VII
With Amelia’s intercession, the battle between Johann and Felix came to a conclusion for the present. August’s rear guard, meanwhile, fought tooth and nail against Lara and the main force of the Winged Crusaders. So furious was the conflict, they say, that minstrels would sing of it for years to come.
Bacchus roared with laughter. “Mekian upstarts!” he cried. “You think you’ll strike me down like that?” He brandished his glaive, Kidomaru, with reckless abandon, holding back the Winged Crusaders. All who stood against him met their end either run through or hacked to pieces by his blade. His movements seemed to give the lie to his aged exterior, displaying the mastery that is the sole inheritance of those who undertake long years of disciplined training.
“Senile old man! Skewer him, all of you, all at once!”
In response to the ten-wing’s order, five guardians all thrust their spears at Bacchus. He twisted artfully and evaded their many attacks, but his foot caught on a fallen corpse, and he was thrown off-balance. For a moment he let his guard fall, and it was then that a guardian came up behind him in his blind spot to strike him in the back.
“Nngh...!” Bacchus came to a standstill.
“Now!” the ten-wing bellowed. The guardians seized the chance to stab him with their spears. Black blood poured unchecked from Bacchus’s body.
“He’s dead!” cried a guardian, a smile spreading across their face. But this lasted for only a moment.
“You...You won’t kill me!” Bacchus, still on his feet, bared his bloodied teeth and grinned at the guardians. They could only stare in shock, nearly forgetting that they had stabbed him through the back. On the battlefield, losing one’s nerve was akin to a death sentence. Bacchus took his glaive and, one by one, cleaved through the lives laid bare before him.
“The old man can’t die!” cried another guardian. Unable to believe their eyes, they took one step back from him, then another, terror in their eyes. Bacchus spun his glaive above his head with a manic laugh, then began to beat the shaft of his weapon on the ground.
“See that?” he cackled. “Here at my back is Zorbeth, the God of War! Even now, he lends me his power! He speaks to me and tells me I have nothing to fear from any who grovels before the likes of Strecia!”
“How dare you speak ill of Strecia, you miserable wretch!” Spittle flew from the mouth of an especially devout hundred-wing as he bellowed, face distorted with fury. “Keep wagging that tongue of yours! I care not! Archers, shoot now and put this walking corpse out of his misery!”
At his command, his soldiers loosed a volley of arrows, and Bacchus, his lips still twisted in a dreadful, soul-chilling grin, breathed his last.
The runner came just as August broke the tip of his blade cutting down his twentieth guardian.
“Lord August, Lieutenant Bacchus is dead, along with his entire unit.” The man made his report matter-of-factly, despite the numerous arrows buried deep in his back, from which scarlet blood even now continued to weep, bathing him in crimson. Anyone could see he was mortally wounded.
“How did he meet it?” August asked.
“He was truly magnificent. He refused to give a single step.” The runner nodded deeply to August, his face full of pride.
“I see...” August murmured. “You did well to tell me this. Now rest, and leave the rest to us.”
“You are very kind, ser. I will take you at your word...” With this, the runner quietly crumpled. His chest rose and fell with barely perceptible motion, then fell still. Thus another brave soul met a worthy death.
“Until we meet again in the next world,” August said. He threw aside his broken blade, instead taking up the fallen sword left behind by the man he had just killed. The man must have been of some standing, for the blade was of good make and sat well in his hand.
“I’ve got plenty left in me yet...” he said under his breath. The same manic grin Bacchus had worn spread across his face.
Almost two hours had passed since the battle began between the main force of the Winged Crusaders under Lara’s command and August’s rear guard. The Stonian Army now fought like berserkers, not batting an eye even when an ally fighting beside them was killed. They did not give way and they did not look back. They only pressed forwards, killing the enemies before them. There was no strategy or tactics in this. They were like mindless beasts. Yet not only could they not stop the Winged Crusader’s advance, despite their best efforts, their forward march was met with an immovable wall that pushed them further and further back.
They’re like a wall of death. No half-hearted assault is going to break through that. Ahh, just when I thought this was going to wrap up easily... Her eyes slid to where her friend of these fifteen years stood firm beside her, observing the progress of the battle. There was a shadow over her elegant features, though it was so faint that none but Historia would have noticed it.
And Lara doesn’t look like she’s going anywhere... Historia thought. Nothing for it, then. With an inward sigh, she freed her right foot from her stirrup and leapt from the back of the white horse.
“You’re going?” Lara asked. In response, Historia drew her weapons from her belt. The twin blades were curved like crescent moons and glittered silvery blue. Named Azulune, the paired blades were shorter than those of standard swords to accommodate Historia’s extreme close-range fighting style. The weapon was a masterpiece into which Mekia’s preeminent smith, Dagan Asylum, had poured his blood, sweat and tears.
“What else am I supposed to do? We’re going to sustain more losses than we can brush off if this keeps up. Unless you want to crush them to death with your magecraft, Lara? I mean, that’d be the fastest route.”
