A Hero Past the 25th by I'mFiction

Category: Original

Genre: Action, Adventure, Anti-Hero Lead, Fantasy, Female Lead, Grimdark, Summoned Hero

Status: Completed

Published: 2017-04-02

Updated: 2017-04-02

Packaged: 2018-10-11 21:16:36

Warnings: Gore Profanity Traumatising content, This fiction contains:

Chapters: 7

Words: 74,808

Publisher: www.royalroad.com

Summary:

Ever since she was a child, Itaka Izumi dreamed of being transported into a world of medieval fantasy, where to live her life as a brave hero by the sword. One day, by a miracle, Izumi actually gets her way.

Only—she's a child no more...

Famous knight princess Yuliana escapes the kingdom of Langoria, defying the king and the law, in an effort to save her world from a prophecy of doom. Caught in a bind, she is saved by a champion, one summoned from another world.

But definitely not the kind of a champion she wanted...

By forces of circumstances, the two women end up journeying together through the deceitful world of Ortho, where the greatest threat might not be a beast or a monster, but fellow man.

* * *

Now with a SEQUEL!

Prologue

It's like I'm flying. Yuliana Da Via Brannan briefly glanced at her feet, which were barely touching the naked, slippery rocks beneath.

Of course, there was no way she could really fly, but at the velocity she was going downhill now, the difference was barely there. Before she realized, Yuliana had lost the skill and patience necessary to properly control her descent. The young maiden's life had in one moment been reduced to an object of mad luck, which—as she well knew—was only ever afforded in finite, minute quantities. The time before she should slip and fall, bringing her short and tumultuous journey to a miserable conclusion, was counted in heartbeats.

And yet, Yuliana never even considered trying to stop.

Her options now numbered in two: keep going and by some chance of a miracle, live. Or else stop—either by her own intent or by the forces of nature—and perish.

The heavy burden this young woman carried in her arms made her descent that much trickier, but the thought of letting go of it was just as unthinkable to her as stopping. Her entire purpose was contained in that object, even as it did its best to pull her to her doom. Sooner than it, Yuliana was prepared to discard her own life.

Those two went hand-in-hand, after all.

“Please reconsider! You have done all that you could!” Yuliana heard an anxious voice argue in her ears. “You must abandon the Amygla and escape! Do so and they are sure to give up on chasing you!”

—Never! Yuliana responded in thought, gritting her teeth. She was too exhausted and out of breath to voice it.

Even as her body began to fail her, Yuliana stubbornly held onto the arrogant hope of somehow escaping without compromises. Directing all the remaining strength of will into moving her feet, she leaped dangerously down from boulder to boulder in a race to the bottom of the gorge.

Rain hindered the girl's vision. Dark clouds hung heavily above the mountains.

Even without confirming it with her eyes, Yuliana could tell the sun had already set far behind the steep cliffs surrounding her, and it would soon get too dark to run. But even in dark now she looked for hope; if only she could evade her pursuers until nightfall, they would be sure to lose track of her.

Even as she entertained those optimistic thoughts, Yuliana was deep down better than aware of how impossibly distant that hope was. On foot, without companions or supplies, her efforts had boiled down to this momentary contest of endurance, in which she held no discernible advantage over those on her trail.

And then, even more abruptly than she had feared it——her luck ran out.

Exhaustion building up by each successive step, the attention Yuliana could spare to securing her footing became lessened in proportion, to the point where her recklessness had finally grown too great for fortune alone to make up for.

Her boot slipped and, at once, her balance was lost.

Valiantly dashing forward in one moment, in the next the young woman already tumbled down the rocky slope with no way of regaining her natural orientation, like a frail toy in the playful hands of invisible faeries.

It hurt less than Yuliana had imagined it would.

Though that was mostly due to her ability to fathom quite a torture, rather than it not hurting at all.

The young woman's arms and legs, as well as her upper body, were fortunately protected by an ornate yet effective plate armor. Now grateful for this priceless gift she had always considered herself unworthy of, Yuliana shielded her unshielded head, as she rolled down. But it was then that she realized her survival instincts had betrayed her loftier intentions—to save herself, she had unwittingly let go of the object she had valued above her life.

With its loss, even if she survived the fall, her desperate journey was over.

Understanding that, Yuliana rather found the pain cathartic.

Each time her mistreated form collided with the rocks, each time a blunt, relentless pain flared somewhere through her limbs and sides, bleaching her consciousness pure white, Yuliana thought it was a warranted punishment for her weakness.

Finally, the girl reached a spot where gravity could no longer drag her any further down, at the bottom of the water-carved gorge. Her stamina utterly depleted, out of breath, her body aching all over, Yuliana lied flat on her face on the coarse, wet sand. The freezing spring rain prickled her exposed neck like needles.

I have to get up. I have to get up.

Even now, her soldier's spirit refused to surrender.

Though her right arm and left thigh hurt too much to rely on, the toes and fingers were at least responding. There were no broken bones, it seemed. She was conscious. Exhaustion, pain, and bruises alone were no excuse not to keep going. But simply being hard on yourself was never enough to achieve the impossible, and Yuliana's abused muscles outright refused the idea of getting up so soon. She could only submit to her fate, lie still, and let her burning lungs keep gasping for oxygen—at least until their breath would be stilled for good.

—“There! There she is! She's down! Over here!”

From a distance echoed the encouraged cries of her pursuers.

They sounded all too close to her liking. Despite the added swiftness brought at the cost of senselessness, Yuliana hadn't been able to pull much of a lead on the men on her trail. They would reach her in a moment and effortlessly reclaim what she had risked so much to take. She was powerless to stop them now.

“Forgive me...It's over,” she spoke in between ragged breaths, though she would have rather died on the spot than pronounced those words. “This is...as far as I go, it seems...”

“You must not give up!” the clear voice seemingly coming from within her very head answered her. “I will...I will call for aid. Be still!”

Who would come? Yuliana thought bitterly and snorted.

No people lived in the mountains. Even if some random hunter or a hermit happened to be nearby, what good would it do? No, she was already beyond all mortal aid. But what the voice said next made Yuliana forget about the pain and open her eyes in shock.

“I shall use my right to summon.”

“What?” the girl gasped. “You can't mean that! Why!? At a time like this…!”

“It must be now or never,” the voice answered.

“What about the prophecy? What will happen—”

“There is no time to reflect on it,” the voice cut her off, “they may kill you, or worse, and all will be lost. I will do it! Be still and calm. This will be taxing on you.”

The desperation in the voice of her unseen companion reminded Yuliana of just how miserable her situation was. And of her own inadequacy.

“That's right...I've failed to guard my word. I've no right to object. Not that I ever did. Fine...My body and spirit are yours to use as you will, my Lord. Burn it away and let...the champion take my place...”

“Speak no more! Everything will be fine! You will survive this, I guarantee it. It is not the end. Hold on…!”

Even through her closed eyelids, Yuliana could see a bright light amass close by, banishing darkness from the previously shady depths of the gorge.

To be precise, it wasn't coming from some place near her.

It was coming from her. Through her.

Though Yuliana was not a sorceress, that light was undoubtedly the brilliant glow of magic. And not just any magic but an ancient sorcery unknown to the witches and warlocks of today.

The light of the mythical Grand Summon.

A once-in-a-thousand years miracle.

As foretold in the timeless prophecy, like in the days described by the ancient banquet songs, a mighty warrior, a hero, would be called from another world, to save the misguided races of Ortho.

Only, it was too soon.

Would the departed gods forgive this transgression?

Or would the only thing to answer the spell be their merciless retribution?

Only time would tell.

A powerful wind blew, turning the rain momentarily upward. Even the approaching pursuers stopped, startled by the magnificent shine and the widening magic circle which produced it. After reaching up to the heavens in a sparkling, blinding pillar of pure white light, the spell's effect began to quickly shrink in size, ultimately solidifying in a vaguely humanoid shape.

Then, the light faded completely, returning the canyon to twilight.

Yuliana exerted herself to see the result.

Against her fears, it appeared the summoning had been a success.

Of course, the one who had carried it out was one of the fabled Divines.

Even if the prophecy was enacted prematurely, there was no way it could fail. From the moment of its evocation, the success of the result was already set in stone.

But...

The outcome was something not even the Divines could have predicted.

Maybe not even the distant Gods themselves, in their famous prophecy.

2

The common consensus in her class—in all her classes through sixth to twelveth grade—among both peers and elders alike, was that the girl called Itaka Izumi was something of an idiot.

It wasn't a matter of simple grades.

Although she was a little slow on the uptake and her answers to teachers' quizzes often ended up missing the point, so to say, young Miss Izumi did pass her exams without too much hassle. She was not the top of her class, but notably above average, at least. Maybe she was just that kind of a learner—you know, the “my pace”-type that didn't blossom in the constricted, archaic classroom environment?

Perhaps she was actually a hidden genius?

Well, whether she was or wasn't, nobody could tell.

As said, grades were not the cause for her poor reputation.

The primary reason was that even while she was still a child, Izumi took being a child that one awkward step too far.

This was probably best illustrated in her career plan form on the eighth grade.

In her form, this girl boldly wrote in her otherwise tidy handwriting, “a summoned hero in another world” on the first line, intended to signify her primary career of choice.

What did this mean? Unspecified.

On the second place, instead of a baker, or a cosmetologist, or a hairdresser, she wrote, “magician/rogue/healer in the party of the summoned hero”.

Above the black line following the numeral three was not a word about nurses, reporters, models, or even idols. It said, “a blacksmith (or a shop assistant) in a mid-level town frequented by summoned heroes”.

The plans grew adorably more modest as the list went on, although it was mostly indicating the writer's desperation—or an attempt to better appeal to some divine authority—rather than due to any sense of realism.

No, rather than a “career plan”, it would've been more appropriately labeled, “a wishlist”.

A wishlist to who, exactly? An excellent question. Not to Santa Claus, anyway. Most likely, the only entity capable of making any of those absurd plans real would have to be God himself—if only he cared.

Young Ms Izumi's teacher was definitely helpless in this regard. He had not even one solid suggestion to give towards actualizing those career plans. Instead, he wrote a very concerned email to Izumi's parents, who in turn prohibited their daughter from playing video games or purchasing manga or light novels for a month.

Indeed, Itaka Izumi was one of those progressive, modern girls who openly enjoyed video games and such like a great deal, though you would not have believed it simply by looking at her. She watched a lot of anime of a very specific niche, spent a large chunk of her allowance on manga and light novels of the same sort, even wrote her own fantasy novellas on the side.

Nothing wrong with that, really. There was a kid like that or two or more in every class. No great social stigma existed for such hobbies in this day and age, times changed and so on. But perhaps the way Ms Izumi enjoyed her hobbies was a bit different, after all.

Her parents, teachers, as well as the few friends she had, were all of the opinion that while her free time activities were harmless on a principle, she still could've found better ways to spend her money and enthusiasm.

As for Izumi herself…

“I don't think that's very fun.”——She would always half-heartedly dismiss any good-intending recommendations on better entertainment and pastime.

What really was the problem then?

To understand that, one should take a closer look at these hobbies.

Oddly enough, all the media this Itaka Izumi so enthusiastically consumed had one particular trait in common.

Isekai—they were all, without fail, about being spirited away into another world.

“I wasn't meant to be born in this world. This is too dull. One day, I will be transported into another dimension and live my new life there as an adventurer, enjoying each day to the fullest. That's the real life I was meant to live.” Izumi was convinced of this. She did everything she did with that future in mind and paid no heed to anything else.

Time passed and Izumi slowly matured from “that goofy child” into “that eccentric young lady”, nicely put. But even as she aged, her faith in her dream's plausibility never seemed to waver. Regardless of her conviction, days flew by and her wish of being miraculously abducted into a game-like parallel reality didn't appear to get one step closer to realization. Yet she never once questioned if it was even possible to begin with. No, she naturally assumed the fault was in herself.

Maybe I'm still too young and inexperienced?

Of course, no wizard possessing awe-inspiring magic powers would waste their mana on calling a helpless damsel with no talents to speak of. As she was, wasn't Izumi only going to be useless waste of space even if she had her way? She couldn't count on being given special treatment, or acquiring some kind of an extraordinary ability simply for the virtue of being a summoned hero either. Such things could only ever happen in cheap wish-fulfillment stories, clearly. Izumi had to have at least one solid skill, a specialty, that should warrant such an honor—or so she thought.

Therefore, on the doorstep of adulthood, free from the reins of compulsory education, Izumi dedicated her time and effort into acquiring the qualifications necessary to become a summoned hero.

What those qualifications were, exactly, she obviously had no idea.

Neither did anybody else.

The needs of a medieval fantasy world could be many and varying, so it was better to train a whole bunch of skills and professions, just in case. Whoever said the other world would be medieval fantasy-themed, anyway? Of course, no one. Not only was Izumi greedily demanding the world to provide her an unlikely escape route into another, she also expected the other world to perfectly conform to her ambiguous expectations for it. As if the odds of getting just half of the deal weren't bad enough already.

Knowing all this now, you are probably beginning to understand what manner of a person Itaka Izumi was.

Not merely an innocent, free-spirited child with a wild imagination.

Not a youthful, modern woman with an expansive sense of humor.

No, just odd.

Off.

Upset.

Mad as the famous hatter.

But one day——a miracle really did occur.

A double miracle. A triple miracle. A conjunction of lucky stars that made the idea of a spontaneous big bang itself seem mundane.

Just like Izumi had always known it would. As if she had been granted some sort of divine wisdom upon birth, otherworldly insight, which had allowed her to predict her own fate and take measures to prepare for it.

No, it probably really was only a mad, once-in-a-multiverse freak occurrence, the magnitude of which the words, “an unlikely coincidence”, were powerless to cover.

Nevertheless, regardless of the astronomic numbers involved, it happened.

But——maybe just a little too late?

Chapter 1: The Summoned Hero is Seriously Creepy

1

The blinding brilliance of the Grand Summon slowly faded, leaving only residual afterimages in the returning darkness of the barren canyon. And together with the light, Yuliana's hopes faded, the newly lit blaze of courage within her completely snuffed out.

Where the summoning circle had been moments prior now stood—a person.

Though the summoned hero was said to come from another world and could have looked like anything, the stranger resembled a regular human.

An adult woman, to be precise.

Not a gallant valkyria in a sparkling plate armor, lance in hand, blonde hair beautifully swaying in the light breeze.

Not a sorceress veiled in gorgeous black satin, imbued with mysterious powers.

Not even a cute, glowing little fairy, a tall elven princess, or a young muse.

Not a muscular amazoness leaning on a humongous greataxe.

Instead, the person looked only like a regular maid.

A woman dressed in a simple, brown dress shirt with the sleeves crudely rolled up to elbows, a gray, knee-length skirt, as well as a murky blue apron covering the front. On her feet were light indoor slippers, dirty white. No matter how you looked at it, it was an attire ill-suited for combat.

Brown, thick and wavy hair reached past the woman's curvy hips and looked like it would get in the way of—any kind of work, really. Her figure showed no marks of a violent life; rather, her chest and hips had quite a bit of excess fat to them, proof of an idle lifestyle.

Was the stranger a magician then?

The woman didn't have a staff, not even a small wand, no cloak, not one ancient tome in hand, no magical gems, no rings on her fingers, actually no jewelry or accessories of any sort. She did have a sort of beautiful face, but there was an abundance of pretty—and prettier—girls in virtually every town. There was no way for her to contest any Zurian maiden, let alone the Divines, in that regard.

The woman was from another world, that much was clear from her foreign attire, the material of which looked oddly cheap and unrefined compared to the Estuanian silk worn at the court, or the hand-woven cotton attires common everywhere in Langoria. It was clear that whoever had made those clothes took no particular pride in her handiwork.

Setting aside the woman's garments, if this person was not a warrior or a magician, not a mystical being or even armed in any way—then what good was she to Yuliana in her dire situation?

The woman had been brought here by the Grand Summon, to save the people of Ortho, like the ages-old prophecy predicted.

“A champion, the strongest among his or her kind”—such were the criteria by which the great miracle was said to select its agents. Yuliana had believed it to mean someone of peerless mental and physical capability. The old songs were quite clear on that point.

A sobering thought occurred to Yuliana.

Perhaps prophecies were not quite what they were made out to be.

Or, it couldn't be that the people of the other world were really WEAK?

“Hm, hm,” the strange woman looked blankly around for a moment and didn't appear too shocked over being suddenly torn from her home and dropped in a place she couldn't recognize. Was she too dense to even realize her reality had changed? Were the other world's inhabitants perhaps mentally only on the level of a newborn baby, coddled by magic or unimaginable technology?

Then, the foreigner's attention was caught—not by Yuliana lying helplessly on the ground, but by something up ahead on the slope.

Battered by the rain, pinned between the rocks, was a large sword.

Yuliana's sword. It was what she had been carrying with her.

It was not just any old greatsword. Yuliana's life, her future depended on it. Her pursuers were willing to kill for it. Simply touching that particular instrument of battle was enough grounds for the capital punishment to anyone outside the royal family. Not even the king could simply carry it off to battle with him if he so pleased. Before a weapon, it was a treasure, the cornerstone of the Langorian culture.

“Ooh!” With an exclamation of excitement, the woman went and picked up the sword. Like picking up a flower, she lifted it nimbly in the air and examined it from both sides. “Fifty-six and a half inches in length, the handle fifteen, about six at widest...Weight? Maybe six pounds point...seven, eight? What a marvel of craftsmanship! It fits my grip so good too! This isn't steel, is it? Some kind of unknown fantasy metal!? Wow, they do give out freebies after all!? This isn't a day one DLC, is it? I'd really hate to see someone else running around with another just like it...”

What in the world is she talking about? Yuliana wasn't amused.

Offended on the behalf of her house, she was about to stand up and order the stranger to return the weapon, but someone else beat her to it.

——“Hand over the sword!”

A crude voice came from uphill.

Both the woman and Yuliana turned to look up, and through the rain, down the slope emerged a group of men.

Knights, five—seven of them.

Most were clad in uniform chainmail that reached the knees, with long, deep blue surcoat over it, their coat of arms embroidered on the chest in silver. On their heads were cylinder-like helmets, save for one, the commander, whose head was left bare. To show his rank, he also wore a blue little cape over his left shoulder. He was the one who had issued the command.

Yuliana knew the man by name.

Sir Ivanoe Bravia Eisley, the Baron of Troms, the vice commander of the Kingsguard. There were only a handful of people even in the capital qualified to bring back the holy sword, and he was definitely one.

The short black beard framing Sir Eisley's sturdy jaw had lost some of its usual refinement in the rain, as had happened to his short dark hair that clung slimily over his forehead. His sharp, deep blue eyes gave Yuliana a quick, tired glare. He nodded at two of his men to go secure her, before turning his attention back to the unknown woman,

“What you have there is something priceless to our kingdom. Hand it over, and for this once I shall overlook the felony of you sullying its divine grace by your commoner's hands. At once.”

Even in her peril, Yuliana felt more concerned over the well-being of the outsider—since it was partly her fault the woman was here in the first place.

Being suddenly confronted by a squad of knights, right after having been abducted into another world without a word of explanation, the woman was understandably shocked and couldn't muster a response. She had to have been.

For a moment, Yuliana wondered how she should argue their collective defense when someone interrupted her thoughts,

—“No, thanks, I'll pass up on that offer.”

“Haa?”

It was the unknown woman.

Yuliana and the knights' side were both momentarily stunned by the unexpected—unexpectedly blunt—response. Under the circumstances, a hare casually defying a pack of wolves never appeared a possibility to either.

“I really like this thing, so I'm going to keep it until I find something better,” the stranger followed up with an outrageous explanation. “Sorry, but consider it lost now.”

It took several blinks before the knight commander recovered.

“For the love of Divines...!” he spat, before repeating, “Give the sword to me, wench! Do not make me ask you a third time!”

“No means no,” the woman immediately repeated with a frown. “What are you, a telemarketer? You guys are all armed with swords, which means this world must be pretty dangerous and guns haven't been invented yet. In other words, I'm going to need a good weapon to defend myself with, and the way I see it, this one's the best around. Well, if you're willing to give me one of yours, some other items, money, and a bit of information, then I suppose we could bargain, if you really want it that bad.”

“Josley, take it!” Sir Eisley ordered one of his men standing nearby and cursed. He hadn't been chasing a fugitive all day in the rain just to end up haggling with a daft vagrant. He didn't know what the light earlier had been—clearly a failed spell somehow initiated by Yuliana—but that didn't matter. He would take the sword and the girl, the wench too, if necessary, and be back to the king before the weekend.

The named knight did as ordered and started to descend the rocky slope towards the woman with the sword. Sir Josley expected her to soon turn and run, and checked if the throwing knife pouch hanging by his hip was ready for use. He wasn't about to run another step tonight.

But again, against everyone's expectations, the woman wouldn't run. Instead, she turned to face the knight, kicked her slippers off her feet and raised the sword in front of her.

As though preparing for a fight.

The knight stopped. He hadn't intended to, his feet had done it on their own. There was something unsettling about the woman and the weapon that should have been way too heavy for her to hold so steadily. She was on the lower ground, vulnerable, without armor. But her stance was adamant, as if her soft-looking figure had suddenly turned to stone. The sharp end of the blade lingered right at the level of their connected line of sight, radiating a sense of dread.

A voice quiet enough for only the knight to hear it reached his ears.

—“If you come too close, I might have to kill you.”

Though the woman had intoned it like a friendly warning, there was a hollow, cold ring to her words. Whether she was lost in madness, or just pretending well enough to even fool herself, she appeared to believe without a modicum of doubt that she could follow through with the threat.

Kill a knight? A commoner?

How delirious could she be, to throw around such absurd lines in a situation like this?

“What are you doing? Hurry up!”

His captain's angry urges in his ears, his comrades' faint, ridiculing chuckles sounding from inside their helmets, embarrassment made Sir Josley's blood boil. He was soaked, feverish, hungry, tired, and confused—and angry because of all that.

“Fine, if that's the way you want it,” he confidently told the woman, unsheathed his longsword and took a step forward.

There was no reason to be afraid.

It was completely unthinkable for the woman to actually be able to wield the holy sword. Even if she could somehow gather enough strength to lift her thin arms, he was certain he could push her down long before the blade would fall. It was an empty bluff, nothing more. Encouraged by his observation, the knight boldly picked up the pace and stepped towards the woman in an almost casual fashion, determined to pull the royal treasure from her unresisting grip and leave.

As if to show her arms were getting tired, to surrender, the woman indeed lowered the blade.

By the time Sir Josley realized how bad he had misread her, it was already too late.

Lightly, almost playfully, the greatsword swept across the rain.

The knight, perceiving movement, instinctively brought up his sword, to defend, to react, to do something, but by that point, his balance already crumbled. His thigh, a bit above the knee, momentarily exposed through the open front of the chainmail as he walked, had been severed by the exceedingly sharp tip of the lengthy blade.

Because of their unequal footing on the steep slope, he had entered his opponent's range before striking back ever became possible for him. This slight oversight in judgment had costly consequences.

Screaming in pain, gripping his profusely bleeding leg, where muscles and arteries had been torn all the way to the bone, the knight collapsed and fell beside his opponent, at her feet.

Chunk.

Before anyone could even think about running to his aid, the terrible blade cut down again like the guillotine and sank clean in the crack between the helmet and the chainmail's collar. The metal cylinder went rolling downhill, its owner's decapitated head still trapped inside.

Yuliana and the six remaining knights stared at the woman and the bloodied weapon in her hand, their mouths agape, staggered by the unexpectedly vicious turn of events.

“Sorry. But with that wound, he wouldn't have made it,” the knight's killer lightly announced, displaying little remorse. “I did give him a fair warning, I think.”

That woman from another world.

What kind of a world was it, Yuliana thought with a shudder, where even housewives could slay grown knights without blinking?

“Fuck!” Sir Eisley swore in a mix of rage, frustration, and helplessness over the loss of his man. This wasn't a combat mission. No monsters, enemy soldiers, or natural hazards were expected on the way. There was no journey without risks, of course, but nobody sincerely believed in there being casualties. They were only to capture a solitary thief and return posthaste. Granted, Yuliana had been fully trained as a knight, but Sir Eisley had known her ever since she was a little girl and knew what to expect of her, more or less.

This—this wasn't supposed to happen!

“Get the sword!” the knight commander shouted at his remaining men. Now, more than before, he felt he had to accomplish the task. He owed it to the deceased.

“If you really want it that bad, why don't you come get it yourself?” the woman asked.

No one bothered to answer. In short order, the two knights who had been on their way to seize Yuliana and had paused to watch the show changed course and drew their weapons.

Their pace was a lot quicker and more aggressive than the first one's, as they jumped from rock to rock. Though there were two, they didn't try to surround their enemy or adopt anything that could be called a battle plan. From their point of view, the woman had simply taken advantage of her enemy's courtesy and put him down with a cheap shot. No, their interpretation was undoubtedly the correct one.

Could anyone fault their will to avenge their fallen comrade?

In response, their target—sighed.

“Why is it that the only time I have young men coming after me is when they're trying to kill me? Don't you think my life is already sad enough as it is?”

Is that what matters to you here!? Yuliana impulsively retorted in her mind, before recalling the seriousness of the situation.

Even if the stranger appeared to have some skill with a sword, she was outnumbered. Yuliana had to do something to help her—but at the same time, she was too intimidated by the bloodthirst hanging thickly in the air to decide where and how to intervene.

Leaping off a sizable rock, the foremost of the knights lifted his sword high above his head with both hands, in an apparent attempt to cleave the woman in two with his full weight.

Not that he really was that murderous. Expecting her to put up her guard, he intended to simply knock her down with a superior mass. Considering his advantage in this regard, it could have still turned into a deathblow by accident, but he was not as soft as to only feign an attack.

But the woman didn't attempt to block his diving cut.

Instead, she waited right until the final moment, before quickly stepping sideways. And as she moved, she simultaneously pulled the greatsword with her. That sword, made of material far tougher than steel, ate through the chainmail and tore at the falling knight's exposed flank beneath the ribs. Perhaps her swing alone wouldn't have had enough force to cut through the numerous rings of steel, but being mid-fall, he essentially cut himself with his own momentum.

Sharing the fate of the previous knight, he let out a cry of agony and crash-landed on the rocks, past his target, like a humanoid cannonball.

“Why you—!”

The second—third—knight quickened his charge after his comrade's fall, approaching the woman from her right. He had every intention to be more cautious than his fallen brothers-in-arms. He didn't let down his guard but kept his training in mind as he readied his weapon for a diagonal swing. With his eyes, he aimed at the woman's shieldless neck, which shone pale as a white flag in the dark. Should a counterattack come, he was fully prepared to break off his assault to receive it.

And yet, he never saw what happened next.

Turning quickly on her heels to face him, the woman brought down her weapon from above, over her shoulder, and bashed the knight on top of his helmet with the flat side of the massive blade. His weight at the front as the charged, his helmet blocking the view from above, he was flattened onto the ground by the impact, knocked out. As he laid there at her feet, defenseless and dazed, the woman quickly straightened her arm to turn the blade upright and brought it down in a cruel stab, below the back rim of the shiny helmet. The squishy sound of metal sinking into soft flesh made Yuliana wince and avert her face. The fallen knight immediately stopped kicking, dead, a red river running down the rocks underneath him.

“What the Hel…?” Sir Eisley staggered, stupefied.

Before he could fully grasp how it had happened, he realized he had already lost three men—half of his escort. He hadn't given any follow-up orders, or rather, he had no idea what he should even do next, when another knight stepped forward of his own initiative.

Everyone probably shared the same sentiments.

They couldn't—refused to—believe the reality in front of them.

Yes, the unknown woman had proved to be unexpectedly skilled, but was there anyone who didn't know how to use a sword, in this dangerous day and age? The knights had been careless. What had really killed them could only be called a mixture of bad luck, oversight, and difficult conditions working against them.

That was all.

They couldn't accept that the random, poorly equipped commoner before them was somehow—different.

The fourth knight pulled a knife from a sheath below his left arm, weighed it quickly in his hand and then cast it at the woman. In his mind, he was probably mocking his fallen companions for their stupidity at the same time, for losing their lives in such a trivial conflict. Their chivalry had been their undoing, but he wouldn't make the same mistake. A knife from a distance was all that was needed to put an end to this tragicomical struggle.

“What—?”

As aptly as it had been dispatched, the thrown knife never reached its target.

Flicking her wrist, the woman deflected the incoming weapon with her sword, like it was a shuttlecock in a casual game of badminton—although the game was not known in this world. And before the repelled knife had landed far behind her back, the woman was already dashing straight at the knight who had thrown it.

The knight in question was momentarily startled by the change of pace.

The stranger had barely moved from her spot this entire time, content with simply receiving and countering the knights' attacks, yet now she suddenly turned to the offensive. The man couldn’t understand that he had caused it himself, by introducing projectiles to the battlefield, so changing the essential nature of the conflict.

Nimbly like a goat, the woman ran uphill. The distance of roughly four meters that the knight had needed to secure the kill was crossed in barely a second. In disbelief, he couldn't even think about resorting to the weapon still hanging sheathed on his belt, when the holy sword arced through the rain and sank into his right shoulder, at the base of his neck, where the chainmail's protection was at its weakest.

The heavy weapon dived with little effort into his torso for its full width and an upward gush from the deep red fountain drew a wide arc across the heavens.

Instead of stopping to extract the blade, the woman continued to run past the knight, pulling the handle behind her like a lever. Skewed, torn by a violent, murderous agony, the knight could only turn along and, after the twisting motion stopped, fall back-first down the hill, pulled from impalement by gravity.

The swordswoman's assault didn't end there, but continued straight for the next knight in the line, not allowing the remaining enemies to recover and restore their formation. If they all decided to attack her from range together, they would no doubt quickly emerge victorious—and she would do all that she could to keep them from realizing the fact.

The knight standing closest from there was—the captain, Sir Eisley himself.

“Hi—?” A startled sound stole past his lips as the understanding dawned on him.

Bare moments ago, he had been safely surrounded by his squad and now—the frontline of the battle had suddenly been drawn to where he stood.

In the habit of only issuing orders, the knight commander didn't have his sword drawn. He had nothing to throw. Not even a helmet. His attention had been captured by the surreal dance of death unfolding before his eyes and so he had ended up completely forgetting about himself.

When was the last time he had needed to defend his life? He couldn't remember.

A bare second after his shocked gasp, Sir Eisley's throat was impaled by a thrust of the weapon he had been sent to retrieve. Having sealed his movements through this mortal blow, the woman retracted the blade and turned on her heels like a spinning top. In the next moment, the baron's decapitated head was cast through the darkening night, making dull, horrid noises as it bounced along the rocks like a rotten melon.

The two remaining knights wasted no more time idling, but...

—“AAAAAGGGGH!!”

“A DAEMON, MONSTEEER!!”

...Turned and scrambled up the slope on all fours, as fast as they were able.

“What was so scary?” the woman, Itaka Izumi, looked after them, tilting her head in confusion. “Did it hurt?”

2

Having sufficiently recovered by now, in body and spirit, Yuliana struggled back up to her feet. It hadn't happened the way she envisioned it, but the results were what mattered. She had been saved by the champion from another world, delivered to her aid by a literal miracle.

Even if Yuliana had her misgivings about the savior's appearance and conduct, the unknown woman's strength couldn't be denied. Regaining her composure, Yuliana inhaled and went to express her gratitude to this unlikely ally.

“Please accept my thanks. Whether intending it or not, you have saved my life,” she told the woman with a light bow. Just in case, she kept her distance outside the greatsword's range. The terrifying scene of carnage before still made her arms quiver. Though as a trained knight she had faced various dangers in the past, this had been the first time Yuliana had seen a human being spill the blood of another in such a ruthless, unrestrained fashion.

“Hm?” Izumi turned her head and looked at the girl.

Of course, she had recognized the girl's presence before. It was rather difficult not to. Just, there had been too many distractions to give her a proper look. Now cautiously sizing her up, Izumi was unsure of how to return the greeting.

“I understand you are confused,” Yuliana took advantage of the woman's silence to continue. “Allow me to begin by introducing myself. My name is Yuliana Da Via Brannan of Walhollem. And the land you tread upon is that of the kingdom of Langoria, where I was formerly a princess and a knight.”

“Now there's princess!?” Izumi reeled backwards, shocked. “Not that I mean to complain, not at all! I like princesses a whole lot! Of course, isn't it a given that a high fantasy tale must have a princess or two? Only, don't you think it sounds a little too convenient and fanservicy when sprung upon you so suddenly? That's right, I think it would've been better had you started out pretending to be a nobody, only to reveal the truth at a suitably tense moment somewhere near the climax...Giving away such a big reveal upfront without any build-up is—If you get so lucky all the time, it starts to feel suspicious, somehow! You know what I'm saying? And really! What are you thinking, exposing your true identity to a person you don't even know!? That's bad writing!”

“Um...”

Was the stranger in shock? Her rapid spiel didn't make much sense to Yuliana.

Then again, it would've been weirder for the woman to not be the least bit frantic, after what just happened. The knight princess saw it best to ignore the blabber and instead try and soothe the lady with her contained manners,

“Ahem, in return for naming myself, may I inquire yours?”

“My name? Oh, um, it's Izumi...Itaka Izumi,” Izumi meekly introduced herself.

In the heat of the moment, she failed to come up with any cool western pseudonym or background setting for herself but merely named herself plainly like a job applicant.

“Quite a strange name you have. Ah, but then again, you've truly come from another world, haven't you? Forgive me, it still seems a bit difficult for me to accept. You don't seem that different from us on the outside, at least. Then, lady Izumi, allow me to explain the situation, hard as it may be for you to believe. By a certain magical ritual, you have been summoned here—”

“Ah, I get the gist of it,” Izumi interrupted her. “So I'll skip the tutorial, thanks.”

“Eh? You...do...?”

“Why, of course!” the woman nodded with sudden zeal. “I've been waiting for this turn of events for a looong, long time! And finally it happened! Thank goodness, it happened! This is another world, yes? A whole different world, a world of might and magic, where nobody has ever heard of Apple, K-Mart, Lawson, or McDonald's! I don't believe it! I'm so happy to be here!”

“Apples? We do have apples, though—”

“It's really been a long time! Couldn't you have summoned me just a little bit earlier, maybe? Again, I don't mean to sound like I'm complaining, no! After everything, I'm very grateful, definitely, but...Oh well, I'm here now, and that's all that matters. Thanks a bunch, Yu...Yu...What was it again? Yule! I'll call you Yule, okay? It's okay, right? Great! Let's be friends, Yule!”

The woman stepped forward, put the sword aside and rapidly shook Yule's gauntlet-clad hand.

“Eh, right…” It was Yuliana's turn to be at a loss for words.

So far as she understood, the summoning spell wasn't supposed to grant the champion any specialized knowledge. And yet, the woman said she had been 'waiting for it'? And why was the cold-blooded killer of those knights suddenly acting all bubbly with her?

“Er, in any case,” Yuliana set aside her confusion, encouraged by the foreigner's warm attitude, and decided to address a more urgent matter. “As said, I am thankful for your aid. I most certainly owe you my life, lady Izumi. If there is anything I may do to pay back this great debt, I shall make doing so my utmost priority. That being said, could I have my sword back now?”

The princess held out her hand expectantly.

In response, Izumi looked blankly back at her and replied,

“No?”

“E-excuse me…?”

“I said no?” Izumi repeated.

“Ah, I heard you just fine the first time! What I mean is, why not? What could be the problem? It was mine in the first place and I merely happened to drop it as I fell—”

“It's not nice to tell lies, Yule,” the woman interrupted her with a frown. “If it's yours, then how come those men insisted on having it? Why were they chasing you? You're not going to claim they were thieves, are you? With the way they were dressed and all.”

Yuliana was momentarily silenced.

Lying was hardly her forte.

It was true that the weapon wasn't strictly “hers”, she couldn't deny that. But on the other hand, she was a member of the royal family, technically, so she had a certain right to the blade. A right she would never be allowed to exercise normally, yes, but Izumi didn't need to know that much. The point was, if there was anyone here who had any legal claim to the weapon, it was definitely Yuliana and not this stranger from another world. Champion as she may have been by definition, this lady Izumi didn't seem like someone who could help Yuliana with her true mission. Still, trying to trick or extort her savior went against her principles. In the end, the princess saw no other choice but to explain things properly in order.

“That sword is called the Amygla,” she said. “It is one of a kind and essential to my mission. A mission, which means much not only to me and my country but to all the nations and races of this world, which is why I—”

“Yes, yes, I'm not really interested in that,” Izumi brushed her off, turning her back on Yuliana and going to look at the bodies left lying around on the slope.

“H-hey! Listen to me! This is important!” Yuliana demanded, offended.

“Don't wanna.”

“I said it's important!”

“And I said I'm not interested. Do we really speak the same language?”

“Why!?” Yuliana raised her voice, frustrated.

“It's always the world at stake and so on,” the woman answered. “I've heard that so many times. But I can't claim I'm in any way attached to a country and a planet I'm seeing for the first time. All that matters to me is that this world doesn't look very advanced or hospitable. So unless I have a good weapon, I'm probably going to die pretty soon. I'm just a lonely old woman, after all. This sword is sharp, really durable, well-balanced and feels good to hold. There's nothing more you could ask of a good sword, so I'm not giving it away just because you say pretty please and it's a big deal to somebody I don't know. It's better than what these guys have anyway, I can tell that much by a glance. You don't believe me? I dare say I have a good eye for quality goods! I haven't spent most of my life shopping online for nothing! Recognizing whether something is worth your money by just a glance at a grainy little jpg is an essential skill for someone as poor as I!”

“W-what do you mean many times? Pla...net? On line? Gee-pay...?” Yuliana couldn't keep up with the discussion at all.

“You don't really owe me a thing since I was only defending myself back there,” Izumi went on, “but if you really insist on paying me back, then I'd appreciate it if you could show me the way to the nearest town. That good enough?”

The knight princess stood still, dumbstruck.

Not only had Yuliana been deprived of her precious weapon, she was made into a guide as well. After everything she'd been through to get this far, despite the urgency of her task...And despite her rank. She had never used her status to claim superiority over other people, but just this once, she felt she deserved better.

