open from shoulder to hip, grasped the head of a second and skewered him through the throat, then lopped off the head of a third closing in from behind. Three jets of blood painted the world red. The remaining soldiers fell back, goggle-eyed. Hiro set upon them without mercy.

“Well, well. Where did all that confidence go?”

Corpse after corpse fell to the ground, their blood seeping out to dye the earth red before multiple sets of boots churned it into black mud. His show of might would have stricken fear into any man of sane mind. This might have been war, but no one wanted to die. His enemies could not ignore him, but neither did they want to face him. Defeating an opponent of monstrous strength would require someone equally monstrous.

“Well, well. How long it has been.”

The voice reached Hiro’s ears from beyond the ring of soldiers. The men fell aside like a parting wave, and two figures stepped through.

“’Tis ‘Surtr’ you go by nowadays, I believe?” The first was Lucia Levia du Anguis, queen of Anguis.

“So, we meet again. How fortuitous.” The second was Nameless, chancellor of Greif.

“I’m here to repay you both a debt,” Hiro said.

Lucia looked around. “And yet the field looks much the same now as it did then.”

The Crow Legion had engaged Six Kingdoms’ troops, but they were still a long way behind. The battlefield did indeed very much resemble the one on which Hiro had feigned his death.

“Not exactly the same,” he said. “I’m not going to hold back this time.”

“Indeed. Unfortunate, then, that victory will be mine.”

Lucia gestured with her fan. Far to the rear, far past even the Crow Legion’s camp, there was noise where there should have been silence. A plume of dust was closing aggressively. Battle cries drifted on the wind, and the thunder of hooves carried on the air.

Hiro pushed his mask back into place, not so much as glancing back. “Not so fast. Look behind your own lines.”

“Hm?”

A similar cloud of dust was rising behind Anguis’s camp.

“You and the empire were both focusing on the same thing. Drawing out the battle until reinforcements arrived.” Hiro grinned—a smile of genuine enjoyment. “So I got up to a little mischief.”

As the Crow Legion had harried Anguis’s second cohort over the past three days, they had slowly split off and retreated from the battlefield, piece by piece. Those pieces had reconvened elsewhere and circled around behind Six Kingdoms’ lines.

“Now isn’t this more interesting?”

Lucia snorted. “So you plotted the same as we did.”

“That’s not all. Look to your flank.” Hiro gestured to the right. “The cavalry’s here.”

Lucia and Nameless turned to look. A profusion of imperial standards lined the horizon.

“Their banners are, but are there men beneath them?”

Lucia immediately recognized the child’s trick for what it was. She held Hiro in her gaze, eminently composed. Even under pressure, she was calm and rational, keeping her focus on her real foe. An enemy she might have been, but it was hard not to be impressed.

“Well reasoned.” Hiro clapped derisively, but the true value of his ploy was yet to reveal itself. “And if all your soldiers were so astute, this would achieve nothing. But it doesn’t matter if you see through it. Your men will be at least a little shocked, don’t you think?”

Lucia might have seen what he was planning, but he had her pinned down here. She could shout orders, but only those in the immediate vicinity would hear her, and if she was misheard, she might spook her troops further. There was nothing so delicate as a skittish army.

“Yet more precocious tricks.” Lucia clicked her tongue in annoyance. She appeared to have understood what he meant. Nonetheless, her self-assured expression remained. “But allow me a question,” she said, fanning herself with a provocative smile. “I found the most suspicious girl among my handmaidens. Would I be correct in thinking she was an agent of yours?”

As the words left her mouth, bloodlust blossomed through the air—not from Hiro, but from the woman a short way behind him. For an instant, all was still, and an enormous impact turned the ground where Lucia had been standing into a crater.

Luka emerged from the haze, sweeping the dust cloud aside with her arm. “What have you done to Huginn?” she demanded, glaring with a demonic expression at where Lucia now stood.

Lucia smiled lasciviously as she brushed dirt from her clothing. “Imagine, if you will, a girl of royal blood becoming a noble plaything. A tale with which you’re quite familiar, I believe?”

