II
Whether those people known as mages had ever existed was disputed, but the tales said that many of them had once issued forth from that hermetic country, the Holy Land of Mekia. Though a small nation, there was a time when it had vied for domination of Duvedirica. A veritable deluge of books on this period were put out into the world and found widespread acclaim. One tale that garnered particular popularity amongst women was that of Johann Strider, the handsome young man of whom portraits still remained. He was known for his many love affairs and remained a bachelor throughout his life. It was no wonder, therefore, that in his case, tales of a romantic bent drew greater attention than more typical heroic epics.
Men, on the other hand, favored stories of the irresistibly charismatic and divinely beautiful Seraph Sofitia Hell Mekia, seventh of her line, or else of Lara Mira Crystal, whom archival documents named the Silver Beauty.
Then, there were the tales of uncertain provenance of Amelia Stolast, also known as the Bloodied Maiden, who they said loved nothing more than slaughter. One book even contained a somewhat overwrought passage in which she drained the blood of those she killed before pouring it over herself with a deranged smile. All the books agreed, however, in their depiction of her as an implacably ruthless warrior. This brutality must have appealed to some, for her stories enjoyed avid support from a certain subset of readers...
A few hours after the battle between the Winged Crusaders and the Stonian Army had commenced, the Stonian vanguard attempted a shambolic retreat in total disarray. On the front line, Amelia’s sword flashed as she stabbed a fleeing Stonian soldier in the back as if she was gouging out his heart.
“Now!” someone cried. Soldiers pressed in on Amelia from both sides. She dropped down low to the ground and slashed in an arc with her sword.
“Gyagh!” Disbelief writ on their faces, the soldiers crumpled. Amelia slowly ran her tongue through the fresh blood that glistened seductively on the edge of her blade.
“Did you think you had a chance?” she said. “Rats like you ought to scurry away as fast as your little legs can take you.”
“Thousand-Wing Amelia, we’ve divided their forces!” cried Jean, waving his bloodied cross spear against the dazzling sun. Amelia glowered at him.
“My own eyes told me that much,” she said. “If you have time for useless chatter, you ought to be crushing their fragmented forces.”
Jean immediately issued orders to each unit, and the guardians swiftly got into position to mount a pursuit. Amelia watched these proceedings, savoring the increasingly potent stench of blood around her, when a guardian appeared before her, gasping for breath.
“Th-Thousand-Wing Amelia! I bring urgent news!” When she didn’t reply, they tried again. “Thousand-Wing Amelia!”
“Would you shut up?” Amelia said at length, her eyebrows drawing up towards her temples. “Just when I was in such a good mood.” If they were not on the battlefield, she could have educated this guardian on the consequences of spoiling her enjoyment. Unfortunately, they were.
“I’m truly sorry, ser, but we have no time to lose!”
Amelia sighed. “Fine, what is it?” she said.
She looked at the guardian, who for a second looked terrified but then said, “A great enemy host is closing in on us from behind!”
“A great host?” Amelia repeated. “Be specific in your report. How many soldiers?”
“Around twenty thousand.”
“Twenty thousand...” Amelia briefly beckoned to Jean who, as though reading her mind, held out a spyglass. Amelia seized it and pointed it in the direction the guardian had indicated. There, she saw the Stonian Army advancing to surround them. There were around twenty thousand soldiers, just as the guardian had said. The insolence... she thought, giving an incensed snort as she thrust the spyglass at Jean. He looked behind them just as she had done and let out a moan that wracked his whole body.
“The timing...” he breathed. “The timing is too perfect. I have an idea, ser, though it is only my own impression.” Jean went on to explain that the enemy’s behavior thus far had all been to lure them deep into the enemy’s ranks. It was a trap. Amelia didn’t bother to respond to this analysis.
“I can’t believe the Stonian Army pulled the wool over our eyes,” Jean gritted out. He stabbed his cross spear deep into the ground, his expression bitter. Cries of confusion began to rise up from the guardians who had been pushing forward bravely with the attack.
Amelia had directed her attack at a weak point in the enemy’s defenses, but this, precisely, had been their cunningly baited trap. Amelia had fallen right in without realizing it. It was highly likely that the soldiers now fleeing in confusion had not been made aware of the plan. Though if they were all in on it, she had to hand it to them—their acting was even better than hers.
“I suppose we find ourselves with a great noose drawing around us, then,” she muttered. “After they rolled over and licked the empire’s boots, I didn’t think the dogs had the nerve.”
An older soldier lay crumpled at her feet. Now, his finger twitched, and his blood-smeared lips twisted open. Apparently, he was still clinging to life.
“Stubborn old—!” Jean raised his cross spear to impale the old man, but Amelia raised a hand to stop him. “Thousand-Wing Amelia?” he said, bewilderment writ plain on his face.