But with her peaceful request turned down, it seemed the only way to get the Amygla from Izumi was to fight her for it. Yuliana shuddered at the thought. Being unarmed, her starting level in that attempt was even lower than that of the knights. The knights, who had fallen like helpless children.

Then, she saw something that made her forget about her fear.

“What are you doing?” she inquired the woman, who was busy searching the body of the nearest knight.

The answer staggered her yet again.

“What does it look like? Looting,” Izumi nonchalantly responded.

“What...!?”

“Throwing knives, pouches, belts, gloves, boots, coins, swords to sell—How nice that I wound up with such a quality haul right in the starter zone. This totally feels like cheating, but I won it all fair and square, didn't I? Nobody can claim I didn't.”

“Please step away from the body,” Yuliana told the woman and her tone turned commanding.

“Hm?” Izumi looked back at the girl, brows contorted in a questioning manner, as if she really had no idea what she was doing, aggravating the princess further.

“I will not allow you to desecrate the remains of these men, who fell in the line of duty, by robbing their corpses! Get away from him!”

“They're dead, though?” Izumi replied. “They're not going to need any of this stuff anymore, while I have nothing. What's wrong with helping myself? Otherwise it's all going to go to waste here.”

“You wretched—!” Barely able to restrain her anger, Yuliana took a step forward. “I won't repeat myself! Get away from that man right now!”

“You really are from the same country. And what will you do if I won't?”

“I will—”

“You'll fight me?”

At her words, the knight princess remembered again her helplessness and sullenly bit her lip. In her stead, Izumi stood up and continued,

“You'd kill me or die trying, to protect the memory of those who tried to kill you? What sense does that make? These men were your enemies, right? The chances are, they would be gangbanging you at the next bus stop by now, had I not appeared. Yet you act like these hunks of flesh and blood are somehow holy? I don't really get it. They're all gone now. That means you, the winner, own all that was theirs and can do whatever you please with it. Isn't that how it usually goes in a medieval setting like this?”

“Silence!” Yuliana didn't think she had ever been as furious and humiliated in her life, feeling her face burn. “They were knights, defenders of my homeland, not some miscellaneous bandits! They deserve better than that!”

“They were men. And wearing fancy clothes never made anybody a saint.”

“They had families, wives, brothers and sisters, sons and daughters, and I mourn that it had to come to this! I will not allow you to scorn them with such unjust words! The fact that we ended up as enemies was by unfortunate circumstances only! That is all! I didn't want any one of them to die, even if it was to save myself! It was not right!”

“Well, almost everybody in the world has someone to miss them, even the bandits,” Izumi replied, unmoved by the girl's defense. “Yet everybody's got to die one day and it's rarely very pretty. Well, provided these guys were real to begin with.”

“What...?”

Her face like a mask, beautiful yet frighteningly cold, the woman continued,

“I'm not from this world, remember? That means, from my point of view, 'these people' are not 'the same as me'. For all I know, you might as well be NPCs, soulless, simulated automatons that only exist to set the stage. I have no real way to check if you're a person with a mind of her own, and not just a superficially convincing cluster of pixels and polygons operating on an algorithm by a highly advanced alien supercomputer. I only just booted up the game. Your feelings, bonds, and morals look like nothing but lukewarm flavor text to me. That's why, the only thing of importance to me here is myself. Getting too invested in the story mode would only mean needlessly crippling myself in the long run. That's all there is to it.”

Yuliana couldn't understand a word. She took a step back, her anger replaced by sheer dread.

This was a “champion”?

Exactly what had she unleashed into this world?

Was everyone a senseless lunatic like this, in Izumi's world?

“Ah, yes,” Izumi shook her head, “this is making me remember a lot of things that I already forgot about. About the past, I mean, when I was around your age. I had all these cute ideas about what I'd do when in another world. I thought I'd go the full immersion route. Pretend to be an amnesiac, live as one of you, act as one of you, play by your rules, talk to all the quest-givers, listen to their boring life stories, gather all the flowers and kill all the boars, diligently work my way up the ladders of the society, and so on and so on. But that was a long time ago. That was so terribly long ago. I'm already burned out on playing games that way. It only takes too long, and I'm not growing any younger. It's always the same anyway. The cliches and tropes, nothing ever changes. No matter how well done it is, how polished the packaging, I just can't find it in me to care anymore. My best days are already behind me. Every minute I sit bashing another infinitely respawning monster, I feel my life slowly drift away from me. And for what? Nothing at all. There's not enough time, not nearly enough time. I finally get to enjoy a thrilling adventure in a fantasy world for real, or as real as real can get, yet I'm still me, just the way I left. Isn't it too cruel? Don't you think it's just too terrible? I worked so long and hard for this. I went to learn martial arts under a pervy old geezer who would grope me at every opportunity. I begged for a dumb hipster blacksmith to take me as a pupil, and had to listen to his obnoxious geek talk all day long, for months. I spent the nights online looking up occult sites, testing out rubbish magic patterns and incantations, that did nothing. And that's just for the starters. What did I get for all that? Did anybody appreciate my efforts or encourage me? No way. 'Ah, that Itaka lass, what a dumb broad she is', 'does she do anything but play net games all day', 'why does she have a computer, when I have to work my ass off just to bring grub to the table for my kids?', 'what a damn leech, why can't she get a real job', 'she should just neck herself instead of wasting my tax money', 'somebody should give her a good dicking to get that dumb shit out of her head'. I'm lonely and despised and old and tired and beyond despair and then finally my ultimate wish came true. At last, it came true! I've finally come to a world where all that wasted effort pays off, where I'm the sane one and all those who laughed at me are wrong, and what then? 'Oh, you can't take the boots of the dead guy who tried to mash your head, because it goes against my morals'? Get real. Stop messing with me. Please crawl into a corner and die off, you big little baby.”

“Hii—!”

Overwhelmed by the creepy, machinegun-rate monologue imbued with negativity too great for any ordinary person to endure, Yuliana fell back on the ground, terrified and disgusted. It was all pure nonsense to her. All she could tell from that speech was that whoever this woman had been prior to coming to Ortho, her life hadn't been an easy one.

What should I do? What can I do? The princess feverishly weighed her options.

Clearly enough, this person was beyond her scope in combat. She had no hope of besting her, mentally or physically. Not without a weapon, at least. She glanced at the sword left lying next to another body. There it was, her chance. Surely it was okay to only borrow it for a moment? Yuliana shook her head. What was she thinking? Would she rob a corpse to keep corpses from being robbed? Would she kill to preserved the dignity of the killed? Did it make any sense whatsoever?

Still, these men belonged in their graves together with the arms and the uniform they had borne whilst alive. Such was the custom of her land—honor and chivalry demanded it. Every victor owed respect to the defeated, and had to at least ensure the deceased weren't needlessly shamed. Otherwise, people would've been no different from beasts. Letting a foul looter strip the fallen bare was insufferable as a thought. But if Yuliana tried to oppose this otherworldly monster, she was likely to end up sharing the fate of the men. She knew it. Perhaps it was a worthy death, but she was scared. Of course, she was scared.

Scared...?

Swallowing, Yuliana got an idea and got back up to her feet.

“Fine, have it your way then,” she said, her lips curving into a smile.

“Hm?” Sensing the change in her demeanor, Izumi frowned.

“So be it then. I'll fight you,” the princess said and quickly backed away, further down to the bottom of the gorge. “Well, not me. Someone else will.”

Izumi followed the girl's movements with furrowed brows.

What was the princess planning?

She clearly didn't have any weapons hidden, the form-conforming white dress extending from under the elegant armor left no room for such. So why the distance? To cast spells? Izumi had first assumed the attire to be only ceremonial in nature, but perhaps it was this country's standard outfit for the paladin class, knights capable of wielding magic?

This girl being a magic-user was the only way to explain how Izumi had ended up in this place, anyway.

Yet, something about it was off.

How could such a young and naive girl be able to cast a spell as powerful as to connect two worlds, yet be unable to defend herself against regular rank-and-file grunts? If she was a powerful caster, why did she want the sword? Because casting took too long? Because some specific conditions had to be met first? Because she really didn't want to fight her countrymen? Or because…?

Someone else would fight on her behalf?

She could summon something other than people too?

Or perhaps...

This could be just a little bothersome

Izumi gripped the Amygla's handle. Wouldn't it have been better to pre-emptively cut down the girl before she could finish her preparations? Though she acknowledged it as an option, the idea of killing Yuliana didn't sit well with Izumi.

All her talk about NPCs and such moments prior had been mostly just that—talk, venting.

For a person, who felt more sympathy for game characters than actual people, those words had been the pinnacle of irony. Even as desensitized as she was, it's not like Izumi was completely heartless. The few lines she had exchanged with Yuliana had made the lonely woman already a bit attached to her.

If it was a kill or be killed-situation, she would still set aside those feelings and fight.

But was it, really?

The girl's preparations, a theatrical pose with her arms stretched to the sides, looked only comical. How thin she was, with her narrow neck and slightly concave cheeks where the delicate lines of her facial bones had become pronounced. Her light, silky hair was tightly pulled back and braided, emphasizing her pale, wide forehead, smeared in dirt, and glistening wet from the rain.

Still, regardless of how pitiful the princess's position was, the spirit burning in her blue eyes was dazzling. Watching it, Izumi couldn't bring herself to make a move, but only sighed powerlessly.

I'm really two-faced, aren't I?

Why could she just say sorry?

It was too late now.

Not knowing what would happen, Izumi couldn't take any measures but only stood still and waited, hoping that their distance would give her enough time to react to whatever fantastic offensive was about to happen. At the same time, she was a bit curious. The light now framing Yuliana rekindled the forgotten child within her.

She was about to see real magic——nobody she knew could claim the same.

Perhaps it wouldn't be such a bad way to die.

An elaborate pattern of pure light encircled Yuliana as she finished her mental preparations, knelt and chanted in her clear, resolute voice,

—“Hear me, o' radiant sprite, I beseech thee, the Noon of the White Sun. Become my blade, coat me in thy wings, bring upon thy foes the purifying blaze. Lord of Light, the keeper of my soul, thy vessel calls thee by thy hallowed name—Aesa Aiwesh!”

The princess lisped a little, like she had nearly bitten her tongue, but the ceremony was otherwise successfully completed.

There was a flash bright enough to make Izumi turn her face away. It even burned through her shut eyelids. Shielding her eyes with the greatsword, she now focused on her other senses, trying to detect whatever deadly force should come flying at her.

Nothing did.

In a short while, the light faded, and the scenery in the gorge returned to its usual bleakness.

With one exception.

Izumi lowered her weapon to see Yuliana Da Via Brannan's elegant figure gone.

In her place stood a woman taller and older than the princess, a tad taller than Izumi herself—and, clearly enough, not a human.

Clad in an extravagant, religious-looking attire, spotless white in color, the being appeared mostly like a human female, with slight differences.

She had hair even longer than she was tall, straight, and white like her attire. Besides an inhumanly beautiful face, her ears were long and slim, covered in white fur, and pointed horizontally to the sides. Above her head hovered a quietly rotating, halo-like circle, with radial spikes pointing in every direction. Two pairs of pure white wings extended from the being's mid back. Her bare feet weren't touching the ground, she floated above the rocks.

The being looked at Izumi with a pair of glittering, yellow-brown eyes, like smoky topazes, and smiled. Her body itself appeared to radiate light in the otherwise blue moment.

Izumi swallowed.

The spell had been for another summoning, after all?

Or was it body-swapping? Possession?

The being of light didn't look particularly aggressive, on top of being unarmed, but there was no way to tell if she didn't possess the mystic powers to turn Izumi to cinders with a flick of her finger. It was better to wait and see what would happen.

And yet, instead of attacking Izumi, the godly vision simply greeted her with a little curtsy,

“I am pleased to see you with my own eyes, o' champion. I am called Aiwesh, one of the Aesa, or Divines, which inhabit this world of Ortho. I am also the one who summoned you to us.”

“Um, how do you do?” Izumi answered.

“You have countless questions to ask, I am sure, but alas, the Lord of Light cannot easily tread the world of Dark. Needlessly prolonging my manifestation would burn away the life of my vessel, so we must keep our communion brief at this time.”

As Izumi kept quiet, the being, Aiwesh, went on,

“For now, it should suffice for you to know that you are in a world far detached from the conventions of your old. And while I was the catalyst, the conditions behind your transportation were not mine to choose, but decided by forces by far older and grander.”

“You mean it was my fate? Coming here?” Izumi asked.

“Fate?” Aiwesh repeated, with a light laughter. “Were you chosen in specific by the Gods, from among the peoples of your world, to play a role that only you can? If the thought consoles you...I am no God, but I do have a purpose in mind that I wish you to follow, now that you are here. Although, so far as I am concerned, you have already done your part. The worst has been averted. My vessel has escaped imprisonment.”

“What?” Izumi was surprised. “You only summoned me for that? To save Yule from those fellows? Not that I objected to coming here, but wasn't that a terribly whimsical reason to abduct somebody from another world?”

“Perhaps from your point of view,” Aiwesh admitted. “But to me, it was more than worth it. Had this child been captured or slain, I would not see the realization of my will for another thousand years, if ever. By comparison, your convenience seems a small price to pay, if you may pardon me saying so.”

“Because it's not a price you have to pay,” Izumi shrugged. “But, it so happens you got lucky. Because being summoned like this was what I always wanted, whatever the reason.”

“Is that so?” The mysterious spirit seemed amused. “Your wish was to be taken from your world, which I see has been but too kind to you, and be cast into the midst of pain, misery, and bloodshed? Despite being but a frail maid, past your prime? What a curious thing to long for. Are all the people in your world as curious as that?”

“Well, that's not what I meant, exactly,” Izumi said. “Surely there's something more than blood, misery, and pain to this world, right?”

“Perhaps. Perhaps not,” Aiwesh answered, an enigmatic smile on her lips. “All I can say for certain is that in Ortho, those who seek conflict are the most certain to find it. Because it is a world of stark extremes and countless contradictory dreams.”

“Then, what is your dream?”

“Mine?”

“I don't suppose you're possessing the princess and worried about her well-being only out of the kindness of your heart? So what's the reason then?”

The Divine looked a bit surprised. But then chuckled faintly and answered,

“You are a curious person, Itaka Izumi. No one in this world would ever think to question one such as I. I do not hate that about you. Rather, I choose to view it as a trait of endearment. But the answer to your question has to be a story for another time. If you wish to be of use to me, then follow my vessel. If you may accept that as your 'fate'. But I fear destiny played no part in your selection. Now, I must leave you. We shall speak again, once the conditions are again in my favor.”

Having said all she wanted—as if running away from actually answering, Izumi noted—the form of Aiwesh shattered into countless feathers of light, revealing the knight princess as they spread and faded.

“Well?” Blinking, dazed, and having trouble standing up straight, Yuliana triumphantly gazed at the woman.

It seemed she wasn't conscious of the time her body was possessed, as her assumed conclusion—written all over her face—was at odds with reality. “Too frightened to even speak? Well, it's not that I don't understand. The first time I met my Lord was a terrifying experience for me as well. Now that you understand the forces you are dealing with, obediently hand over my sword, unless you want to...Eh?”

Without listening, Izumi walked past the princess, down the gorge.

“W-what…?” Yuliana looked after her in confusion.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” Izumi paused to look back and asked. “I don't know the way.”

Before chasing after the summoned woman, Yuliana turned to look over her shoulder, at the dead knights lying quietly on the slope, still bearing their arms, equipment, and clothes. A faint smile of relief softened the tension on her tired countenance, as she hurried to respond,

“Coming right away!”

3

The odd pair of women resumed—or began, in Izumi's case—their long trek down the gorge. After about half an hour had passed in peaceful silence, Yuliana deemed their earlier argument settled and the time ripe for further questioning. Though she was technically the escort to the “visitor”, there was no way to get lost in the straightforward ravine, and so she often found herself trailing behind the older woman instead, occupied with trying to judge what manner of a person she was dealing with.

“What do you mean to do from now on?” Yuliana asked.

“Let's see,” Izumi looked up to the gloomy skies and pondered, “first of all, I suppose we need to find some food, shelter, and rest, in that order. It doesn't look like my body is any different from usual, so I'm getting pretty tired and hungry already.”

“That's not what I meant, exactly,” the knight princess said. “In a broader scale. What do you mean to do now that you are in another world? How do you plan to live your life in a place you know nothing about?”

Deep down, Yuliana had wished for a more compliant champion, something akin to a servant, a faithful, steadfast knight who would accept her as his commander without question. Someone who would patiently listen, do his best to understand and support her in her endeavors. Someone, well, reliable.

Now that I am here, allow me to become your sword and shield on your noble quest! Since I know nothing about this world, I shall depend on your guidance, o' beautiful maiden! I will learn from you and so find my place in your world.

Something along those lines.

From the moment I first laid my eyes on you, you have been on my mind without rest. I...I never wish to part with you again! The goal of my new life should be to be of use to you! Nothing could bring me more joy...

No, that was clearly going overboard already.

Yet...the summoned “hero” wasn't even male.

“My plan?” Izumi muttered. “Ah, that's right, the protagonist needs to have a goal, right? Something real important and compelling that gives our journey a purpose and keeps the audience hooked. I wrote down a bunch of ideas for that when I was still in high school, depending on how the situation would pan out. But really, none of that feels very important to me anymore. Since I'm here now, I guess I'll just explore the world and have fun for as long as I can.”

“Er...” Yuliana couldn't believe her ears.

Have fun? What kind of a half-baked “champion” was she? She sounded more like a pampered loiterer.

“Listen,” the princess said. “If you're looking for a purpose, perhaps I can give you one. But before I may do so, you must first come to understand what kind of a world you've gotten yourself into.”

“Uh-huh. You mean, what you have gotten me into.”

“It was not by my choice! But, ahem. Please listen. This world is called Ortho. A world of many continents and seas, it's shared by numerous independent nations and many different races. Some good and noble, others varying degrees less so. Some even hostile to all the others.”

“Isn't that how every world is?” Izumi said while covering a long yawn.

“...I have been wondering this since a while ago, but is this not your first time being summoned into another world?”

“It is, though.”

“Then please try to take this a little more seriously. You would be in great trouble out there without even knowing the basics, right?”

“I suppose so, yeah.”

“Where was I? Ah, yes. Somewhere approximately thirty thousand years ago, all the races in the world were united and lived together upon a great continent called, 'Galanthia' in the olden tongue, or 'the Golden Land'. The Divines and Gods all walked among us and people were said to have been far more advanced than we are today. But unfortunately, that time is now past. It is not known what caused it, exactly, as no written records exist from those days, but there came a war, the War of the Gods, which nearly destroyed the whole world.”

“What a surprise.”

“It's our history, I didn't make it up!”

“How convenient would it have been, had I been summoned to that 'Golden Land' instead? No, is the twist going to be, 'it was Earth all along, just in the future!?'”

“I have no idea what you're talking about...But if everything was fine and well, there would be no need to call for help from other worlds, would there?”

“Well, I'll give you that.”

Yuliana couldn't understand. Izumi should have known nothing about Ortho, so why did she act like she had heard the story before, many times? Yuliana always thought it was a thrilling legend, one she had made her grandfather tell her over and over again when she was a child. And it was not just any made-up fable, but real, true history, the way it happened.

“Either way,” she continued, “the great continent was torn apart in the war, much of lost in the sea. Wonderful, enormous cities were reduced to ashes, all the knowledge and arts with them. Many magnificent races, sentient and beasts, went suddenly extinct. Even a great number of the Gods themselves ceased to exist. The creation was only barely saved in the end.”

“Evidently, it was.”

Ignoring Izumi's remark, the princess continued,

“The Gods recognized that they were not immune to vices, and that the power they possessed was too great for the physical world. So they made the Covenant.”

“Covenant,” Izumi repeated, still without much enthusiasm.

“That's right. The Covenant, the defining event of our civilization. The Gods withdrew into another realm they made with their powers and vowed never to interfere in the affairs of the worldly races, no matter what should happen. Instead, they allowed the inhabitants of Ortho to govern themselves.”

In other words, there are no gods left, or anyone else who can prove that this ever happened, Izumi thought but didn't feel like picking a fight on purpose. The princess seemed convinced the story was true.

But Yuliana was better at reading people than she expected.

“Oh, I know what you are thinking,” the princess snidely glanced at her and said. “Nobody can prove this ever happened, right? Well, they can. Because the Covenant is still in effect today, even after thirty millennia.”

She was only repeating her old teacher’s argument, though.

“Hmm?” Izumi raised a brow. “What does that mean?”

“During the War of the Gods, the very core of Ortho received a crippling blow. Though the Gods swore never to interfere with this world again, the world couldn't keep on existing without the presence and support of its makers. If the Gods all left, the remaining lands would begin to collapse and everything would die. Keeping that from happening was also the purpose of the Covenant. And so, to both hold their word and sustain the lands, the Gods gave us the Trophaeum.”

“The trophe...What's that?”

For the first time, the woman seemed a little invested in the conversation.

Encouraged by this notion, Yuliana explained,

“Far at the ends of the western continent, across the sea, stands a titanic tower called the Trophaeum, a surviving relic from the Golden Age. Once every thousand years, nations of the world send their champions to conquer that tower. And whoever succeeds in reaching the very summit on the Night of the Covenant is said to obtain the power to nourish the world, prolonging and stablizing its existence for another thousand years.”

“Ohhh, right, it's like that...” Against expectations, the grand revelation only made Izumi sigh and relax the tension that had sneaked up her shoulders. “And let me guess, you're going there, Yule?”

“Are you going to keep calling me that...?”

“It's a pet name! Isn't it cute?”

“Be serious! Like I said, this is an important matter! Yes, it is precisely as you have guessed. It has been a thousand years since the Covenant was last enacted, and I am on my way to challenge the Trophaeum, as a (tentative) representative of the human race. I even managed to gain Lord Aiwesh's blessing. But it is an immensely difficult task. I'm afraid I'm going to need all available aid to succeed in it.”

“You do? Even though you got such a cool-looking, clearly five-star familiar? Couldn't she mess up that tower thing by herself?”

“What are you saying, my Lord is not a familiar!” Yuliana gasped in shock and shuddered. “Don't even joke about that! Terrible things will happen!”

“She's not?”

“No!”

“Then, she's a god?”

“No, the Divines are not Gods. It's a complicated matter. What I'm trying to say is, that to succeed, I cannot simply rely on the powers of others. To prove my worth, I must conquer the Trophaeum with my own strength above all. And for that, I'm going to need a good weapon. In other words, the Amygla. Yes, the one in your hands.”

“Is this some kind of a magic sword?” Izumi held up the blade again. “It's weirdly light for such a big thing, I guess, but does it do anything special?”

“Light…?” Yuliana grimaced. Aren't you just weirdly strong? “No, it's not a magic sword. It was forged by the elven smiths of Amarno approximately eight thousand years ago, of a mixture of orihalcum and meteorite steel. So the legends say. They also say its durability knows no equal. But disregarding its origin and constitution, however, it's just a sword. Well, it's not just a sword to me. It's the symbol of my kingdom, an heirloom of the royal family—my family. It's intimately bound to my nation and identity. I couldn't imagine challenging the Trophaeum using anything else. Which is why I must have it back.”

“I see, I see,” Izumi nodded. “That's a bit cool backstory indeed. You're such a brave girl, for all the things you're willing to do for your country and the world. There, there.”

“Don't pat my head!” The knight princess brushed Izumi's hand off. “I'm telling you to return the sword to me!”

“Well, that I can't do.”

“What do you mean, 'can't'? Did my story mean nothing to you? If it's only your personal safety you're worried about, then aren't there plenty of weapons in the world? No matter how you look at it, I need the Amygla more than you do!”

“I wonder about that,” Izumi shrugged. “The way I look at this tale, there was nothing threatening you, the princess of a cozy little kingdom. Yes, this quest of yours sounds pretty dangerous, but nobody's forcing you to do it, right? Even if you don't become the champion of the human race, won't somebody else, sooner or later? I figure there are more than enough volunteers. Then all the hassle and pain you're bound to face is purely self-inflicted, isn't it? You'd throw away your life in a generic tournament arc, which honestly smells like a big scam to me. By giving the sword back to you, wouldn't I only be enabling a suicide? Meanwhile, I, a lonely, old woman, need it to survive in a strange and hostile world! What guarantee do I have you won't simply abandon me here, tired, hungry and penniless, the second you get what you want?”

“That's...” Yuliana fell silent.

Not because she had actually intended to abandon the woman, but mainly because she hadn't thought about the matter that far in the first place. What would Yuliana do with her? The decision to summon Izumi hadn't been hers, but then again, as the vessel of Aiwesh, Yuliana undeniably had some responsibility in the matter.

Moreover, the code of chivalry bound her to help those in need. There was no way they could simply go their separate ways after what happened. Yet, there was no way Yuliana could drag this woman with her to what was so aptly described as a suicide mission. The “champion” was clearly not even willing.

Either way, one of them was going to have to give up on her wishes.

Oh, for goodness' sake...

“Fine,” the princess made up her mind. “Then how about this? After I escort you to the nearest town, I shall take it upon myself to find you a proper place to live in. I should have enough coin to provide for your needs, however long you should like. That's good enough, isn't it? You will have a safe haven, where you may get accustomed to your new life at your leisure, and won't be needing the sword anymore.”

“It's not a bad offer and I really appreciate your generosity,” Izumi immediately answered, “but I'm going to have to refuse.”

“And why is that!?”

“Why, why, why, there's nothing but that from you, is there?”

“What else do you expect me to say? I believe it to be a very fair deal! A dream too good to be true for most people.”

“Well, I'm not 'most people' and I don't think it would be any fun at all, being holed up in some shady backwater village, all by myself. That'd be no different from how it was at home. Boring! Don't wanna! Like I said, I'm going to go explore and see everything there is to see about this world! So I'm going to need the sword more than you do.”

“You would refuse stability and security in favor of traveling under the constant shadow of death, with no particular goal or reason?” Yuliana sighed. “You must be the maddest person I've ever met. Or have you already lost your will to live?”

“That's the pot calling the kettle,” Izumi replied. “You're pretty odd to me too. Why is it that you, of all the people in the world, must go to that tower, or whatever? You said every nation is sending their champion, right? Then does it really matter who saves the world in the end? Do you just want power?”

“That's...” The girl paused for a bit. “...Well, I cannot deny it. You are right. I want power. But not for my own sake, dubious as it may sound. The thing is, according to the legend, whoever conquers the Trophaeum and receives the power to resuscitate the world, will also be allowed to have any one of their personal wishes granted. No matter what kind of a wish it is.”

“Right, right. I was wondering what was the catch. Of course, nobody would bother without a bait like that.”

“It is a reward for valor, not a bait!”

“So Yule has a wish only a godlike power can make happen?”

“That's right,” Yuliana nodded. “I do have one. A wish that would be impossible without.”

“And what is it? You're not keeping it a secret, are you?”

“I see no reason to hold secrets from you. No, I will tell you, Lady Izumi.”

“Um, could you stop with the 'lady' thing? It's really weirding me out.”

“It is? Then would Mrs Izumi be more appropriate? It's a bit difficult to pronounce, if you pardon me.”

“If you're going with that, it should be Ms Izumi, though,” the woman corrected her.

“Eh?”

“I'm not married—is what I'm saying.”

“Ah, pardon me,” Yuliana quickly apologized. “I'm very sorry for your loss.”

Somehow, a strange misunderstanding had happened, making Izumi frown.

“No, I'm not a widow either. I was never married in the first place.”

“Eh...Haaaa!?” Yuliana staggered. “W-what do you mean, you were never married? Your world doesn't know marriage? Then how do your loved ones legalize their relationships? S-surely you don't practice unrestrained polygamy…?”

“I should be more surprised your world knows marriage too. No, that's not the point, is it? Our people do get married, alright, but I never did, that's all.”

The princess's confusion only deepened.

“Why? How? You don't like men?”

“Setting my preferences aside, it's just a bit hard to marry when nobody has ever proposed to you. Or more like, because you've never had a date in the first place...”

“But that's—impossible, isn't it!?” Yuliana couldn't wrap her mind around the idea. “Does that mean you have no children either? Just, how can that be? It's absurd! I mean, at your age...Did your people keep you locked up in a dungeon or a tower? Was your father such a tyrant? Or were you cursed at birth by an evil sorceress? Oh, how awful...I am truly sorry for bringing up such a sorrowful memories…!”

“No, it's a sore topic, that's for sure, but not the way you think...”

In Yuliana's world, it was common for girls to marry by the time they became of age, at fifteen. The children of nobles would often become engaged already at twelve or thirteen, sometimes as early as nine. Considering the low average life expectancy for both sexes, being unmarried still in adulthood was simply weird. A maiden had to be either a nun, a witch apprentice, or otherwise burdened by exceptional, unnatural conditions.

In Izumi's case, the story was simple, however.

Not like nobody ever showed any interest.

Just, Izumi would summarily reject every candidate without exception until the end of high school, by the logic that she would have to split up with them anyway once the time came to depart for the other world. Expecting a couples' ticket would've been too much asked, if the partner even wanted to go.

Worse yet, what if such a golden opportunity was presented to her, only for her to realize she no longer wanted it because of love! She could've turned down a literal miracle because of a momentary emotion! What a tragedy!

No lingering attachments—such had been her rule.

And there was always the chance that virginity was one of the necessary conditions to become a “chosen one”. It was a fairly common topic in fantasy tales, after all. Spoiling her chances because of an instance of carnal desire really would have been too bad.

When she got into her twenties, no portals to another world had appeared, and her biology was starting to get demanding, Izumi got more relaxed with her conditions.

However, by that point, she also discovered it was hopelessly too late.

The social networks she had failed to build during her school days wouldn't help her meet potential partners. Nobody would randomly approach her out on the streets either, or come pick her up from her house, of course.

Instead of going to college, like most people she knew, she went on to study martial arts, kenjutsu, and various other archaic, marginal activities. Those hobbies provided contact with lots of new people, yes, but training was training, she wasn't keeping her eyes open “that” way while building her stats.

There was an occasional attempt, both ways, but the already cemented peculiarity of Izumi's personality and the lack of realistic, long-term goals in life ensured nothing ever came of it.

Then Izumi turned thirty and became a walking human-repellent.

Which brought us to the bitter result.

By her thirty-eighth birthday, Itaka Izumi remained an unmarried, kissless virgin.

Maybe she really was cursed?

Sometimes, deep down, she found herself hoping that someone would take her by force, make her abandon her senseless lifestyle and drag her out to where real life and everyone else was waiting, spell out loud what she already knew—that she had to get a grip and live as a human being on Earth.

Nobody did. It wouldn't happen.

Getting so involved with someone, taking responsibility of their life, what real person with a life of their own would be willing or able to tackle a burden that heavy and emotional?

One Monday morning, looking in the bathroom mirror in her small, shady apartment, Izumi unexpectedly reached enlightenment.

“That's right, why would I need anybody?” the Izumi in the mirror had told her with a hollow smile. “All men should just go die. All happy couples should burn. Hahaha.”

A mysterious sense of joy and relief, like the warm flames of a bonfire, had filled her upon that realization, and Izumi had at once become freed of all pain, stress and anxiety for the future.

There was something rather sinister about those flames, but she didn't pay it mind. What was and what was going to be ceased to matter.

There was only the present, where she was perfectly alone, perfectly in balance—and perfectly free.

From that point on, her life became almost frighteningly light to bear.

Even taking life—had become frighteningly light.

“More importantly,” Izumi pushed her recollections aside, “does that mean you're already married, Yule?”

“That naming sense is going to stick, isn't it?” Yuliana responded with a sigh. “I am engaged, yes. Formally, at least. My husband was already chosen for me before I was born, from among the nobles of the kingdom. But though I am already nineteen, we have not been wedded yet. I delayed the ceremony the best I could. Because...Well, because my wish to the Covenant would make a wedding impossible. My father, the King, was vehemently opposed to me leaving on this journey, so I stole the Amygla and escaped the capital on my own.”

“Hence the pursuers,” Izumi nodded. “So what kind of a wish was it?”

Without batting an eye, Yuliana announced,

“My wish is to redo my life as a man.”

“Eeh...?”

For once, it was Izumi's turn to be stunned.

“My father was not blessed with a son as his proper heir,” the princess explained. “There is no law prohibiting a queen from ruling, but since the ancient times, Langoria has been governed by a king. The citizens might not accept a breach in the line, or me as their leader. The King has never fully embraced me as his child either. I have never been mistreated for who I am, mind you. Yet, at the same time, I've grown up feeling like a stranger in my own house. A visitor who stays indefinitely, yet who is always expected to leave one day. Ever kept at a distance, regarded like a fine vase or a flower rather than a person, a friend, family. Even joining the army and becoming a knight commander couldn't change that. I...My only wish now is to free my parents of their shame. Give them a son they may love. Give my people the strong king they deserve, who will make them proud to be Langorians again. I am willing to face any challenge to make it so.”

“You really do love your country, huh?” Izumi said. “Even though they've branded you a criminal for wanting to sacrifice so much for their sake?”

Yuliana looked down, dejected over all the trouble she had caused.

“It couldn't be helped,” she said, “it's not their fault. They wouldn't know my dreams. No way I could tell them. I just have to make sure I succeed. Then all will be better.”

“I wonder about that, but who am I to say...”

“Shall we do it like this then, Lady Izumi?” Yuliana raised her lavender eyes again. “If you're not willing to part with the sword, then will you bring it with you and join me in my cause? Truth be told, I did not wish to involve you in my country's problems, far less my own. As a knight, I couldn't easily ask you to stake your life. Your summoning was something of an accident and you bear no responsibility in the matter. I still owe you for saving me as well. Nevertheless, your strength is genuine, as I have verified with my own eyes. If you mean to become an adventurer and there is no turning your head, then what is this if not an adventure of the highest order? I am certain our chances of succeeding would be higher together.”

“You can take on this tower challenge as a team?”

“There are no rules prohibiting it. Even though only one can obtain the reward waiting at the summit and become Ortho's savior.”

“Right. Good to know,” Izumi answered. “I'm not even going to try, though. Thanks for the invite.”

The woman's nonchalant refusal again knocked the air out of Yuliana.

After everything she had said...!

“W-why is that…?”

“What do you mean, why?” Izumi asked in return, as though the answer was clear as day, “I should help you become a man? Why would I want that! You're so cute too! No way. Absolutely not! Never in a million years. Even if I could get my share of the glory, I'm not interested in becoming a god or a savior. That's just boring! I already had my lifelong wish fulfilled, so there's nothing in it for me. Like I said, this whole tournament thing smells, big time. No thanks. Please give up on it.”

“No good, is it...” The knight princess hung her shoulders in apathy.

Yuliana had believed herself to be accomplished in the way of diplomacy, yet her eloquence had yielded no results whatsoever. Her feet felt a great deal heavier, as they continued their journey.

“By the way,” Izumi suddenly spoke up, “can you tell me more about Ai-chan?”

“Who?”

“Ai-chan,” Izumi repeated.

“You don't mean Lord Aiwesh, do you...?” Yuliana realized and let out a nervous laughter. Izumi shortened the name of a Divine too? Thank goodness the Lord of Light was a benevolent spirit. Had it been a more destructive Lord, there was no telling what she would have done, for being disrespected by meager mortals. “To be honest with you, I do not know much about her, but is there a specific question on your mind?”

“Don't worry. This is easy. How come you ended up being possessed by an angel?”

“Angel? I'm afraid I'm not familiar with the word... In any case, as said, Lord Aiwesh is one of the Divines, 'aesa' in the ancient tongue, a spiritual entity created by the Gods of old, as their servant. It is said that during the Golden Age, there were millions of Divines around the world. And even after the Gods left, when the Covenant was formed, the Divines remained. Each is bonded with a specific 'element', whence they draw their power and sustenance as spirits. After so long, most of them have become barely sentient, invisible faeries that do not deal with people. No different from air or water or whatever element they preside in. But a few are different.”

“Is that so?” Izumi nodded in understanding. “Then, since you're calling her the 'Lord of Light', that means Ai-chan's element is 'light'.”

“You would be correct,” Yuliana nodded. “How should I explain this...? Lord Aiwesh has always been close to our people and also something of a guardian spirit of Langoria. She grants us her blessing and protection in exchange for reverence. Because of that, there was no way for me to claim the Amygla without her approval. To do so, I formed a pact with her and became her vessel.”

“Hm? But why's that? Why did she want you as her vessel?”

“I wouldn't dare question a Divine Lord's motivations!” Yuliana cringed. “Though I suppose it has little to do with my personal merits. The Divines are said to at times possess vessels, because as spirits in their natural state, they cannot easily manifest or interact with the physical world. If I am able to pay back to my Lord by aiding her with whatever objective she has in mind, then I will gladly do so.”

“Hmm? But hasn't she totally failed at her job, being a guardian spirit, yet joining hands with a thief and ditching her kingdom?”

Ouch. Yuliana could feel even the normally ambivalent spirit within her shift restlessly.

“Just so you know, as I am her vessel, Lord Aiwesh is present within me at all times. And she can follow our conversation perfectly well, so could you please not insult her too much...?”

“What's she gonna do?” Izumi carried on. “A spirit of light? I know this type. They're the holy do-gooders who are all rainbows and sunshine all the time. Yet she can't even materialize when it's night time, or save her own vessel from a pinch, what no-good Divine.”

“H-hey!”

“By the way, why is it that you refer to her as 'Lord of Light'? Shouldn't it be a 'Lady of Light' instead? Or what, is 'she' crossdressing? Those boobs were a lie? It's a trap?”

“Are you picking a fight with her on purpose now!? Enough of your slander!” Yuliana was getting angry and frightened at the same time and tried to diver the topic by quickly explaining. “Some Divines are called 'Lords' not because of their gender, but because of their rank among the spirits. Lords hold sovereign authority in their element. See, as the Lord of Light, my Lord rules over the entirety of the element of Light, which means that in her presence, no other spirit, monster, or a sorcerer may draw upon the same element unless she allows it. Due to this, when it's daytime, my Lord's power is said to be equal to a lesser God. So I would appreciate it if you didn't annoy her too much.”