“I’ll kill you!” Luka closed on Lucia with bestial swiftness, all rational thought far behind.

As Hiro watched their battle unfold, Nameless appeared before him. “I am to be your opponent, it seems. I trust you don’t object?” The álf’s bell staff struck the ground, filling the air with a clear chime.

Hiro raised Dáinsleif, his eyes on the staff. “Not at all. I’d be happy to face you.”

“How wonderful. That said...are you not worried, Lord Surtr?”

Hiro’s eyes narrowed. The álf sounded too relaxed for his liking, as though they were simply having a pleasant conversation. “About what?”

“Why, about the troops who have appeared behind your line. That is where your Crow Legion has made camp, if I am not mistaken?”

“I’m not worried. They’re in good hands.”

Nameless’s mouth curled into a crescent smile. “Are you not interested to know which commander they face?”

“No.” That said, knowing Nameless, he was no doubt about to learn regardless.

“Your Crow Legion is under attack by the forces of Vulpes...under the command of one First Prince Stovell.”

Nameless’s taste for theatricality seemed to know no bounds. Supplying tidbit by tidbit, milking the moment for all it was worth before dropping an almighty bombshell at the last second... The álf truly was as self-satisfied as they came.

“I take it back. Perhaps I am a little interested after all.”

“I am delighted, I’m sure.”

“By way of thanks, I’ll play with you awhile.” Resting Dáinsleif on his shoulder, Hiro raised his hand and beckoned mockingly.

＊＊＊＊＊

New enemy forces had appeared to the rear, and Scáthach had led the remaining Crow Legion out to meet them. The battle had already begun around her. She, however, remained rooted to the spot. The moment she caught sight of the enemy’s gray-haired commander, every thought had fled her mind.

Through trembling lips, she forced herself to speak. “At last!” she cried with fury in her eyes. “I have waited a long time for this day, Stovell!”

The prince waved off her zeal with an annoyed hand. “Still you bark about vengeance? I slew the emperor for you, did I not?”

“But you yet live!”

“Be warned, girl, I will show you no quarter. I made a poor account of myself last time, but I will not do so again.”

He raised his right hand and Mjölnir materialized in his grip. Wind swirled around his left hand—Gandiva, Scáthach supposed.

“I would ask for nothing less! I will lay your head at my parents’ grave!”

Stovell snorted. “Your family’s graves are dust and ashes.”

Scáthach loosed a wordless cry. The ground beneath her buckled as her fury exploded. “Gáe Bolg! The hour has come to fulfill our heart’s desire!”

A glacial chill answered her call, freezing the air and sheathing the world in frost. White mist rose around her as if giving shape to her bloodlust. Ice encroached on the grasses and flowers growing on the plain.

“Make your peace, Stovell.”

“Come, then. Show me this strength you so vaunt, and I shall cleave it asunder.”

Spear clashed with axe. Cuts and gashes sprouted across both combatants’ skin, little worse than scrapes but painful even so. Stovell’s injuries healed in an instant, but Scáthach’s multiplied by the second. Blood sprayed from her wounds every time their Spiritblades clashed.

Seeing her grimace, Stovell frowned. “You are losing Gáe Bolg’s blessing, girl. If indeed you have not already lost it.”

Scáthach ground her teeth. She had hoped that would escape his notice.

“And that is not all, is it? Your leg is weak. The wound I dealt you has not healed.”

The last time she had fought Stovell, he had left her on death’s door.

“Enough,” she growled. “That is not your concern.”

Everything he had said was true. Her wounds had never fully healed, leaving her unable to fulfill the terms of her contract with Gáe Bolg, and now she was losing her Graal. Her Spiritblade only remained at her side out of devotion—a temporary concession until her vengeance was complete.

“What a sorry sight. Your Gáe Bolg is hardly better off than my Gandiva.”

“They are nothing alike! We share a bond!”

Stovell glared at her with contempt. “To take the spirits’ curse upon your bare flesh must cause you pain beyond imagining. Do you truly believe you can defeat me in that state?”