Even a wall of death would crumble into dust in moments if Lara turned her magecraft on it. It would be the surest and safest way to do it, and best of all, it’d be easy.
But the woman herself only huffed through her nose and said dismissively, “Don’t be silly. This is still a valuable opportunity, even with this pack of fools who must surrender to madness in order to fight. Giving them a quick end with magecraft would defeat the purpose of the whole exercise.”
“There’s a valuable opportunity?” Historia asked. Lara smiled thinly and nodded.
“It is rare for the guardians to get the chance to put down such an opponent. This is an opportunity to further improve the Winged Crusaders.”
“A rare opportunity, huh...?” Historia said thoughtfully. “Yeah, you would say that, Lara.”
Lara’s goal was clear and concise. She planned to turn the Winged Crusaders into the greatest army on the continent of Duvedirica. There was no doubt that she wished this for Sofitia’s sake, and Historia knew full well that opposition was futile.
Still, it’s a bit over the top. I think Lara’s being a bit too demanding. I mean, the empire has the Azure Knights...
Feeling a smattering of sympathy for the guardians Lara was pushing to meet her ideals, Historia twirled Azulune’s twin blades a few times by way of warming up her muscles.
“I haven’t seen you work in a while. I’ll be watching closely,” Lara said, the corners of her mouth twitching.
Historia heaved a dramatic sigh. “You seem to be confused—I’m a sword fighter, not a street performer. Must be nice getting to be so carefree as commander in chief.”
“You know it’s only because I trust you that I spoke so?” Lara said this like it was obvious, but Historia felt a shiver go up her spine. Lara rarely praised anyone. It made her bashful, even if they were friends. She hurried to regain her composure.
“Yeah, yeah. It’s all in how you say it!”
“Insubordinate as usual, Twin Blade Historia,” Lara said, throwing that hateful name at her again. The man driving the chariot couldn’t hold back a snort of laughter.
Glaring past him at Lara, Historia shouted, “I keep telling you! Don’t use that name!” Then, she took off at a dash towards the oncoming wall of death.
Amongst the roar of voices and clamor of the battlefield, one old soldier noticed Historia. A smile spread across his face as he slashed across with his swordstaff at her. She dodged, dropping so low that her body brushed along the ground, then slipped right in close to him.
“So long.”
In a flash, she swapped her sword to her right hand and severed the old man’s carotid artery. A geyser of blood erupted from him as he collapsed, but Historia had already forgotten him. Eyes glittering, she threw herself upon another three men nearby. She kicked aside the hand of the first man who stabbed at her, sending his sword spinning away through the air. Then, stepping delicately to evade the blows of the remaining two, she kicked up so that the sole of her foot met the hilt of the sword as it came back to earth, sending it plunging into the first man’s chest.
“Nguh!” He fell backwards, scrabbling at the protruding blade. Historia didn’t wait for another attack to reach her. The other two came at her, but before the first man hit the ground, the blades of Azulune had pierced straight through their hearts.
“The girl’s no slouch!” someone shouted, and deranged eyes all turned to focus on Historia. Unconcerned, she extracted both her swords; then, as though she were tugging out loose threads, she flicked the blood that trickled from the blades to the ground. Then, she faced the raving Stonian soldiers who advanced on her and beckoned provocatively.
“Kill her!” they screamed, brandishing their weapons fiercely. Historia’s blade was impossible to pin down as she cleaved when they thought she would strike up and struck down when she seemed about to stab. She felled one Stonian after another, the savage swing of her blade fortified with her natural talent. Before anyone could react, she had piled up a great mound of corpses.
“Well, that about covers it,” Historia said, matter-of-fact and composed. Even the Stonian soldiers seemed wary of her now, coming to a halt in front of her. Historia didn’t miss the opportunity. “They’ve stopped! Now is your chance! Charge them!” she shouted, pointing her sword towards the hole she had cut. The guardians surged forwards once more, bellowing like a raging storm.
Thirteen thousand against five thousand. With the hole Historia had torn in their ranks on top of the original imbalance in their numbers, the Stonian rear guard dropped like flies. Even after surrendering themselves to battle frenzy, they were still human, and humans will always reach their limit—especially such elderly soldiers.
As the hours wore on, the rear guard’s momentum faded until the tide of the battle had turned entirely in favor of the Winged Crusaders.
“My job here is done,” Historia said, scoffing. “I’ll leave Lara to mop up the rest.”
Looking away from the rear guard as they were overrun by the guardians, she turned to where Lara was. They’re out of places to run at last... she thought.
The rear guard had been whittled down to a mere two hundred soldiers, who were now totally surrounded. In a gesture of defiance, they closed ranks behind great shields while the Winged Crusaders slowly closed in. Just when it seemed like the face-off would drag on, there was a sudden break in the encircling ring. August held his breath and watched as four black horses came through, drawing a sort of carriage. This had to be the strange vehicle Cecilia had described.
And that means... August regarded the two people before him. One was a man in golden armor who appeared to be driving. The other, cutting an imposing figure as she stood with one foot resting on the man’s epaulet, was a woman with pale silver hair.