“Yet conversely, she can do nothing when it's night time. Or without a vessel,” Izumi nodded. “So there are a whole lot of these Lords in this world? If there are light spirits, does that mean there are dark ones too? Are there many as strong as Ai-chan?”

“It's a complex subject, much debated by the scholars,” the princess reservedly answered, “and to be perfectly honest, I didn't even believe the Divines were real until I met my Lord. Of course, every little town and village out there will claim there's a Divine watching over them, but whether that's true or not is another matter. I have never seen another Lord, at least.”

“I see, I see,” Izumi nodded again. “Then, anything else you could tell me? Listening to you talk is almost making me forget how much my feet hurt.”

“...Our world really doesn't matter much to you, does it?” Yuliana gave the woman a look of deep disapproval.

“Don't get upset,” Izumi evaded her glare and stopped to shake a stone out of her slipper. “The setting does sound pretty cliché to me, yeah, but I have to confirm all kinds of things to get by, don't I? But I'm reeeally getting sleepy and hungry here, and I'm always grumpy when I'm sleepy and hungry. Is it going to be long until the next town? Don't you have anything edible with you?”

“I lost my supplies when I abandoned my horse,” Yuliana answered. She was beyond exhausted herself, after a long day on the run. Manifesting Aiwesh at night took a great deal of her own vitality as well, and her arm and leg still hurt from the fall. Fortunately, the presence of the Divine also boosted her body's natural healing faculties, so she should've been fine by the next morning. Moreover, she was a knight. She had to endure this much without complaints.

“Fortunately, it shouldn't be much longer now,” she said. “We should exit the gorge soon, on the outskirts of the principality of Luctretz. There is a town, Grelden, right close the border. My father's knights will not pursue us that far, provided more are even coming.”

As the princess predicted, they soon stepped out of the gorge for a view over vast expanses of land. Cultivated fields extended from the root of the small mountain range all the way to the unseen horizon. And northeast from where the two women stood, around a narrow river streaming down from the cliffs, was a tidy, cozy-looking town, about a mile across, protected by a circular stone wall and smaller settlements around it.

Or, that's what they would've seen, had it been day.

In the dark, rainy night, only the lights of the town and the pale shapes of the nearest fields were visible, the rest of the details smeared together into a dark gray mass carpeting the land.

Admiring the view anyhow, inhaling deep of the fresh, damp night air, Izumi couldn't help but laugh. It was relieved laughter, but also a bit pained. It had taken a long, long time, but she was finally here. She was really here. Her dream had come true. Everything before her was completely unknown and new to her. A world waiting to be conquered.

It hadn't been only her madness.

“What's funny?” Yuliana asked with a questioning look in her eyes. “Not up to your tastes? The town.”

“No, it's only just starting to sink in,” Izumi said. “I'm not asleep right now, am I?”

The princess couldn't hope to understand. Beside her stood someone, who had been snatched from her home by supernatural powers, cast straight into battle, into rain and cold, in an alien world with mysterious forces, and no guarantees for the future. She had every right to be upset, angry, distressed, shocked, and dejected—and then some.

So why, why did this Itaka Izumi look like she could barely contain her excitement?

What a weird “champion”.

Chapter 2: The Knight Princess is Unhealthily Obstinate

1

Grelden, of the principality of Luctretz. Population: sixteen hundred.

The town's orderly spaced houses were built of tough, gray bricks, with high, sharply slanted roofs and upwards arching little windows. Paved and tidy, the streets were most wide enough for two carriage lanes, and enough space left over for the pedestrians. Grelden's layout had a militaristic sort of straightforwardness to it, which Yuliana attributed to the town's history as an army encampment.

There were no border patrols, fences, or checkpoints to keep the pair of women crossing over from one kingdom to the next.

The mountains themselves formed a natural borderline, the princess explained, and the limits weren't that strictly drawn or controlled, seeing as Langoria and Luctretz had always been on friendly terms with one another. As a matter of fact, they had been one not too long ago in the past. The split had occurred more out of practical reasons than due to any political or personal feuds. Effectively ruling over such vast lands was unfeasible for a single, distant government, and so a local ruler was appointed to reign over the autonomous Luctretz, with the title of Prince. Even after Luctretz started to consider itself a sovereign state instead of a mere vassal, no reason was ever deemed for restricting the passage of travelers between the nations.

That's so laid back compared to how things are back home, Izumi thought.

From their conversations on the way, she had learned this world really was every bit a medieval fantasy land. No electricity. No phones. Not even telegraphs. People might use birds to send confidential messages, at times magical gadgets, or couriers.

Izumi shuddered to think of the time when having no more access to modern technological appliances would hit her. She didn't even have her phone to amaze the locals with. No, it was better not to think about such things, forget they ever existed. Deliberately reminding herself that she would never have online access again was only asking for a mental breakdown.

The town guards at the western gate eyed the pair a bit suspiciously—mostly Izumi because of the attention-grabbing sword she carried—but let them through after a few basic questions that Yuliana convincingly answered.

Could they tell who she was? The face of Langoria's knight princess was not unknown to the people of the neighboring land, of course. Yuliana had made several visits to Luctretz in the past, to Grelden too. Although those occasions had usually proceeded in the safety of royal carriages and knight escorts, and she hadn't associated with the common people much.

Even had the guards recognized her, they clearly didn't know she was wanted yet.

As royalty, Yuliana did expect to enjoy a level of diplomatic immunity. It was unlikely anyone would directly raise arms against her in Luctretz, but if a formal request for her extradition was made, the local authorities were likely to comply without question.

However, the word had to first travel from the two knight survivors back to the nearest garrison, from there to the capital of Langoria, and from there again to the prince of Luctretz, before the formal authorization for her arrest could be sent to Grelden.

By the time the orders reached the local guard, Yuliana would be long gone.

Maybe I can rest easy for tonight at least.

“By the way, Yule,” Izumi suddenly said, as they walked down a street, looking for a place to spend the night, “do you happen to know where the adventurers' guild is?”

“Ah, excuse me? Where is what?” Yuliana absentmindedly returned.

“The adventurers' guild,” the woman repeated. “There's got to be one here, right? You know, the place where you go register and receive quests and rewards and upgrade your rank, and so on. I've been looking around, but can't see a place that looks like one...”

“I-I'm sorry, but there is no such a guild, to my knowledge...” Yuliana forced a polite smile.

“T-there isn't…?” Izumi stopped, shocked by the news. In Yuliana's opinion, the reaction was heavily exaggerated. “W-what should I do then? Where am I now going to get my adventurer's license? What about all those ranks and plates? Copper, iron, silver, obsidian, mythril—you know, that thing I can flash around, which makes all the bystanders go, 'oh, she must've hit the level cap by now, to have that!' How am I going to build my legend, if I have nothing to show for it? Isn't this bad!?”

“Ahaha...” the princess's smile became further strained.

There she goes again, with her foreigner talk.

“I don't know about ranks or plates,” she said, “but if you are looking for work as a free lance, you could start with the town's notice board. That's where the citizens usually put up any urgent messages regarding whatever they need help with. Not that everyone bothers with that. The vast majority of job openings don't get listed anywhere, you have to ask around and—”

“Ooh, let's check it out right away!” Izumi's excitement returned.

“What? W-what about the inn? Weren't you hungry!”

“I'll bear with it! Let's go!”

Yuliana didn't know where the notice board of Grelden was, but since they were generally positioned near town squares or market places where a lot of people gathered each day, that was her first choice.

Her guess wasn't mistaken either.

In the southeast corner of the central square, near the middle of the town—empty of sales booths at this time of the night—stood a wide wooden board on two legs, with numerous little paper notes nailed on its worn-out surface. Since there was a little roof, the posters were mostly spared from the awful weather. At least those nailed closer to the top.

Izumi looked closer at them.

“Ooh, this is just the thing! Let's see, let's see—aah, I can't read any of this!”

“Oh, right. I didn't think of that,” Yuliana next to her remarked. “Since we can understand each other's speech, I naturally assumed you could read as well. Isn't that troubling? I suppose you're going to have to learn to read first, if you plan to stay.”

“You say, plan to stay,” the woman lamented, “but there's no way for me to go back home even if I wanted to, is there? I mean, there never is. That's just the way it goes with these stories.”

“I wonder about that,” the princess replied. “If people can be brought this way, why couldn't there be a way reverse the process? Want to give it a try? I can call my Lord again the first thing in the morning.”

“So you can have the sword back and resume your silly gender-bender quest? No thank you, I only asked for future reference. I don't have any plans of going back for the time being.”

“So you're going to have to hit the books then.”

Izumi wasn't listening.

“You don't suppose there's a mysterious elixir, or a magic spell, that would let one learn languages in an instant, like 'ba-baam'!”

“As if something convenient like that would exist!” Yuliana retorted. “There'd be no need for schools then, would there?”

“It's not fair! I'm already too old to study! It's boring! It's a pain! Why is it that this Divine spirit or whatnot can kidnap people from other worlds, yet can't even share the essentials? Heeey, Ai-chan? You're in there, right? You're listening, aren't you? Teach me how to read, pleaaase!”

“Stop wailing in my ear!” Yuliana pushed the woman away from her. “And I told you, my Lord is powerless when it's in the middle of the night!”

“As expected of the no-good knock-off god.”

“Really, what is it!? What do you have against my Lord!? I told you to stop that!”

Izumi returned to face the notice board.

“So, Yule, will you tell me what all these say?”

“Forget it,” the princess turned to leave. “There are dozens of them and I'm famished myself. Let's find an inn and call it a day. Come on. We can come back in the morning.”

“As expected of the no-good vessel of the no-good knock-off god...”

“You sure carry a grudge! Has anybody ever said you have a hideous personality?”

After a lot of further arguing in the rainy night, the pair finally found their way to a tavern along the town square, a short distance away from the notice board.

By the looks of it, it was above average in quality, which was bound to be reflected in the pricing. They probably could have found a cheaper place from a more secluded part of the town, but were too tired to keep looking.

Yuliana could have raised more funds from the royal accounts at the nearest bank...in theory. But the idea of leeching off of the wealth of the family she had betrayed violated her honor. She preferred to get by with only the contents of her own purse, if possible.

Having never traveled on her own, Yuliana had no idea how much a night at an inn cost on the average. In this regard, she was no different from the woman from the other world. She had fifty pieces of silver, no more had fit in her purse and she had been in a hurry. It was likely that any inn would let her stay on credit if only she told them who she really was, but that would have been no different from holding a parade in town. The word would have spread everywhere before daybreak.

I'm a fugitive now. An outcast, not a princess. Better start living like one.

“While we're here,” she told Izumi at the doorstep, “I'd like you to keep calling me by the name you have so far.”

“Eh? Yule's name is not Yule?” the woman responded.

“Don't tell me you forgot already...? Aah, I was a fool to expect any different from you. You have no respect for the Divines, why would you show any for royalty?”

“Don't say that. I do respect those I think are worth it.”

“So I have not yet earned your respect yet, is that it?” Yuliana smiled wryly.

It was true that in the eyes of this mysterious person, her strength was too feeble to be acknowledged. Her conduct so far had felt childish even to herself.

“Um, that's not really what I meant,” Izumi unexpectedly denied. “Royalty or not, Yule’s a friend and you don’t need to act so stiff with friends. I didn't think there was anything disrespectful about that. Rather, isn't a pet name nicer than any cold, long-winded title?”

“A friend…?” Yuliana repeated, surprised.

That word was so foreign to her, the girl had to spend a moment to recall its meaning. She had had servants and subordinates, companions, comrades, superiors, teachers, masters, lords, squires, caretakers, and whatnot, even a fiance—but never anyone to call a friend. This was the first time anyone had used that word in her presence, for her, no less. Realizing that, Yuliana was momentarily overtaken by emotion. Surely because of the fatigue, no?

“I dragged you into this, and yet you would—”

“Yeeeeeah, let's not go that way,” Izumi cut her off, waving her hand dismissively. “Friendship isn't that big of a deal, you know. It doesn't mean I'm going to marry you, so why don't you stop it with the puppy eyes and we go in?”

“Oh. Ahem, right...” Yuliana cleared her throat and tightened her lips.

As I thought, this person is crude to the bone.

2

They—or Yuliana, mostly—successfully rented a room at the tavern.

“Tales”, it was called. Though it was her first time doing so, the business went smoother than expected. A room for the two of them had only cost four silver marks, including supper, breakfast, and hot water. The manager behind the front counter, a jovial, large and balding man in his mid-fifties, didn't seem to mind their strange attires or the huge sword carried by a woman who looked like an innkeeper herself. They had wrapped the Amygla in Izumi's apron, but the cloth was nowhere near large enough to fully conceal the blade. Yuliana had worn a cloak over her royal armor when she had set off on her journey, but had ended up discarding it along the way in a fruitless effort to distract her pursuers. She knew wearing something so flashy had been a mistake, if the point was to travel incognito. But regardless of the looks, the orichalcum armor was no doubt a necessity for challenging the Trophaeum, due to its superior-to-steel protection.

Fortunately, taverns saw all kinds of colorful travelers and their even more colorful gear and their host wasn't that easily disturbed. It wasn't that uncommon for mercenaries and adventurers to wander around with their weapons bare, in case they were too large to be sheathed.

Still, we had better shop for some less conspicuous clothing tomorrow, Yuliana noted to herself.

It wouldn't take a very keen eye to connect her looks and the armor's engravings to the royal house of Langoria, and questions would be asked, why a princess was sneaking around without a retinue. The possibility of her father dispatching another unit to take her back outside the official channels couldn't be disregarded either, and leaving a clear trail of rumors for the pursuers to follow was unwise.

Going through these endless paranoid thoughts, Yuliana tiredly bit her lip.

There were too many things to consider, too many mistakes to watch out for.

And the undeniable truth was that having to deal with Izumi on top of everything else was slowing her down a great deal.

“Why did you only rent one room?” the so-called champion from another world asked, having finished her supper. They ate in the dining area on the tavern's spacious ground floor, and unlike Yuliana, Izumi had regained her good humor as soon as her stomach was filled. “Stingy. Stingy princess.”

“As if I can let you out of my sight for one moment and have you disappear Divines know where with my sword!” the knight princess angrily retorted. “You know virtually nothing about life here and it's only a matter of time before you get yourself into trouble. Until you return my sword, we're sticking together, day and night, you hear me? And I thought I told you not to call me a princess here...!”

Luckily, it was late and there weren't too many other travelers spending time at the tavern on a weekday night.

Those few who sat further away were too occupied with their private business to pay attention to the pair of women. Or, so they acted. Having grown up in the middle of the gossip and treachery of the royal court, Yuliana knew better than well that walls themselves had ears.

“It couldn't be, you're into older women?” Izumi asked with a pretentiously dramatic gasp. “You said you wanted to be a guy, does that mean you swing the other way too? I'm sorry, even we share the room, even if we share the bed, no steamy events are going to happen. No way. Absolutely not. Please accept it.”

“Why you…!” Prideful as she was, Yuliana was about to give in to her anger again. Minding the situation, she managed to calm herself with sheer willpower. Even her mood had been lifted somewhat by the meal.

“I know,” she sighed. “I know what you're trying to do. And you're not getting rid of me so easily.”

“But, but,” the woman bemoaned without denying the suspicion, “you're going to try to steal this thing back the first chance you get, right? I don't wanna sleep all night with one eye open! I'm going to get wrinkles, more wrinkles, and ugly bags under my eyes. Don't wanna! Gosh!”

“So you admit you stole it! Still, your worries are completely ungrounded. I'm not going to do anything as underhanded as that.”

“But you already stole it once yourself,” Izumi retorted. “From your dad's treasury to boot. Was that not underhanded, or what?”

“Shhh! Keep your voice down, you idiot! Don't talk about that here!”

Yuliana was certain their talk carried everywhere in the room, but nobody even spared them a glance. A suspicious observation on its own.

“I finally got into another world and then have to party with a stingy trans-princess and a no-good Divine? There's no end to my bad luck, is there…?” Izumi continued to complain, as though the other customers were no different from tables and chairs to her. “Where are those pretty-boy sword heroes, charming, reliable princes, and wise, battle-hardened mercenaries? This party can't even be called a party with just the two of us.”

“That's my line!” Yuliana sighed again. “I was given a literal once-in-a-thousand-years miracle, and all I got was you? Who are you to talk about bad luck? It's so terrible I want to cry.”

“Who are you calling terrible! If you don't like this co-op mode, then give me my own room and you won't have to see me again.”

“So you did plan to sneak away before daybreak...Why don't you cough up the coin to rent a room for yourself then, o' champion? Ah, yes, you can't even read the menu.”

“Can you promise me you will keep your hands to your side of the bed?”

“I shall sleep on the floor if that's what matters!”

“Are you guilt-tripping me now? Just so you know, I'm immune to that. I'm perfectly shameless.”

“Don't say that about yourself! Though you look the way you do on the outside, could it be that you're actually only eight years old? Maybe your people age faster than we do? Or their minds mature slower?”

“Please leave my age out of this. Hits under the belt aren't very princess-y.”

“I wasn't knighted just for show, you know. I had to deal with crude idiots on a daily basis, so you're not going to banter your way past me. How am I your 'friend', anyway? Is this how you treat all your friends? I thought there was more respect and equality to true friendship than what you are giving me.”

“No, I don't sleep with my friends. If anything, we're already at the second base, aren't we? Kyaa~! I'm so gonna tweet about this—oh yeah, I don't have my phone...”

“No, really, were you a sailor or a farmhand in your past life...?”

——“Excuse me.”

At that moment, the pair's odd exchange was interrupted by the voice of a third person.

Yuliana hadn't noticed when, but a girl around her age had suddenly appeared beside her and was addressing the two of them. Judging by the simple brown, many times patched dress, and the filthy gray rag tied around the waist as an apron, the girl was a worker at the tavern. The owner's daughter, perhaps?

Although her presence received a quick and natural explanation this way, there was something about the maid that made Yuliana instinctively put up her guard.

Coal-black, curly hair reached the servant's shoulders, loosely tied back to keep from getting in the way. A pair of large, dark-brown eyes respectfully evaded contact but looked a tad too intelligent for a simple small town maid. Her skin was distinctly tanned, speaking of weeks if not years spent outdoors rather than mopping floors. Perhaps she was a recent, temporary hire, after all? A traveler or a refugee, who had run out of coin while on the road?

“Was the supper to your liking?” the maid asked.

“Ah, yes. It was delicious, thank you,” Yuliana politely responded, in line with her deep-ingrained manners.

“It was so-so,” Izumi commented without reservation. “There was too much salt, the potatoes were overcooked, the meat tasteless, and there were too many onions, onions upset my stomach and—”

“She enjoyed it. See, the plate's empty,” the princess finished for her.

“I'm glad then,” the maid said with a smile that failed to reach her eyes. “If you're ready, I will take you to your rooms now.”

Following the servant, they went upstairs, to the second floor, where their room was along a long hallway pointing westward.

It was a standard room. Stripped and plain by Yuliana's royal standards, extravagant by Izumi's, who had lived in a simple single-room apartment. There was no need to argue over the bed, seeing as it was meant for two and wide enough for even a more bashful pairing, with a brown-red blanket for cover. There was also a little window in the back, with a view down to a narrow alley between the tavern and the neighboring building.

Although there was no fireplace, the room was warm. Feeling the floor beneath her feet, Izumi concluded the tavern had to have had some sort of a central heating system. The town had sewering as well, as shown by the manholes on the streets, and basic but functional water closets. Though they had no electricity or running water, the people of this land were still moderately developed. Somewhere between the seventeenth and eighteenth century Europeans, perhaps.

“A bath has been reserved for you downstairs and is ready for use, whenever you wish for it,” the maid said. “Just let me know when and I will take you—”

“—Yes, yes! I'll go!” Izumi immediately chirped. “Right away! Please lead the way, um...What's your name again, sweetie?”

“I—I'm Riswelze,” the girl answered, surprised by the woman's excessive familiarity. She clearly hadn't expected the question and appeared to regret how impulsively she had answered. Of course, Yuliana thought wryly. Nobody else here would care about the name of a simple maid.

“Ri...Ri...Ri...” Izumi repeated with a frown, as if her brain had trouble comprehending what her ears had just heard, until a wide smile suddenly brightened up her face. “Rise, it is!”

“Excuse me?” the maid named Riswelze raised her brows, her confusion deepening.

“Pay her no mind, please,” Yuliana shrugged and advised. “My companion is a bit of an oddball, but means no harm by it.”

“Right,” the girl slowly nodded. “And milady…?”

“Ah, I shall take my turn later, if that is all right. I still need to take off and clean my armor.”

“If that's all, I can have someone assist you with it—”

“Thank you, but I require no aid,” the princess sharply interrupted.

Royalty or not, it was each knight's responsibility to maintain their own equipment. After all, how could one be expected to protect a country, if such simple and basic everyday tasks were beyond her? Realizing how odd it was to still cling to her old instructor's words after becoming a traitor to her land, Yuliana turned away with a bitter smile.

“You may go.”

“...Very well. Then this way, if you please, madam.”

The servant exited the room, Izumi in her wake, and for the first time in several hours, Yuliana was left in peace and quiet. Exhaling in relief, she began to unstrap her gauntlets.

“I can't see it. I can't see it at all...” she mumbled, looking at the rain-patterned window. She had been through so much trouble over the past days, made so many bold resolutions, yet her goal stood unbearably far away. “How did it get like this...?”

“Not even I could have predicted such an outcome,” the voice within her responded.

“How and in what manner of a world is that person a 'champion', anyway? She's violent and rude and arrogant, has no manners, no honor, no respect whatsoever. Takes nothing seriously. She's completely ignorant about everything, about other people's feelings, yet won't even bother to try and understand. I've never met anyone as irresponsible and reckless in my life!”

“And yet, you already rather like her, don't you?” Aiwesh's voice sounded amused.

Yuliana grimaced.

“And what ever gave you such an absurd impression, my Lord? As nothing could be further from the truth.”

“Your warmth did.”

“Eh...?”

“Being inside you, I can tell well enough. For a long, long time, you have distanced yourself from the others. You have filled your thoughts with the greater good of your people, half because that is how you have been raised, and half in order to escape the how cold you feel inside. But in only a few hours, your heart has turned this warm. Perhaps this was a necessary event, after all. True strength does not come from wanting to strive for others' sake because it is right and proper. It comes from knowing that you want to, because of who they are. Unless you take that lesson to heart, you will never reach the Tower, much less conquer it.”

Yuliana removed her chestplate, set it upright against the wall, removed her boots and then laid on her back on the bed. She spared no thought to its lulling softness. Her mind was elsewhere.

“True strength…? Is that the difference between her and I?”

What made Izumi so powerful?

Why did she show no fear, even before death?

What did she fight for? For Yuliana, it was a mystery.

The princess could see clearly enough that her own heart was filled with anxiety. Worry over her country's future. Worry over the well-being of her parents. Worry over the success of her mission. Worry over the fate of the world. And sheer dread over the possibility that she would end up a disappointment, a disgrace, a failure, and die a miserable death in some foreign land, unable to achieve anything.

So much depended on her, yet she was so hopelessly weak.

The woman had it worse. Yet, she only played around like a child.

It should have been the other way round.

Izumi should have been the one depending on Yuliana for protection, scared out of her wits. Yet, from the moment of their first meeting, she had appeared to the princess as someone utterly untouchable, indomitable, and beyond reach.

Raising her palm towards the ceiling, as if in an effort to touch the vision on her mind, Yuliana clenched her fist and closed her eyes.

“Who are you and where did you come from, Itaka Izumi...?”

3

In the basement of the tavern, stairs down from behind the counter, were a handful of more private rooms, along a narrow underground corridor. Those rooms had baths where the guests could wash away the dust and sweat from their travels. There was no hot water available in the upper floors and delivering it by hand would've made things unnecessarily laborious and time-consuming, so the architect solved the problem in this fashion.

At this time of the night, the baths rarely saw use, but one of them had now been readied again for the sudden guests' use. Although they were baths in name, what awaited Izumi was quite unlike the bath houses she was accustomed to in her land of origin.

Before her eyes stood a simple room with dark stone floor, walls coated with red tiles and thick, bare metal pipes. Light steam hung in the air. There was no furniture beside a few basic, wooden stools and benches. In the middle of the room, bolted on the floor, stood a large bath tub, skillfully forged from brass, filled with steaming hot water. Some scented soap had also been added, giving off a sweet fragrance that spread in the room. And...petals of roses?

What kind of a tavern had they signed into?

According to Yuliana, the fee for the night had been absurdly cheap, but that didn't match the level of service...Perhaps Izumi's innate grasp of the value of things, based on the standards of her old world, didn't serve too well here.

She decided not to think too deeply on it.

Izumi wanted nothing more but to get rid of her wet, heavy clothes and jump right into the tub, but there was a slight problem…

—“Is something the matter, madam?”

The maid girl, Riswelze, remained standing behind the woman, a towel in hand, seemingly with no intention of leaving.

You are the problem!

“No, it's just...Rise dear, are you going to stay there...?” Izumi asked.

“Yes, madam, rest assured,” the girl answered, completely missing the point. “I have a robe for you to change into, while I’ll hang your clothes to dry. It was raining, wasn't it? What a terrible night to be outside. You had better undress quickly before you catch a cold. It could be deadly at your age.”

That stings. It really does.

“I'm fine by myself, though,” Izumi muttered. “So there's really no need for you to wait around...”

“You mean, I should...leave?” The girl looked a little taken aback. As if she had been told she was something filthy, an eyesore. Was being attended even during a bath really the usual custom here?

“I-it's not that I hate you being there personally, or anything,” Izumi hurried to say, “but, well, how should I put this? Could you face away for a minute, at least? Since it's...just a bit embarrassing...”

Riswelze's expression softened a little and she quickly responded with a smile,

“Please pay it no mind. I'm only doing my job, so be as if I'm not even here.”

That's impossible!

“This tavern's sure got some grandiose service, doesn't it!” Izumi laughed, trying to hide her nervousness.

“This much would be perfectly normal, I think,” the maid responded. “After you are done with the bath, I can give you a massage as well. It's included in the fee.”

“A m-m-m-m-massage? There really is no need to go that far, I think...!”

Again, it seemed Izumi had picked her words poorly. Riswelze's expression immediately clouded again, and, as if offended, she hurried to argue,

“Why not? Is it because I look young and inexperienced? I think I can give pretty good massages, madam. No one has complained so far. It feels good, doesn't it? Please give me a chance and I will show you. You will definitely not regret it.”

“T-that's...”

The situation wasn't developing in a good way at all.

Naturally, the maid had no way of knowing what really went on in the strange guest's head.

The truth was that Itaka Izumi, a dateless old maid from the modern, sterile, distant society, was—to put it nicely—“unattuned” to the proximity of other people.

To be more accurate, she had grown exceedingly sensitive to it.

It was mysterious how the human mind worked, Izumi thought.

When she had practiced the art of self-defense in her youth, her body had collided with other practitioners countless times, and she had thought nothing of it. Those weren't social occasions. You wouldn't feel weird hugging a punching bag. Similarly to using the shower room at a public pool, or wearing bikini to the beach in the summer, no one cared about being exposed to strangers when the context was not intimate enough.

But here, forced to strip under the gaze of a cute younger girl in this steamy, rose-scented room, where no one else could see or hear—if this wasn't “intimate”, then what was? It felt like some kind of a perverted play, a sadomasochistic punishment game.

Moreover, during the years Izumi had spent as a shut-in in her later years, her mindset had undergone a subtle, gradual, but nevertheless profound change. Arguments like, “we're both women” had lost meaning along the way. No matter who it was, being touched, being looked at, felt absolutely unbearable, even fully clothed.

Yet, it didn't seem like Izumi could get the maid to leave without insulting her…Only imagining those pretty, brown features distorting in anger and humiliation brought cold sweat to Izumi's brow.

It was a complete stalemate.

In the end, she chose what she perceived as the lesser evil.

“...I'll be taking off my clothes then...”

Swallowing her pride, Izumi turned around, set down the greatsword and began to unbutton her shirt.

Inhale. Exhale. Clear your mind. Pure, flowing water. Kuawabara, kuwabara…

Peeling off her sticky, damp shirt, Izumi dropped it on the stool beside the bathtub.

It was no good. She couldn't help but be overly self-conscious. It was like her every movement had become somehow erotically charged and was sending all kinds of unintended, subliminal signals around.

What's the matter, really? Rise is a veteran at customer service. It's not like she'll see any “signals” and assault me! In her eyes, I might as well be a potato! La, la, la...Wonder what Yule's doing right now…?

Trying in vain to distract herself, Izumi moved on to her skirt.

Closed only by a little hook, it was easy to take off. In theory. In practice, the wet cloth clung to her round hips, as if it had shrank, and demanded considerable effort to pull off, little by little. How obnoxiously thick and lewd her body now seemed! Izumi hadn't worried about her appearance for a long time, but now she suddenly became painfully conscious of every little bit of it that was off.

The skirt brushed her legs as it finally fell down, sending shivers up her thighs. Her knees reflexively quivered. Did the maid notice? Just an illusion, didn't happen.

She was down to her underwear. Next, the bra...

Gosh, it's not like I'm a lesbian myself, it doesn't matter even if she's looking. Why am I being so fidgety? Massages are perfectly normal, nothing erotic about them. Being touched and caressed by another girl, a maid all over does nothing for me, haha…

It was a lie.

The word “maid” alone was enough to fill her mind with forbidden thoughts. After so long, wasn't every cell of her being practically begging to be touched, pleased, by anyone? Gender had stopped being a limiting characteristic long ago. Izumi just wanted to stop being so cold and alone.

Then, dropping the bra, letting her large chest loose, Izumi's mind suddenly cooled down. As if hit by a magic spell, she reached a new level of self-awareness, looking at her veiny hands and the bony fingers.

You've got some guts, still calling yourself a “girl” at your age, Itaka Izumi. As if anyone would want to touch a wrinkled, saggy old bag like you. A cute kid like Rise the least of all. Maybe when I was Yule's age. But that time's not coming back anymore, is it? It's only going to be steeper downhill from here...Gross. I'm so gross. My wish finally came true, but I'm so far past my heyday no one's going to confuse me for a hero anymore. I won't even qualify as the constantly kidnapped sidekick at this point. Rather, I'm the stepmother everybody's dying to get rid of!

The onslaught of depression broke her tension.

Feeling her age heavier than ever before, Izumi unceremoniously took off her underwear and dropped the pair of black panties on the stool, on top of her other clothes. All her underwear were always black. Not because she wanted to look sexy, but because you couldn't tell so easily when they were dirty and so didn't need to be washed as often. The will to be appealing simply played no role in her everyday decisions, hadn't for many years.

And it was crushingly sad.

Now fully naked, Izumi happened to glance briefly behind, at the maid.

As she did, Riswelze quickly averted her eyes.

What? Was it her imagination, or was the servant's face a bit flushed? It was the steam playing tricks on her vision, right? Right?

That shy look was too much stimulation for Izumi.

At once, her Buddha-like tranquility and resignation from a minute back were gone again.

In a panic, she quickly escaped by jumping into the bath tub.

“Wah...!”

The water was hotter than she had expected. Way too hot.

But that was only because her body had gotten so cold. As she slowly grew used to the water, her tense limbs relaxed. Even had she boiled alive, there was no way she would've had the courage to get out and stand before Riswelze's eyes again.

“How's the water?” the maid's voice asked. “If it's too hot, I can adjust it for you.”

“No, it's fine...”

“Then...would you like me to wash your hair for you?”

“Um, if that's alright...” the woman muttered.

It was embarrassing, but Izumi wanted to hide her weird behavior by acting against her nature. Not to mention washing her hair was a hassle to do by herself. It had grown too long. She hadn't been to a salon since she turned twenty, yet every time she had tried to cut it herself, her courage had faltered.

Izumi leaned back in the tub, which was shaped to allow one to comfortably do so while resting arms on the rounded edges. She didn't relax to that degree, however, seeing that her chest floated in the water. In shame, she folded her arms to cover herself. Fortunately, the water was foamy enough to hide the rest of her disgraceful form.

“Please lean back a bit more.”

Without a word, the servant wet Izumi's hair in a separate bowl that could be attached on the tub's rim, mixed something oily in her hands and got to work.

For a while, neither said anything.

This really is happening, huh, Izumi thought.

She really was in another world now, in a parallel reality completely different from where she had come, filled with magic, unknown races, and mysterious creatures. Her dream had come true so suddenly she still had trouble believing it was real. Sure, lots of boys from her class had harbored similar fantasies in the past, yet she was the one who had had her way. Who would’ve thought?

Was it a genuine other reality?

Or an elaborate computer simulation?

Or a particularly strange dream?

Izumi recalled all those books she had read where the protagonist was thrown into a strange world, and the wild twists the authors would add in to spice up their vision. What if she had only dreamed her life on Earth and was only born a few hours ago, created from nothing by the Divine's spell? All the memories of her past life were false, conjured...What a silly theory.

Did it even matter?

During her school days, Izumi had written a long list of things she had wanted to do and try in a fantasy world such as this.

Defeat the Demon Lord, join forces with various amazing heroes, challenge the hardest dungeons sporting the strongest monsters, maybe create a guild of her own, become a living legend...All those innocent, energetic wishes only seemed bothersome and ridiculous to her adult self now.

Did this world even have a Demon Lord? Defeating one would've made for a noteworthy achievement, perhaps, but it also seemed like a huge hassle for no benefit. Had the evil beings here even done anything to warrant being destroyed?

No. At this point, Izumi was content with simply having made it here.

Anything was better than the place she had come from.

It had been her first day as an intern at a little florist's shop. The job had been forced on her. Her boss and employees treated her like she was somehow impaired, an idiot, because she hadn't had a stable job before. That was the kind of people they usually had, as part of whatever social rehabilitation campaign sponsored by the government. They didn't take her because they wanted her, but because they got compensated for it, and could build reputation as a company that did their part in the society.

Unlike her. She was dead weight and people left no confusion about that.

All Izumi could do was obediently endure it with a smile.

Yes, endure.

Endure.

Endure.

Endure. Endure. Endure.

Endure. Endure. Endure. Endure. Endure. Endure.

Endure. Endure. Endure. Endure. Endure. Endure. Endure. Endure. Endure. Endure. Endure. Endure. Endure. Endure. Endure. Endure. Endure. Endure. Endure. Endure. Endure. Endure. Endure. Endure. Endure. Endure. Endure. Endure. Endure. Endure. Endure. Endure. Endure. Endure. Endure. Endure. Endure. Endure. Endure. Endure. Endure. Endure. Endure. Endure. Endure. Endure. Endure. Endure. Endure. Endure. Endure. Endure. Endure. Endure. Endure. Endure. Endure. Endure. Endure. Endure.

Such had been her whole life on Earth, every last day of it. Enduring the pain of trying to appear normal, while clinging onto an impossible escape route.

And now she was here.

Divine salvation had happened.

The moment she had gripped the Amygla in her hands, Itaka Izumi had felt so completely liberated that life and death themselves had lost all meaning for her.

Even as the strange knights had charged at her with the intent to kill, Izumi had been barely able to contain her joy. She had reached the climax of her existence. She could have died any moment now, with not a single regret left. Everything that came after this point was only bonus.

But this didn't mean Izumi was completely free of fear.

Yes, even at this moment, a fear kept nagging at her ecstatic heart.

Not the fear of death or starvation, pain or humiliation.

But the fear that she should wake up in her dark, depressing apartment again tomorrow morning, at the ring of the alarm clock, only to find that this happiness had indeed been but a mirage, meaningless and shallow, blown out like a candle without leaving one memory behind.

Until it happened, she desperately wanted to savor every last second of her experience to the fullest.

“This is the best...” Izumi sighed.

“Pardon me?” the maid asked. “Did you say something, madam?”

“No, nothing at all.”

“Is that so?”

Rise's fingers felt good on her scalp. Strong, yet gentle. Perhaps she should rethink that massage?

“You have such gorgeous hair, madam,” the girl said. “I see you've taken good care of it.”

“A woman's hair is her life, after all,” Izumi absentmindedly replied. “Take care of yours.”

“I try to.”

From their brief conversation, Izumi's thoughts returned to Yuliana?

What should she do with the girl? She did consider giving back the sword, for a moment. A moment only. Letting the princess go die by herself on such a reckless quest seemed only like a waste. Neither did Izumi have any interest in helping her either.

I wonder if I have any main character status to protect me here? Wouldn’t be a good idea to count on it, huh. If I go play with godly powers, I’ll probably only either die or worse—get sent back home. And I haven't seen nearly enough of this place yet to rush forward with the story quest. Do I even get to save?

Though she reasoned the matter to herself in rather surreal terms, she also recognized that neither she nor the princess could go on like this, dragging each other down. It seemed there was no choice. If the princess could agree to buy her a decent new weapon for questing tomorrow, then they could peacefully part ways.

There's no way to make her give up on going to that place and come with me instead, is there...?

—“Your companion, she's really pretty,” Riswelze suddenly spoke, as if she had seen through Izumi's thoughts. “Is she your daughter?”

“Eh? Yule, you mean?”

I look that old, huh...

No matter how and how many times her age was brought up, it never failed to make for a critical hit. For a second, Izumi considered playing along with the guess, but they looked and dressed nothing alike. Claiming they were related was going to be too suspicious.

“No, um, she's my....bodyguard!” she quickly lied. “Yes. I happen to be a noble, you see? Not a princess, no, but real buddy-buddy with the court, through a cousin or two and I have a nice mansion and stuff behind the mountains. Don't tell anybody, but I'm actually on a top secret mission to deliver a super important message to the prince and Yule serves as my noble escort. Yes.”

Izumi's imagination got the better of her and the lie somehow blew out of proportion as it was being told.

“Wow, that sounds real amazing,” the maid said. There was something strange about her tone. It was almost painfully cynical. “But if she's your guard, then how come you're the only one of you two to carry a weapon?”

Messed up, huh...