“I can and I will.” Scáthach broke into a sprint. “You will die this day, even if it costs me my life!”

Stovell looked on with utter confidence. A smile played on his lips. “And you think foolish bravado will be enough?”

He snorted in disdain. Scáthach’s strikes were sharp, but they lacked a decisive edge. Now that she had lost her Spiritblade’s blessing, she was no stronger than any other mortal human, albeit one with exceptional martial skill. For most opponents, that might have been enough, but it was barely enough to keep Stovell entertained.

“Howl all you want, girl, but you are weaker than the last time we fought.”

“Silence!”

Scáthach’s outrage cracked the earth. Her spear traced a circle as she spun it about, adding rotational momentum to make up for what she lacked in strength of arm. Every strike promised death, her prowess with her weapon turning every swing toward both offense and defense. Gáe Bolg’s tip sheared chunks of flesh from Stovell’s body even as its haft deflected his blows. Still, his injuries closed in a heartbeat, and hers only grew in number. Blood trickled down her armor. Her strength bled away by the second. Without Gáe Bolg’s blessing, even the slightest attack was enough to wound her. Nonetheless, she forged on, fighting for the memory of her fallen family.

“A futile effort. Your spear cannot touch me.”

Bolts of lightning and blades of wind fell on her with fury. Wounds opened up all across her body, leaving her covered in blood, but no matter how beaten or battered she grew, she refused to fall.

“I am not yet done,” she growled, panting. “I have nothing else left.”

She had lost her nation. She had lost her family. Soon, the Spiritblade that had been her constant companion would also leave her side. In the end, she would be left with nothing—but that was all the more reason that she could not die while her nemesis still lived.

“Death holds no fear for me. Better the grave than a life regretting that I failed to bring you to justice!” Marshaling all her might, drawing every last drop of power from Gáe Bolg, she charged toward her foe. “Father! Mother! My brothers and sisters! Lend me your strength!”

＊＊＊＊＊

“Quite the fight they’re having,” Nameless said, gazing at the embattled Crow Legion.

“Maybe you should pay more attention to ours.”

Hiro closed the distance in a flash. A single stroke cut the álf in half. Yet the results were disappointing: no blood burst out, and no viscera spilled forth. The body vanished before it hit the ground, and not a heartbeat later, Nameless was standing before him again, unharmed.

“Another miss,” Hiro murmured, turning to sweep his eyes over his surroundings. He counted ten Namelesses.

Needless to say, he was not seeing things. He recognized the curious sight as the product of his opponent’s bell staff. It had the ability to create near-perfect illusions—a power that seemed positively designed to confound and frustrate.

“That’s a nice trick,” he said.

“Isn’t it just? I do so enjoy toying with my enemies before I finish them off.”

“You say that like you think I’m at your mercy.” Hiro cut down another cloaked figure, but again, it was only an illusion.

Nameless appeared alongside him, leaning on his shoulder. “Oh, I don’t flatter myself quite that much.”

The álf produced a kitchen knife—like a housewife might have used to prepare dinner—and drove it into his side, but the blade ground to a halt, stopped by the Black Camellia.

“See? Your life is well guarded.” Nameless looked from the knife’s broken tip to the Black Camellia. “A regalía, perchance? Dare I say, a relic of the Lord of Eld?”

“You’ve heard of it?”

“I’ve heard stories, nothing more.”

Hiro cut down perhaps a dozen more cloaked figures as they traded words, but to no effect. If anything, there were more Namelesses on the battlefield now than before. He lowered his sword and let slip a yawn before leveling his gaze on the enemy.

“Then perhaps I’ll show you what I can really do.”

His right eye radiated august splendor beyond mortal ken. His left eye pierced his foe with cold fury, glints of golden light swirling like a storm in the depths of the abyss. An uncanny smile spread beneath his mask as he raised a hand to the sky.

“What do you know of despair?”

The heavens swirled at his words. The earth shuddered and groaned as if crying out in pain. A vast torrent of power burst forth, striking dumb friend and foe alike.

