II
Main Command of the Winged Crusaders
“Ser, the dead are helpless before Senior Thousand-Wing Amelia’s magecraft.”
At the owl agent’s good news, the tension that had up ’til then been suffocating them all was replaced by a burst of excitement from the guardians. Lara listened to them singing Amelia’s praises from atop her horse when her eyes fell on Historia von Stampede—leader of the Twelve Angels and Lara’s aide.
Am I seeing things? Without thinking, she rubbed her eyes, then laughed at her own ridiculousness. Historia was gifted with many talents, but she thrived on indolence and wasn’t the sort to hide it, not even on the battlefield. But not now. Historia sat tall astride her horse, looking so gallant that no one could help but admire her. Her silver eyes that were her most striking feature were not half-hidden under drooping lids like usual, but rather staring straight ahead at Amelia fighting on the battlefield.
“Not napping today?” said Lara dryly. She got next to no reaction from Historia.
“Will Lady Amelia be all right?” Historia’s question was ambiguous, but Lara understood perfectly what she meant. Her tone was the same as ever, but it was obvious that she was worried about Amelia.
“She’ll be just fine,” Lara replied with confidence. At this, Historia finally met her gaze. There was a faint shadow of doubt in her eyes.
“Are you sure?”
“I would not lie to a friend. Fear not. Amelia is the last person who would make a mistake that would drain her mana.”
Mana drain meant death. It was a fate that always awaited mages. The possibility of death as a result of misjudging the amount of mana one had spent was not a small one. Indeed, there were said to be mages who really had died in the past. But as a rule, mages like that were of second- or third-rate ability. Magecraft, in its essence, was the art of accurately assessing one’s mana reserves. Amelia, whatever else she might be, was a first-rate mage. She would never misjudge.
Historia regarded Lara for a while, then looked straight ahead again. “This is a nasty enemy we’re up against,” she muttered.
The simple assessment painted a clear picture of what was on Historia’s mind. She already understood the nature of the undead.
What ultimately made a person a person was their mind, and the mind and the body were tightly intertwined. Both were roused by bravery and cowed by fear. On the battlefield, therefore, it was necessary to make a companion of death and fight with it at one’s side. In the ultimate army of Lara’s ambitions, all her guardians would have death as their companion. Now, an enemy that had halfway achieved this—albeit on a whole other level—was marching on the Holy City of Elsphere.
Their enemy was twisted to the core, but that was precisely why she couldn’t afford to underestimate it. It wouldn’t be long until Amelia reached the limits of her mana.
It was a little after the first flash of light.
It’s time. Historia, knowing what Lara wanted, skillfully urged her horse forward then galloped off to the first line of defense.
Upon her arrival, she called out in a voice both loud and bold. “Prepare for the second battle!”
The senior hundred-wing in command on the first line took up the call. “Prepare for the second battle!” they echoed.
With the moment they had been waiting for upon them, the guardians sprang into action. None of them looked like they wanted to run. Fifty multistage ballistae, the newest weapons borne out of the cumulation of Mekian technology, stood along the first defensive line ready to intercept the dead horde. The guardians’ morale remained high, even with their first battle with their undead foe almost upon them. This was not thanks to their new weapons, nor was it because they had mages on their side. The reason was simple: the almighty being that watched over them at their side.
No matter what enemy may come, I will not allow them to lay a finger on the seraph. As though in answer to Lara’s resolve, a flash of blue light streaked up into the sky.
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