“T-that's because...it's a magic sword!” Izumi answered. “It can only unleash its true potential in Yule's hands, but she's still too young and inexperienced to fully control its might. Which is why she can only wield it with my special permit. You know, when it's a life-or-death situation with absolutely no other way out. Otherwise, who knows, she might end up blowing up the whole town by accident. Yep.”

“I see. It's a mighty weapon you have then. But isn't it a little careless of you to take a bath without your bodyguard, or leave her without any means to defend herself?”

It was an excellent question, but perhaps a bit weird coming from a simple servant.

“Oh, Yule can look after herself,” Izumi kept up with her story. “She's actually a tenth dan black belt in Brasilian jujutsu—her body itself is a weapon! If she carried a sword too, any human opponent would be completely obliterated…! And that would bring too much attention to our, uh, secret mission. Yes.”

“Right. Good thinking,” Riswelze said. “But you want my opinion?”

The girl suddenly leaned over and brought her lips close to Izumi's ear.

“I believe you're not giving me the whole story here, auntie.”

“...”

Without pulling back, the girl continued to whisper in a lowered, venomously sweet tone that was like another person’s entirely,

“See, I heard this really delicious rumor just a while ago. That the famous heiress to Langoria’s throne has run away from her castle, outwitting a whole platoon of royal guards, and is on her way to Luctretz as we speak. It's been a few days since her sudden 'departure', who knows, maybe she's already here? Yes, here, in this very town, maybe renting a room at this very tavern, and we wouldn't know it. Seeing as Grelden happens to sit so close to the border, along the only route out of Langoria by north. That would be pretty bad, if true. Because there are lots of shady people out there who don't like royalty too much, you know? It so happens somebody has already put a huuuge bounty on the princess's head. 'Dead or alive', it says, even. If there also happened to be somebody in dire need of quick coin in the neighborhood, somebody who always keeps her eyes and ears open, you could be dead certain she would take a shot at this princess the first chance she gets. What do you think about that...your highness?”

“Highness…?”

“Yes. You are not just any average noble, are you? Princess Yuliana Da Via Brannan. It was pretty clever to have your guard wear the royal armor while dressing like a lowly cur yourself, but you don't really think people are that stupid, do you? No, you probably do. Having lived your whole life behind the walls of your stupidly huge castle, how could you have any idea what life is like on the streets? Well, guess what, auntie? Even if you didn't go blabber about it like a moron to whoever asks, it's obvious to anyone by a glance which one of you has the squishy, soft body of a sheltered, pampered royal wretch, and which has worked herself to the bone in the service of the people. You aren't used to being stared at by filthy street rats, are you? Gets you all hot and bothered, doesn't it? Oh, and for your information, as you clearly have no idea how this currency thing works—paying four full silver without question for a room that's hardly worth sixty coppers is going to make you look pretty damn desperate to anybody.”

Having said that, the servant, Riswelze, straightened her back, pulled a weapon resembling an ice pick from under her apron and raised it to strike.

“Nothing personal, your highness. But they don’t pay maids like they used to.”

“On a second thought, this place really has terrible service,” Izumi said.

Riswelze stabbed down her dagger, aiming at the woman's exposed neck.

Functionally, a bath such as this was an ideal place for assassinating a person.

Down here, no one would interrupt them. The thick walls would muffle all sound. The blood could be thrown away with the bathwater, the body disposed of the same way. And not even the victim’s clothes would be damaged.

It wasn't Riswelze's first kill, nor was it likely to be the last.

A business transaction, nothing more.

A part of her did feel slight, passing reluctance in the act. She was still too young to have rid herself of the weight of conscience entirely. Even though she assured herself that ridding the land of corrupt nobles and politicians was a righteous act, in principle, that didn't mean she took special pleasure in the act itself.

But the bounty more than made up for where the will was lacking.

Those soft of character had no place in this world. When the opportunity presented itself, it had to be seized. Or someone else would.

Still, regardless of means and motivations—there were times when jobs simply went bad.

Tonight's turned out to be one.

Suddenly, there was water everywhere.

An explosion of water. As if the walls themselves had abruptly liquefied.

Before she realized, Riswelze found herself lying on her back in the bathtub, following a fit of dizziness.

As she was trying to comprehend what kind of bizarre magic had hit her, she realized she had become completely immobilized. Powerful legs wrapped around her thighs, and snake-like arms wrung the spike from her grip. She struggled to free herself and get up, but the strength binding her was absurd. The more she resisted, the deeper she was pulled into the hot water, sapped of stamina bit by bit. As if she had been caught by a humanoid octopus and now faced a slow, painful death by drowning—powerless to do anything about it—a primitive terror took away the girl's breath.

“Mistake number one,” a dreadfully gentle voice whispered in her ear, in a bewildering swap of roles. “When stabbing someone beneath you, bend your legs, not your back, or else you might lose your balance.”

“Gh...a...”

“Mistake number two. If you really need to give a cool one-liner when murdering somebody, please do it only after you've actually stabbed them. Not before, and certainly not at the same time, or it will mess up your pacing.”

Frightening pain intensified on the assassin's arms, as her shoulders were being twisted slowly backward, at the same time as her chest was pushed forward, pressure gathering on her neck and back. Riswelze looked in vain for a way to escape—and saw her own distressed image reflected on the polished bath tub's inner surface. Shocked, she realized the tub had acted as mirror, reflecting her every move to her victim.

“By the way,” Izumi cheerfully continued, relishing the type of close contact she was most familiar with, “I'm fifth dan in Brasilian jujutsu. Now, Rise dear, could please tell me in detail what this bounty business is about?”

5

Yuliana had fallen briefly asleep and was startled awake by the sound of someone at the door. Realizing her grave mishap, she quickly sat up on the bed, a hint of embarrassed red taking over her upper cheeks.

As expected, in stepped only her companion from the other world, dressed in a gray bathrobe the maid had apparently given her, drying her lengthy hair with a fluffy towel. On the woman's refreshed face was a wide, cheerful smile.

The transformation was uncanny.

This was the first time Yuliana saw Izumi in good lighting, clean and dried, and she looked like a different person entirely. Her hair was fluffier, she looked larger and taller. Sparkling. The robe was left loose on the front, apparently because it was too tight around the chest to be fully closed.

Catching herself staring at that opening, Yuliana turned her face away.

“Sure took your time,” she said. Though she made her tone reprimanding, she was only relieved the woman hadn't sneaked away with the Amygla while the princess had slept. Or ran into any trouble. The possibility that it could've happened, she convinced herself, was the true source to her restless pulse now.

“Wow, what do you know, massages really are something~!” Izumi beamed as she stepped in and kicked the door shut behind her, one hand taken by the towel and the other by the sword and her belongings. “Though, as I always thought, I do prefer to be on the giving rather than the receiving end.”

“Massages?” the knight princess frowned. “What folly are you talking about, at a time like this...?”

“Don't call it folly, it's good for you! Hurry up and get going,” Izumi urged her, like a mother her daughter, “The bath's not open all night. The road's been cleared, if I may say so.”

“Hm? Did something happen?”

“No, not at all! Hurry, hurry. I'm going to sleep now. Don't you peep. And don't wake me up before ten, okay?”

“Ten?”

What kind of an expression of time is that?

Yuliana would have preferred to go back to sleep as she was, but her civilized upbringing compelled her to stand and go wash up. But as she stepped towards the door, her glance drifted to the sword Izumi had set leaning on the wall next to the bed.

“Would you consider letting me take the Amygla?” she asked. “It may only be downstairs, but I don't feel safe going unarmed. Leaving myself defenseless at such a vulnerable moment would be inviting problems.”

“You're not any more vulnerable naked than you are clothed, you know?” the woman nonchalantly answered her. “It's all in your head.”

“You still think I'm going to steal off with it?”

“There's this saying in my world. 'Opportunity makes a thief',” Izumi said, raising her finger to imitate a teacher. “I'm only protecting you from the temptation.”

“What a coincidence, there is a saying like that in our land too,” Yuliana responded. “But I don't want to get told that by a thief. In my opinion, it's not thievery, if I'm only taking back what is rightfully mine.”

“Which you obtained by stealing.”

“How many times must I tell you, I did not 'steal' it! Technically. I walked right into the vault where it was stored under the castle, openly announced my intentions to Lord Aiwesh, pulled the sword out of the stone with her approval, and then walked out. I was neither hiding nor lying about it. No mischief. That vault and everything in it is my family's property. So I'd like to think calling it a 'retrieval' would be more appropriate.”

“A sword in stone, huh,” Izumi listlessly repeated. “Never heard that one before...”

“Are you listening to me?”

“Nope. Not at all. Are you still here? The water's going to go cold~”

The woman's carefree attitude was getting on Yuliana's nerves big time.

Standing in the middle of the room, doing her best to maintain her composure, the princess quietly weighed her options. Shortly, she came up with what she felt was a good compromise.

“Then, how about this,” she faced Izumi and said. “I swear an oath. On my honor as a knight, I swear I recognize the sword as yours for the time being and will never attempt to take it from you against your will. If, in turn, you are willing to lend it to me at times when I need it, for my own safety. That good enough for you? In our land, oaths hold exceptional power. I will not be able to break it without consequences.”

“It's a no,” Izumi rejected the humble offer without even considering it. “If it's only for peace of mind, why don't you go get a cooking knife from the kitchen? That would be a lot more useful in a bath. And I told you there's no danger (anymore).”

“...You really don't trust people, do you?” Yuliana sighed.

“Of course not,” the woman immediately responded. “Not one bit.”

“Whatever happened to make you that way?” The princess asked in a snide tone, trying to provoke the woman. “Was it perhaps some bitter betrayal you suffered in your youth?”

“I wonder, what could it have been?” Izumi chirped, unaffected.

Useless, is it?

Frustrated, Yuliana grit her teeth and moved her gaze between the woman drying her hair, seated on the bed, and the sword. It was clearly outside Izumi's reach. She wasn't even paying attention. With just one long step, Yuliana could grab it and walk out. Izumi probably wouldn't chase after her, in only a bathrobe.

It was an underhanded thing to do, but when words failed it was time for actions. Perhaps Izumi would begin to trust her a bit more after she would return and show that there was nothing to worry about.

No, did Izumi really even care? The stranger's every action so far only spoke of complete indifference towards whatever happened around her. She was probably resisting so much only out of stubborn, selfish childishness.

“I don't know about your past,” Yuliana said, stepping casually forward. “And I can see there is probably no way for me to convince you with my good will. And for that reason—”

She made her move and darted forward. The princess was certain she would make it. But she had underestimated her opponent. There was no need for Izumi to reach the sword, so long as she could reach the girl. Before Yuliana’s fingers could touch the Amygla's hilt, Izumi's iron grip had already caught her wrist like a flash of lightning and pulled her away.

“Ah!” A sharp pain flickered along Yuliana's arm, making her wince. That arm still hurt from the fall before. Distracted by it, the girl tripped on her weary feet and stumbled blindly forward.

Although, there was only one direction she could fall, the way her arm was pulled.

When Yuliana dared to open her eyes again, she realized that the consequences of her prank, as harmless as it had been intended, were far graver than she had imagined.

The princess was half lying over the woman, whom she had unwittingly pushed down onto the bed. She had tried to avoid falling on Izumi by taking support with her free right hand, but that hand had unluckily missed the bed in the heat of the moment, instead landing on Izumi's voluminous chest, through the open robe front.

In terms of feminine assets, Yuliana herself had hardly any need for shame, despite the arduous lifestyle of a knight. The food at the castle was always rich in fat and delicious in taste and she'd had a hearty appetite, further augmented by the long days of outdoor training, riding, or overseeing the many activities of her kingdom. As a matter of fact, the princess had often received more or less open ridicule over her bustline, from her fellow students, knights, servants, and relatives. From the court tailor in particular, for having to fix up her dresses ever so often, to keep up with the maturing of her figure.

But at this moment, she tasted overwhelming defeat.

As expected, grown women were in a league of their own.

The knight princess's hand, sculpted rough by the military way of life, was utterly incapable of grasping the full shape of what it held. The limits of its form escaped her like the curvature of the worldly horizon, as seen from the mast of a voyaging frigate, hiding unknown worlds beyond.

Stunned, absorbed by the gravity of that chest, she completely forgot about herself and her purpose—until the voice of the person beneath her brought her back to her senses.

“Your highness,” Izumi icily said. “Guess who’s going to sleep on the floor tonight.”

Chapter 3: The Blade in the Crowd Has a Heart of Gold

1

Izumi hadn't slept so soundly in a long time. As much as she liked to sleep, ever since her mid-twenties, she had been troubled by chronic insomnia, which rendered her sleep routine irregular and fragmented. The cause was probably chiefly of the psychological kind.

Now, she had been freed of all mundane causes of stress in her old life and her mind took full advantage of the fact. The tavern bed was by far the softest and the most comfortable she had ever rested in, even if the greatsword under the mattress added a few bumps, and there was no reason not to enjoy it.

Yet, as peacefully as the night had passed, when Izumi finally awoke early in the morning, what she sensed first was inexplicable discomfort.

She found she had trouble breathing. It was as if a heavy weight was pressing on her. She couldn't move her hips either. Had the blanket always been this heavy? Had she been injured without even realizing it? Was it the supper? Or was it just one of the many unknown, mysterious ways that old age did its tricks?

It was none of those.

As Izumi grew accustomed to the brightness of daylight coming through the window, she found that no blanket, sprain, or disease was responsible for the odd pressure on her.

It was the fact that someone was lying on top of her.

Izumi didn't think she would ever experience this awkward setting—waking up in the bed with another person and no memory of how things got that way—but such was precisely her position now.

Although, there were some noteworthy differences to the traditional scenario.

“Greetings to you,” the Lord of Light told Izumi with a wide smile, her face a bare hair's breadth away from the woman's. “It is now morning. It is now time to be up and about, Itaka Izumi.”

For a spirit, this being carried an undeniably tangible presence.

It wasn't daybreak that had stirred Izumi. It was the Divine, radiating pure light.

“My popularity sure skyrocketed since coming to this world,” Izumi remarked.

“My apologies,” Aiwesh continued, staring at the woman with her gemstone eyes, which were like round windows straight into the sun's blazing corona, “but since last night, I have been eagerly awaiting the opportunity to speak with you again, and simply could not contain myself. Thus, I came to grace you with my no-good presence as soon as the first rays of the sun swept over the land. Remember what my beloved vessel told you before? Something about 'light' being the element of my no-good self? You would remember that much, at least, no? I do not need to go out of my way to explain what it means, do I? Indeed. When it is day and the sun traverses the heavens, gracing us with its sovereign brilliance—I rule.”

“I feel you have plenty of dark in you, though.”

“Whatever do you mean?” the Divine's smile widened further. “Are you perhaps insinuating that I am one to abuse my authority, the gift bestowed upon me by my creator, for the base purpose of tormenting the little, ephemeral beings that fill the land? Only because I happen to not approve of their shameful words and deeds? Oh no, not at all. I am above all that. Unlike some of my less mature brothers and sisters, I, as a Lord, happen to possess an exceptional—should I say, transcended—level of patience and composure, as you may now verify with your own, limited vision.”

“R-right...”

“My humble desire at this point of time is merely to remind you of how things stand, seeing as you are all new to the customs of our world. To teach you that in Ortho, the strength you seem to take great pride and confidence in is only the strength of a vicious rat, and that you would do well not to push your luck too much. Take care, Itaka Izumi, not to burn yourself chasing after the sun with only feeble wings of wax on your back.”

“Hey, I understood that reference.”

“Yes, yes,” Aiwesh ignored her and continued, “now that I have the opportunity, allow me to share you something else of intrigue. About yourself, that is. Based on what my cute vessel has naively suggested, you are probably under the impression that you were chosen as a champion by my magic above all for your personal excellence. Because you are a warrior with a mind of steel, body of iron, and spirit of fire, peerless among your modest people, fit to become the protector of men in this land. Am I correct?”

“How should I know?” Izumi said. “Probably not, right?”

“No way! Of course. Do you not think that the magical abduction of such an outstanding figure from among your peoples would only cause extravagant marvel and mayhem? The spell would not be wisely deviced if it were to draw another world's ire upon ours, instead of saving it, no? Not at all, the true standards behind your selection were something else—the opposite, in fact.”

Leaning closer, so close that their noses were practically touching, Aiwesh whispered,

“It is to be completely, so totally, unquestionably, absolutely——unneeded. To be a person of no importance to anyone, of no consequence anywhere, whom no one in the world would miss, should she disappear without a trace, without a word of explanation. So that it would not matter one bit even were she never to return. Aye. Because return you never will, Itaka Izumi. The Divines, not even the Gods themselves, may cast the Grand Summon whenever they please. After all, it is a ritual playing not only on the laws of this one universe but two's. You could only be brought to Ortho because the time of the Covenant draws near, and it was not the whims of the Gods that decided when it should happen. No, the timing of it was written in the very stars of both our respective universes.”

“So, there really is no way for me to ever go home?” Izumi asked. “Not even by an accident?”

“No, there are none,” Aiwesh heartlessly confirmed.

“Oh thank God,” the woman sighed in relief and relaxed.

For a moment, the Lord of Light was left speechless.

“...Do you perhaps doubt my word?” she finally asked.

“You mean, you were lying?”

“No, I was not...”

“Then I'll believe you.”

“You do? Do you not miss your own world? Do you not wish to see your home again? Your family? Your companions? Your loved ones?”

“Not at all?”

“You lie.”

“Why would I?”

“Do you believe your world is so much worse than Ortho?” the spirit asked. “When I summoned you, I was briefly able to glance at your land. Was it not one of perfect peace and order, nigh devoid of crime and war? Are you not in perfect health and strength of body, as a testament of your land's prosperity?”

“You should've looked closer,” Izumi only replied.

The Divine frowned.

“I wonder how long you will be able to hold onto that impression? For there is something you know not.”

“And that is?”

“A genuine champion or not, you were summoned in what is the thirty-third cycle of the Covenant. It so happens this cycle is to be special. The last one, as a matter of fact. It was thus prophecised by the last God to depart from Ortho. This could have a great deal to do with you. Would you like to hear those words?”

“Not really. But I don't get to skip cutscenes on my first playthrough, do I?”

“'On a day of the thirty-three thousandth summer',” the Lord of Light recited, “'a Champion comes from the stars who is unlike the rest, and by the Champion's hand, the Covenant will be broken. The world of Ortho will be plunged from the Age of the Covenant into the Age of Chaos, and everything created before it will be reduced to ruin.'”

For once, it was a prophecy that wasted no time getting to the point, Izumi thought.

“There are many prophecies about the Covenant,” Aiwesh said, “of divine origin and others not so much. But this is the one all the wise of the world now take a great interest in. You must see why. Are you the one the prophecy speaks of? Will you destroy the long-cherished pact with the Gods, bringing death to our world? What do you think?”

Izumi remained silent.

Of course, she didn't want to destroy the world that she had always dreamed about.

But would some kind of a destiny force her to, even against her own will?

“Too bad!” Aiwesh suddenly lightened her tone. “Though I would like to keep you in suspense a little while longer—the truth is, no one can say for certain. 'On a day of summer', the prophecy goes. Not terribly specific, is it? Is there not 'summer' somewhere around this round globe for most part of the year? The interpretation is deliberately vague, and it was for that reason that I was able to summon you, though only the first flowers of spring bloom in Langoria. To be honest, I did not know if I could. Turns out I could. But my being able to do so also means that every able and willing Divine Lord in our vast world will be busily summoning their own champions until the Night of the Covenant. Not all of them of the good-natured variety. Many, many eyes will be looking for travelers from another world, to use for their own purposes...Including the hawkish gazes of the Daemons.”

“So there are monsters in this world?” Izumi asked.

“Monsters?” Aiwesh repeated. “Ah, nightmares to tired old women like you. Entertain this thought while you are at it: Not all the summoned people have your appetite and readiness for slaughter, if all that is demanded is being unwanted. Most of them will perish like infants, devoured by the darkness where they are delivered. But, those who do survive such a crucible and in time claim name as true champions...Those are the kind of folk my dear vessel must face on the way to the Trophaeum.”

“I do feel for her,” Izumi said, “but what do you want from me, really? That I should help Yule win the tower game, save the world despite the prophecy, and put all the evil people out of job?”

“I wonder! How about giving it some thought?”

“But, even if I did try to help Yule, isn't the risk pretty big that I'll actually end up destroying the world in the process? Wouldn't it be better to steer clear from the whole business, then?”

“In theory, perhaps,” the Divine Lord flapped her wings. “But in reality? I have weighed you, Itaka Izumi, and you are no threat to me. Even if you came to desire the destruction of the world, how would you do so while you sit on the palm of my hand? Like this.”

The Divine's radiance appeared to intensity, as though the tavern’s ceiling had been torn off to let the sun blaze unhindered into the little room. At the same time, it got hot. Intensely hot, making the air vibrate.

“Could you tone it down?” Izumi squinted. “I don't tan well.”

In response, Aiwesh giggled and squeezed her chest tighter against Izumi. The light faded.

“I jest! All that being said, you are a human of interest to me. Even now, seeing me in all my glory, you do not fear me?”

“I do think you're plenty scary,” Izumi answered. “But I've seen things that scare me a lot more. Like my country's unemployment offices. Or Twitter's reaction to a video game I've been looking forward to.”

“Pu—hahahaha!” The Divine spirit burst into bright laughter.

Then, quickly pushing herself forward, the Lord of Light extended her neck and planted a kiss right in the middle of Izumi's forehead.

“………..”

This could be a bit bad.

Feeling like her brain had caught fire, the room swayed in Izumi's eyes. Her whole body tickled feverishly. As she wondered what was happening to her, Aiwesh next pulled out a piece of paper with various foreign symbols scribbled on it, from somewhere in the folds of her extravagant dress.

“To be illuminated by divine knowledge in the darkness of wordly ignorance is the greatest desire of men.” Holding the list up in front of the woman's face, the spirit pointed at the first line. “Well, what does this say?”

To Izumi's surprise, the meaning corresponding to each symbol immediately surfaced on her dizzy mind. On the first line was written her own name, in the local alphabet.

“Then, the second?”

It read, “Aiwesh”. The name could also be read as, “white flame”.

On the third line was Yuliana's name. On the fourth, Luctretz.

“Congratulations, you are now able to read!” the Lord of Light cheerfully announced and threw away the list, which burned to cinders before reaching the floor. “Please make good use of this exceedingly rare talent!”

Izumi had to admit she was impressed.

The nauseous feeling slowly faded and the room steadied itself in her sight.

“You can do all this,” she said, “yet your handwriting—it's really that terrible...?”

“Your bravery is most cute, 'auntie',” Aiwesh's smile turned eerie. “But for now, I leave you, lest I break the boundaries of my authority. Good luck on your journey, 'champion'.”

“Could you get off me first..?”—Izumi was about to ask, but it was already too late.

In a burst of brilliant feathers of light, just like last night, the Lord of Light returned to spirit form, freeing her possessed vessel. And in her place, naturally, appeared the figure of the young knight princess, looking like she had remained asleep the whole time her body was so whimsically puppeteered.

Now stirring, Yuliana slowly opened her eyes…

“Morning,” Izumi said.

“Eh...? Hi….!?”

As expected of a proper knight, Yuliana's situational awareness returned at commendable swiftness, and so did the redness of her face.

Naturally, after taking off her armor and hanging her wet dress and other clothes to dry, there was nothing for the princess to wear while sleeping. Aiwesh’s magic wouldn’t dress her either, leaving the girl now in her birthday suit, with only the blanket between the two.

“A...a...a...M-MY APOLOGIES…!” Yuliana cried and dashed out of the room in embarrassment like a sparrow.

“At least cover yourself first…” Izumi sighed, as more shocked cries carried from the hallway.

2

In daylight, when she was at her strongest, the Divine was able to manifest at will, without depending on Yuliana, her vessel, to perform the ritual to summon her. Was the girl even aware of what she had gotten herself into when making the pact with such a being? There were powerful, devious beings in the world, and not all of them were benevolent. And then there was a prophecy about an impending apocalypse.

Izumi felt like developing an acute migraine at the breakfast table, but she soon pushed the troublesome thoughts off her mind. How could she keep feeling down, when there was a whole new world waiting to be explored?

Her enthusiasm wouldn't stick to her companion, though.

“I...am no longer fit for marriage...” the knight princess lamented across the table, sighing for the hundredth time.

“I thought you didn't want to, in the first place,” Izumi reminded, taking a sip from her mug—and nearly spat it out. Instead of coffee, it was only something that tasted like lukewarm, unsweetened blackcurrant juice.

Does this world have no coffee? I'm not going to live…

“It's not that I don't want to,” Yuliana mumbled. “Is it not every maiden's dream to be united with a loving, trustworthy partner in a timeless romance—ah.” Recalling Izumi's backstory, she interrupted herself. “W-well, not that it's possible, in some cases. I have resolved to walk this solitary path to its end. For my family and my people. In any case, lady Izumi, may I inquire upon your plans for the day?”

Why the sudden formality?

“Well,” Izumi pondered, “I was thinking about going to give that quest board another go.”

“You mean to say you were serious about becoming a mercenary?” Yuliana still didn't seem to find the idea a good one. “You certainly displayed great skill yesterday, I do not dispute that, but is it really the sort of a line of business you would find success in? Considering how little you know about...”

“I said I'd just give it a try, geez,” Izumi waved off her concerns. “I'm not expecting to hit big straight off the bat. We'll see how it goes later.”

“You really have not a worry in the world, do you? Very well. You need me to read them for you, right? Or,” the princess added with a playful smile, “have you perhaps learned to read overnight?”

I learned to read in the morning, though. Izumi wondered how she should break the news, but the princess wouldn't give her the time to speak.

“Since we're going the same way, would you mind if we stop somewhere first? I asked the manager and apparently there is a blacksmith's shop right across the town square. Since it seems there is no choice but to purchase myself a new weapon, why don't we pay it a visit?”

“Oh...right.”

The marketplace had changed dramatically in appearance during the early hours of the morning. The townspeople and traveling peddlers had set up dozens of colorful little tents, stands, and tables, from one corner of the spacious plaza to the next. In the shade of those stalls, everything from meat and fish to fruits and vegetables, spices, belts, baubles, rugs, hats, and other miscellaneous goods, was busily traded.

Numerous people filled the walkways between the sellers. There were locals, tourists, rich and not, browsing the selection with their scrutinizing gazes, at times pausing to engage in a loud bidding war with a vendor. Or, simply to exchange news and greetings.

Listening to all that noise made Yuliana feel at ease. It reminded her of the liveliness of the mornings in the capital of Langoria that she had left behind.

In all this hustle and bustle, the pair of women didn't stand out much either. The princess led the way, with Izumi a few paces behind. She had expected the woman from the other world to be more awed by the heavy traffic, yet it was like she didn't even see the crowds. Had her hometown been this densely populated as well?

Passing through the markets, Yuliana purchased herself a hooded cloak to hide her ornate armor—in her kingdom's deep blue colors, still—and another for Izumi. She also bought a cloth in which to wrap the eyecatching blade of the Amygla. It all cost her twenty-six coppers in total. The princess didn't bother to haggle, but put down a coin of silver and told the garb seller to keep the change.

They went on and found their destination soon enough.

If the armory shop's refined exterior was of any indication, business was doing well. Decorated with black-painted plates and an artistic badge, the shop had its name spelled in big, white letters above the wide display window.

Garlann's Steel & Smithing.

The dignity of a princess and the confidence of a knight guiding her hand, Yuliana entered the shop.

The interior was a step above even the facade in class. A polished wood floor, skilfully paneled walls, a sparkling clean sales counter, covered with with a polished plate of marble.

And there were weapons.

Beautiful yet practical-looking swords, daggers, knives, axes, hatchets, and maces were hung up on the walls or set up on display stands around the shop. There were also armors, thick chestplates, handguards, shinguards, chainmails, gloves, helmets, and pauldrons. Everything and anything a mercenary or a guard might need in his line of duty.

Behind the counter stood a large man—apparently the smith himself—his body buffed into respectable proportions by his physical trade and its not-so-modest rewards. Perhaps to further augment his credibility, he had grown out his black beard. The smith had wrapped a black scarf with elaborate white patterns around his otherwise bald head. From under his bushy brows, a pair of near-black eyes greeted the customers.

“Morning, good master,” Yuliana said to him.

“Top of the morning to ye,” the blacksmith greeted her back.

“Are you called Garlann?” she asked.

“No, I am Wilbough. Garlann was my great-grandfather, he founded the shop, and I've been too damn busy to change the bloody name,” the man replied without batting an eye. He had to have heard the question upward a thousand times, making it a pretty bad opener. “What's it gonna be? Are ye prepared to buy somethin' or just pleasin' yer fair eyes?”

“Did we perhaps come at a bad time? Maybe we should look elsewhere.”

“Where else? There's not one armory that's worth anyone's salts in this town. Don't get upset. It's just, I don't see a lot of womenfolk shopping here, if it's not a gift for some poor sod, and in those cases it's usually the price and not practicality that matters. But I only make steel that lasts, so you're not in luck if that's your business.”

Though the man's manners left a lot to be desired in the princess's opinion, she let it be and answered,

“I do want a gift, for myself, on my travels. A good sword that lasts but doesn't have my purse as its first victim.”

“If ye don't wanna get killed, ye had best be ready to shed some blood,” the store owner shrugged, well used to such rhetorics.

The princess and the smith proceeded to go through the various weapons on display, while Izumi surveyed the selection a step behind by herself, absorbed in thought.

To attain the necessary qualifications as a “hero”, she had attempted to master various “classes”, and blacksmith was one of the first iconic roles she had tried. Although, the forge Izumi had spent her apprenticeship at was far from medieval. They marketed themselves as traditionals, but used modern machinery and processed factory steel to create their goods—which were mainly movie replicas for collectors and other cheap decorations.

Izumi had quit after a few months, disillusioned, but she did retain a bit of knowledge on the trade, at least.

It seems this world's blacksmiths know how to produce inox steel, but is it made using chromium, as on Earth, some equivalent local element, or do they enchant it with magic?

Enchanting weapons was a common mechanic in video games, and an easy way to make one a stronger fighter. If there was a way to enchant the Amygla and further augment its deadliness, it could have made her life easier. Izumi wanted to ask the blacksmith, but not knowing some common material or method could have attracted trouble, so she held her tongue.

To what degree did this world's physics overlap with those of her own, and how much was foreign fantasy? It could take a lifetime to discover. Was there any point in even trying?

Izumi soon gave up on her speculations and returned to idle window-shopping.

If—just if—she were to return the holy sword to its rightful bearer and pick up another one for adventuring, which should she take?

The regular longswords looked too light and frail. The axes were poorly balanced. The other larger weapons had design flaws that rendered them susceptible to breaking under their own mass. Each time a potential candidate showed up, it ultimately failed on the last question of, “would it cut through dragon scales?”

Izumi had never seen a real dragon, obviously, so she used video games and movies for reference and tried to imagine it.

Doubtful. Not likely. Doesn't seem like it. No way. Probably not.

Using dragons as the standard for judging a weapon was admittedly senseless, but that was not the point.

Looking at the Amgyla, the answer came to her right away.

Absolutely. If this doesn't—then nothing will.

No weapon in the shop could measure up to Langoria's treasure in quality, not surprisingly. And because of that, she didn’t feel like trusting any of them with her life. Izumi glanced at Yuliana and the blacksmith again. The girl was examining a lighter sword, a rapier-style blade with an elaborate handguard. Though she pretended to be critical, it was obvious the knight princess was pleased with the design. Considering the future ahead of them, it didn’t really matter what she chose, but…

“How much would you ask for this?” the princess asked.

“That would be fifty-five in silver,” the smith responded.

“Oh, fifty-five, is it…?” Yuliana's expression immediately clouded.

Izumi had had her suspicions for some time, but now she became convinced.

She's never gone shopping in her life, this girl!

As a princess, as a soldier, everything Yuliana ever needed—and more—had always been provided for her, and she had no wants outside of that. And the inexperience was depressingly apparent on her face now.

“It is rather costly to my current budget, but...”

“Hey now, lassie! I told this the first thing, did I not?” the blacksmith berated her in his loud voice. “The blade's yer companion! It's who ye entrust yer life to! Would ye expect to be saved by somebody ye haven't bled for first? True partnership is more than pretty words. It takes sacrifices! Otherwise it just ain't worth squat.”

—“Well, neither is this,” Izumi cut in, snatching the rapier from Yuliana's hands.

She twisted the slim blade into a clean U-shape with her bare hands and set it back on the counter. “Tempered in a too low temperature and too low on carbon. You didn't forge this yourself, did you? It's secondhand. There’s nothing remotely in its style on display. Let me guess, it was left by another shopper when they purchased a new one? My, is this how you run business, ripping off naive customers with low grade goods?”

“Huh!?” the blacksmith's eyes widened, his face turning red.

He probably hadn't intended to deceive Yuliana, or at least didn't consider it deception on his own part. There was nothing particularly weird about selling used weapons, as sketchy as Izumi had made it sound. His fluster was half anger at the accusation, half shame at acknowledging that the practice didn’t sound too dignified.

“Is that it, really?” Izumi continued, not letting the man think things through. “My, my. And here I thought this place had standards! I wonder what my friends will think when they hear such a story? Everyone was telling me what a quality shop this is—among the finest in the country—yet you don't even make the things you sell! That's what I get for buying into hype. It's like preordering a game just because of the developer's empty promises and then it doesn't even have a multiplayer mode!”

“Lady Izumi, aren't you being a bit unreasonab—hnghh——!” Sensing evil from her companion, the knight princess felt the need to step up in defense of the pressured blacksmith, but Izumi's hand rudely groping her buttock silenced her on the spot.

“Oh, but I'm still willing to give you a chance to save face, good sir,” Izumi continued in a syrupy tone. “I'm not like my jaded friends, I want to believe in the developers' honesty! You give my friend a proper weapon for a proper price, and you get a good review instead of a poor one, on top of your coin. Five stars and a thumbs up. How's that sound?”

Still beef-red, the blacksmith angrily leaned over the counter,

“I have no idea what yer tryin' to pull with that blabber, but yer not the first one stirring shit at my shop. And neither will ye be the first one to fail. I don't look that kind of fishy business with a kind eye. If ye didn't happen to be of the fairer sex, they'd be takin' you to the stocks by now. So drop it!”

Yuliana felt like trapped before a black bear about to lunge at their throats, too tense to speak. But Izumi wouldn't back down so easily,

“That's sexism and hate speech. You sure have some guts, uncle, threatening your customers after trying to rip them off. How do you stay in business with a misogynistic attitude like that, in this day and age? Do you, by chance, have family with the dwarves?”

“….”

Izumi had only said it under the idea that dwarves were an entirely unknown concept in this world, which the blacksmith would go on to interpret as a vague ethnic insult either way. She didn't really care if they got chased out, and was mostly only being mean out of the foulness of her character by this point. But against her expectations, the large man suddenly fell quiet, drew a deep breath, slowly withdrew behind the counter again.

Crossing his barrel-like arms, the smith then said,

“...And do tell—if yer eye be so good—what ye think among my wares qualifies as 'proper' to ye?”

“That broadsword behind you, up on the wall, second from up,” Izumi immediately answered. “Yes, that one with the bulky guard.”

“This?” the blacksmith contorted his thick brows and took down the weapon in question. It was a simple, short cavalry sword, with a blade of about thirty-five inches and a guard styled after a ram's image. It had been put where it was, above the doorway, not because it deserved to be looked at, but because it didn't take up too much space there. Apparently, the man had expected her to aim for the costlier products.

“Yes, looks nice, ring it up for me and we're good.”

Even if it wasn't his best, or the most beautiful, it was still an undeniably good sword, among the first saleworthy he had made, and the blacksmith wasn't too happy to give it away to these troublesome women.

“This blade is worth eighty-two in silver, but to tidy up our little argument, I am willing to part with it for sixty...two.”

“No good, uncle,” Izumi shook her head. “We'll pay you thirty and advertise you on our travels. I'll even write about you on Facebook.”

“Thirty!? Ye'd better be a blasted nightingale for that! No way, keep my face off your books! Ye ain't takin' it from my willin' hands for anywhere close to thirty! Fifty-seven. See? I'm lowerin' it by five, which is already far better than ye deserve.”

“Why are you still acting like it's worth anything and you're not already swimming in gold? At least suck that stomach in, if you're going to put on airs. Thirty-five and not a copper more. See, I raised by five! That's a massive amount of money by your standards!”

“Don't twist my words! I stay in business because people pay what I ask. If I let whatever wench price my swords to her liking, I'd be soon sellin' my store while knee-deep in debt!”

“Are you calling names now? That insult just cost you three silver. Thirty-two.”

“Yer a serpent in human skin, that's what! Bah, fifty! That's as low as I go.”

“Reputation doesn't mean a thing to you, does it? Weren’t you preaching to my friend here about sacrifices a minute ago? Are you telling me you got this store to where it is without ever compromising? I will go as high as thirty-eight, out of respect for your handiwork.”

“What respect! Ye barge into my shop the first thing in the morning, throw insults and vile accusations in my face, in the way of scamming the fruit of my sweat n' tears off my hands! Respect would see ye both whipped silly and why I haven't already called the guards is beyond me! But, as apparently the only adult here, I am still willin' to put this lunacy to rest, if ye either count fifty pieces of silver right there on the table—or else bugger off whence ye came!”

“Now it's whipping? I don't want to hear your fantasies, pervert! This isn't language fit for my innocent cousin—see how her face has paled? Yes, let's call the guards straight away! We'll see which they'll deem honest in here. Oh, don't worry, sweetheart! I won't let this mean half-ogre do you any harm...”

“Eh, w-what are you—mmph!?”

Izumi pulled Yuliana's face into her soft bosom and pretended to console her, while in fact preventing her from getting away or saying anything unnecessary.

There was naturally no way for the healthy blacksmith to maintain his composure before such a sight.

“Gaaah, fine, fine!” he averted his face. “Ye pay forty now and yer word that I'll never see ye in my blasted shop again, for as long as it stands!”