“Weep for spirits broken. Shed tears for hope lost. Wear with pride futures undone.”

Darkness rolled across the earth. Countless cracks spread through the air, as if space itself had been ravaged by a sudden wind. Despair spread across the field as the abyss voiced its birthing cry.

“Dáinsleif, their misery is yours to devour.”

All sound vanished from the world, as though the very concept of it had never existed at all. Silence fell like rain upon the battlefield. All was consumed by awe.

“I am Surtr, the Black-Winged Lord.”

His presence swelled, and an inexplicable weight settled over the world around him. There was no escaping the tyranny of the silence he brought. As all who watched began to quake in fear, he raised Dáinsleif and held it flat, staring down his foe.

“He who beckons all lives equally to nothingness.”

He unleashed Muspell—Mortal Terror. Time stood still but for a thumping heartbeat that resounded across the field. All who lived surrendered their place in time’s flow. None were exempt—all froze where they stood, beckoned equally to the void beyond mortality.

“Now, dance for me upon death’s stage.”

Hiro pressed a hand to his mask as he spoke, like a god of death pronouncing judgment upon the condemned.

Thence came Schwartzwald—Deathly Stillness.

A pitch-black maw descended from above, falling shut upon the world like a deluge of curses. The darkness spread across the ground like a living thing. There was no escape, no possibility of resistance. The blackness swallowed up Nameless’s illusions, snarling their feet and pulling them in. Soon, the field was bare but for the battle going on all around. Nameless was nowhere to be seen.

“Did you manage to get away? No... I’m guessing you were never really here at all.”

He turned around to see a woman tumbling across the ground—Luka, whom he had left to face Lucia. She bounced across the earth as if caught in a storm surge. As he watched, she sprang back to her feet, blood dripping from her mouth.

“Curse you... Curse you!”

With one arm missing and her mind in tatters, she was hard-pressed against Lucia, even with one of the Dharmic Blades in her possession. Indeed, her adversary did not appear to have been injured at all.

“Is that all you have?” Lucia flicked open her fan with a haughty smile.

“Far from it,” Luka spat. “Now, tell me where you are keeping Huginn.”

Lucia regarded her adversary with pity, shaking her head with mock sadness. “I fear I could not say. Even I am not inhuman. A fellow woman, even. I could hardly bear to see the state she was in. Who knows to whom she has been sold or to what fiends she has fallen prey?”

“I’ll kill you!” Luka screamed, but as she exploded with anger, Hiro moved to stand in her way. “Move!” she barked.

Hiro put a finger to his lips, his face coldly composed. “Enough, Luka.”

She flinched back with fear in her eyes, so intimidating was his expression. Lucia, who could only see the back of his head from where she was standing, cocked her head in puzzlement.

Hiro laid a hand on Luka’s shoulder. “I’ll handle this. Is that clear?”

Luka nodded silently, and he turned back around to Lucia, a broad grin spreading across his face.

“I’ll thank you not to speak like that about one of my lieutenants.”

“Or what will you do, pray tell?”

“I think you’ve spoken enough.”

His white mantle danced on the wind as he twisted his torso around, swinging his black blade with all his might.

“Ngh!” Lucia grunted as she took the blow, but she managed to intercept it with her fan. Nonetheless...

“Yah!”

The blade licked out again with razor precision, sweeping in for what would have been a mortal blow. Lucia just about managed to dodge out of the way with millimeters to spare, but it still nicked her skin, staining her with blood. Before she could retaliate, another furious slash was bearing down on her.

“Hah!”

“Ngh!”

The erratic tempo of Hiro’s strikes delayed her reaction by a crucial instant. She deflected the slash by a hair’s breadth, although it still laid her cheek open, but her momentary hesitation had opened a gap between them that she could no longer close. She was all too aware of the discrepancy, but powerless to do anything about it. A moment’s distraction and her head would roll. Nonetheless, even as countless wounds opened across her body, she spread her iron fan wide.

“Shield me, Mandala.”