She wasn’t being merciful. She merely felt an inkling of curiosity as to what the man wanted to say so badly, he had thrown away the chance he might have lived if he had only stayed silent.
“Mekian fools...” he croaked. “You cannot...win...”
“That’s what you have to say?!” Jean cried.
“Listen well,” the old man went on. “Since ancient times, Zorbeth, the god of war, has watched over Stonia... A poor spirit like your Goddess Strecia... That dross doesn’t even reach his feet...and that is why you have no hope of victory.” With this, the old man broke into a crazed laugh. Amelia kicked him hard in the head. She felt a dull impact as his neck lolled at an impossible angle and the irritating laughter cut off.
“I know of no god named Zorbeth, nor do I care in the slightest,” she said. “The only god is the one and only Goddess Strecia.” Again and again, she rammed her boot into the lifeless body of the old soldier. The guardians around her held their breath and watched as the man’s face, already ruined past the point where it was identifiable as such, spilled black blood over his pure white armor.
Jean watched this in awe. “Though there is of course no chance that the Winged Crusaders will be defeated,” he ventured hesitantly, “if we stay here, we will be cut off from the main force. Please, Thousand-Wing Amelia, you should fall back and leave the vanguard to me.” Jean was resolute, but Amelia only spread her arms and assumed an expression of feigned surprise.
“Fall back? Did those words really just come out of the mouth of one of the Twelve Angels?” she asked. “Are you mad?”
“Of course not,” Jean replied without a hint of shame. Amelia put her hand to her brow and shook her head.
“Jean Alexia,” she sighed, “you ought to exercise your brains sometimes and not just your muscles. If you did so, you’d see the opportunity we’ve been given.”
“Opportunity? Did you say opportunity, ser?”
“I do not repeat myself,” said Amelia.
Right now, the Stonian Army would be complacent in the knowledge that their plan had worked. A sharp blow struck now, Amelia predicted, would have a twofold impact on the enemy’s morale. After that, it wouldn’t matter how many soldiers they had. The rest would be child’s play. Falling back in the face of such a golden opportunity was unthinkable.
Jean was looking at her with disbelief, so Amelia, though it irked her to no end, explained the situation to him. Jean listened without interrupting, but she could see in his face that he wasn’t convinced.
“While I understand in theory, ser,” he said when she was done, “I must submit that under our current circumstances, it will be nigh impossible to pull off. You just said yourself, Thousand-Wing Amelia, that there is a noose around our vanguard. What lies that way isn’t opportunity, but—eh?!”
He cut off as Amelia seized him by the collar and yanked him towards her so that they were eye to eye, her gaze piercing, and his wavering as each stared down their opponent.
“‘You just said’?” Amelia sneered. “Did you not understand me? All I said was that the noose was drawing tight. Don’t go jumping to conclusions.”
“B-But if we don’t...” Jean’s face was rigid, but he didn’t back down. Amelia sighed heavily. If words wouldn’t persuade him, she would have to make him understand through action. Alas, dispelling the anxieties of her idiot subordinates was part of her duty as commander.
“Get away from there,” she said, thrusting Jean away. She focused, pouring a great stream of mana into her mage circle. Its outer rim began to spin, and her left hand was bathed in a growing blue-white glow.
The guardians around her suddenly grew lively.
“Look at Thousand-Wing Amelia’s hand!”
“Oh! Thousand-Wing Amelia is going to use magecraft!”
Amelia set her sights on the enemy vanguard, planted her legs apart, then raised her left hand, now blazing with cerulean light, and slammed it into the ground.
“Look closely,” she said. “Now the real revels begin.”
A beam of light shot out, racing along the ground. When it reached the enemy army, it vanished. In its stead, the earth began to tremble.
“Eh? An earthquake?” The Stonian soldiers stopped. As the tremors grew more violent, more and more of them fell, unable to stay upright. Then, a startled voice rang out from their ranks.
“Hold on! Something just came out of the ground!” With this, more and more cries of shock rose up.
“V-Vines?!”
“What are these freakish things?! They’re wrapping around me!”
“I-I can’t move!”
Another soldier shrieked “My blood!” they shouted. “The vines, they’re drinking my blood?!”
“...Help...us...”
In moments, the whole of the Stonian vanguard was engulfed in massive vines. It was like an artist’s picture of the torments of hell.
This was high-level binding magecraft: the Verdantwine Myriad. It generated vines that coiled around the targets of the spell, then sprouted scores of thorns that drank up their blood. Once all the blood was sucked dry, a profusion of scarlet flowers bloomed from the corpse.
This was the cruelest, the most inhumane, of all the magecraft in Amelia’s arsenal.
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