“Count the good man his coin, hun,” Izumi released Yuliana, who looked rather disoriented, and had excessive difficulty counting the forty coins of silver from her purse. The inn had taken four, one more had been spent on the market, meaning they were left with only five now. Having essentially wasted her travel expenses in the very beginning of their journey wasn't a good sign, but the princess was in no state to worry about it now.

I suppose we really need to look for a job next.

3

Troubling as their situation was, being armed once more, Yuliana felt considerably more confident towards the future, as she left the unfortunate blacksmith's store with her companion.

“W-was that way of going about it really necessary…?” she couldn't avoid expressing her misgivings, however. “If you truly thought this weapon to be worthwhile, I could have gone to request more funds from the bank...I did not think eighty was that bad a price, to be honest. Now it looks like we deceived the poor man. Moreover, did you have to...um...”

“Bank? You have a bank?” Izumi blankly asked in return.

“Why, we do. You are familiar with the concept?” Yuliana answered. “Langoria and Luctretz have a banking union, which means your account in one is also valid in the other. Most of the human nations also use the same currency, where gold marks are valued the highest, and copper lowest. The empire is an exception, however. They have their own bank and the imperial strata is based exclusively on silver. Whatever currency we have, we must exchange to theirs as we go to their territory.”

“There is an 'empire' too?”

“Yes. Tratovia. It borders Luctretz on the north. There are quite many countries in this world, you know. Human and not. Although Tratovia is the single largest human nation on the continent.”

“Right. I wonder if this planet is bigger than Earth?” Izumi pondered. “Now that I think about, we really should've bought a map.”

“I don't know about your world, but a large portion of Ortho remains uncharted to this day. Accurate maps are rare to come by. There are races that don't care much for drawing borders on their habitats, and some that make exploring theirs too dangerous, which is why we people must stick to the areas where we may survive. Which reminds me, what made you think the blacksmith was related to Dharves? That was quite possibly the worst insult to a merchant. He could lose his customers if the word were to spread, true or false.”

“Eeh? You actually have dwarves? What's wrong with them? Doesn't everybody love them?”

“Um, just to be sure, what exactly are the Dharves like in your world?”

“Eeh, well, they don't exist, really. They're just fantasy. Small people with beards, who dig under mountains and hack stuff with axes.”

“Fantasy?” Yuliana repeated, frowning. “Dharves do tend to live in the mountains and like axes, but they aren't very small, I believe. They're generally larger than humans are. Not that I've ever seen one myself. They don't come this far south, thank the Divines.”

“Tall dwarves?” Izumi scratched her head. “Well, never mind that. There are some races and beings that are dangerous to people, right? Does that mean exterminating them is good business?”

“Not really, no,” Yuliana answered with a shudder. “Most mercenaries earn their upkeep by protecting people or property against other humans, outlaws, thieves, bandits, or pirates. Picking fights with other races tends to end poorly for the human side. They usually respect our lands, we should do the same. If any trouble comes up, leave that kind of thing to soldiers and guards.”

“Meh, that's boring. You won't become a legend if you're scared of a tough fight,” Izumi yawned.

“A legend?”

“That's right. A top tier player!”

“Player...In what kind of a game…?”

Yuliana felt a sweat drop gather on her brow, as she tried to understand the otherworldly lingo her companion kept throwing around at every turn.

“What about daemons?” Izumi suddenly asked. “Is that another word for monsters? They sound like something you can kill without guilty feelings.”

“Throw that idea off your mind,” Yuliana gave the woman an alarmed glance and warned her. “And do not speak that word in broad daylight.”

“Why? What's the big deal?”

“Meeting a Daemon would be the death of you. Yes, even you. No question about it. That is all you need to know.”

“If you act so secretive, I'm only going to get more curious...What did they do? Have you ever seen one?”

“I haven't. I'm here, aren't I? There are none in Luctretz and that's all that matters. Look, we're here!”

It was then that they arrived again at the notice board, in the corner of the town square. In a hurry to escape the unpleasant conversation, the princess turned her attention to the posters and—

“What in the name of…!”

——Immediately stepped back, as though smitten.

All the dozens of notices, requests and announcements from last night, that had covered nearly every available inch of the wooden board, had been cleared away.

In their place, right in the middle, a poster much larger had been nailed.

Staring back from the poster was a drawn image of Yuliana herself, in good likeness.

WANTED

Her Highness, The former First Princess of the Kingdom of Langoria, Yuliana Da Via Brannan of Walhollem.

For the grim crime of high treason against the Throne of Langoria and her people, for the murder of the Baron of Troms and four of his knights; present her royal highness DEAD OR ALIVE, or any information resulting in her successful arrest, to the nearest office of law, for the high bounty of EIGHT HUNDRED MARKS IN GOLD.

Risk level: High. Armed and dangerous, likely to resist arrest. Possibly not alone.

Yuliana thought she was going to faint on the spot. Then, regaining mastery over herself, she leaped forward and ripped the poster off the board in one quick sweep.

“W-w-what is this!?” she stuttered, reading the heavy lines again and again, as if expecting them to reveal themselves as a misunderstanding, a prank. “Why this fast? What do you mean 'dead or alive'? This can't be...Father, did you order this…?”

“Eight hundred?” Izumi muttered, looking over the girl's shoulder. “That sounds like sort of a lot, but not really...If a night at a tavern should be sixty copper, and a sword is eighty silver, then with eight hundred gold...You can't buy a house with that, can you?”

“Is that all that matters to you here?” Yuliana cried. “Wait—what!? Y-you can read this, what is says!? How!?”

“It's even got the difficulty level? That's pretty handy, don't you think?” the woman went on without answering. “But why is there no mention of exp anywhere? I think an important detail like that should be told upfront. How else would you know if a quest is worth taking? Or is it a story mission that doesn't give you any? That's a little lame...”

The princess blinked her eyes. “What are you talking about?”

“Well, how do I level up, if I don't get points?” the woman explained. “Or is this one of those stupid modern games without levels and you only get an occasional ability point or two to unlock skills with? I think there's just no sense of progress if I don't have the level number comfortably in my field of vision. Which reminds me, I've been testing since yesterday, but haven't found any way to open a menu or anything, where I could check my stats. This world is not very accessible, in my opinion...”

“Is this really the time for your nonsense!? Get a grip!”

“And why is there not a word about me?” Izumi pointed out. “This should've been the start of my legend, but...'Possibly not alone'? That's all my effort was good for? A side note for a princess? Or doesn't the game know how to process the player? That's lazy programming.”

“Oh, do I feel sorry for you!” Yuliana angrily responded. “Don't you see? This poster has made me a target for every mercenary, bandit, and other greedy wretch out there! Can't you understand that!?”

“Well, of course, I do. I kinda figured that out last night.”

“My life is as good as over! My mission...! How many do you think have already seen this since the daybreak? How many more posters are there, spread around the town? This is a nightmare! We're never getting out of Grelden now...Wait a minute, what did you just say?”

“I know it's bad, okay?”

“No, not that, the other bit.”

“I knew there was a bounty?”

“Eh? How...?”

——“There she is!”

Before Yuliana could get an answer, a shout from the other side of the square reached her ears. Turning to look, she saw a squad of knights armed with spears approach from around the corner, from the inn's direction.

Their uniforms were different in fashion from the Langorians last night, though the general template was the same. A long chainmail with a surcoat dyed in the local colors—olive green—over it, the town crest visible on the chest, a utility belt with a sword, pouches, and keys, and a metal helmet to shield the head. The town guards’ pot-like helmet didn't cover the whole head but left the face visible, and there was a tall, spiky extension on top.

One of the knights had already spotted Yuliana, since she had the hood of her cloak down, and at once the whole group picked up the pace and jogged their way. The princess looked for an escape route in the opposite direction, but that only caught the attention of another pair of soldiers patrolling the markets. They quickly clutched their spears and stepped to meet them.

“Halt! Throw your weapon on the ground!”

“Hands where I see them!”

Clicking her tongue, Yuliana kept looking. She could have tried to cut across the markets, but the citizens nearby had already been alerted to what was happening, and their defiant faces made it clear they were prepared to oppose the criminal, if necessary.

And what about Izumi? Her skirt and apron made running difficult. She wouldn't have been able to keep up. There was no way out, it seemed, except by fighting.

It would have meant either slaying these men, who were only doing their duty in the town's protection—or else be slain or wounded by them in the attempt.

Rationally weighing the risks and rewards, only one option was left.

“I surrender,” Yuliana bitterly announced and removed the purchased sword from her belt, knelt and set it on the pavement, free hand raised. Glancing at Izumi, she nodded for her to do the same.

“Eeh,” Izumi frowned, looking like she really didn't want to. “Is it okay not to resist at least a little?”

“Enough jokes!” Yuliana exclaimed. “We can't fight these men. They're only doing their job!”

“But that's what they always say, isn't it?”

“Why, you! I won't let you—ow!”

Before Yuliana could finish her sentence, armored hands had already grabbed her by the arms and dragged her back.

“Your highness,” the guards' leader stepped forward, removed his rounded helmet and spoke to her. He was a young man, a bit over his twenties, with short hair and tidy mustache framing his upper lip. Passable for a prince by his looks, albeit just a soldier. “I am Selmon, captain of the guard. My apologies, but I am placing you under arrest by the order of the lord of the land. Your weapon and other personal effects will be confiscated, for the time being, by the city of Grelden. Please, come with us without resisting and you have my word that no bodily harm will be inflicted upon you.”

“I should believe that, after seeing how you treat royalty, Captain Selmon?” the girl bitterly responded. “You have no authority to arrest me! Tell your men to unhand me at once!”

“I have been informed that you no longer enjoy the diplomatic immunity that your former position entitles you to, having turned to treachery and a murder. Considering your merits, I believe the treatment to be of exceptional quality. I suspect you will be shortly turned over to the officers of your kingdom, where they will show you whatever level of reverence you are rightfully owed. But for now, you must contend with our ways.”

Nodding to the guards, Selmon had them take her away.

Watching the princess be dragged to captivity, Izumi frowned.

“What about me—” she was about to ask the captain, who suddenly turned her way and interrupted her with his piercing gaze.

Then...

“Are you hurt, madam?” he asked with unexpected politeness.

“Eh?” Thrown for a loop, Izumi hesitated. “N-no...I don't think so...”

“Good. I understand this has been disturbing incident for you, good mother, but rest assured, everything is under control now. Thank you, for your composure and bravery in such a frightening situation. Go safe. And my best regards to your family.”

Bowing his head briefly, the knight captain turned on his heels and strode after his departing squad, while Izumi was left standing alone before the notice board.

“Ehhh…………?”

——“And there she goes,” a voice nearby spoke.

Izumi glanced to her side and saw a girl leaning on the corner of the board. By her tanned face and curly black hair, she could be identified as the maid from the inn, Riswelze—but her attire today looked very different.

Instead of her worn-out, patched dress, she wore a slim leather vest, riding pants, and tough-looking boots, in addition to an inconspicuous, gray-brown cape.

“Um, this didn't go quite as I planned it,” Izumi muttered.

“What else did you expect, 'good mother'?” Riswelze laughed. “You have no self-awareness, do you? Even with a sword in hand—Hel, even with a Daemon sitting on your shoulder—there's no way anyone with a functional pair of eyes would view you as a criminal or a threat of any kind.”

“That's a bit troubling, though,” the woman lamented. “The point was to break Yule out of prison from the inside, after learning who set the bounty. Breaking in and then breaking out again sounds a lot harder and I don't like to put effort into things.”

“Consider this your good fortune instead,” the assassin told her. “Never could call this plan of yours a smart one. I don't know where all that confidence of yours stems from, but people generally don't just walk out of prison once they find themselves in. Not where I'm from, anyway. So long as you're free, you options are unlimited.”

“Then, Rise, why don't you come up with a plan for me? I honestly don't know what to do now, other than walk in through the front gate and kill everybody. Even in games, I only ever follow what the quest text says. There's too much freedom of choice here.”

“Who do you think you are? God?” Riswelze shook her head and laughed. “I can't tell whether you're insane or just lazy. Probably too much of both. Well, thanks to loose-lipped cap Selmon there, we did learn something of importance. The guy behind the order was the lord of the land. That would be Duke Walington, the Mayor of Grelden. And he's not somebody short on coin. Give me until nightfall, and I'll see what more I can learn. I'm going to go raise my bounty now.”

“You're already in for eight hundred gold, but you still want more?” Izumi raised a brow. “Though I did ask you to help, I figured you'd be riding off into the sunset now. Or are you just that deep in debt?”

“Eight hundred?” the girl snorted. “Even if I never had debt, the kind of a lifestyle I have in mind is not one where a paltry eight hundred marks of gold is enough for anything. Oh, and speaking of coin, would you mind telling me one thing? You knew they'd come for the princess, since you had me tip them off, so why did you make her buy the sword beforehand? To further distract the guards on which one of you really was 'armed and dangerous'?”

Izumi pouted at her words,

“Since when did you start tailing us? I didn't notice at all. Geez, you're making me sound like some kind of an evil mastermind. Really, all I thought was that when we eventually make our great escape, retrieving one sword would be faster and easier than looking for so much coins.”

“Or, rather, could it be because you judged that stealing a few coins would go smoother than taking the whole purse? Less difference in weight, see. Ha. So long.”

In the next moment, Riswelze was already gone, vanished.

Izumi dug through her skirt pocket and held out five pieces of silver in the sun.

“That Rise...As I thought, her eyes are just a bit too naughty. Before this is over, I need to punish you some more, don't I?”

Shoving the coins back in her pocket, Izumi left the town square.

Things had gone more or less as expected.

Which raised the question, was a rescue really needed? Whatever the foreign noble wanted with Yuliana, he was unlikely to harm her, despite the bounty. On the contrary.

Why was it that nobles ever captured princesses?

This would have been a good place for the two of them to painlessly part ways, forever. After all, with the kind of a lifestyle Izumi had in mind, she wasn't likely to grow much older. And neither would Yuliana, if they continued to travel together.

Yes, this had to have been the best, the least painful option for everybody.

But as determined as she had been to follow through with it, the woman's feet abruptly stopped.

—We're sticking together, day and night.

—I swear I recognize the sword as yours for the time being and will never attempt to take it from you against your will. If, in turn, you are willing to lend it to me at times when I need it, for my own safety.

The cold hand of regret tightly squeezing her heart, Izumi had to take support from a nearby wall.

“...I really was this lonely, huh?”

After so many years, she was certain she had succeeded in becoming an unfeeling monster, with no pain or tears. But though it wasn't death she feared and though the danger of being returned home was removed, there were still many more things left that continued to frighten her.

It seemed it was too late already.

There was a point where a person feared losing another so much that they started to fear coming close even more. Should they end up coming close to someone regardless, then there would soon be a horror awaiting them behind every corner.

“I guess I'll go book a room for another night...Someplace cheaper.”

5

As clear as it seemed that she had been betrayed by her companion for money, Yuliana felt neither anger nor despair over the shocking turn of events. She felt little anything but hollow and dumbstruck as she marched on, surrounded by the guards. Before wallowing in her own miserable circumstances, she found it a relief that the priceless Langorian heirloom didn't end up in a foreign lord's possession.

Then, instead of wasting time looking for culprits in the past, her thoughts turned exclusively to pessimistic speculations regarding the nearby future.

The likeliest scenario in Yuliana's mind was that she would be banished back to Langoria, where she expected to be imprisoned and tried for treason—punishable by death. Even if her father did harbor a modicum of affection for his one and only child, it was unlikely he would try to shelter such a high-profile criminal before the public.

No, she had to be made an example of.

Precisely because she was a princess—and a knight captain, no less—she had to face the worst possible, to show that no one was above the law.

Unless—unless the lord of the land had other plans.

The bounty on her hadn't come from the prince of Luctretz, it seemed, nor at her father's request, but from the local noble ruling over the town of Grelden and the nearby lands.

So far as Yuliana could recall, that noble was a man called Norenbagh Walington, Duke of the close Haywell estate and the Mayor of Grelden.

The young duke had gained his position as the head of the town six years prior, after his father, the previous Mayor, had passed away on a hunting trip. The rank wasn't hereditary, but the people of Grelden liked the old Mayor's son nearly as much as they had liked his father, and so no one disputed his appointment.

There was no reason to suspect anything vile either, like the young Duke playing a part in his parent's demise, to rob his seat. The old man had been knocked off his horse and fatally injured by a stray griffin while on a casual hunting tour. A natural albeit tragic accident.

Yuliana had met Norenbagh twice or thrice in the past, but the few words exchanged had remained on the level of shallow, diplomatic courtesies. Regardless, while there was nothing on her side, it was probably too naive to expect such a person to have no interest in Yuliana, a princess.

Did he think he could get favors from Langoria by handing over a wanted criminal? It was unlikely. She was still a princess. While they did want her caught and returned, the Langorians wouldn't love any foreigner for actually doing it.

It was unlikely the Duke would demand ransom in gold or property for her safe return either. The man probably didn't lack money to the point of risking his position, not to mention his neck, just to blackmail a royal house.

Was it plain sense of duty then that had made the Duke act without orders? Or was it something more detestable, something Yuliana couldn't even imagine? Did the Duke have any intention to release her, or even let anyone know he had her?

The squad escorted the princess across the river splitting the town, to the eastern side of Grelden. The town guards' headquarters stood right beside the stone bridge connecting the districts. It was not a nasty castle, but a simple, tall apartment building, adorned with the town's green-gold banners. Yuliana was left to wait in an office room with two guards, while the captain went to report her capture and inquire what was to be done about her.

She had to wait a good while.

The morning approached noon before Captain Selmon returned and Yuliana was escorted—not into a holding cell, but back to the street outside.

There a beautiful, crimson-painted horse carriage awaited her.

“Your bail has been paid, you are free to go,” the knight informed her, not looking too pleased by the fact.

“Does this carriage look like freedom to you, Selmon?” Yuliana asked.

“It is not my preference, but I cannot hold you either,” he answered.

Departing with two pairs of armed riders, the carriage headed east through the town. Considering their heading, Yuliana suspected her destination was the Mayor's private estate, and she wasn't mistaken either.

Roughly eight miles outside the town, following a curvy, serpent-like road that crossed over the vast farmlands, on a wide hilltop encircled by a stone wall, stood the manor of the head of Grelden.

It was not quite as luxurious as her own family villa on the shores of the southern sea, but Yuliana had to admit it was still a befitting residence for a nobleman.

The main building four stories in height, a stable for fifty horses, a detached house for the servants, a storage building, a guardhouse, and other smaller buildings, all maintained in excellent condition.

The carriage pulled to a halt before a fabulous stone fountain facing the front entrance.

Yuliana was escorted inside and received by the Mayor's servants.

She was stripped of her armor and clothes, bathed, and then dressed in a fashion more suitable for a political prisoner, a violet silk dress, simple but beautiful.

As good as it looked on her, the costume disgusted the princess. Its choice revealed too much of the character and intentions of her host. Prepared in advance, right in her size, as if her ending up on the palm of his hand had been but a matter of time.

Yuliana was then treated to a simple meal and left to wait again.

The sun was setting fast before a maid finally came to retrieve her,

“Your highness. My lord, Duke Walington, will now see you. Please follow me.”

“Oh, my abductor will finally grace me with his attention?” Yuliana sourly replied. “Do you think he'll be worthy of mine?”

The maid said nothing in return but turned to lead the way. The two armed knights continuously tailing her left Yuliana little choice but to follow.

How despicable.

The Duke had even taken soldiers from the town's guard to serve as his personal attendants, which was definitely not among their original duties. Such were acts of a tyrant and not those of a servant of people.

The princess was led through disorienting hallways and staircases of the spacious building to a quiet parlor on the eastern wing, dedicated to meeting guests. More private than a ballroom, less formal than the lord's personal office, it was an intermediary space between the hallway and a larger display room, with a view to a flower garden outside.

A group of antique furniture was set up in the corner, but Yuliana took no seat. The maid told her to wait for a moment and left, the knights in tow.

Left by herself, Yuliana heard the sound of the door being locked behind her back.

I don't like this.

Finally, the door on the display room's side opened and, having made her wait after waiting, the master of the house appeared in person.

“Yuliana Da Via Brannan. Your highness. It is a pleasure.”

Stepping in was a man in his late twenties, slim and upright. He was dressed in a formal black costume with a short, fitting coat and straight trousers, clean leather shoes, a wine-red, embroidered vest, and a pearl-white shirt. His mid-length, dark bangs hung tidily combed to one side, a bit above the brow, and from beneath his brows gazed a pair of good-humored but a bit harsh eyes. Without those eyes and the sleazy grin contorting a corner of his lips, the Duke probably could have been called handsome. As he was, however, the final impression was hardly favorable. In his hand, sheathed, he carried Yuliana's sword, the one she had bought from the blacksmith in the morning.

The moment she laid her eyes on the man, Yuliana——gasped in shock.

“You—you are not the Duke of Haywell!” she exclaimed.

As little as they had interacted in the past, the princess hadn't forgotten how the Mayor looked. Not to the point that she would confuse any random stranger for him. She was convinced at a glance; whoever the man was, he was not a relative of the Walingtons.

“Oh, so you've met the man? Ahahaha!” after being exposed as a fraud, the man only laughed. “Oh, isn't this a surprise? I didn't expect to get found out so quickly! I'm impressed, truly. You have good eyes, my lady. Oh well.”

Was he mad? Disgusted by his uncouth behavior, Yuliana glared at the stranger.

“What are you, really? A thief? A spy? A bandit?”

“None of those, I assure you,” he said. “There is no other Duke in Grelden than I. I have been formally appointed to my position, after all. Just, not by those you deem as the rulers of these lands. No, by one who outranks the juvenile prince in Estefal by far. Yes, your highness, my true allegiances lie with the Emperor of Tratovia and no other.”

“So a spy!” she repeated.

“Something more refined than that.” The false Duke walked to the window and continued, “There are no secrets for me to spy here, see? By this point, Luctretz is not an enemy to be conspired against, nor even a sovereign state to begin with, but only another apple in the Emperor's garden. Where I merely stand in for a warden.”

“A madman is what you are. What do you mean to say?”

“Never mind. That is not important to you anymore, my lady. All that matters is that you know me for who I am, the Duke of Haywell, Norenbagh Lucile Walington. And as such, I welcome you to my humble house. Do enjoy your stay. I'm afraid it is going to be a long one.”

“The sun will set backwards, before I acknowledge you, an imposter on top of an abductor,” Yuliana spitefully replied. “Where is the real Norenbagh? Assassinated with a dagger in his back? Or perhaps you used poison? Do you think the people of Grelden won't find out what you have done to him?”

“Oh, they've accepted me quite easily now, you don't need to worry about that. Instead, shouldn't you be more concerned with your own future from here on?”

Biting her lip, Yuliana continued to glare at the man, who turned back to face her and said,

“I was more than a little surprised when late last night, two knights of the Langorian special forces were brought to me, exasperated. Barely able to pause to draw their breath, they told me such a fantastic tale—of how the crown princess of Langoria had stolen something precious from the castle and escaped. Betrayed her own country, her king, for seemingly no reason. They told me how a squad of loyal, handpicked knights, ordered by a furious father, had chased her for days across the lands, through the mountains, right up to the northern border. The pursuit escalated in the most dramatic encounter in a hideous storm. Then there was all kinds of balderdash about bolts of lightning going up and down, sword-wielding Daemons appearing out of the shadows, dismembered heads rolling and so on, it was very colorful—I frankly couldn't keep up with the narrative anymore at this point. But I did get the gist of it: the princess got away and came to Luctretz. To Grelden. My own town. Almost too good to be true.”

Yuliana grit her teeth.

So those knights followed us, after all, instead of going back? Fools.

“I'm sure you know the rest,” the man said. “The first thing I did after hearing the story was order a bounty to be put on your head, high enough for everybody in town to keep their eyes peeled, in case they saw anybody matching your description. Do forgive me for the 'dead or alive'-bit, but I did not honestly think anyone would be capable or daring enough to slay the famous knight princess. It was just to spice things up a bit. My knights would take care of it, I knew. As they did. Which has brought us to this happy conclusion.”

“Happy for who?” Yuliana asked.

“For the people, of course,” the fake Duke answered, spreading his arms. “You know, tomorrow night, I am hosting a banquet here at Haywell. All the nearby landlords, nobles, noteworthy figures of Grelden, and a few other characters of my choosing are invited. It was just to be a regular 'oiling' event, where I ensure the wheels of the province keep turning and the lords remain favorable to me. But now that you're here, I've changed plans. You, my dear lady, should be the star of the show.”

“The star…?”

“Yes. The much longed-for flash of brilliance in the lives of these fat fucks. During this banquet, your highness will emerge once more in public...to announce your engagement to yours truly.”

“I knew it was coming, and I knew you were mad,” Yuliana replied, shaking her head. “And you should know it will never happen.”

“Of course, you knew,” the man shrugged. “That was not to be a mystery. I mean, what other use is there for women? But that's just the beginning, mind you. It gets better. It is a beautiful setting with a forbidden romance, crossing the borders of nations. You will look at those dull old men and women, right into their watery eyes, and explain how you simply had no choice but to escape the cold castle of your father, because your heart wouldn't allow you to be separated from your true love—me. They will melt like butter in the sun. The story will spread. Finding their natural explanation, the rumors about you running away as a traitor and being disavowed will evaporate. Langoria will have no choice but to restore your rightful rank and privileges. Or else face a diplomatic scandal with Luctretz.”

“This plot is not for my own good, I presume.”

“It's for everybody's good,” the Duke said. “Everybody wins. You see, the best has yet to come. Once the storm in the milk jug has passed, the following shall happen: the Prince of Luctretz will announce a special military pact, in which he unconditionally submits his territory to the use of the Tratovian Empire. Langoria wakes up on a cold autumn morning to find itself besieged. Will there be bloodshed? Oh no, because it is then that you, as the future—very near future—Queen of Langoria, will open your country's borders to a peaceful occupation.”

“I take it back,” Yuliana said, appalled. “You are not mad. There is no word in any language sufficient to describe your lunacy.”

“As much as I would like to, I can take no credit for this plan,” the Duke said. “It has been formulated by minds far superior to my own. All you and I can do is play our parts in it as well as we can, in order to receive our modest share on the fruits of success.”

“And what is your 'modest share'? Me? The Dukedom? Better yet, my country? I fear all of those are more than you have the rank or skill to take, knave.”

“Now, now. This is no time to be losing your temper, my princess,” the man responded. “I was worried the rationality of it all would be lost on you, with that crude knight act you have going. But please think about it for another moment. The day you were born into nobility, all the exits were sealed for you. One way or the other, there is a role prepared for you. By me, by your father, by someone else. All you can do is choose your theater—or be removed from the stage. If you cannot content with the benefits the Empire gives to its faithful subjects, then there is no choice but do away with you. Dead or alive, remember? It doesn't really matter to me. In body alone, you are fit to be used against Langoria's King. I will send you back to him—piece by piece, until his spirit gives in.”

“You...” Yuliana tightened her fists, her nails digging into her palms. “You a thousand times mad maniac! Don't think it will go so easily for you!”

Walking around her, the fake Duke ignored the girl and proceeded to draw the sword.

“So this is the legendary Amygla?” he examined the weapon. “Beautiful work, as expected. The most resilient known material—all those thousands of years since it was forged, yet not a mark on its blade. As if it's never been used. Forged by the elves, was it? Oh, there's a rune carved on the handle. That's not elvish, is it? Well, what could the pointy ears ever do right by themselves? Do you know what it stands for?”

“I haven't the faintest,” Yuliana answered, suppressing a smile.

“Really?” he frowned. “You sure it is not some secret word, a spell to activate the sword's hidden power, taught only to the heirs of the throne? Doesn't that get your imagination running?”

“History never was my strongest point. A crude knight princess, remember?”

“Right...What a shame.”

The man wasn't being cautious at all.

Like he never did see Yuliana as anything more than a girl. Though he was armed, there were openings everywhere.

I'd be a fool to not take this chance.

Discreetly turning around, Yuliana stepped towards him, as his attention was occupied by the blade in his hands. Noticing movement from the corner of his eye, the Duke turned, raising his sword arm.

But his reaction was too slow.

Yuliana had already grabbed his wrist and, bending it down, directed a punch in his jaw by the palm of her free hand. A noble or an imposter, he wasn't skilled enough to avoid it.

He didn't need to.

“What——?”

Shocked, Yuliana stared at her hand, which was frozen mid-air, blocked by a strange whirl. It looked as though the air itself was repelling her hand, pressing against it with irresistible force.

At the same time, she saw the room sway and distort on her left.

From seemingly out of nothing, a dark figure stepped forward.

A boy or a young man, not much older than Yuliana in appearance, dressed in a black robe that concealed most of his body, save for an outstretched hand that held a thin, black staff, longer than he was tall. Lengthy black hair framed the stranger's features, which were better described beautiful in an androgynous fashion rather than handsome. From the piercing gaze of his azure eyes, Yuliana's attention was drawn to his ringed ears, which were sharp and elongated upwards.

An elf? No...a Cirelo, a dark elf?

Why was one serving the Empire?

“Not all that unexpected,” the sorcerer spoke, in a deep, manly voice that didn't suit his youthful looks at all. “I see human civility at its finest. Perhaps you do not need that hand anymore?”

Yuliana realized she couldn't pull her arm back from the swirl. Instead, an invisible force appeared to suck her in, slowly wrapping around her arm, until elbow, tightly squeezing it. So tightly it was beginning to get painful.

“Release her, Joviél,” the false Norenbagh said. “There is no need for that. Our guest was only...shocked, by the dramatic news. Overtaken by emotion, understandably so. There was no harm done.”

“Is there yet harm to be done—that concerns me,” the sorcerer called Joviél stepped closer, examining Yuliana. “I sense a strange power in this girl. She is not a simple human. Terminating her now could be safer than waiting to see what it is.”

“Whether she lives or dies,” the man said, “that depends on the lady herself. Before our safety, the Emperor's plan is what matters. And for that, she could still be more useful as a willing ally than as a corpse. She is at our mercy. There is all the time in the world to kill her after, if she refuses. Or you don't mean to say she is a danger to you, whatever is in her? To one of the Aldervolk? Then why won't this power help her now?”

For a moment, the elf would say nothing.

Yuliana felt the force around her limb fluctuate, as though its conjurer had trouble deciding what to do. At times it grew intense enough to nearly crack her bones, but ultimately faded completely and she was free, albeit with her arm numbed and aching.

“Whatever it may be, I invite you to test me,” Joviél told her, walking past her to the window.

Rubbing her arm, Yuliana straightened her posture.

“So this is how you convinced the people of Grelden you're the Duke? With the dark arts? By joining hands with the cursed races?”

“I'd tidy up my language, if I were you,” Norenbagh answered, “If you think Death has become my servant, to command at will, you would be mistaken. I might not be able to save you a second time. You have until sunrise to think things through and decide whether to accept the Emperor's mercy—or a swift end. And if you want my advice, try not to do anything foolish like escape meanwhile. I will take that as a 'no'.”

Having said all he wanted, the Duke called the guards and ordered them to escort the prisoner to the room reserved for her.

Brave as she tried to present herself, Yuliana had to admit her choices looked grim. She was confident she could do something about human guards, but defying a sorcerer in his territory was a different matter.

But if escape was impossible, then was accepting the offer all she had left?

Betray the country she had sworn an oath for, join this imposter in marriage, and open the gates of Langoria to invaders? It was horrible, abominable, even as a thought. Yet just as horrible, if not even more so, was the idea of being put to death, only to have her disgraced remains exploited, to wring concessions from her family. The king, her father aside, her gentle mother would not survive it. What a horror and humiliation it would be for the knights who once served under her, after she had already shamed them once with her desertion.

Why did I ever leave home? How could I even think about conquering the Trophaeum at the top of the world, when I can't even protect my own country against these petty snakes...?

She wanted to become stronger. Could she count on the Divine Lord to save her from this situation? So far, Aiwesh had remained quiet, not even speaking to her in thought. Even though it was day, even though she should have had the power?

Why?

Yuliana remembered once again that she knew next to nothing about the spirit whose vessel she had only become days ago. Did the girl's fate even matter to the Lord of Light? Or had she already deemed Yuliana a lost cause, unworthy as a vessel, now only waiting for the opportunity to be freed from her form and return to Langoria?

As she remained haunted by these dark thoughts, there was at least one thing the princess felt grateful about.

That the summoned hero wasn't there to see her disgrace, but remained free to pursue whatever was her dream.

6

Giving the matter some thought over the long idle hours she spent staring at the ceiling, Itaka Izumi ultimately concluded that the world she was in was most likely not incorporating video game mechanics.

She found no way to confirm her remaining hit points, stamina or mana points, or other relevant attributes. Sleeping, while quite as pleasant, was not much more revitalizing than in her original world, and the muscles of her sword arm were rather sore by last night’s unusual exercise.

In other words, whether the planet called Ortho was a highly advanced simulation by an unknown alien race, a magically induced dream, or a genuine alternate reality, it still worked largely by the same natural principles that governed life on Earth. Even though it didn't enjoy an equivalent level of cultural sophistication.

“Meehhhhhhh…” This conclusion considerably lowered Izumi's enthusiasm towards the future. “This means, I seriously have to find work to make a living? There won't be an adventure if I starve at the starter zone! Are you kidding meeeee…?”

The summoned champion had found herself a small attic room from the eastern district, in the upstairs of an old couple, for the fee of five copper marks per night. There she spent the time Yuliana was introduced to captivity by lazing off and sleeping.

Not gaining experience points from her actions meant she wouldn't be growing any stronger than she already was. Rather, her strength would only keep on rapidly declining as her age caught up with her.

“Isn't this really bad...?”

What could she do then?

With the goal of becoming a conventional action hero, Izumi had mostly only studied combat and survival skills fit for the wild. And yet, being a woman fast approaching her forties, she wouldn't be able to hold the physically demanding job of a mercenary for long. Provided anyone was willing to give her a chance in the first place. Unlike in video games, where your character's looks didn't make the quest-givers any less willing to unload their troubles on you, the humans of Ortho were limited by prejudice, doubts, fears, and needless empathy.

What else then? What kind of jobs were viable?

Izumi thought about her “sub class” studies.

Should she go beg a blacksmith to take her for an apprentice? Clearly impossible for the aforementioned reasons.

Izumi had also tried to study flora in her youth since herbalists tended to have it nice and easy, but she had given up on that field soon as well. After all, there was no way to know if the other world would have similar species of vegetation. Most likely not, making studying them a big waste of time.

Other usual medieval game activities included the likes of tailoring, mining, alchemy, cooking, and farming. Of those, she only had any familiarity with cooking. Trying to find work as a chef, however, she'd have the entire female population of this world for competition, on top of not knowing the next thing about the ingredients or where to get them.

“Is there any way I could use my advanced modern day knowledge to my advantage?” Izumi frantically thought. “Build a generator? Invent the radio? Penicillin? Get into medicine?”

Regrettably, with only high school level academics, Izumi was a far cry from an engineer or a pharmacist. And all the theoretical knowledge obtained in her school days had typically vanished from her mind after the exam day. How to construct a dynamo or a battery from scratch, she had to admit she was clueless. If a light bulb broke, she'd replace it with another, without ever paying a thought to how exactly it worked.

As she was, Izumi simply didn't know enough about this world yet to live in it. There were still tasks like customer service or perhaps office work, becoming a scribe, or a bookkeeper for merchants, but...

“There's no meaning in coming to another world, if I'm only going to do the kind of stuff they’d force on me at home!”

Izumi was at a dead end.

Her solution to her troubles was the same as in her previous world—to go back to sleep.

By the time Izumi awoke again, it was already getting darker. The warm orange tones of the setting sun were cast into the room through the open window, which she was sure she had closed earlier. Turning to look, she realized she had a visitor.

—“Oh, did I wake you up? So sorry.”

There was a girl sitting on the window sill, gazing back at Izumi with a playful smile.

Riswelze. As she had promised, the assassin had returned.

Rubbing the corners of eyes, Izumi sat up on the bed.

“I wasn’t asleep,” she said, feeling slightly guilty for not noticing a thing.

“You were snoring. Like a baby,” the girl mocked her.

“So you bought the act. How did you find me anyway?”

“You're seriously asking me? What a half-baked contract killer would I be, if I couldn't track down one funnily-dressed lady with a claymore in a town this small? The folk here aren’t particularly secretive about their guests. I don't know if you realized, but safety is ever in high demand yet short in supply.”

“Yes, yes, I'm very impressed, falling for you, great job,” Izumi lightly clapped her hands. “And? Did you get your coin too?”

“Ha!” The girl wryly turned her eyes to the street view. “They gave me thirty in silver and told to choose between that and dungeon. And you can't exactly rough up a military fort for better pay. Well, I should be glad they gave anything at all. Better than expected, really. We've a bigger fish in our sights, don't we?”

“We do?”

Jumping down from the window, Riswelze stepped forward and explained in a lowered tone,

“As I suspected, they've taken the princess to the Mayor's private estate, half an hour's ride outside the town. According to my informant, the Mayor has a banquet planned for tomorrow night, where all the local elite is invited. The timing of the festivities is probably a coincidence, but I have no doubt her royal highness is going to make an appearance there.”

“And I'm guessing somebody is going to crash that party. It’s on a night like that, when the rich have their purses loosest, yes?” Izumi said.

“Great minds think alike,” the girl nodded. “The estate will be heavily guarded, of course. The Mayor has positioned two platoons of town guards there. That's nearly eighty men. The chances of sneaking in and back out unnoticed are next to nil. But I have a plan that might make the impossible possible. You interested?”

“Me?”

“Yeah. You're going to get the princess back, aren't you? So let's work together.”

“Right...”

“I have an associate inside. I can get you a forged invitation and he will edit you onto the list of guests. You will attend the banquet posing as a fresh aristocrat looking to make contacts and blend right in. There are going to be fireworks. You will find a chance to set off the fireworks ahead of the schedule, drawing everybody's attention to the skies. If all goes well, it will make enough noise to draw at least some of the guards from their posts. Making use of the distraction, I will then infiltrate the estate, help myself to the Mayor’s safe, and then create a distraction on my own right. You're then free to grab the princess, shuffle out with the crowd and ride home. How does it sound?”