Nothing seemed to happen. Hiro brought Dáinsleif down uninterrupted. Smiling, Lucia spread her arms wide to meet the blow, but strangely, the black blade appeared to do her no harm.

“Oh?” Hiro raised a surprised eyebrow.

Lucia grinned. “That you did not expect, I’ll wager.”

Hiro grunted as a savage kick caught him in the cheek. Even as it landed, however, he grasped Lucia’s lapel and flung her to the ground, neutralizing its momentum—a commendably quick riposte. Nonetheless, Lucia seemed unscathed. She got to her feet and leaped back, putting some distance between her and Hiro.

“Impressive, truly. Still, you shall not harm me.” Lucia’s surprise was as good as any praise. She pushed her sweat-slicked hair from her eyes with an irritable flourish.

“That fan is one of the Dharmic Blades, I’m guessing?” Hiro looked down at his hands, cocking his head in puzzlement. He had felt Dáinsleif strike home, but not only had Lucia been unharmed, she had immediately retaliated.

She chuckled. “Indeed. Mandala, ’tis named. One of the Faerie King’s five gifts.”

“Is that so? It’s certainly annoying, whatever its Graal is.”

Hiro vanished in a blur of speed. Lucia simply raised her guard, but she otherwise ceded no ground.

“Let’s see if I can’t find a way around it.”

No more were Hiro’s attacks the languid swings of earlier. Now he unleashed an assault at blinding speed. A blistering array of slashes bore down on Lucia.

She snorted. “Try if you must.”

She met each and every attack head-on. Hiro wielded Dáinsleif with the full intention of taking her head. Its passing laid open her arteries. Its tip pierced her heart, scoring deep wounds into her short frame. There was no contest to be found here, only one-sided slaughter—or at least, so it would have been had any of its blows struck home.

Hiro slowed to a stop, feeling as if he were cutting air. The battle had an echo of his previous duel with Nameless. Lucia did not seem to be employing the same illusory sorceries as the álf, but the end result was similar.

“Come, come! This is no time for thinking.”

The end of the closed fan struck him square in the breastbone. Agony exploded inside his rib cage as a tremendous impact blasted through him. An involuntary grunt left his lips. It had been so long since he had last felt pain, the sensation was almost novel. He sank to his knees, gazing up at Lucia.

She looked down on him in turn, a sultry smile playing on her lips. “Well? Did that wake you up?”

“It did. In more ways than one.” The words were barely out of his mouth when Dáinsleif flashed.

“Ngh!”

Lucia got away with only a slash across the cheek, but Hiro turned his blade about and swung a second time. She ducked the swipe, but several strands of hair danced high.

“Now I see. So that’s how it works.”

“You dare—”

As Lucia moved to flick her fan open, Hiro kicked her hand up. She managed to hold on to the weapon, but the move still stunned her, and he stepped into the opening to drive the heel of his palm into her stomach. Her face twisted in pain, but that did not stop him from launching an equally merciless follow-up.

“Your fan only protects you while it’s open, doesn’t it?”

“How did you—?!” Lucia glared back at him, gritting her teeth as her fan grated against Dáinsleif. She thrust the blade away and swung her fan at his cheek, but her weapon had none of its earlier force.

“Offense and defense. Or perhaps repulsion and defense, I should say.”

Lucia’s behavior had always been peculiar—in particular, she had a habit of opening and closing her fan incessantly, no matter the situation. The gesture could almost have been a nervous tic, were it not impossible to imagine her being that nervous...in which case, it was far more likely connected to the powers of her Dharmic Blade.

“To divine its capabilities so quickly... I am impressed, truly.”

“I’ve survived battlefields you couldn’t imagine.” Hiro’s attacks fluctuated wildly in both strength and speed, leaving Lucia constantly on the back foot.

“No doubt, but I shall not roll over and die.” She moved to open her fan again.

“Let’s end this charade.”

Hiro grasped her by the collar and swung her to the ground. She tried to rise, but Dáinsleif plunged into the ground next to her head, skimming her cheek. Although decisively pinned, she still tried to struggle, but Hiro’s uncommon strength would not budge an inch.