She held an arm out to one side and ordered, “Halt.” Everything in her bearing marked her without a doubt as the Winged Crusaders’ commander.
A woman is their commander? August wondered. Suppose that follows when their ruler’s a woman too. But she doesn’t look much older than Cecilia...
Even as he struggled to swallow all this, August called out to his surviving comrades, “Hold your formation.” Confirming their silent nods of understanding, August stepped forwards. The woman glanced at him, then stepped lightly down from the vehicle. The young lioness and the old lion faced one another, as if to personify the changing age.
“You’re the commander of these soldiers?” she asked in ringing tones.
With a keen awareness of his own age, August replied that he was.
“Very well. Then tell me your name, you who were so foolish as to provoke the Holy Land of Mekia.”
“August gibb Lanbenstein,” August said at length. The woman’s eyes narrowed.
“Well, well. I’ve never heard of the field marshal leading the rear guard before...” she said. “How intriguing. I am Blessed Wing Lara, commander in chief of the Winged Crusaders. Out of respect for the reckless bravery you have shown, I would grant you the right to face me in single combat. What say you?”
Lara, as the woman had called herself, accurately guessed August’s rank, though he was sure he hadn’t revealed it to her. Scarcely two weeks had passed since the declaration of war to the outset of the battle, yet in that time Mekia’s intelligence agents had clearly been scrupulous. Despite the fact that they were enemies, August was straightforwardly impressed. At the same time, Lara’s proposal came to him like a godsend. He had already made up his mind that the only way to turn the battle now was to kill the enemy commander. He hadn’t dreamed that she would suggest a duel herself.
August was on the verge of giving his consent when a woman with silver eyes standing beside Lara cut in indignantly. “You can’t be serious, ser. We’re about to crush them. How do you get to single combat from that? I find it totally incomprehensible.”
“Do you really? I myself am most impressed by the mettle of a field marshal who would stay behind with his rear guard. Remember the story of the general who sent salt to his enemy when their supplies were cut off?”
“Yes, but this is too much salt, unless you’re planning on turning them into bacon.” The silver-eyed woman broke off, then threw up her hands in defeat. “But then I suppose it’s in character for you.” She stepped back without further protest. This told August she didn’t think it was possible Lara could lose the duel. The other soldiers were the very picture of composure. Not one showed even a hint of perturbation.
“Forgive the interruption,” Lara went on. “Now, what say you?”
“I don’t see that I have much choice in the matter...” August said slowly. “But are you in earnest? You seem to have great confidence in your abilities, but it’s people like that who are most likely to slip.” August had known far too many braggarts who’d met their end at his blade.
August’s words had come from the kindness of an old man’s heart, but Lara answered them with a thin smile.
“Maybe so. I suppose there may be value in what you say, coming as it does from the field marshal’s lips. But don’t trouble yourself. Hear me now when I tell you, your sword will not touch me for even a moment.”
“Hmph. You talk a lot for such a whelp of a girl,” August retorted. “They call that arrogance, you know.” As he raised his sword high above his head, a strong gust of wind blew past him. Lara, meanwhile, stood at ease, not even bothering to draw her blade. “Remember that I’m still marshal before you think of mocking me, girl. I know that sword at your belt isn’t just a trinket. It’s about time you drew...” He paused, then added, “Surely you haven’t lost your nerve now?”
Lara didn’t cringe before the rage that colored his voice. Instead, she remarked lightly, “Oh, that’s right! I forgot to tell you one thing.”
“The time for talk is over. What can you have to say now?”
“I am the commander in chief of the Winged Crusaders,” Lara said, “but I am also a mage.”
“You’re a what?!”
“I have made good on my promise of single combat. Now, I bid you farewell.” She spun on her heel and began to walk away, leaving her back totally exposed.
August, unable to fathom the meaning of Lara’s actions, was left in a state of mild bemusement. Then, he heard something fall heavily at his feet. He looked down and saw two arms tightly gripping a dark red sword. He blinked several times. Those arms were intimately familiar to him.
“Are those...” he said slowly, “...my arms?” The anomalies in his body continued. He found his vision, which had been normal until moments ago, flipped upside down. He heard voices almost like screams coming from his own army. A voice as clear as a cloudless sky cut through them all.
“With my magecraft, I bend the wind to my will to call forth an invisible blade, pitiless and able to cut through even steel in an instant. This is the least I can offer you in tribute, Lord Marshal. I hope you will not hesitate to accept it.”
By the time Lara had finished speaking, August’s body lay in pieces on the ground.
“Clean up the rest, Historia,” Lara said dismissively as she passed the other woman. With a word of assent that was half a sigh, Historia slowly raised her left hand. With the force of an avalanche, the Winged Crusaders charged at the rear guard, who stood frozen in shock.
In the end, the Stonian Army lost forty thousand soldiers. The Winged Crusaders lost three thousand.
The Battle of Libera, instigated by the machinations of the empire, ended in an overwhelming victory for the Winged Crusaders.
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