“So the classic pattern then.”

“You've done heists before?” Riswelze raised a brow.

“Yeees, many, many times,” Izumi replied, “Like in Hit*** and A***** Creed, and so on.”

“I've never heard of those places before...Well, aren't you full of surprises, auntie?”

“Don't call me that. I have a name.”

“Oh, and one more thing,” Riswelze ignored her and added in a more serious tone. “The profits will be split 80-20, in my favor. You shouldn't have a problem with that. I'm shouldering all the preparations and most of the risk as well.”

“Hmm?” Izumi frowned.

“W-what? Well, 70-30 then? I'm really in need of coin, you know.”

“No, that's not it,” the woman shook her head. “You can make it 90-10 if you want, I don't mind. I was only a bit surprised.”

“What for?”

“For being a thief and a killer, you're awfully honest.”

“What?” the assassin's eyes widened in astonishment. “W-what are you saying, that came out of nowhere?”

“Well,” Izumi explained, “I imagined you were planning to either bail in the end or stab us in the back, so you wouldn't bother to bring up any talks about profits now.”

“Huh!?” Riswelze leaned forward, looking offended. “I wouldn't do that! Haven’t I already helped you a plenty? What kind of a despicable villain am I in your eyes?”

“The kind that murders and steals for a living?” Izumi tilted her head and answered. “Besides, you nearly did stab me in the back, literally.”

“There's a rhyme and reason to everything, including murder and stealing! Besides, theft isn't what I do for a career, it's more just a...forced hobby, maybe? Not my personal preference. I mean, the point is, I don't do what I do out of some bizarre desire to be evil, nor do I betray my partners. I have standards! Yes, standards.”

“Some standards, trying to butcher a helpless, innocent woman in a bath.”

“That—that was an accident!” Riswelze quickly retorted. “You're not going to hold it against me forever, are you? I admit I did a poor job at verifying the facts, but anyone would have made the mistake in my position! Isn't it to atone for that, that I'm lending you a hand now?”

Why was she so bent on making herself look good in Izumi's eyes anyway? The woman couldn't understand.

“What about if and when I get Yule out of that place?” Izumi asked. “Are you going to try to fix your mistake and kill her, if another bounty is put on her?”

“I'm not going to do that,” the assassin sighed. “If all goes well, I won't need the coin anymore, and we can only get her out if all does go well. So rest assured, everybody wins.”

“Sure...”

Izumi fell quiet and looked down.

“What's wrong?” Riswelze asked, seeing that listless look. “I've seen faces like that before. It's going to go well, all right? Don't go getting cold feet now.”

“That's not it,” Izumi shook her head. “I can't say I don't need the money myself, so I don't mind helping out, but...Do you think that I'd really be 'saving' Yule? By dragging her out of that place. What if she doesn't want to?”

“Huh? What's that supposed to mean?” The assassin rolled her eyes. “Did she look willing to you, when they dragged her away?”

“Maybe not,” Izumi admitted, “but sometimes what we want might not be what we need. Maybe what's waiting for her outside is worse than what's in there, you know? She's got food and a place to stay, at least. She won't have to worry about being pursued or finding a job. Rationally thinking, I wouldn't be doing much good for her if I forced her back on the road to be a fugitive again, would I?”

Riswelze twisted her lips and took a step forward,

“It's been bothering me the whole time, but what are you to that princess, exactly? Her mom?”

“No.”

“Yet you keep worrying about her as if you were.”

“I do?”

“You didn't even notice? Ever since I first saw you two, you've been guarding her every step, haven't you? The market, the blacksmith's shop, like a jealous mother hen. She probably despises you, imagining you betrayed her, yet here you are, selflessly thinking only what's best for her? Though in a pretty bizarre way, if you ask me. So go get her. Clear up the misunderstanding, and take her wherever. That's what you really want to do, isn't it?”

“I know I'm not that girl's mother,” Izumi sullenly answered, “And I know I wouldn't be able to look after her like one. If I could choose, I'd of course rather have her suffer less than more. Isn't that only natural? Whether it was Yule in trouble or Rise or anybody else, I'd feel the same way. Probably. Then does it matter what I want? If I can't guarantee that being free is better for her than being there, then wouldn't I just be doing it for my own self-satisfaction? Whenever I see the hero face a choice like this in all those books and movies, I can't help but wonder, 'isn't he actually the bad guy here'? 'How can he keep selfishly pursuing his own happiness with the girl, when the world and so many lives are at stake'? How is that supposed to be something to admire? I don't really get it. Is it men’s logic?”

“Weird is what you are,” Riswelze shook her head. She walked in front of the woman, leaned over to bring her face at her level, and said, “Listen to me. Who cares about being a hero? We're only people here, you and I. If there's something you want, you had better grab it and run with it, and no second thoughts. That's all there is to life. Who gives a damn if it's selfish or whatnot? Who's gonna judge you? Everything that flows through your fingers might as well stop existing for you. I can't predict the future, but I do know this: if there's a chance something will go wrong for the people you care about when you're not looking, you can bet it will. And when that happens, it won't matter one bit what you intended or wanted. Pain is all you'll be left with. So either you will abandon someone to death, or you'll do your darned hardest to look after them. No compromises. So, how shall it be?”

“That speech sounds pretty villain-y to me,” Izumi said.

“Whatever, auntie!” the assassin straightened herself and turned back to the window. “Believe me or don’t. All you need to do is go see for yourself. You're going anyway, aren't you? So find the girl, see how she's doing with your own eyes. Then you can decide whether she needs a rescue or not.”

“...I suppose I can do that much.”

“That's what I want to hear. Don't be fooled by how easy I've made it sound. It won't be. We're going in our separate ways, so if anything goes wrong, I won't be able to help you. Just set off those fireworks and get out. With the girl or without, that's your call. Don't try any heroics. Always look after yourself first, I...Izumi.”

“You really are a nice girl, Rise,” the woman said, a bit puzzled. “So much so, that I think it's going against your own advice. I'm not particularly upset about you trying to kill me if that's what you're still worried about. You don't owe me apologies and I already promised to help you, so that's that.”

“I'm not nice at all,” Riswelze only said, hiding under her bangs to evade Izumi's gaze.

She then turned to the window and added in a more composed tone,

“With the bounty silver, I will have an appropriate costume and a carriage ready for you. The party will begin at the beginning of the sixth period tomorrow night, so I will come pick you up sometime before that. Just be ready and don't get yourself in trouble before then.”

“Right.”

Having said everything, the young girl climbed through the window and jumped out, into the darkening night. Seemed there was no more reason to think about how she got in, with the door locked.

“I really am too old for the hero part, aren't I…?” Izumi muttered, before laying back on the bed and closing her eyes.

Chapter 4: The False Duke's Banquet Becomes a Trial by Fire

1

The daily routine of a knight, started at the age of fifteen, had taught Yuliana to wake up every morning in the beginning of the second period before sunrise, whether assisted or not. So she did today as well, even though not only the bed but the surrounding kingdom were foreign. The room she had been given wasn't too unrefined, even for a princess, though purposefully short on furniture. No spare chairs or tables, in case she would attempt to fashion herself a weapon. There was a window, tall and wide enough for a horse to fit through, but securely locked up and without handles. Yuliana could count no less than three pairs of armed guards patrolling the orchard outside the building. To escape, she would've had to break the window and the noise—or the gaping hole at least—would've quickly attracted their attention.

And then there was the enigmatic sorcerer, who undoubtedly had his own means of detecting the comings and goings of people. Being caught meant death and a sad end to her journey. It was a risk too great to take without any guarantees of success.

So left with no other choice but to await her fate in silence, Yuliana began her morning with monk-like asceticism, kneeling on the floor before the window, eyes closed in meditation, as the light of the rising sun little by little brightened up her noble features.

Have I lost your favor, my Lord?

With anxiety, she directed her thoughts towards the spirit residing in her body.

“Why, do you feel you have done wrong?” Aiwesh's voice unexpectedly answered. “I would like to think not, within the limits of what can be demanded of you.”

Encouraged by the response, Yuliana hurried to ask,

“Then will you not lend me your strength and help me escape this peril? Before I am played as a pawn against my own family and people. I fear my power and ability alone will not suffice here.”

But what the Lord of Light asked in return astounded the princess,

“And why is it that you wish to avoid this?”

“Eh...?”

“So far as I see, what the Emperor seeks through subjugation is the unity of men. I do not find that endeavor mistaken by itself, in spite of the less agreeable methods of his subjects. Rather, this is an objective I am compelled to share. In a situation where unanimous agreement between all parties cannot be reached, conquering without fighting is a solution worthy of commendation.”

“W-what?” Yuliana could barely contain her surprise. “What are you saying, my Lord? Are you not the timeless guardian of Langoria? Are we not your chosen people? Those very people will soon be made to swear allegiance to another ruler, who by treachery and deceit wants to bend them to his will! Is that not the very threat you should advise us against?”

“You are slightly mistaken, my child,” the spirit answered, “Though I resided in Langoria for so long, and though I have granted her people my blessings, calling me the guardian of the land is something the people decided on their own and not by my will. It is no particular flag or a crown that I love, and isolation was not the future I envisioned for Langoria. So far as I see, there is little difference between your people and the people of Luctretz and Tratovia. Are you not human beings all the same? Is your blood not red? I would have promoted forging closer ties with your neighbors from the beginning, but alas, the kings of Langoria have ceased to look for my counsel. For a long time, my name has been used without my consent for trivial, worldly purposes. Regardless, as a Divine fond of your kind, my priority is and has always been the survival of your species as a whole. The threat that concerns me is not the Empire—but the Daemonia. Unity is the only possible path for men to endure the coming Age of Chaos. I understand that your nation and its ruling dynasty mean much to you. But no matter how close, I cannot place the wishes of individuals or groups above the greater good of a race. To do so would undoubtedly prove against better judgment. I did not foresee this development, but now that the opportunity has presented itself, it would be unwise not to act on it. If your servitude makes the Empire stronger, spares the deaths of thousands, and by extension emboldens the human race as a whole, then this course of events is well. Rather, is this not the optimal role for you—a role only the princess of a nation may carry out—instead of the unlikely conquest of the Trophaeum, where you may die alone and unknown, the same as any common warhound? If I may express my opinion, that would be a great shame.”

“That's…!” Yuliana was left speechless.

Had anyone else told her those words, she would have taken it as a mortal insult, both as a citizen and as Langorian royalty. But the one who had said it was the Lord of Light, one of the great Divines to whom she had promised her body and spirit. She had no choice but to listen to the voice resonating within her very mind.

How could she hope to argue back?

The idea of obeying the demands of spies and criminals seemed abhorrent, yes, but as someone groomed to be a ruler one day, the princess knew better than well that there were times—more often than not—when one had to set aside her personal feelings for the good of her people.

Langoria had next to no hope of prevailing in an open war against the much larger Tratovia, especially if Luctretz had already allied with the enemy. With only the sea to fall back to, the outnumbered defenders would be decimated, the civilian populace bearing the brunt of the campaign.

Obeying her captors, turning herself into a true traitor to her people, Yuliana would disgrace her ancestors for eternity, and most likely see her family put to death by the conquerors. But she would live, perhaps long enough to influence the invaders and help keep the civilians safe. Wasn't saving them from war, murder, and pillage sufficient to pay back for her treachery and disgrace?

The alternative was to have everything she loved burn in a futile struggle and then join her family at the gallows.

Isn't that just what I want to believe? Because I'm too scared to die the honorable death of a warrior?

Soon after the beginning of the second period, a servant came to wake the princess, only to find her already fully dressed. She was then escorted straight to the Duke's office on the top floor of the building.

The Duke's working quarters basked in the rising sun's pale rays, which now reached barely above the garden treetops on the deep cerulean sky. A room on the highest floor in a building on top of a tall hill, this would be the first part of Haywell to be illuminated each day. Thus, being an early riser, the master of the house could begin his respectful duties as the city's head as soon as was naturally possible.

Although that master was no longer anywhere to be found in the mortal world.

The Duke's house, his office and documents, rank and title, the weapons and animal pelts decorating the walls, a stuffed bear, three wolves and a deer with their blank glass eyes in the corners, the expensive, imported carpets warming the floor, the old chests by the walls and the important possessions therein—none of that rightfully belonged to the man presently sitting behind the wide oaken desk in the back of the room.

Though his audacious act appeared to express the opposite.

“Good morning, your highness. Sleep well?” the imposter greeted Yuliana.

It appeared the mage was not present, although with his ability to distort people's perception and veil his presence, there was no way to be certain. The princess chose to remain silent and without waiting, the man continued,

“So? Is there even any point in me wasting my breath asking this? Are you with us? Or against us? It's either one or the other, mind you. No third options, no compromises, no conditions. A simple yes or no. And, of course, anything other than yes will mean your end.”

Biting her lip, feeling like she wanted to vomit, Yuliana answered with effort,

“I accept. For now, I will do as you say.”

Those words alone felt like a branding iron, a poison forcefully swallowed, marking her as a betrayer in spirit, an enemy of all the righteous people in the world. But if it helped protect the lives of her beloved citizens and, as Aiwesh had said, strengthened mankind as a whole, then weren't her honor and dignity a cheap price to pay?

As bitter as it was.

“Oh?” Norenbagh seemed surprised. “And I'd heard the Langorians were stubborn to a fault. Is that so? What turned your mind, if I may ask?”

“Deserved or not, to my people I am already a traitor,” Yuliana answered, “if there is a chance I can spare them from the horrors of war which they've never had to taste before in their lives, then my shame may not have been in vain.”

For a moment, there was silence.

“Wow,” the Duke finally said, throwing his hands in the air. “Were you not the knight princess, after all? I did not expect a maiden from that antiquated kingdom of woodcutters to be capable of seeing the logic of the Emperor's grand vision. I owe you an apology, it seems, your highness. My assessment of you may have been mistaken. Then, you don't mind if I have you swear on it?”

“Swear?” Yuliana frowned.

“Yes,” he nodded. “This is a bit different from the vows we're about to exchange later. See, the funny part about betraying people is, it only gets easier each time you do it. We wouldn't want you to have second thoughts at the last minute. I want you to give me your oath. Repeat after me.”

Following the man's words, Yuliana reluctantly repeated,

“I, Yuliana Da Via Brannan, swear by my life, by my ancestors’ spirits, and by the Divines that guide us, my undying loyalty to Mayeshwal III, the Holy Emperor of Tratovia, to answer his call to service without delay, when and how his majesty so chooses, and to never by words or deeds bring harm to his rule or his people, but count myself as one of his faithful subjects from this day to my last.”

Those words, not all that unlike the oath she had given when appointed formally as a knight in the Langorian court, weighed heavily on her heart. But that was not the end of it. As soon as she had finished, Yuliana felt a sharp, burning pain deep within her chest and winced.

From behind her, a dark shadow appeared and slowly stepped past her,

“It is done,” the dark sorcerer, Joviél, spoke. “Your very spirit is now bound to this oath by the power of a gias. Should you ever break it, you will be cursed never to know rest, in this life or the next, but to go on in endless torment as a lowly wraith, a plague upon your own people.”

Yuliana grit her teeth as the pain slowly subsided. Though she had agreed of her own will, there was no way she had no regrets.

“That would be all I require of you, my lovely bride,” the Duke told her. “Why don't you spend the day by rehearsing your speech for tonight's banquet? It is going to be a night to remember, I'm sure.”

Bluntly dismissed after fulfilling her role, Yuliana was escorted out of the office.

It's black. All she could see in her future now was the pure blackness of slavery, extending to the end of her days. And beyond.

2

Miles away, several hours later, in the ever peaceful town of Grelden, Itaka Izumi stood deeply vexed in her rented little room.

“W-what do you mean, I have to leave it?” she asked the girl in front of her.

“It's so completely obvious, do I really need to answer this?” the assassin called Riswelze sighed. As promised, she had come back to take the woman to the banquet with an appropriate disguise prepared. However, they ended up with an unexpected argument. “They will never let you in with that thing, invitation or not. Just showing yourself anywhere near the gates with it is a major red flag. One that we don't want.”

The talk was, of course, about the Amygla, the greatsword.

Riswelze naturally didn't know what the sword really was and simply assumed it to be a regular, uselessly big weapon. Which was why she had great trouble understanding the woman's attachment to it. Although Izumi's fascination with the sword was mostly for personal reasons and she didn't care so much for its historical or cultural value.

“W-what am I going to do if I'm found out?” she bemoaned. “I'd be completely helpless, wouldn't I?”

“Armed or not, after what you put me through the other day, I'd hardly call you 'completely helpless', but you're right. We should get you—a smaller—weapon once you're inside. My associate inside can probably arrange that much. The Duke has quite the armory, we won't need to smuggle anything in from the outside. The less chances of a screw-up, the better.”

“No, no way, if it's not this one, it won't do!” Izumi insisted.

“Why? Wouldn't you have an easier time with, say, a dagger? Like these ones of mine?”

Riswelze herself was armed with three daggers, a bit shorter than an arm each, two hanging from the belt by her hip and one more holstered under her left arm. Aligned along her figure, you would hardly even notice they were there. The girl demonstrated their efficiency by nimbly swapping the places of the one under the arm and the bottom one on her hip, in a blink of an eye. She also had smaller throwing knives on her belt, behind her back, seven of them, as well as a more practical tool knife, discreetly hidden in the right boot. Her cloak kept them from showing on the outside.

“You have so much hair, you could easily hide a whole stack of blades in there,” the assassin pointed out.

“And stab myself by accident? No thanks.” Izumi refused the idea. “You chop veggies with knives. I want a sword. A REAL sword! The bigger the better! Like the one in Bers***. I did keigo every day just to be able to swing a Dragonslayer one day. The sticks that all the knights here use are way too light! I don't feel safe with something like that. It'd be like swinging a piece of spaghetti around, I'd only end up missing the timing for parries! It's useless!”

“Spa...Ghetti?” Riswelze repeated, squinting.

“There's no pasta in this world!? No way!”

“This world? Did you mean, 'country'?”

Izumi slumped,

“I don't think I can go on much longer...”

“Don't give me that crap,” Riswelze berated her. “The real deal only begins now. You remember your part, right? A lot depends on you, my hide included.”

“Yes, yes,” Izumi said. “Go in there, create a distraction...But, speaking of distraction, this outfit is...Don't you think it's a little too...how should I even say this...?”

As planned, Riswelze had acquired a real ball dress to disguise Izumi as a noble. It left the shoulders and a great deal of the back and the upper chest exposed, tightening around the waist to emphasize the wearer's bosom and hips. It was fine work indeed, made of the finest cloth available. The point was not to draw too much attention but to blend inconspicuously with the other noble guests, which was why the dress was colored unobtrusive forest green, with parts in light gray.

But…

Perhaps it was a bit poor choice, after all, the assassin silently agreed.

The dress, while doing its best to be mild on its own, hardly worked in suppressing the allure of the voluptuous form of its wearer. It had been designed with the intention of accentuating the attractiveness of an ordinary lady—but Izumi's toned and curvaceous physique upgraded even a modest garb into a lethal weapon. With her thick, curly hair tied up from behind, highlighting her slender, white neck, Izumi now appeared like an empress instead of a small town landowner. The modern sterile lifestyle and the genetics of her people had preserved the woman's natural beauty beyond her years in a way impossible for the folk of a rural, hardworking community.

There was no way she wasn’t going to draw attention.

In fact, Riswelze as well found she had trouble looking at the woman straight.

“It's hard to move in and hard to breathe in...and...and...I...I'm going to spill out…”

Embarrassed, Izumi quickly turned away, pulled the blanket off the bed and hid under it in the corner like a shut-in.

With the way she behaved, it was clear she had never dressed for a high class banquet before. How could she be expected to work her way through such an important event? Was she going to be all right?

“It...it will be fine,” the assassin forced herself to insist, with little confidence. “Get over here. I'll add the finishing touches.”

Riswelze grabbed and pulled off one of the gray drapes hanging by the window and wrapped it around Izumi's shoulders like a shawl. It worked unexpectedly well. With the amount of exposed skin reduced, Izumi's assets were somewhat brought under control, changing her impression to more motherly and dignified.

Motherly...?

“Hm? Is something wrong?”

Izumi's sudden question made Riswelze realize her hands had stopped.

“Hey,” the girl said and looked away, without letting go. She was pretty sure she hadn't intended to say anything, but her lips kept on moving regardless. “What do you say, let's call this off, after all? Let's just...not do this, alright? Maybe you're right, the princess is just fine. I don't really need the Duke's money that bad either, there are easier ways to get by, and...it's not worth it, really. Why don’t we leave this town and go somewhere far, far away?”

“Eeh…?”

“You have a family? You do, don't you?”

“Well, can't say I don't,” Izumi admitted. “Just the same as everybody.”

Of course, Izumi thought of family as mother and father, a biological necessity, while that was no quite what Riswelze meant.

“Yeah, thought so,” the girl said, a bit sadly. “I don't know why you were escorting the princess, or whether you were honest with me about your relationship with her. That's none of my business, really. But, whatever the truth is, it can't be anything more important than whoever is waiting for you to come home. It's not.”

“You think?”

“Yeah. Me, I don't remember a whole lot about my parents anymore. I was around seven when I last saw them. They were traveling merchants, making their living trading miscellaneous goods—plain junk, to be honest—on the markets across the continent. Always on the road. I...it was somewhere west of Mesniria, I think. I didn't know the names or the places then. We set up our little camp for the night in a valley between the mountains, the same as any other day. And I got lost. That was it. My father always warned me against going off on my own, but when did I ever listen. I always found my way back. It was too fun, thrilling, having these little ‘adventures’. But that once, I didn't find my way. I wandered off into the nearby woods, thinking I'd explore a bit, and when I came back out, I had no idea which way I'd come from anymore. Everywhere I looked was just rocks and slopes that all looked completely identical to me. I never saw my parents again. I never got to tell them goodbye. After a night of aimless wandering, I was eventually found by...not so nice people. I was sold into slavery and from then on it was only one bad thing after another. You can probably guess. A gal like me doesn't become a murdering thief the easy way, right? Yeah. I grew up to be scum. The vile kind that won't think twice about stabbing innocent, helpless men and women in their baths. I—”

“Rise...”

“Please, don't say it.” Leaning forward, Riswelze hid her face by Izumi's neck. She thought she would cry, but surprisingly enough, didn't. Her tears had ran out long ago. Why was she even telling her all this? What had made her this soft? “I know I'm not making any sense, first urging you on and then telling you not to do it. But somehow, I just got the feeling that it shouldn't be like this. If I were your daughter, if you were my mother, I wouldn't want you to do it. Does that seem weird to you?”

“No, I suppose not,” Izumi said. “My daughter or not, I wouldn't want you to live your life like this either.”

“What are you saying, to a person who tried to kill you?” Riswelze wryly chuckled. “That's why you're too sweet. And that's what makes me scared for you.”

Izumi didn't say anything.

Not that she knew what to say. Having been an awkward loner her whole life, the eloquence required to encourage others was something she hopelessly lacked. Holding the girl, trying to comfort her with basic human contact—she was too nervous to even do that.

After a while, Riswelze regained her composure and pulled back, drawing a deep breath.

“I'm sorry. That was unprofessional of me,” she said. “I don't know why, just...Please forget it ever happened.”

“Um, it’s fine,” Izumi said.

“We're not going to stop here, are we?” Riswelze donned a confident smile again and stood upright with her hands on her hips. “Of course, I know it's out of the question. We're going to rescue the princess and get the Duke's valuables, right? I'm not giving up on that much coin! Let's do this then. Come on.”

3

The whole wide hill overlooking the Haywell fields, as well as the narrow road leading up to it, were decorated with dozens of lanterns, showing the way to the honored guests. The servants of the house had worked long hours in the past few days to ensure that it would truly become—in the host's words—a night to remember. The secret surprise event had brought the servants some (uncalled for) extra work, in upgrading the festivities to the appropriately royal level.

Nobody was counting the coin spent. Or the barrels of wine.

The Duke's banquet was officially set to begin at sunset and last through the night, but plenty of guests had already arrived while the sun still lingered above the inchoate wheat. They were those who had traveled the greatest distance and so couldn't precisely time the moment of their arrival. Their circumstances were naturally taken into account by the organizers, who ensured that the early ones weren't left to sit bored and hungry.

Izumi's carriage, however, was promptly on time.

Half a mile before the estate, Riswelze jumped off the ride, to make her stealthy approach across the northern fields, under the cover of the coming dark. The summoned earthling was then delivered to the entrance of the lion's den all alone.

By the cover story, Izumi was to be the Baroness of Letham, Ilyene Lan Marel. Letham was a real place, apparently, suitably distant yet not entirely unknown in Grelden, and there had been a real Baron as well, who died recently without leaving a legitimate heir. While Risewelze was not a Luctretzian by birth, she had learned a great many things at her prior occupation as a tavern maid. Izumi would pose as the late baron's distant relative from the remote land of Cotlann, who had only recently moved to Luctretz to claim her inherited property.

Good grief. Who invented all these names?

Memorizing wasn't Izumi's strongest suit. And neither was acting or lying. No matter how she tried, she had a hard time getting into the right mindset. Why couldn't she be the one to infiltrate the place from outside and let Riswelze attend the party? She had suggested that, but the assassin had rejected the idea.

“The point is in discretion,” she had said. “We are to get in and get out without being discovered. Do you know how to hide your presence? Do you know how to pick locks? Can you use spells for distraction? Runes?”

Izumi had to admit her lack of field experience.

She had tried to learn lockpicking—it was an elementary RPG skill, after all—but the modern Earth locks were in a whole different league compared to their medieval predecessors, so there weren't a lot of opportunities to practice. And magic was obviously not in her repertoire.

“But does that mean you know spells?” Izumi had instead asked, surprised. “You can like, turn invisible and so on?”

“Nearly anyone can use magic, it's not particularly hard if you learn the basics,” the assassin had proudly answered. “While I can't turn completely invisible, I do know how to hide in the shadows or create illusory light or sound for a diversion. That's child's play. I know a few runes of power too.”

“Wow, really? That's impressive!” Izumi had applauded, sincerely awed. “Considering how easily I beat you, I assumed you were only like a level five rogue at best!”

“You're just too damn strong!” Riswelze had angrily retorted. “Are you telling me you've made it this far in life without learning magic of any kind?”

“No, not one bit. But hey! Why don't you—”

“No, I'm not going to teach you,” the girl had already guessed Izumi's thoughts and interrupted her. “We don't have that kind of time here. And no matter how strong you are, a platoon of knights is too much for you. Would you even be able to run away? Those jugs are absurd, they get in the way a lot, don't they…? Do you get back pains? It must be a real bother...How did they even get like that...?”

“Um, why did the conversation turn to my chest...?”

“Ahem...Either way! The plan's been made and we're going to stick to it. Just behave yourself and you’ll be fine. Even if your cover is blown, the worst is, they'll throw you out. Poor idiots always try to sneak into banquets in hopes of free food. No respectable noble would make noise over something as trivial as that. Successful party crashing might even make you the guest of honor in some places I know. But if you're caught breaking in...that's different. Your life will be on the line.”

Recalling Riswelze's instructions now, Izumi sighed as she got off the carriage,

“What a complicated culture.”

Quite a line had formed outside the front gate, as checking everyone's invitations and verifying them on the host's lists took time.

The guests were regular-looking local men and women, husbands and wives, some perhaps as young as thirty, but the majority way older, in their fifties or perhaps even sixties. As nobles, they tended to be safe from the harms of poverty, famine, and diseases that brought the working class to an early grave. Not to mention the beasts prowling the wilderness.

All were clad in colorful, elegant costumes, made of the best materials money could buy, crafted by the most skilled of tailors. The assassin's judgment wasn't left wanting in comparison. Izumi's costume hardly stood out, in the good way or the bad, even if its wearer did in both. But whatever they thought of her as a person, nobody who noticed her arrival was left staring for long enough for it to turn awkward.

Nervously swallowing, Izumi joined the queue.

Besides her lack of real life experience with infiltration missions, there was another, particularly pressing reason why Izumi wasn't very happy with her lot.

That was her inexperience with life in general.

A shut-in who had barely left her house for years, Izumi had developed something of an anxiety for social occasions.

One person was fine.

Two people were still fine.

Three people were okay-ish.

Four, five, even six in the same room was tolerable, so long as she didn't need to say anything.

But when a group's member count went above a dozen, they ceased to be “individuals” and became a “crowd”. A mass, a bizarre, malformed monstrosity, a hydra with multiple, disparate heads, accompanied with staggering noise and chaos.

The necessary prerequisite for Izumi to retain her composure, the sense of being in control of the situation, was completely lost when she could no longer keep track of the faces around her.

The result was—panic.

The feeling Itaka Izumi hated the most.

The feeling of being completely helpless, powerless, trapped, a child.

Half the time in her youth, she had been training to become strong enough for the other world—and half just to get rid of that terrible feeling.

It would've been fine if the people around were “enemies”. If they were mere targets she was allowed to destroy, people who gave up their humanity by trying to kill her, people who weren't really even people, but just targets to take apart and destroy, like in a game. In that case, she could re-establish her innate sense of control again through the act of slaughter.

If only she had a weapon, everything would've been fine.

But she had none.

What's more, around her were “people”.

Untouchable, inviolable beings that had to be respected, obeyed, never offended. People, who held the one-sided power to decide her fate and because of that, had to be kept smiling at all times. Izumi's world had again turned into a social minefield, where one wrong, careless step could bring on the wrath of others.

That was the one kind of a game she detested.

Now, standing in line, with people ahead of her, more people coming to line up behind her, Izumi was not only locked up in a “crowd” but also engaged in the activity she equally detested—waiting.

This is fine. I am fine with this.

Doing her best to keep her nerves under control, Izumi inched forward, step after step closer to the gate as the line moved.

There's nothing to worry about. Everything's going to go well. I'm not fifteen anymore. I can go shopping by myself, mom. Just look at what the other people are doing. First, you hand over the letter of invitation, then name yourself, easy. A piece of cake. A walk in the park.

“Next, please,” a servant's voice made the line move forward again.

The man checking the names was very much your archetypal butler in appearance, a thin, older, dry-looking man in a tailcoat, his lengthy gray hair tied from behind, and circular glasses covering his small, reddened eyes.

It's just like at the airport, Izumi thought. I've never flown and it's not, but whatever. Airport. Think about airports. Flying in the sky. Hello. Pleased to meet you. This is Itaka—not! Eh? What was it again? I...Ill-something? I knew I should have written it down...

“Everything appears to be in order, Mister Delenvale. Mrs Delenvale. Please have a wonderful night.”

The couple, who were apparently called the Delenvales, stepped past the servant with a grunt.

Delenvale? That reminds me of Delaware. There's a place like that, isn't there? In America. Not that I've ever been there. Since I've never been in a plane. But when you think about Delaware, it sounds a lot like “tableware”, ufufufufu.

Realizing she was looking stupid, chuckling at her own pun, Izumi forced her poker face back on.

“Next please.”

As the line moved on, so did Izumi's pulse quicken.

Only two more, only two more, only two more, only two more. So slow, so slow, slow, slow, slow, slow, slow. Do you even know how to read, or are you just pretending? I'm going to die of old age at this rate. I mean it. It could happen. The chances of getting a cardiac arrest double every decade past the age of thirty. I read that online once.

Brigadier General Morwain and his daughter got the go-ahead without an incident as well.

“Next, please.”

Why would you bring your daughter for an avec, you old geezer? You're totally showing off there, aren't you? If I had a daughter, I wouldn't have come alone either. Which makes me realize, why exactly did I have to come alone? Couldn't Rise have found me a fake spouse too? If it were somebody handsome, he might have become a real spouse too. All sorts of things can happen when you're infiltrating an evil stronghold together. I've completely missed my chance. Yet again. Oh wait, what would it have looked like had Rise dressed up as a boy? Oh my. Oh my oh my. That is something we should've tried. Why didn't I think of that sooner!? No, we can still try it after this, for personal reference...Ohoho—

“Madam? Is something wrong?”

The servant's question brought Izumi back to her senses.

It was her turn already and everybody was looking.

“Oh!” she quickly stepped up. “It's Ita—ouch!”

“…?” The servant raised his brows.

“Sorry! I bit my tongue there, so it hurt, tehehe!” Izumi gave her needless excuse. The servant wasn't affected by her smile, as heartwarming as it was meant to be.

“Right. Madam. Your invitation...Please?”

“Why, of course. I have it right here in my pock—Eeh? It's not? Did I lose it already? Where could it have gone?”

“Ahem...”

“Aah, right! Right! I forgot I don't have any pockets in this dress, so I stuffed it here...”

Izumi dug up the small, folded letter from her cleavage. She did have a small purse with her, but she had thought this method made the item more accessible. Of course, she hadn't intended to start searching for it in front of everyone, but discreetly pick it out before her turn. But she forgot. And as she was moving, the letter had also dug its way deeper down. The servant and the guests behind her were rapidly changing color.

“There you gooo~!” she handed over the invitation—after checking her fake identity first. “Baron Ilyene Lan Marel of Letham! Ah! I mean Baroness, of course. I'm not a guy if that's what you're thinking!”

“...”

“Though it does sound suspicious if I say it myself. You can check if you don't believe me—”

“That...really won't be necessary, ma'am,” the servant interrupted her as Izumi was reaching for the hems of her skirt. Of course, she had only intended it as a joke, but whether he saw that or not, the butler still wasn't very amused.

“My condolences for the Baron’s passing,” he poignantly said. “May I ask, how exactly were you related to him?”

“I was his sister's youngest daughter, from the north,” Izumi explained, more or less in line with the made-up backstory. “I mean, still am, of course. Nobody else wanted the house, so I kinda ended up helping myself...”

“I find it rather hard to believe no one wanted the lands of Letham,” the servant raised his brows. Apparently, he knew more about the topic than Izumi did. “Neither have I ever heard of the “Bourbon Baron” having a sister abroad.”

“It's one of those family matters you don't spread around, okay,” Izumi said with a scolding gesture. She couldn't help but notice that the two knights guarding the gate also had their eyes on her.

“Where did you say you were from again, in the...north?” the servant repeated, looking like he wanted some elaboration.

“Yes!” Izumi only nodded with a smile.

“Well,” the butler said after a heavy pause, examining his book and Izumi's letter once more, “everything does appear to be in order. Your...excellency. But, I hope I'm not being rude, but should there not be a Baron with you as well?”

“Eeh? He died, didn't he?” Izumi tilted her head and answered.

“...I meant, your husband. The new Baron,” the servant clarified, clearing his throat. “Did he not move with you from...er, north? Should he not be attending together with your excellency? His name is not even among the invited, which seems a little strange to me.”

“Well, he died too!” Izumi answered. “On the way here. From the north. Yes! Nobody told you? Asking such a thing of a poor, lonely widow…How, how naughty of you…!”

“Ah, my apologies,” the man hurried to say, “I have been too rude. You must be in the midst of mourning then, considering the old Baron was only buried last month and it can't have been any longer since your journey to Luctretz. Are you sure it is fine to be attending banquets, at a time like this…?”

It was a custom common in Luctretz and Langoria for a widow to go into mourning for ninety days following the death of a spouse or a close relative, and not attend any festivities during that time. It was nothing like a law and frequently broken among the rich in particular, but openly behaving in such a carefree fashion was still frowned upon by the common people.

Of course, there was no way Izumi could know about it.

“That's right!” she said. “It's to forget my sorrows that I'm here! Is there something wrong with that? Or do you want to keep rubbing my loss in my face like this all night, in front of everybody?”

“O-of course not,” the servant quickly responded. “My apologies again. Who am I to judge? You have the Duke's invitation, and that is all that matters to me. Please, go on ahead and have a...pleasant evening, madam.”

Apparently deeming there was less trouble in letting the lone woman go than causing a scene at the gates by turning her away, the servant let Izumi pass. The line kept building up, after all.

“Thanks a bunch,” Izumi said and walked triumphantly through the gates.

4

The sense of relief brought by her momentary success didn't carry Izumi for long. Following a straight passage framed with slim little fruit trees, marble pillars, and lanterns, she came to the vast front yard.

What she saw first was tall fountain decorated with life-like marble statues, before wide, white stone stairs that led up to the main building's entrance. Long tables had been set in two long lines to divide the spacious yard lengthwise, in anticipation of a buffet-style service. At the moment, however, the tables remained largely empty of anything substantial, with only slices of bread, fruits, drinks, and some light cocktail snacks set up.

First in the program, the host would step forward to open the banquet with a speech, thanking the guests for coming and introducing whatever agenda he wanted their attention with. Then, a toast would be raised. It was only then that the servants would bring over the food and wine, and the “socializing” could begin at full throttle.

Being from another world—or rather, being who she was—Izumi naturally knew nothing about party etiquette, and Riswelze, under the illusion that she at least had the basics covered, hadn't bothered to describe the proceedings in detail.

Fortunately, Izumi had few chances to advertise her ignorance.

Already upwards a hundred guests were present, split into smaller groups here and there to exchange greetings. Though even that many people were nowhere near enough to make the festival grounds look crowded, the lone earthling viewed it in a different light. Izumi felt no different from a rabbit thrown out to an open field where falcons preyed.

Quickly withdrawing to the side, she disguised herself as an inconsequential NPC, determined not to move a muscle, not to look at anybody, and only repeat the same rehearsed platitudes when spoken to. The mission to locate the fireworks and come up with a way to set them off had all but vanished from her distressed mind.

I want to die. Could I please die now?

—“Madam.”

“Hi——?”

Unfortunately for Izumi, a servant had already spotted the newcomer and wasted no time bringing her a glass. A slim glass filled with light, bubbly, golden liquid stood on a silver plate in the servant's hands.

Recovering from her initial shock, Izumi grabbed the glass and—emptied it in one gulp, returning it to the plate.

“Haa, that hit the spot! Thanks, Jeeves.”

“Er...”

Of course, the glass had been given with the up-coming toast in mind. The servant courteously informed the pretending Baroness of the matter.

“Eeh? Ah? Yes, of course! I knew that! Please forgive me! I forgot! I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!” Izumi frantically bowed many times.