“A part of me wonders why you’d give your powers away so easily...but first things first. Seeing as you’re not planning to take this fight seriously anyway, perhaps you’d care to explain this.”

Hiro produced a letter from his pocket—one that had arrived on the road while the imperial forces had been waylaid.

“May I take this as a sign of your interest?” Lucia asked.

“That depends on what you’re offering. But before that...”

A shadow fell over them. Hiro looked up. Luka was staring down at them with blood-crazed eyes, Vajra in hand.

“What is taking you so long?” she asked. “Why is she not dead?”

“Hold.” There was a note of surprise in Lucia’s voice. “Did you tell Luka nothing?”

Hiro shook his head. “She tends to let her heart rule her head. And I couldn’t risk her revealing anything to prying eyes.”

“Wise enough, I concede. Still, a fine mess—”

“Why are you bandying words with the likes of her?” Luka hefted Vajra. “If you will not end her, I will gladly crush her skull.”

Hiro raised a hand to hold her off. “She’s in no shape to fight anymore. I just want to talk.”

He moved back from Lucia and stood up, looking around. The battle was still going on. The imperial forces had been pushed out of view, and only Six Kingdoms troops surrounded them now. Yet curiously, the soldiers did not seem to register their presence. He could only assume that Lucia’s Mandala was the cause.

“I’ll hear you out. As long as you aren’t going to waste my time.”

Lucia got to her feet, brushing the dirt from her clothing. “’Twill be worth your while, I promise you. But first, a show of good faith.” She snapped her fingers and a rent opened in space, disgorging a woman bound with ropes.

“Huginn!”

Luka was the first to realize who it was. She hurried to Huginn’s side and lifted her upper body off the ground, checking if she was breathing.

“She’s alive! She’s alive!” She turned back to Hiro, her face filled with joy.

Hiro left her to cradle the unconscious Huginn and turned his attention back to Lucia.

The woman shrugged, idly fanning herself. “I was a mite rough in restraining her, perhaps, but I believe she should be unharmed.”

“You knew this would happen, I take it?”

“I am no fool, no matter what you may think. There were several doors before me, and she seemed the way to keep this one propped open.”

If Lucia was telling the truth, she must have orchestrated events meticulously to bring this conversation about. Hiro had expected Huginn would be more valuable alive than dead even if her identity was exposed, but to save her for this juncture... Audacious hardly began to describe it. Still, that audacity had bought her a chance for negotiation, so it was hard to call it foolish. She was bolder than Hiro had given her credit for, it seemed.

“All right, then. Let’s hear what you have to say.”

Lowering his weapon, Hiro looked away from Lucia to the Crow Legion’s encampment.

＊＊＊＊＊

“It’s a marvel that you have not given up,” Stovell said, his voice filled with disdain.

Before him stood Scáthach, bruised and bloodied but still standing. Her left arm dangled uselessly from her shoulder. Her hair had come loose and hung in disarray around her shoulders, its silken turquoise matted with blood and dirt. Yet her eyes were very much alive, burning with the flame of vengeance.

“I cannot die. Not until I take your head.” She closed on Stovell, dragging her right leg behind her.

Stovell snorted, scowling. “You have not grown a day since two years ago. Have you not learned that your efforts are useless?” He stifled a yawn, as if to say she was not even worth his time.

“I won’t know that...” Scáthach tensed, then leaped. “Until I try!”

Stovell’s gaze followed her as she soared high.

“Into this strike, I put my all. Take it if you can!”

She raised Gáe Bolg with the haft behind her back. Power swelled around her, reverberating through the air—and she unleashed Sainglend, the Graal of the Boreal Sovereign.

Gáe Bolg vanished from her grip. In the same instant, the water vapor in the air around her condensed into spears of ice.

Stovell’s face filled with delight. “Wonderful! Come, entertain me again!”

Using her Spiritblade’s Graal without its blessing demanded a heavy price. By all rights, she ought to have passed out from the agony. Only her thirst for revenge kept her conscious.

The host of spears rained from the sky. Crackling levin and razor winds rose to strike them down. The impacts of their clash tore the earth asunder, sending dust and dirt flying up into the sky. Thunderous booms shook the air.

At last, Scáthach alighted on the ground again. There was a hint of desperation in her eyes as she stared into the dust.

“Curse you...”

A gust of wind swept the haze away, and she bit her lip in chagrin at the dreadful sight it revealed.

“You fought well, girl,” Stovell growled. “But in the end, you failed to amuse.”

His foot tensed against the earth, and then he vanished. Scáthach watched wordlessly through a half-conscious haze as his bulk reappeared before her.

“You have committed the sin of wasting my time, and for that you will not die easily.”

A mighty fist drove into her stomach. With no means of defending herself, she was easily sent flying. She bounced limply across the ground, too exhausted even to slow her momentum, until he dove ahead of her and kicked her with full force. A bone-shaking crunch reverberated through her body. Blood sprayed from her mouth as she sailed skyward. She was powerless to resist, being toyed with like a cat with a mouse. It was hard to tell if she was even alive or dead.

Stovell’s assault continued without pause. A noise like cracking rock issued from her jaw as his fist struck her in the face. Her mouth fell open and several bloodstained teeth flew out, bouncing away across the ground. Another blow bent her body nigh in half, and she heard a crunch from her side. Each new snap of bone sounded like a scream. Still, she did not weep, she did not cry out, and she did not fight back. Eventually, even Stovell could find no more enjoyment in the fight.

“Did that finish you off?”

She made for a pitiful sight by the end. Stovell cast her to the ground, where she lay unmoving in a slowly spreading pool of blood. He kicked her, but she only lolled over onto her back without so much as a grunt.

He grasped a fistful of blood-matted hair and lifted her upright. Her limbs hung limp, and her face was bruised and lifeless. She dangled there like a marionette with cut strings. Nonetheless, by some miracle, she was still alive. Her lips moved almost imperceptibly. Intrigued, Stovell moved his head closer.

“Last...I...”

“What was that, girl?”

Still unable to make out what she said, he moved closer still. As he did, her right hand closed fast around his arm.

“Impressive strength for a walking corpse.” Stovell grinned as he saw the sword in her other hand. “But you will not pierce me with a needle such as that.”

Only then did he register the smile on her face. As a frown creased his brow, her sword moved—but it did not strike for him.

She turned it on herself.

Locks of silken turquoise swirled up on the wind. She had shorn off her own hair. Stovell did not know what to make of what she had done, and his thoughts froze for a crucial second.

“I said...at last, I have you.”

Scáthach slumped over him, laying a hand against his chest, and smiled triumphantly. She had used up every last drop of power. Her strength was all but spent. Her broken bones screamed in agony. Yet she still had one more thing to give: her life.

“There is nothing...in this world...you cannot sunder...”

To this one last strike, she would offer up her soul. Her steadfast companion would see the rest through. Freezing temperatures coalesced rapidly in the palm of her hand. This moment was all or nothing, and the price of the bet was her life.

“Farewell...Gáe Bolg...my dear friend.”

Thence came Macha—Godpiercer. A spear of ice as swift as striking lightning drove into Stovell’s chest at point-blank range.

“Wha—” By the time Stovell’s surprise had registered on his face, he was already skewered through.

“Never...let your guard down...on the battlefield,” she whispered.

Stovell had indeed done exactly that. He had believed he could play with Scáthach like a predator toying with its prey, but her helplessness had not been born of resignation. All the while, she had kept her eyes on him, waiting for an opening—watching like a hawk for the moment to seize victory.

“At last...it’s over...”

A serene smile spread across her face as she watched Stovell writhe in pain. She sank to the ground and fell motionless into a pool of blood. The winds of battle caressed her as she fell into a deep, deep sleep.

“Gaaaaaah!”

Stovell clutched wildly at his chest. Strength bled from his wound even as it froze over.

“No! No! I will not fall here! Not to a worm such as you!”

He advanced on Scáthach’s body, face twisted in fury, Mjölnir lifted high to crush her to dust. But as the Spiritblade descended...