“N-no, it's not an offense demanding an apology, madam, please…raise your head...!”

The other guests didn't know what the scene was about, but seeing a mere attendant make a noble so abashed—a lonely, older woman, no less—quickly earned the poor man some deeply disapproving glares.

A few minutes later, that servant was not seen serving drinks anymore.

“I wonder if we get to eat soon?” Izumi pondered. As nothing worth mentioning was happening, she was starting to slowly regain her courage. “I skipped lunch too, thinking I'd have a free, eat-all-you-can service here...”

In spite of her best efforts to become one with the background, there was no way Izumi could remain alone for long.

A tall, burly man soon detached himself from one of the chattering groups and composedly made his way to her across the yard.

He had to have been at least six feet and a half, dressed in a militaristic, grey-blue uniform. Two long rows of bronze buttons went vertically down the front of his coat, with several shorter lines of no less gaudy medals cutting horizontally across. He had a thick but tidily trimmed beard framing his square jaw, brown eyes with a strong but friendly look to them, and his short, dark gray hair he had combed stylishly backward. He seemed to be older than Izumi in age. Considering his intimidating presence, it was a mystery how well he had managed to blend into the crowd before.

Worried that he had noticed something suspicious about her behavior and was coming to expose her as a fraud, Izumi bit her lip and stiffened up.

Which way should she start running?

However, her fears soon proved premature.

“Good evening, madam,” the man stopped in front of her and politely greeted Izumi with a bow. His deep voice, resonating within his mighty body, matched his looks, but the tone of it was unexpectedly suave. “I hope you don't find me intrusive in my query, but I would much like to learn your name, young madam. I believe I have not had that pleasure in the past.”

“Y-young…?”

Whoa, sleek.

“I...I'm Ilyene, a baroness,” Izumi answered in short, having already forgotten the rest of her long-winded title. “I'm still new around here and only recently became a noble and...so, I don't know much about this land and its people yet. That's about it...”

Fortunately, the man could connect the dots on his own, by natural process of elimination.

“I see,” he said, “your property would not happen to be that Letham, whence the old Baron recently passed away, would it?”

“Oh, that was it,” the woman nodded. “You're well informed, uncle.”

“Uncle…?” the man looked surprised by Izumi's excessive, reflexive familiarity, which she immediately regretted. With the overly blunt cartoons and games as her primary social role models, Izumi’s poor behavior couldn’t be helped. But again, the man proved to be unexpectedly flexible. Quickly recovering, he burst into classy laughter, “Ha, ha, ha! Indeed, I am doing you injustice, demanding names and giving none in return. I am General Olliver Matis Grohn, of the Royal Army of Luctretz. And your humble servant, milady.”

“Ooh, a general?” Izumi said, impressed. “Now that I think back, I saw another general earlier, outside. Sure makes me feel safer with so many warriors around!”

“Ah, are you perhaps referring to old Morwain?” the General asked. “What a coincidence, I hadn't heard he was here. Retired he may now be, but I have had the honor of calling that man my superior and mentor, back in the days I was but a student of war. Oh, so time flies. I oftentimes wish I could go back to those innocent days of yore.”

“I know that feeling! I totally do,” Izumi agreed and sighed. “There were so many things in the past I'd like to do otherwise, if only I could. But there are no second chances in life, are there?”

“You've dressed the harsh truth in fair words. But what regrets could there possibly be on the path that has brought you before my eyes tonight? I must confess, where you lament the fickle passage of time, I thank the Divines. For witnessing beauty like yours makes me feel privileged to the highest degree.”

“Eeh, what are you saying?” Izumi bashfully gasped. “I'm not pretty at all! You're being rather bold there, Mister General! Do they teach nothing in that army of yours but going on the offensive?”

“Touché! Ha, ha, ha!” the man laughed again. “I pardon if I've made myself look crude, but even though they call me a noble by heritage, I am deep down a simple man of the army. And as such, may only report the truth the way it appears in my eyes. I assure you, for the truth of your fairness there is no disguise. Which begs the question—why is a flower as gorgeous as yourself left unattended here, among these toxic tongues? Where is the husband to grip your hand and shield you from the malice that lurks in the hearts of these rich and wretched, right as it is about to be unleashed by the flowing of wine?”

“That is a bit troubling question,” Izumi responded, looking away. “It so happens my husband couldn't endure the toils of our long journey to barondom, and left me to walk this world by myself. Sniff. I have to admit I’m a bit anxious over what will happen. All I wanted was to forget the sorrows of the past, not find even more...”

“Please accept my deepest condolences for your loss, milady,” the General bowed again, before resuming, “painful as it undoubtedly is, please hear me out. For I understand your grief only too well. My stars of fortune hardly shine any brighter. It has now been five winters since my poor wife succumbed in the labors of childbirth, leaving me but half a man. Since our share in fate is the same, nothing would please me more but to help stave off your grieves. For the duration of our fine Mayor's banquet, at least. If only you allow it, my fair lady.”

This guy is a bit heavy, in a lot of ways…

Izumi was slightly reluctant to go along with it, but on the other hand, she did see the upsides of the situation. In General Grohn's weighty presence, even the surrounding crowds became minimized, their stares notably easier to endure. If the man's company helped avoid suspicion from the hosts, or keep anyone else from making awkward passes at her, it was probably for the best to go along with it. How she should get rid of him in the end to carry out her mission—well, she could worry about it when the time came.

“I suppose it's fine then...” Izumi ended up saying.

“Excellent!” the General nodded with an encouraged smile. “I shall not fail your trust.”

Of course, Izumi was not as naive as to misunderstand her new companion's motivations. Innocently keeping her from feeling lonely was probably not even the prologue to what he had in mind. Izumi was inexperienced, not born yesterday. She had seen a number of pick-up attempts in her home world as well, though they were quite a bit less flowery and more to the point.

Wait a minute, doesn't that mean—isn't there a very real chance that I'll stop being a maiden tonight?

At that notion, Izumi's train of thought, which had discreetly derailed again, fell off the track completely.

Like an overheating steam engine, she first turned bright red; then all the blood drained from her head and she fell white as a sheet, swaying dizzily with a hollow look.

“Milady!?” The General observed her state with concern. “Are you all right? You look ill! Would you like to lay down for a moment?”

“L-l-l-l-lay down!?” Izumi recovered, turning red again. “N-n-no. No way. Not at all. Not at the moment, I mean. Maybe in the future, who knows? I wonder. The world is a strange place, isn't it! Ahahaha!”

“Um, it certainly is...”

With a guy like that? No way, no! Absolutely not! I always wanted my first time to be something special! With someone I can really lo-lov...But then again, I'm already almost forty. Who else would have me? You only get so many miracles in life. If I say no here, will I remain an old maid to the end of my days? He's a general, at least. Better than a nobody, right? Isn't it fine? No, remember the mission! I had a mission! That's right, I'm here to see Yule, that's all. But anything might happen along the way, not like it would take long...No, would it take long? Should it take long? I don't know! How would I know!?

“Ooohhh—!”

At that moment, Izumi's troubles were momentarily swept away by the excited sounds of awe produced by the guests around the yard. Over time, even more people had arrived in their colorful costumes, and now, with most of them gathered, all those people turned their attention towards the manor and the staircase, where the host of the night was making his appearance.

Izumi followed their example.

Walking down the stairs in an immaculate white tie and tails, was a dark-haired youth. For being a duke as well as the mayor of the whole town, he certainly looked young, well younger than Izumi.

But her gaze wouldn't linger on the man for long.

Next to the Mayor walked a beautiful and dignified girl, even younger than he was, in a stunning vermilion ball gown adorned with countless, rosy little bow knots, her hand resting on his arm. Her rosy hair was braided and tied up, showing her prideful, valiant face unobstructed.

“Oh, it's Yule.”

Though she already knew the girl had been brought here and expected to run into her sooner or later, Izumi felt her pulse quicken at the sight. There seemed to be nothing wrong with Yuliana on the outside. But that blood-red dress made Izumi inexplicably uneasy. Guilty.

“You know the mistress?” the General asked her. “She does have a sort of familiar face. I could swear I have seen her before, but where could that have been...”

“Ahaha, no, my mistake...” Izumi denied, remembering that she was supposed to be from far away. Claiming to be acquainted with the Langorian princess would've been too weird.

Izumi's attention was next drawn to a third figure, following a few steps behind the Duke and the princess. A man seemingly between the other two in age, his attire of choice wasn't very festive—a black robe that veiled his body from neck to feet, its long hems trailing behind. It was surprising he could walk without tripping. Holding onto a long, black staff, the man looked like a grim reaper haunting the happy couple, effectively ruining the mood.

“You know the wizard?” Izumi asked.

“Eh, pardon me?” The General raised his brows.

“Yeah, the one behind. The black one. With the staff and all.”

“What ominous things are you saying, milady?” General Grohn looked disturbed, scanning the yard again with his eyes. “Where, pray tell, do you see such a vision? Try not to frighten me, for I take poorly to wraiths! Let that not be a demerit to my manhood, but I had a nasty encounter with a few in the past, on a patrol on the western shores...I shall never forget that stormy night...”

“Hmm…?”

Though the description should've left no room for error, it seemed the General had no idea who she was talking about.

Did he forget his goggles home? I'm not seeing things, am I…?

The Duke reached the lowest platform a bit above the audience, which had a guarded extension suited for giving speeches. Spreading his hands wide, he waited for the applauding guests to fall silent.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen! Greetings to you all!” he began with a steady voice, like a veteran performer. “You all know me, I believe, but allow me...I love introducing myself, no matter how many times I do it. I am Norenbagh Walington, a fool calling himself the Duke of Haywell, the Mayor of the beautiful town of Grelden, a humble servant of yours, a servant of your children, and your elders. And as such, I intend to ensure that tonight will become a memory you will cherish for all time.”

Everyone applauded and cheered loudly.

Clap, clap, Izumi hit her hands together for appearance's sake.

I don't like this one.

“Thank you,” the Duke continued after a pause. “Thank you kindly. Before we get to the eating and singing—and certainly before any drinking—I have some sobering news for you all. In a good way. Great news. Beautiful news. What I'm about to share with you, my dear guests, you will hear before anybody else in our wide world. I hope you find it in you to appreciate that fact. Because soon—I guarantee this—indeed the whole world from Yornvik to Tuestia will gush over what remains only briefly unknown to you. Yes. The wonderful woman standing by my side should need introductions even less than I do. Still, since I'm sure some of you find it just a little hard to believe, to the point of doubting your own eyes, let me confirm it now beyond any sliver of a doubt. Here stands none other than her royal majesty, the First Princess of the proud kingdom of Langoria—Yuliana Da Via Brannan!”

A sea of astonished gasps and murmur filled Izumi's ears.

The hundreds of guests were understandably shocked by the reveal.

“What in the world...!” General Grohn also exclaimed, his jaw falling.

But the Duke soon gestured for silence and continued,

“Why is her majesty here? I'm sure you're all just dying to know the reason. Let me keep you in suspense no further. For today is the day that we would like to announce to you—our engagement, no more. Please, my love. The stage is yours.”

The man stepped aside to make way for Yuliana.

An expectant, heavy silence took over the front yard, as the girl stepped forward. No one even dared to breathe. Beautifully containing her undoubtedly tumultuous emotions before the audience like a true princess, Yuliana's eyes swept over the crowd once before she spoke,

“Yes, it is as you have heard. True every word of it. I am Yuliana Da Via Brannan of Walhollem, the sole daughter and heir to my father, King Astellen XIV. What has brought me so far away from the halls I call home, in this sneaky manner? The answer would be love. That's right, love. It is today, that I have given my vow to stand by this man, known to you as the Mayor of Grelden, Duke Walington, in sickness and health...”

The princess paused and closed her eyes for a bit, as though her head hurt, but quickly resumed,

“...Though I am but a woman of another land to you good people, you have no doubt already heard many things about me. Things that might make my present standing before you seem unsavory. Shameful things, like that I've already pledged myself to another man. Or that I ran from my father in disgrace, branded a traitor and an outlaw. But I assure you, none of that is true. Even now, my heart remains undeniably true to the best interests of both the people of Langoria—as well as to those of Luctretz. Were we not one people, not so long ago? Could we not be so again? It was in my desire to see these two proud nations take a step closer to one another, that I've come here, even defying my father's will in the process. Because I could not lie about the way I feel...About this overwhelming emotion, that even now makes my heart tremble...”

The corners of the princess's lips twitched a little, giving weight to her words.

“My heartfelt wish is to see the people of these two lands hold hands in mutual respect—not to witness them drift further apart by each day. I...I don't want to lose to the fear and terror our enemies sow in our midsts. But only words would my wishes be, if I weren't willing to act upon them in person as well. Which is why I will henceforth work tirelessly for this goal in a lifelong partnership with my Luctretzian spouse. In hopes that our example would be wider followed.”

With a quiet thank you, Yuliana ended her speech and stepped back, covering her mouth.

The audience was deeply moved by her passionate words and the great effort apparent in their presentation. Some of the women were openly weeping. The applauds were more contained in volume than before, but warmer in spirit.

“Thank you!” The Duke hurried to reclaim the front. “To have such a strong, beautiful, dedicated woman as my bride...I won't lie. I'm the happiest darned guy in the world. But!” He slammed his hands together. “I won't hold you any longer. Keep in heart what you've seen and heard, even should your brain forget. The banquet's now on! If there's anything you miss, then let me know. I will get it for you. Even the Moon from the sky. I feel like I could do it. Cheers!”

A servant brought him a glass, which the Duke raised, and everyone in the audience mirrored his gesture. Izumi had received a refill as well. Perfectly in sync with the host, she emptied hers in one move.

Listening to his speech and Yuliana's, Izumi's mission priorities had seen an abrupt shift, where a discreet escape no longer played any part.

She couldn't tell why, in specific.

Inside her chest now was only an ugly, mixed mess unlike anything she had felt before, and for having never known it before, she couldn't even begin to understand or contain it. But in the midst of that overboiling, venomous soup of emotion, one thought stood out perfectly clear to her, even if she couldn't find the words to explain it, even to herself.

One way or another, I'm going to kill that man.

Following yet another round of applause and approving noises, the banquet began in earnest.

A small batallion of servants stepped forward, loaded the tables in the yard with the most extravagant feast, and the guests helped themselves to the offerings in a more or less orderly fashion. While everyone's attention was momentarily taken by the menu, the Duke approached his young bride.

“Try to look a little more heartbroken, will you, my dear,” he told Yuliana. “The guests just might get this funny idea that you're being kept here against your will.”

“What do you expect of me?” the girl bitterly retorted.

“I expect you to retire for the night. Effective as it may be, the gias is hardly foolproof. I can't have you find some unlikely allies among the guests, or pass any warnings to Langoria. You there,” he nodded to a trio of knights standing further away. “Escort her majesty to the guardhouse. No need to hold back.”

“What?” Stunned, Yuliana's eyes widened, “The guardhouse? What is the meaning of this?”

“Why, I need someone to keep an eye on you, while my duties keep me busy,” the imposter answered, “and you might as well learn a trick or two instead of sitting idle, weeping all night. The men that are off-duty need their share of entertainment as well, so that they won't start to harass the guests.”

“Tricks…?” she blinked. “Entertained? What in the world…?”

“Goodness me!” The Duke lost his patience with her denseness. “Our wedding night is not far off, and I don't want inexperienced women in my bedroom! No matter how many I try, virgins are always a guaranteed disappointment. I'm telling you to see to the worldly needs of our guards—the way only a woman can. And don't come back until you know how to please a man.”

As his meaning finally cleared up to her, all color drained from Yuliana's face.

“Why...That—that is preposterous, I...That is no way to treat royalty…!”

“Oh, so now you hide behind the status? Weren't you determined to throw all your past privileges away when you ran away from your castle? How about you try the commoner perspective for once? Enough already. Take her away. I have to hear dull clacking by brainless broads more than my fill tonight. And don't you worry about minor inconveniences like pregnancy. I'm sure Joviél has an elixir or two for that. When it's time for you to bear children, they'll be from my loins, my blood, make no mistake about that.”

“You're a savage…!”

Yuliana grit her teeth.

There were hundreds of people right under her eyes, who might have been able to lend her a hand in her distress, but she could only gaze at them in helpless anguish. Her oath bound her voice, as going against her future spouse would have meant directly opposing the Emperor's plans. Even if the sovereign of Tratovia knew nothing about Yuliana's plight, personally, the dark elf's ancient magic treated any gained advantage as the new point of balance, which could not be disturbed.

And so Yuliana was escorted away, sinking deeper into the abyss of despair with each step.

My lord...is this your will as well? Are you fine with your vessel being tainted…?

Mysterious were the ways of the Divines.

The voice of Aiwesh—didn't answer.

5

Standing in the line for food, Izumi eventually stirred from her dark thoughts and then directed a question to her massive companion.

“That duke boy, I wonder what he's like?”

“Boy?” General Grohn looked amused behind his beard. “He is not much younger than myself, milady! Or do you mean to insinuate that I appear that youthful in your eyes? In that case, I must thank you kindly for the compliment.”

“Eeh, he's not? But he looks...” Izumi glanced at the platform again. “Well, I guess it doesn't matter.”

“What, this can't be the first time you see his excellency in person?” the man exclaimed, raising his thundering voice in surprise.

Wondering if she had somehow exposed herself with her comment, Izumi hurried to explain, “Ah, no, well, yes, it was to properly introduce myself that I took his invitation, of course! Being all new as a Baroness and so on!”

“I see!” the General nodded. “That is very well done of you, lady Ilyene! But, if that is your purpose, then why wait? Let us go see him right away! The delicacies will not run out on us, I'm sure, but look, good old Norenbagh is up there, ripe for the taking.”

“Eeeh!?” Izumi was again caught off-guard by her unlikely ally's straightforwardness. The thought of approaching the last boss before the story mode was cleared hadn’t seemed like an option in her mind. Neither did she want to face Yuliana like this and risk being exposed as a poser. After all, there was a very real chance that the princess was still upset with her for the earlier betrayal and would have her thrown in jail. “I-is that really all right? For us to bother such important people…? The princess is there too! A real princess...! My heart couldn't take it…!”

“Throw away all modesty there, milady!” General Grohn only laughed at her anxieties. “I dare list the good Duke among my closest friends. I've gone hunting in his merry company, and in the company of his late father a good many times, and would trust him my back anytime, anywhere. He will not fail us, you will see! Let us go congratulate the couple on their engagement! That is our duty as his guests! But, this is a bit funny, I was under the impression he was already married…?”

And so, against Izumi's feeble resistance, the huge General took her hand in his and led her away from the buffet line, up the stairs, to where the Duke remained, having just sent away his fresh bride.

“Norenbagh, my bugger!” the General greeted his old hunting partner. “It has been too long!”

In stark contrast, the Duke grimaced, looking anything but pleased to meet his old friend. Being a Duke in appearance only and even less of an old friend. The quick smile with which he received the approaching visitors was pitifully crooked.

“Isn’t this a pleasure…ow!”

“What a party you've set up, you old coot,” the General tightly gripped the Duke's hand, recalling the build of someone sturdier than the actual person. “I always thought you were humble to a fault, but I am not displeased by the change, not in the least. Your age started bearing that heavily on you? Well, let me tell you, when I hear the word 'feast', this is precisely the kind of a scene I have in mind.”

“I'm glad it's to your liking...General,” the young man responded with effort, shaking his brutalized hand.

“Ooh, general! Who’s general?” the guest shook his head in displeasure. “There are no generals between you and I! Didn't we become brothers over the heartblood of that Anceller we slayed? Hahaha! Your head so nearly went flying, if not for the bolt that I loosened when I did! Those were the times! What do you say?”

“Indeed, times were had. 'My friend'.”

“But you're settling down for good now? Got yourself a real princess, did you? I thought you said a woman of your own town was all you ever wanted? Indeed, I thought you already had one? Whatever happened to her? Olivia, was she? Something or the other. Well, I suppose sending off your old wench in favor of a younger princess is a temptation no man can profess resistance to. But I never took you for one of that sort. By the way, where is the new damsel?” the General looked around, as if expecting to see Yuliana hiding somewhere behind the flowerpots. “I thought I should congratulate her ladyship in person. I once saw her at a parade in the capital, back when she was only a wee little lass by her father's coattails. How quickly they grow!”

“I'm very sorry to disappoint you,” the Duke said, “but my fiancée felt ill and has retired to her quarters. She's still drained by the troubles of her stormy journey and for upsetting her dear father. You know the women. Like delicate flowers, easily withered.”

“'The wife's strength is her husband's strength. I want myself no feather, but a rock to fall upon'—Those were your very own words, weren't they, Norenbagh,” the General reminded, a bit taken aback. “So people grow, but even after growing up, they yet change! Dear me! I suppose you started to fashion yourself a gardener in your old days, after everything, when you speak so of flowers.”

“Well, a man's tastes are hard to grasp and ever evolving,” the imposter answered, his smile getting only more forced. “And I do have my position to remember. Men of power live not only for themselves but their land, and that land stands only ever as strong as they lift it.”

“I thought each man is free as a bird and even kings are only brothers of men! That is what the Luctretzian spirit is about. What you're saying now sounds a whole lot like pompous imperial garbage to me. You haven't fallen in with that lot, have you?”

“Not by a longshot, haha...” In an effort to distract the prying General, the Duke turned his attention to Izumi. “Excuse my demented memory—it has only been getting worse in my old days—but I'm not looking at your wife here, am I?”

General Grohn cheered up at once,

“Alas, not! This lovely lady here would be the fresh Baroness Ilyene of Letham, whom I've had the pleasure of accompanying on this fine eve!”

“Hello-hello,” Izumi greeted in a hollow tone and bowed like a high school student. “I’m Ilyene. Nice to meet you. Let's get along, your duke-ness.”

“Er, right,” the Duke's frown wasn't getting better. “Correct me if I'm mistaken, but was not the former Baron without an heir? I was quite certain he had willed the city of Grelden to inherit his lands?”

“That's right, that's right,” Izumi went along with the story, “what would I do with land anyway, I'm comfortable just being a Baroness. I wouldn't make for a good farmer, ehehe.”

“Very humorous, milady,” the man dryly remarked. “Nearly all the wine in southern Luctretz is produced by the vineyards of Letham, including what we serve here tonight. And good wine, as you can well see, is never without takers. If I were in your shoes, I wouldn't have let such a goldmine slip from my hands.”

“Maybe you wouldn't, but I'm not too keen on gold, really,” Izumi innocently smiled, “I already have more than one old woman needs of that sort.”

“Well said, milady!” the General joined in. “A roof over your head, a stuffed belly and the jolly crackling of fire in the hearth—what else do human beings, noble or not, need to be happy? Those are the things I miss the most in the cold garrisons of the capital—not gold. Bah! I've found that there is nothing that brings more trouble in the lives of simple folk.”

“Simple folk,” the Duke repeated, his smile slightly less forced this time, but not an ounce more friendly.

Izumi glanced at the robed figure in the background.

The General still hadn't paid so much as a look to the eerie, attention-grabbing shadow looming so close by. The strange wizard hadn't said a word either or moved from his position. Everyone, including the person himself, appeared content with simply pretending he didn't exist.

But Izumi did see him in perfect clarity.

Looking closer, she saw that the boy had long, pointy ears.

An elf?

Seeing a real elf for the first time in her life, Izumi immediately became filled with giddy, childish excitement. Then she realized the elf was staring straight back at her.

Quickly pretending she was merely looking around, Izumi kept turning her head like an owl, until her neck reached its limits. Then, mimicking a surveillance camera, she slowly rotated back the other way. But the glare fixed at her wasn't released. Rather, it only gained in intensity. And animosity.

“Well! Please enjoy the night, General, Baroness,” the conversation had paused and the Duke decided it was the opportune moment to make his retreat. “I am deeply sorry, but as the host, there are still many more menial matters that demand my attention. If there is anything you need, don't hesitate to turn to my servants. And please look forward to the fireworks.”

“It was a moment to reminisce with a good friend that I needed, but I suppose the stock on that has run out.” Begrudgingly accepting the cue, General Grohn turned from his not-so-old friend and held out his colossal hand to Izumi, “Shall we?”

Izumi wasn't too sorry to follow the upright soldier back down the stairs and escape the sorcerer's glare. But behind her back, she could faintly hear the Duke turn to his elusive companion with a hushed command,

“Get rid of those two for me, will you? They mean nothing but trouble.”

6

Primal terror unlike anything she had experienced numbed Yuliana's legs as she walked. The guards were taking her across the backyard, past the stables, towards a longhouse built on the northern side of the hill, in the embrace of a little grove. That was where the knights stationed at the Duke's estate had their quarters, a distance away from the main house.

Though they were officially associated with the Luctretzian royal army division dedicated to Grelden's defense, these troops were in reality all handpicked by the false Duke and his associates, their loyalties closer to the kingdom of currency.

More than a few had background as lowly mercenaries, bounty hunters, even bandits, who never went through proper military training, and had no discipline to speak of. They were knighted on paper and bore their uniforms for appearances only. Wolves in armor, motivated by earthly gain and nothing more.

Whatever ideals or values they might have held in the past had been chipped away by years of harsh life in the wild, before being hired for more stable service, and because of that, they held no particular sympathy for the people they were supposed to protect.

The purpose behind the assembly of this haphazard brigade was simple—to guard the Empire's spies, even if that meant going against their colleagues in the town guard or the citizens of Grelden themselves.

The false Mayor was better than aware that to maintain the loyalty of his guard corps, more than a steady flow of copper, bread, and wine was needed. He sought to bind the guards tighter to his cause through various acts of villainy. Instead of trying to quell their less noble characteristics, he wordlessly encouraged them. He turned a blind eye to hazing and abuse, and assigned corporeal punishments and extended service for made up reasons, all to keep the men on edge and angry. Thieves, beggars, and wanderers caught in the Haywell fields faced no law but imprisonment and torture in the hands of the bored guards.

To balance the purposefully poor treatment, their lord bought them women, food, and drink at excess with the city's funds, disregarding their occasional drunken brawls.

Lawless and disordered, the Duke's guard platoon over time slipped into superficially contained anarchy, converting the once fair Haywell estate into a veritable nest of banditry in the process.

Foul rumors began to circulate in the area and Grelden's guards detested their colleagues in the Mayor's service, but, unable to openly oppose the city's leader, they were helpless before the rumors of atrocities. Their respect for the past lord of the land now allowed his disguised imposter to control them.

And it was the very home of those loathsome villains, where they were now taking the princess of Langoria.

“You can't do this to me,” Yuliana told the knights escorting her. “Let me go now, and I will forgive you. I will speak on your behalf when your master is brought to the justice he deserves.”

“Sure can talk, this one,” the guard walking on her right grunted.

“The tongue at least is practiced then,” the one on the left added.

“I am your superior in rank, you don’t have the right to lay a finger on me!”

“To this day, I have not learned the difference between the ass of a princess and the ass of a whore. Not that I've had the chance to do a thorough comparison before. Every day's full of firsts, ainnit?”

“Animals,” the princess looked away in disgust.

“Humans are animals, yes,” the guard replied. “It was no goddess that pushed you into this world either, bloodied and screaming, and no more was a god that lad who did the deed before. At least we're honest about it.”

“Just shut up,” the third knight at the front urged. “You're getting on my nerves with your blabber.”

“Oh, now I know where I lost my axe,” the knight on the right remarked after a pause, “seems I left it up your ass, Milfred. And sideways to boot.”

“Don't call me that,” the knight apparently called Milfred retorted, but wouldn't stop walking.

“Ah yes, you were the new one, Millie. Both in the guard and in life. Haven't had a chance with a woman yet, have ya? Don't worry. You just might get lucky tonight. You'll loosen up after that. Though not as much as her majesty, I'm afraid.”

The longhouse was getting closer.

With each successive step, listening to the vulgar exchange, Yuliana's distress deepened.

The sun had already set an hour ago.

It was the domain of the night and the Lord of Light could not manifest her power at will. Not without Yuliana performing the ritual. But would she have the chance to perform the ritual? She had to try. Once she was locked inside that house, she knew she would be done for. It was now or never.

“My lord—I beseech thee...” she spoke. Fear made every word feel unbearably heavy and stick in her throat. She was shaking, her teeth clattering and could barely breathe.

“Hey, it's too soon to be calling me a lordship,” one of the knights interrupted her, leaning closer to grab her waist. Too close. Yuliana quickly twisted herself to avoid him.

“Why, you bastard, she was talking to me, clearly!” the second knight reached out to shove his companion by the shoulder.

“Well, soon she'll be too busy to talk to anybody! For there's better use for the part of her that's usually reserved for saying things.”

As the conversation kept turning more and more colorful and Yuliana's face a darker shade of gray and green, they reached the building. There was another knight keeping the door. Seeing her time had come, Yuliana made one last, desperate attempt to turn and run. But her grandiose dress projected her moves too early, and the knight to her left was more alert than his lazy impression implied. He quickly stuck the bottom half of his halberd in the way and stopped her.

“Not so fast, oho!” he roughly levered her towards the door. “This ain't my first time at the rodeo, you know. Been catchin' hares since before I could talk.”

The second knight wasted no time to grab the princess by her arm and forcefully dragged her inside the house with him. There was no way for Yuliana to fight back. The armored glove held her like a vice. Without her gear, without a weapon of even the most primitive sort, she might as well have been but a child. She had planned to steal a knife or a fork from the banquet tables, but not even that opportunity had been given to her.

The knights crammed in through the narrow entrance, the princess with them, and the door fell shut with a heavy bang.

The trap was closed.

There was no longer any chance of escape.

The longhouse was a simple hall on the inside with a large, stone-made fireplace constructed in the middle, its massive chimney towering through the ceiling. Long dining tables on both sides of the fireplace divided the space lengthwise. By the walls, there were simplistic bunk beds for less than ninety guards, of whom thirty or so were present, free of duty. The banquet demanded heavier than usual security, but shifts would be changed at midnight, so no one was asleep. Soon enough, some thirty rude pairs of eyes were fixed at Yuliana, who stood out in her crimson dress like a blooming orchid on a dungheap.

Stepping forward to stand comically in attention, one of her escorts tore off his pot-like helmet and announced with a deep bow,

“Allow me to present to you, the crown princess of Langoria, Yuliana Da-da-daa. I've been told she is entirely unfamiliar with the finer workings of male anatomy, and it is our lord's humble wish for us to make her a scholar in the field.”

Mean laughter filled the room.

To keep seeing their faces, Yuliana squeezed her eyes shut and grit her teeth, wanting nothing more but for Death's hand to claim her before any of theirs.

7

Like a shadow, Riswelze leaped over the outer perimeter wall crowning the hill with the manor. So far everything had gone better than expected. Weed grew faster than wheat and, left uncared, a batch south of the hill had reached tall enough to mask her approach. Following the sun's setting behind the distant hills, the chances of being detected were further lowered. The ease with which she had found her way inside the manor grounds made the assassin embarrassed for exaggerating the job’s difficulty to Izumi. She was confident she could have robbed the few passing patrols of their helmets and they would not have noticed.

The estate was more heavily guarded than it usually would've been, with three active patrols on each side of the building and several stationary watchmen at strategic positions by the wall. But most of the security detail was focused in the festival area in the front yard and the others were clearly bored and displeased with their part. There was not an ounce of alertness in their conduct. No one appeared to expect uninvited visitors.

And Riswelze had her tricks.

Using a spell she had learned over the years, Cloak of Darkness, she masked her appearance and advanced. The magic didn't make her outright invisible, but so long as she remained stationary in the shade, her figure was difficult to tell apart from its surroundings, even at a close distance. Encouraged by her rapid progress, she had crossed over the wall without waiting for the agreed distraction by the fireworks.

None of her earlier doubts remained. She was back in her element.

Still, the girl extinguished the sense of excitement as soon as it emerged in her heart, silencing even her thoughts.

The key to a successful infiltration was patience, as she well knew.

The assassin moved in quick, short bursts, from one hiding spot to another, which the thick fruit trees growing around the manor provided in abundance. Each time she stopped, she remained perfectly still for a while, as if turned one with the earth she walked, and waited. She observed the holes in the defenses and patrol routes and always made sure to plan her moves three steps ahead.

Her search for the Duke's treasury was best started from his office, which Riswelze knew to be located on the topmost floor of the main building. Her associate inside had revealed it to her, as well as many other invaluable details regarding the place and its protections.

Yet not even this insider knew where Grelden's Mayor kept his gold. Most of the man's finances were of course safe in the town bank, but he had to keep a considerable stash of coin at hand for any sudden expenses—those that were best left unbooked, in particular. Riswelze had never known a noble without such dealings under the table.

Reaching the base of the main building after the last patrol had passed, the assassin soundlessly climbed up the drainage pipe with the agility of a squirrel. It didn't take her many heartbeats to reach the edge of the roof on the third floor and fling herself over it. No watchmen were positioned on top of the manor itself. The path was clear.

Ahead of her stood the dark windows of the smaller fourth floor, the windows of the Duke's office facing the sunrise.

But before approaching them to break in, Riswelze couldn't resist but turn and take a look at the breathtaking view spreading below her boots.

The Haywell hill, adorned with the countless lanterns of the festival, as well as the dark, silent fields encircling it, extending all the way into the distance where the night's thick curtains veiled the horizon....As she overcame this brief instance of what she labeled as “girlish sentimentality” and was about to turn back to the task at hand, something unexpected caught Riswelze's sharp gaze.

A girl in a red dress being led across the backyard by a trio of knights, towards the longhouse on the other side. Even from that distance, Riswelze easily identified the knight princess of Langoria.

The Duke doesn't value royalty much, does he?

The assassin wasn't innocent enough not to understand the situation. But even as she pitied the princess as a fellow woman, that pity alone was not enough to make her run to her aid.

You cannot save everyone—Riswelze had learned that lesson at a young age when empathy still tormented her. For each soul she had risked herself and endured great pains to rescue from the horrors of the underworld, tens more perished in ways far more abominable.

The girl's heart had quickly become hardened, her mind numbed to the suffering of others. There was no way she could have gone on living otherwise. Had she allowed every cry of anguish to shake her, every death and injury dishearten her, her soul would've sank into delirium and madness in a matter of weeks.

To preserve the integrity of her spirit, lines had to be drawn.

If an obstacle was impossible to overcome, why challenge it?

To survive, she had to pick her battles. The princess had failed in this basic task, as had so many others who overestimated their luck and ability. The rewards of stupidity were immediate and always deserved. Such was the law of the wild.

Terrible waste, but ultimately not related to Riswelze herself in any way.

Rather, the guards having one more thing to keep them occupied was only to the benefit of her thievery. Trying to help the princess would have meant giving up on the heist and escaping empty-handed. If escape was even possible anymore at that point.

Riswelze turned her back on the captive and took a step forward.

Yet, her oddly reluctant feet soon stopped.

Though she reassured herself in all sincerity that the princess meant nothing to her, something still bothered her.

The princess was someone of importance to Itaka Izumi.

Hadn't the woman come here just to find her companion? She had been willing to walk into peril not for coin, but only for Yuliana's sake.

Riswelze had always thought deep down that rescuing the princess was nonsense, but so long as it helped her to the Duke's riches, which she hadn't dared to pursue before, any assistance was welcome. She shouldn't have concerned herself with the pair any further than that.

But concerned she was.

The way the two had acted at the inn, at the market, in the blacksmith's shop—observing them from the shadows, Riswelze had been filled with a mysterious, ambiguous feeling that confused her thoughts.

It was an annoyance, a distraction, but at the same time strangely gentle.

Familial longing.

What would Izumi do if she found her companion too late?

She'd be heartbroken, for sure.

She'd be crushed, perhaps even to the point of losing her will to live.

Thinking about that, Riswelze shuddered. She didn't want to see it. Even after all the horrors she had witnessed in her life, it was unbearable as a mere thought. Itaka Izumi's tears and anguish were one thing she knew for certain she never wanted to behold, if only she could help it.

“Blast it.”

Turning away from the office room windows, the assassin dropped over the edge of the roof. Sliding down the wall from window sill to the next, Riswelze jumped to the ground and hurried to the guardhouse, a feverish compulsiveness driving her.

Fortunately, the backyard wasn't that heavily guarded.

With the outer wall and exits manned, the odds of any trespasser making it here, to the heart of the estate, were next to nil. And even if they did, there was nothing of value to steal right next to the beehive that was the guardhouse.

Avoiding the eyes of the solitary man on the door, Riswelze circled behind the longhouse and sneaked a peek through the windows.

The knights had made the princess start stripping atop one of the long tables in the middle of the hall, while the audience cheered excitedly.

Simply sneaking in, snatching the girl from under the noses of all those armed men, before escaping would have been impossible even for a god of thieves. A distraction was necessary. If Riswelze had no way in, the others had to come out. It was going to mess up the plan, Izumi hadn't yet launched the fireworks. The guards would all crowd here, when the plan had been to attract them away. But there was no choice.

With her index finger, Riswelze quickly traced a small pattern on the wall of the longhouse, and muttered,

“Brandt.”

The rune of ignition. The pattern lightened up with a faint glow, and the wooden wall around it suddenly caught fire. Bright tongues of flame quickly started to cover more area and grow in size.

Quickly leaving her hiding spot, Riswelze dashed into the woods behind the building. Whatever would happen next, she had to put distance between herself and the scene of the crime. In a matter of minutes, dozens of angry knights would be flooding out of the building and whoever would be unlucky enough to get judged guilty for the disruption wouldn't see another day, if lucky.

But at least they wouldn't be going back to their games anytime soon. She would think of her next move after.

However, Riswelze didn't make it that far.

There was something the assassin didn't know about the Haywell estate.

Something even her associate inside didn't know, and so had no way of sharing with her.

The Duke's residence was not guarded by knights alone.

In the darkness of the grove, a shadow blacker than the rest suddenly appeared to block the fleeing girl's path. By the time she realized it wasn't a natural obstacle, it was too late. That abruptly appeared, formless abyss raised its hand and mumbled something. A projectile out of nowhere, hard and heavy, shot forth, striking the assassin in the chest with the force of a sledgehammer, as she reached for her knives. A huge chunk of ice, it shattered by the force of the impact, the pieces raining on the girl as she was knocked on her back on the ground. Though her vest was reinforced, the blow was hard enough to force the air out of her lungs. Her sides hurting, gasping for breath, Riswelze saw through her blurry vision a figure robed in black approach her.