“It’s over, Stovell.”

A crimson-haired woman caught it, her scarlet blade shuddering beneath its weight.

“Liz... Why...? How...?”

Stovell’s eyes widened in shock. Behind her, uncaring of his surprise, thousands of cavalry were butchering the Vulpes troops. He did not recognize the newcomers, but they were clearly not imperials.

“Who...?”

Dressed in the light garb of bandits, they steered their steeds expertly as they loosed arrows from horseback, raising joyful battle cries all the while. The Vulpes soldiers quickly fell to their assault. Most striking of all was a wild-haired woman who laughed as she cut down her foes, visibly reveling in the sport of war. The corners of her mouth pulled back in singularly savage glee.

“Leave this one to us, princess!” she cried, slaughtering Six Kingdoms’ troops with overwhelming strength and fearsome might. She fought like a tiger, launching brutal kicks and scoring faces with her claws before leaping on the next foe. “The glory’s ours today!”

None could stand in her way. Bodies piled high in her wake. Soldiers quailed to face her, and it was hard to blame them. Who would willingly fight a warrior who laughed as she tore through human beings like parchment?

“Steissen,” Stovell growled.

“That’s right,” Liz said. “We had an arrangement.”

“Did you indeed...?” Stovell tottered on his feet as the ice spread over his skin. His flesh was still trying to regenerate, but it was clear to anyone’s eyes that its healing was not as potent as it had once been.

“Scáthach won. She beat you. You underestimated her strength, and it cost you.” Liz smiled as she readied Lævateinn. “Tell me... What do you know of fate?”

With those words, a sun was made manifest upon the earth. A wind blew, calm and gentle. A torrent of power poured forth, soaring high into the sky, racing out across the ground.

“Weep for love discovered. Shed tears for hope found. Take pride in joy fulfilled.”

Flowers spread across the ground. A sweet scent filled the air. Spring had come. There was no conflict, no strife, only the serenity of nature in fresh bloom. Light flooded all, and from the whiteness, a new world took shape.

“Let’s end this, Stovell.” Liz’s voice was solemn.

Her power weighed heavier and heavier in the air. Authority danced in her lyrical tones, a song of impeccable virtue matched only by the divine majesty in her face.

“Bloom in splendor, Lævateinn.”

The Flame Sovereign vanished from her hands, and the world was crimson and azure. Flames consumed the flowers. Tyrannical heat spread outward, leaving no trace of tranquility or gentleness.

Ragnarök—Thousand Blossoms.

The world transformed, but for the one woman permitted to rule it. All who lived surrendered their hearts to the newborn sun. Friends, foes, beasts, insects, flora—all looked on in awe.

“I’ll put you out of your misery.”

Stovell had been watching in stunned silence, but as the flame coiled protectively around her, he broke into a charge. “Curse you, sister!”

His howl vanished into the air of the otherworld. He could not fight the flames. His regeneration could not keep pace. His flesh fell apart, and his body, granted immortality by imbibing the power of the gods, began to putrefy.

“You dare... You dare!”

“Enough.”

Liz struck the ground with her fist, and just like that, Stovell was surrounded by flames. The blaze coiled like a snake, reforming into a majestic lion that pounced on Stovell with great jaws yawning. It bit deep and shook its head furiously.

The prince gritted his teeth against the pain, beating his fists against the fangs sinking into his flesh, but it was no use. He glared at Liz with tears of blood streaming from his eyes. “This is not the end! I will have my vengeance—”

It happened in an instant. A dark blotch dropped from the sky, consuming both the lion and Stovell. Both dissipated into nothingness, leaving not even ashes behind. The last memory of their presence blew away on the wind. All that remained was Stovell’s two Spiritblades and the fallen figure of Scáthach.

As Liz stepped closer, one last oddity occurred. Mjölnir and Gandiva vanished, as did Gáe Bolg.

She turned to gaze into the distance. There was no surprise in her face, only resignation. “We will meet again,” she murmured, and then she moved to tend to her fallen friend.