“You would dare to employ your inane scripts in my domain, child of man?” The sorcerer, Joviél, looked down at her, disgust in his cold eyes. “For that, you will know a thousand deaths.”

Riswelze tried to lift herself, but the intense pain wringing her ribs made the effort impossible. Her consciousness slowly fading, she forced her head to turn, to look behind her, and what she saw—or more like, what she failed to see—made her brow contort in disbelief.

There was neither fire nor smoke visible anywhere near the longhouse.

Her trick had failed. She had gambled everything—and lost everything.

Chapter 5: The Lord of Light Keeps Things in the Dark

1

Things were starting to look just a little grim.

“Good heavens, milady, you're drinking me to perdition at this rate! Where did you say you were from, again? The only women I've seen hold their liquor like this painted their faces to hide the growth of their beards!”

In spite of his comment, General Grohn was barely showing hints of intoxication. His mood was improving by the minute, his already loud voice getting even louder, and keeping his articulation precise demanded increasing effort, yet he retained too clear a situational awareness to allow Izumi to slip from his company.

As they enjoyed the banquet's offerings after parting ways with the Duke, the situation had somehow evolved into a drinking contest. Starting from an innocent remark by Izumi, which the General had taken as a humorous challenge, they soon ended up downing cup after cup of Letham's famous red wine.

It was clear that the people of this land paid no heed to the earthly regulations regarding the percentage of alcohol allowed in a drink for it to be considered wine. Or perhaps Izumi's understanding of the common language of Ortho didn't translate the concepts too accurately? Either way, with faith in her high tolerance, Izumi had seen here a classic cinematic opportunity to get rid of her unexpected courter and move along with the plan to locate the fireworks and Yuliana.

It had proved easier said than done.

“Whatever do you mean, General?” she said with a fake smile. “If you feel you've had your fill, then feel free to set down the cup.”

“Ha, ha, ha!” the man laughed in response. “I would hardly dare show my face at the garrison again, knowing I've been outdone in a game of cups by someone who wasn't born wearing a chainmail! Though I must question how come you still look this lucid, my fair rival...?”

“It's all about guts, old man. Guts,” Izumi innocently answered.

“You speak like a sailor, milady!” General Grohn raised his drink, attempting to gather himself. His gaze was starting to wander, but his expression turned softer. “Not that I hate that about a woman. Yes, not at all. My late wife was rather foul-mouthed, if I may say so. Not to speak poorly of the dead, no. No offense. Divines judge me! I considered her verbal readiness always a cause for pride. To sting like a bee, yet turn to honey when needs be. Yes, I rather like that about a woman...”

As the alcohol was beginning to take effect, the man's lobster-toned face started to show more of his underlying motivations, which he had with flawed but nevertheless admirable effort contained behind the gentlemanly exterior so far.

“My, do I resemble your wife that much?” Izumi asked.

“No, to be honest, not in the least,” the General shook his head. “She was a fine woman and I loved her dearly. Too early was she taken from me. But you, my lady...put even the renown imperial nobles to shame with your looks, and the rest with your spirit. Trust me. I have seen a sample of feminine beauty or two in my lifetime. And you are blessed. Most certainly blessed, to the highest degree, and what I wouldn't do to...Whose turn was it again?”

“Yours.”

“Ah, yes, mine it must be, then. Here's to the dearly departed.” The General raised his cup and drank it empty. “But listen to me go, on and on. I tend to prattle a lot when plastered, I know. You sure landed a goldmine with your vineyards, o’ Baroness of Letham, on that I may agree with our host, douche though he has become. But do tell me more about yourself, I implore you. Is there any quality in which I share a likeness to your husband?”

“Fireworks!” Izumi exclaimed, in a desperate attempt to both avoid the topic and get on with the program. It's not like she was immune to the drink herself.

“Fireworks?” the General repeated.

“Yes, we're at a banquet, so where are the fireworks!? I was promised there were going to be some. I so love fireworks! We'd always go view some on a New Year’s Eve and it never felt like a forced social event at all! Where could he be hiding those things, that no-good Duke! I really wish to see some explosions. Now. Right away. As soon as possible. We can't let another minute go to waste!”

“Ooh, indeed, there are always some!” The General went along with the change of subject. “How beautifully they light up the skies, visible even from the streets of the town. Through their blaze, even the poor citizens can get their share of the festival spirit, a glimpse of something perhaps a bit better...”

“Then all the more reason to get things going. Yes! I shall go look for them at once.” Izumi turned to leave.

“I cannot allow you do to that, milady!” the General quickly stopped her.

Izumi froze, feeling the stabbing eyes of the nearby people on her.

“...Not alone, I mean. Yes, let us go and see what's with the hold-up! I’ll give those organizers a piece of my mind!”

Sighing in relief, Izumi followed after the bear-like man, who proceeded to stride up to the nearest servant. “You there, good man. Tell me where you keep your rockets!?”

“R-rockets?” The servant was momentarily stunned by the out-of-nowhere request by the loud, hairy giant decorated with gold.

“Yes, my lovely companion here wants blazes, damn it! Where have you stashed your fire and brimstone? Out with it, in the name of his young majesty's boyhood!”

“T-they're in the shed, your excellency, behind the corner,” the servant answered. “But, it is not midnight yet. Please be patient. They will soon be transported to the roof to be launched.”

“Oh, we're just going have a look, you flank-lanker. Why don't you refill my cup and the lady's too meanwhile, we shan't be for long.”

Shoving his own and Izumi's wine cups into the servant's hands, the General left the confused man and marched off in the direction he'd been given.

This turned out easier than I imagined.

Escorted chivalrously by the arm, Izumi followed General Grohn, and in this fashion, the two exited the banquet area. None of the knights standing in guard at the sides dared to block the imposing General's path.

Going around the corner of the building, they came to a garden. On the other side of it, beyond the bushes trimmed in the shape of a fascinating little maze, beds of fantastic flowers and another, smaller fountain of marble, stood a two-story storage building. Though it was modestly called a storage, a family of five could’ve lived there comfortably. That was apparently the place where they kept the fireworks, on top of various other goods.

“How do they make the fireworks here anyway?” Izumi pondered, as they walked through the garden. “Do they use gunpowder too? But if it there’s gunpowder, then how come there aren’t any firearms?”

“What powder? Fire-arms? Would those be things of Cotlann, milady?” the General asked.

“W-well, you get gunpowder by mixing saltpeter and what was it again? Sulfur?” the woman tried to explain, but the cups of wine she'd enjoyed made the chemistry difficult to convey. “If you set fire on it, it blows up and burns stuff. And then, if you shove the mixture in a hollow pipe of steel with a ball of led on top, the pressure shoots the led at like, bazillion miles per hour and kills anybody in the blink of an eye...And that would win all wars for you nice and easy.”

“Salty pepper and—what in the blazes are you talking about?” General Grohn cackled. His confusion probably wouldn't have been any lesser, had he been sober. “Are you an alchemist too, by chance, lady Ilyene? You sure are full of surprises! But I must say, this is precisely why I am firmly of the conviction that women have no place on the battlefield. Pipes of steel and balls of led? Bwahahaha! Divines smite me! Pardon me! But let me tell you, my good lady, no soldier in their right mind would ever willingly clutch a weapon that explodes in his hands! That is what we here in Luctretz call, a suicide!”

“Well, it's not so big of an explosion…” Izumi sourly argued.

“Oh, so it would be a small explosion then?” The man ridiculed her. “Could you make a moderate-sized explosion as well? Or perhaps so big of an explosion it wipes out whole armies at once? Kingdoms, even! But then we wouldn't need men with pipes in the first place, would we? It would just be explosions, one after another! Hahaha! Perhaps I should declare myself the winner of our little contest, after all? Eh? Hahahahaha!”

The General continued to laugh so hard he couldn’t walk straight.

It wasn't that funny.

“Geez...” Offended Izumi pouted and gave up on the introduction to modern warfare.

The door of the storage house was left wide open since servants had to come and go all the time. For similar reasons, there were no guards stationed nearby either. Probably half because they would’ve gotten in the way of the workers, and half because the Duke feared they would be tempted to steal the inventory.

Besides the two floors above ground, there was also an underground cellar in the building, for goods that required storing at a lower temperature.

The General brazenly stepped in through the doorway, Izumi along.

A cursory examination revealed there were certainly fireworks inside.

The entire back half of the first floor was full of crates loaded to the brim with colorful rockets, all handmade. There had to have been hundreds of them. They had no plastic wrappers or colorful logos, but still followed the iconic, universal rocket design identical to those on Earth. Some of them were big enough to not fit in any crates and were left to stand against the walls. The organizers certainly hadn't spared expenses planning the show.

Izumi wanted to disassemble one of the rockets to see how it was made, but General Grohn made this plan evaporate from her mind.

“Now,” he said in a lowered, affectionate tone, turning to face Izumi and taking a step closer. “It's just the two of us here.”

“Huh?”

“I know. I feel the same way,” the man reached out his hand and gently traced the line of Izumi's cheek with his bulky fingers. “Surely it was fate that brought our kindred hearts together tonight. Yes, I saw straight away that I had my match in you, Ilyene. That the Divines had at last granted me a second chance at life. No, you are certainly in all respects more than I deserve. I didn't dare to even dream that you'd answer my clumsiness with acceptance. Yet you did. I am most glad.”

“G-general…?”

“Please, Ilyene. Call me Matis.”

Izumi was struck speechless.

In one moment, her mind cleared up enough for her to realize how her sudden proposal to withdraw from the banquet’s commotion had to have appeared to her companion. What other non-criminal purpose could there be in a female leading a male to a secluded place, if not imminent acts of intimacy?

With her wine-induced tunnel vision, thinking only about the operation, Izumi had unwittingly taken such a bold initiative, which she would have been too timid to even fantasize about otherwise.

“...Ha.”

This sudden enlightenment overloaded her already burdened consciousness, overheating her brain and leaving her completely dumbfounded, her expression frozen on her face.

Gently but firmly guiding her chin upward, the tall man leaned forward.

Lewd imagery filled Izumi's distressed mind, enhanced by a life-long consumption of pornographic imagery online. In her mind's eye flashed very lively and detailed visions of a man and a woman engaged in a rough, beastly love-making in the middle of a room full of explosives.

Eeeeeeeeeeeeeehhhhhh!?

The perverse scenario provided simply too much stimulation.

Too much, too much, it was all too much.

But while Izumi's brain was busied by a crossfire of chaotically discharging synapses, General Grohn considered her silent immobility a sign of consent, and brought his bearded face even closer. Their lips were mere inches apart, and Izumi still remained hopelessly undecided on whether the sudden change of business was wanted or not.

Well, a kiss at least should be fine, right?

By the age of thirty-eight, Izumi had never kissed anyone on the lips, not even her own family. Wasn't this good a chance as any to get rid of one persisting source of embarrassment? Surely there were worse ways for it to happen. Who knew when she might get another opportunity? Here, in this place, her life could start over from zero in every area and aspect, unshackled by the mistakes of her youth. Trying to convince herself with such ideas, Izumi squeezed her eyes shut and waited, hearing only her rampant pulse in her ears.

But nothing happened.

The General had suddenly stopped moving.

Chuck.

“Hm?”

The hand holding her chin suddenly grew weirdly cold. Stepping back, startled, Izumi looked up at the man and saw General Grohn's face stilled in a silly expression of astonishment.

Actually, it was quite literally frozen.

Izumi moved her gaze downward and saw that there was something resembling a jewel, a diamond, stuck in the man's chest, sharply pointing outward through the coat front. She soon realized that it wasn't a simple decoration that had somehow gone unnoticed before, but a large icicle protruding all the way through his torso, from the backside. The deadly piece of ice drained heat from its surroundings with unnatural rapidness, freezing the large man from inside out.

General Olliver Matis Grohn was already dead as a rock, his heart impaled by a curse. His outstretched arm, frozen solid, broke off under its own enormity. As his legs lost their flexibility, his unevenly positioned mass made him soon dip forward. That tall body hit the shed's stone floor and shattered into large chunks of frozen meat.

Izumi had been lucky. Had she remained in contact with him for but a few seconds longer, the curse would've reached her as well.

Stepping aside to keep from being crushed under the corpse, Izumi turned her alarmed attention to the front part of the room, looking for the source of the deadly projectile.

And saw a figure robed in black stand in the beam of light cast from the doorway.

“You are…?”

“So you do see me?” Joviél the sorcerer noted, slight surprise in his unhurried tone. “How ironic that you should live past the noon of your brief existence, only to discover your potential at the hour of your nightfall.”

“I'm really not in the shape to follow purple prose like that,” Izumi said, “but are you the one running things around here? Because it was about time somebody looking like a boss made an appearance.”

“Drunken fool,” the elf snorted in disgust. “You know not your own Death when you see it?”

“Death?”

“Yes. Meaningless to me as your existence is, the lord of this house wishes for your demise. And so it shall be.”

“So you're not the last boss but just an underling? Even though you look that evil? Then does that mean the Duke has more HP than you do? Don't tell me he's one of those guys, who only look human but transform into some kind of a gross beast when you get them down to one-third of their health? That would really be a pain.”

Joviél grimaced. The woman was mad, blabbering incomprehensible things instead of begging for her life. Then again, sometimes they did that. The fear of death could drive humans insane, and make them sink into their own little world, where nothing could reach them anymore.

Appalled, the sorcerer raised his staff to repeat the spell.

Inoviath. Icicle of Vile Frost.

The curse meant instant death to any mortal, chilling their very cells.

Simply touching it was enough.

So long as it could be successfully cast, that is.

In the next moment, something flew at the elf.

He shielded himself instinctively with his arms and felt something hit painfully his left wrist. A block of ice? The woman had kicked a frozen piece of the General's corpse at him? The shameless disrespect for the deceased was stunning, after how intimate they had seemed but a minute ago. He had no time to marvel at the human degeneracy any further, however, as something struck Joviél again, in the face, past his guard.

“Gah—!” Dull pain flared through the left side of his head like an electric jolt, making him stagger a step back. Half of his vision was gone, covered in black. His left eye—he couldn't see, he was blinded. What had happened? Had the woman thrown another piece at him? As he looked for the cause, he turned and realized the human was already standing right beside him. “What…!?”

The sorcerer backed away, but the staircase to the upper floor blocked his way and he stumbled.

“You're not very good playing a ranged class, are you?” Izumi remarked. “Why would you, as a caster, ever try to fight someone in close quarters, in a cramped little room like this? If those corny robes are anything to go by, your physical defense is a big round zero and your reflexes honestly aren't too great either. If you were going to kill us, why didn't you ambush us in the garden instead? It doesn't matter if anybody is around, since you're invisible to them, right? Second, since this is a world with realistic combat, it doesn't seem you wizards have anything handy like a lock-on targeting system but have to rely on your eyesight, right? Then what good do you think you are in a fight—if you have no eyes?”

There was something in the woman's fingers. Something small, round and covered in blood. In horror, Joviél realized that it was an eyeball. His own left eye, gouged out of its socket. The piece of ice had been only a distraction, to buy the woman the few seconds she needed to get within the striking distance.

“By the way, I'm the daredevil type that gets reckless when she's drunk,” Izumi said, squashing the eye in her hand like a ripe grape, dark goo oozing between her fingers. “Would you mind telling me where I can find the princess? This eye doesn't seem to know. Maybe the other one is better informed? Or should I go for the tongue next? Ah, but it won't tell me anything if it's not attached to your body. Silly me!”

Daemon! Monster!

In a figurative blink of an eye, the elven magician had returned to his fabled city of birth, in the now lost land of Amarno. He recalled in high precision the hungry flames that had devoured his family mansion, the cries of his countrymen as they were trampled and slaughtered on the streets under the merciless invasion of the denizens of Daemonia. The primitive terror that gripped his heart now vividly reminded him of those traumatic days long gone, causing every last one of his spells to vanish from his memory, save for the one he was most accustomed to using.

And so, for the first time in his life that had spanned a reputable eight hundred years, Joviél of Elevro—ran from battle.

With a frantic wave of his hand, he opened a portal of shadows and slipped away from the storage room as quickly as he could.

Izumi saw him off with a pout.

“What's with the rush? Did it hurt?”

Unsure if the portal was the type you could see in wild science fiction flicks that simply severed anything going through it as it closed, she refrained from attempting to pursue the magician.

“So this is the kind of people Yule’s staying with?”

The unpleasant feeling Izumi had felt before was now rekindled within her, stronger.

And here she realized what it was: anger.

Fury Izumi had scarcely felt burned in her heart with unprecedented, uncontrollable ferocity.

It was not anger over the unjust murder of the General, or her own near-death experience. It was at base the overprotective, jealous fury of a mother hen, as she discovers her naive daughter has ended up in a bad company.

It was anger and dismay at herself, for not understanding to keep a closer eye on the girl. The feeble excuses like, “I'm not really even related to her,” and “we only met the day before yesterday,” seemed unforgivable now, silenced by the dark storm that rolled on without coherence, unrestrained by her intoxicated mind.

“Oh my. I might just be too upset for my own good now.”

2

The humiliation princess Yuliana had to go through meanwhile knew no bounds.

“—Over the seas raise bolder a gaze, brave the storm of the southern seas...!”

In an effort to buy herself some time to think and delay her fate, the princess had started singing. She was confident in her use of voice, honed through her role as a commanding officer, and for a while the audience did go along with the unrequested change in program.

Too bad, as a knight and a member of royalty brought up to follow a secluded and ascetic lifestyle, all Yuliana knew were old, corny Langorian ballads and marching rhymes. And simply having an audible voice never made anyone a good singer.

After a while, the limited selection was starting to make the crowd yawn, even as she bravely fought the overwhelming embarrassment in the presentation. Having to stand in front of this gallery of beasts in only her corset and underpants didn't exactly lessen the shame and it rendered her performance fairly rigid at best.

There had been a brief interruption a while ago, as someone had smelled smoke. Every place had been searched and a few men had gone to take a look outside, if something was on fire that wasn't supposed to be. What they found instead was part of the wall frosted, despite the fact that the spring night was a warm one. It had caused quite a bit of confusion and speculation, but eventually things had returned to usual.

And it didn't look like Yuliana would get called for an encore.

“I don't get these Langorian tunes,” one of the knights voiced his complaints. “How am I expected to ride into battle feeling all shitty inside, like after a night of hangover horrors and hemorrhoids? Don't you know anything, I don't know—cheerier?”

“Oh, we're in the company of a true bard then?” Yuliana retorted. “Then why don't you come up and put a show for us instead? The stage is all yours!”

“Why, I know a good dozen songs foxier than your weepers! Like here's one I learned from—”

“Oh, screw that!” another guard objected. “What is this, a sing-along night now? Am I supposed to rub one off to your midriff while humming the anthem, or what? Not too grand in terms of foreplay, in my opinion. It is high time the panties went off!”

“Are you completely out of your mind, you old goat?” a third knight exclaimed. “What kind of an order of things is that? First is the corset, obviously! The appetizers before the main course, did yer mum kick the bucket before teaching you even that!”

“Wasn't a custom in my house to take bed lessons from my mum. Maybe things were different in yours.”

“What the fock did you just say, whoreson!”

“Aye, my mum may have been a whore, but at least she had some standards. It wasn't a family business.”

“You're dead!”

In no time, the two were locked in a scuffle, with the others cheering their favorite on, instead of trying to stop them. Yuliana sighed, half outgrossed, half in relief for having delayed her fate a few more seconds. She had to find a way out.

“I say, who gives a shit about the order, so long as the chick gets undressed!” Someone eventually remembered the original topic. “And fast! The wyvern in my pants isn't going to wait much longer.”

This direct proposal gained quick support and the fighters begrudgingly broke off their brawl, in order to not be left last in the line. Chairs pulled for the musical part were busily kicked and thrown aside, more room cleared around the central table. Feeling like the last lamb left in the stall on a day of feast, Yuliana paled, trying to keep away from the outreached hands. Evading the scoundrels the best she could, she tried to call for a divine intervention once more,

“My lord, I beseech thee, hear me ‘o radiant sprite...Hiya!”

Someone managed to get a hold of the girl's ankle and pulled her out of balance. Without delay, her arms and legs were being tightly gripped by rough hands, and she struggled and kicked in vain to free herself.

“Grant me thy blessings…!”

“What is she, a witch!?”

“The whore's trying to put a spell on us! Don't let her talk!”

Someone forced a rag into Yuliana's mouth, interrupting the incantation.

The mood in the room sank visibly.

“Knew it was too good to be true,” someone spat. “A princess? Bah! Looks like the Duke got scammed.”

“Thank Divines I didn't have to pay for this tramp.”

“Well, she's got where it counts, doesn't she? I still can't tell a witch apart from a princess by the groin alone.”

“Like you could tell a goat apart from a high elf either, by the groin alone, you dumb fucker.”

“You mean there's a difference?”

Obnoxious laughter filled the hall.

This is it, then…?

Realizing she had no more cards to play, no strength to overpower her captors, Yuliana could only resign to her fate, as her remaining clothes were being violently torn from her.

—“Fire, fire!”

A sudden yell stopped the hands groping at her.

Everyone turned to look at the shouter, who in turn pointed at one of the rear windows. He hadn't been lying. There were undeniably flames licking the window sill behind the glass.

“What the bloody ghoul's ass is this?” Outrage and disbelief took over the knights at the second sighting of smoke tonight.

“Someone's clowning around!”

“Who the devil is it!?”

“What are you waiting for!?” an older knight hollered. “Go put it out! You five there. Search the around the house! Now!”

“Why the fuck do we have to go?” the unlucky guards protested. “Can't the bloody day shift do that? It's their job! I don't want to work my arse off while I'm not even on duty, just to swim in these asshats' sloppy leftovers!”

“Fine, fine, whatever! Nobody touches the wench until you get back! Just go get a word to the patrols, and put out that goddamn fire! Get a move on!”

“Ooh, come on!”

Those, who had no orders weren't pleased with having to wait longer. But to avoid being burned alive and another fistfight to top the day off with, the men did as they were told. Five went out to put out the fire, five left to look for the perpetrator and inform the guards presently on duty, and the rest impatiently waited. Though nobody's discomfort could compare with Yuliana's, who had to lie quietly on the table half-naked, a stinking rag in her mouth.

After a period that felt like a small lifetime, the guards returned.

Apparently, someone had gathered dry leaves and branches and set them on fire under the window. But whoever it was, they were long gone and not a trace of them was left.

“If only we had bloody dogs,” someone said.

“Can't help it, the Duke hates dogs.”

“Of course he does, the asshole. And who can say why? Not like he has to marry them!”

“Rather marries witches, what a fag.”

“Enough. Shall we finally get on with the show here?”

The knights started to throw away their armors and unbutton their trousers. Squeezing her eyes shut, biting the rag, Yuliana tried her best to close off her senses, shut away the outside world, and forget she had ever been born.

But that turned out impossible.

——BABAAAM!

At that moment, a loud sound of explosion shook the roof of the longhouse, making the window panels tingle. It was immediately followed by other, similar booming sounds of varying intensity, as if the heavens themselves had started to rupture.

It seemed someone had started the fireworks.

But it wasn't midnight yet. Why were they all going off so quickly and close by, instead of high in the sky? The guards listened on in silence, twisting their faces, confused. What was going on?

“You there, go see what's up this time!” the commanding officer ordered those nearest to the doorway.

Once again, scouts were deployed.

After another while of impatient waiting, one of them came running in.

“A fire! A fire!” he cried.

“Are you fucking kidding me!?”

The reception was not grateful.

“The storehouse is in flames!” the poor messenger shrieked. “With all the rockets and shit still inside! We're all gonna burn!”

“Lies!”

“It's true! I swear!”

“Then not even the Lord of bleeding Daemons can stop that shit now.”

“A few stray shots hit the front yard. The guest are in a downright frenzy! We need help to herd them out, or else they'll be all over the place like three hundred headless fucking chickens! That are smashed.”

“That's it then, boys,” the one who appeared to be the officer in charge stood up, displaying commendable nerve in the dire situation. “Everybody out. Fells, Malloy, Elson, you stay watch the witch. Twenty to the front gate, the rest to the well, buckets in hand.”

“Son of a bitch...”

As demoralizing as the news were, the guards weren't mad enough to ignore the reality outside but obediently gathered their gear, and left to save what was left to save of the Duke's party.

Yuliana, who knew nothing about the cause of the noise, was too exhausted and dejected to find any courage in the news. She was still being held down, gagged and with no one to save her. Rather, all she wanted was an end to the torturous switching of hope and despair, no matter what shape it took.

Who would grant that wish, if anyone?

3

Guards poured out of the longhouse to assist their struggling dayshift companions in containing the unexpected situation. Some went to retrieve buckets and water from the well, the rest hurried to the front yard to help direct the panicking guests out. A few braver departed in the direction of the colorful flames and explosions that raged on the other side of the manor, to assess the damage and see if anything could be done to save the loaded storage.

The first two in the latter group ran into an unexpected distraction along the way. Meeting them on the walkway, coming from the blazing garden's direction, was an older woman in a green dress.

A lost guest? Why was she there? How had she gotten past the other guards? If she was looking for a way out of the disordered estate, then her heading couldn't have been more mistaken.

Even under the circumstances, it never occurred to any of the guards that she could have had something to do with the disaster, that she might have used one of the lanterns in the garden to set the fireworks ablaze.

Ignoring the fiery inferno in the background, the woman smiled at the knights as she approached and asked,

“Excuse me, gentlemen, but would you happen to know where I may find the princess?”

The first guard at the front—a more civilized fellow—quickly considered crafting a quick lie about the royal guest having retired to her chambers due to exhaustion, but the continued string of green and violet flashes shooting out from the tall fire, accompanied by shrill whistles, made him lose patience before he got that far,

“Oh, none of your goddamn business, ma'am. Now get out of here, before I—”

The man couldn't make it any further.

Without stopping, the woman walked on, stepped in front him and grabbed the handle of the sword sticking from his belt. She unsheathed the weapon with a swift pull and shoved the blade up through the bottom of the guard's hefty jaw.

“My, my. Nobody seems to know,” she lamented absentmindedly, before tilting her head to ask the guard behind the first one. “Do you perhaps have an idea?”

Something made a banging noise behind.

The guard instinctively looked over his shoulder. The cause of the odd sound was his comrade's helmet dropping on the pavement, propelled from its owner's head by the tip of the sword sticking up from the pierced skull.

“Ha...?” Trying desperately to process what had just happened, the guard slowly faced forward again.

“Ha?” Izumi parroted, moving past the dead knight, who slowly fell on his face. “Would you like to elaborate a little?”

“T...the guardhouse...” the man breathed. He was too stunned to think about lying. “She's in the guardhouse.”

“Oh, is that so? Thank you very much.”

As she passed him, Izumi hit the man with a right hook, sinking her thumb and index finger through his eyesockets. Then, grabbing the bridge of his nose, she pulled the man's head sideways with her full weight, like spinning the roulette wheel, until his neck made a gut-wrenching noise and snapped.

“Now which one of these buildings here is the guardhouse? I suppose I'll have to ask the next one for that.”

More knights were running here and there around the backyard. Most of them were too busy to pause and question what a lone guest was doing so far away from the banquet area. The threat of the whole manor being burned down by stray rockets was more urgent.

One of them, however, spotted Izumi in the midst of the chaos and changed his course to approach her.

“Hey, your name's not...E-zoom-é, is it?” the knight stopped and asked, to the woman's surprise. He was younger than the others she had seen before, and his face didn't look like that of a veteran mercenary.

“Eeh, not really, but vaguely close, maybe,” Izumi stopped and answered.

“Was about damn time,” the stranger said. “I've been looking for you all over, where the Hel have you been? Ris told to deliver you this and I have no clue why I ever agreed. Do you have any idea what would've happened to me if they caught wind of it? You have to be out of your goddamn mind!”

The guard was carrying something in his hands, a rolled up carpet, which he now unwrapped and dropped the object inside on the lawn. Surprised, Izumi noted that what he had so apathetically discarded was the treasured Langorian greatsword.

“Oh my,” she said. “Could it be, you're the insider Rise was talking about…?”

“No shit I am,” the youth nodded, glancing cautiously around. “Have you been drinking? I was told you're a freaking professional! I am an associate of the Circle, yes. You haven't seen Ris, have you?”

“No,” Izumi shook her head, thinking the young man really was too rude.

“Damn it all. Something must have happened to her. She never showed up at the agreed contact point.”

“Rise's disappeared?” Izumi repeated with a frown. “I'm sorry, I have no idea where she might be.”

“Not surprised. Whatever. You're here for her majesty, right? She's in the building past the stables, on the far side of the hill. Hurry. Those bastards are going to make her their plaything. I tried to buy some time, setting a fire under the window, but I don't know if anything will hold back those beasts for long. I don't think there's anything you can do with that many of them still running around, but I will try to create more distractions. Look for an opening and get out of here! Good luck.”

The turncoat knight darted off, in the garden's direction.

Izumi watched after the youth for a moment, trying to recall all the things he had said and get them to sink in her clouded consciousness.

“Rise is gone? Yule is a plaything?”

She should've been made more restless, anxious by the news.

And yet, as Izumi crouched to pick up the sword and examined it in her hands, trying its familiar sharpness, she realized her lips were twisted into a smile, like having been reunited with an old friend.

“That's right. This isn't the time to be sad. Look for an opening—wasn't that what my old master would always say? Very well then. I will give you guys plenty of new openings, over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over. Otherwise, I won't know what to do with myself.”

Lifting the greatsword up on her shoulder, Izumi stepped forward and continued her solitary march.

4

Yuliana's torturous existence had boiled down to monotonous, all-encompassing discomfort, as she silently counted down for worse to come. Tired, exhausted, resigned, she was barely aware and awake, yet not asleep either.

Her wait ended in a loud crash coming from the doorway. She expected to see her captors return from their errand and her violation to resume, but weirdly enough, that didn't happen.

Only one guard came in, technically, one of the three left to watch over the princess. He had gone out to urinate but returned impaled through the chest by a huge weapon, collapsed in back-first.

The death of the guard was abrupt enough, but nowhere near as sudden as the sight of a noblewoman entering the hall in his wake.

A lady in a fluffy, green dress and long, thick, curly hair, she hardly lost to a figure from a ballad in the spectacular fashion of her entrance. It was only after a slight lag that Yuliana realized the surprise visitor was no a hallucinated Goddess of War, but her past companion.

“Little pigs, little pigs,” Itaka Izumi bluntly stepped on the guard's corpse and drew the bloodied greatsword from his flesh.

The newly lit, nearly bewildered hope on Yuliana’s face was replaced by a disgusted grimace.

Seeing the grisly fate of their comrade, the two remaining men guarding the princess forgot about her and scrambled for their weapons. Freed from their watch, Yuliana pulled the rag from her mouth in a rush to confirm that she wasn't dreaming things,

“Izumi? Is that you!? What are you doing in here?”

“Hello. Have you been well?” Izumi asked. “Or, should I ask, just how unwell have you been instead? That doesn't look very comfortable to me. But I'm gonna have to put you on hold now. Seems there are still some little vermin crawling about.”

The faster of the guards had found his sword and now approached the surprise visitor. He tried to be cautious and see what the enemy was made of, keeping his guard up, but Izumi unceremoniously walked up to him and threw her the greatsword at him.

“Be a gentleman and hold that for me.”

The man caught the sword by reflex. It was only too late that he realized doing so also kept him from using his hands. Izumi quickly kicked up one of the fallen stools lying around, grabbed it by a leg and bashed the man overhead at full force. His unshielded skull caved in, spilling its colorful contents through the cracks. As the guard slowly sank to his knees, Izumi retrieved both her weapon and his from his unresisting grip.

The second guard fared little better. It would have taken quite a hard-boiled character to not be shaken by a scene so sudden and unreservedly brutal. While he remained momentarily stunned, in the process of unsheathing his sword, Izumi nonchalantly walked past the man and stuck the first guard's sword down his comrade's collar as she passed. Propped upright in this grotesque fashion, the guard fell to sit on the floor, like a fountain piece lazily spraying vermilion.

“I-Izumi…?”

Though she had already witnessed it before, the summoned woman’s brutality still disturbed the princess.

Izumi continued to walk towards her, an indecipherable expression on her blood-stained face. There was something off about her. Even more off than usual, that is. Unable to understand her intentions or even the reason why the woman was here— or even if she was really here and not only a twisted nightmare produced by her tormented mind—Yuliana took a cautious step back.

Clang! With a loud noise, the Amygla fell on the floor.

Spreading her arms, Izumi stepped forward, dropped to her knees and—caught the princess's waist in a tight, desperate embrace.

“Ah…?”

The woman's arms wrapped around her, face pressed against her bare stomach, Yuliana was left flustered, ticklish and stupefied, with no idea how to react. “I-Izumi…? It is you, isn't it? What's wrong? Are you hurt? This is...a little weird position for me...”

“I,” the woman slowly spoke, “What am I doing, me...? What have I been doing? What am I going to do? Where am I going? I don't like this world! This world sucks! What am I to do? There's nothing I can do all by myself in this weird place! Don't leave me alone in here! I'm sorry I left you! I'm sorry I treated this like it was a game! I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to! I didn't want you to get hurt! I didn’t mean to let this happen! I was so scared, thinking about all kinds of bad things that they'd do to you! I was an idiot! I was so stupid! I'm sorry! I shouldn't have done it! I won't do it ever again, so forgive me! Please forgive me! I'm sorry, I'm really sorry, don't leave meeeeee...”

“Eh? Why are you the one crying?” Yuliana tried to comfort the sobbing woman. Her legs still weak and trembling after all the thrilling events of the day, she was forced to sit down on the floor. But Izumi wouldn't let go and neither did Yuliana push her away.

Patting the woman's head, ruffling her hair, the princess sighed and said,

“You reek of wine.”

In a while, after confirming Yuliana was as well as she could be under the circumstances, Izumi managed to regain her wits. She slapped her own cheeks to psyche herself up and picked up the greatsword again.

“I'm sorry, but could you wait here for a bit longer?” she asked Yuliana. “I still have to go get Rise back, before we can leave.”

“What do you mean? I'll go with you,” the princess said.

“Appreciate the thought,” Izumi shook her head, “but I'm really not at my best right now and things could get just a little tricky from here on. After all, I always fail the escort missions in games and get my allies killed. It would be a bit too frustrating if something happened to you now, after everything.”

“I understand,” Yuliana said a bit sadly, looking at her shaking hands. “Or rather, I don't. Not one bit. But I do realize that I'm not powerful enough to be of any use to you out there. Not the way I am. One day, I will definitely become strong enough to stand shoulder to shoulder with you on the battlefield—but for now, I will admit my own limits.”

“That's my girl! There, there,” Izumi happily patted the princess's head. “So long as I know you're safe in here, I can go all out without worries!”

“Don't do that,” Yuliana shook her hand off, but not displeased. “Can you promise me you'll be all right?”

“Nope,” Izumi turned away and denied. “There are no promises in a fight. That’s one big death flag right there. You can get a game over whenever, wherever, especially when you've played for three days straight, and the save point is right in front of you. I learned that from Per***.”

“What kind of a place was that...?” the princess sighed.

“I'm not going to die, though,” the woman said and turned towards the doorway. “I haven't seen the Demon Lord yet. I haven't met even one high elf lady, or a kitty-eared wizard. I haven't earned my first bounty. I haven't had a single trophy drop yet. That's why, even if this isn't a game and I shouldn't treat it as one, and even if I can’t make any promises, I'm not going to die. Not until I've cleared my life in this world one hundred percent and viewed that one last skit after the credits.”

“Is that right?” the princess found herself smiling at her friend’s usual nonsense. “Well, good luck then.”

Nodding, Izumi moved to leave.

But then stopped and a bit mischievously turned back.

“Could I...um...If there was something you could do for me, then maybe...I mean, if you really, really don't mind...”

“What is it?” Yuliana asked. “If there is a way I can still be of use, then please tell me. I shall do anything in my power, no matter how difficult or dangerous it may be.”

“Ahaha, when you say such pure things with that unsuspecting look on your face, it makes this all the harder for me to ask...”

“Don't worry. Even if it's an absurd request, I won't turn it down. You have my word. I owe you that much, don't I?”

“Really? You word? Promise you won't get upset?”

“Why would I get upset, what kind of a request is it...? But yes. Really. My word of honor, which I've yet to betray even once, for the good or the bad.”

“Then...”

“Yes?”

“'Could I get a kiss?'——Is what I was thinking! Ahaha...” Izumi lightly chirped and squirmed, looking bashful.

“Huh?” the princess couldn't be sure if she had heard it right. She certainly hadn't expected that.

“I don't plan to die,” the woman mumbled, “but if something does go wrong and I do kick the bucket out there, it'd be pretty awful if I never even got my first kiss, don't you think? I came pretty close to that before, and now it won't stop bothering me. And, it's not like there's anybody else here I can ask...If it's a princess, then shouldn't it be fine, even if it's between girls…? Or, does it count? It counts, right? A kiss is a kiss!”

“You...you've never kissed anybody?” Yuliana asked, perplexed. Having never married was amazing enough, but to not be kissed even once by that age...What a sad, sad life.

“Somehow, the pity in your eyes hurts way more than any wound...” Izumi quivered. “Don't tell my you've already been kissing lots…? With all the cool knights back home? Even though you're so young! Aah, never judge a book by the cover...!”

“Oh, no, I haven't,” the princess denied it, “But I'm still young and have my reasons! I cannot encourage immoral conduct, as the captain of the guard, and...”

“Well, I have my reasons too!” the woman insisted. “Like being online all day, never going to mixers, and never talking to anybody at conventions...never mind. I understand if you don't want to, it's probably frowned on in a backwater world like this, anyway. Who would want to kiss an old bag like me, huh? I probably look pretty gross in your eyes too...”

“That's not true!” Yuliana spontaneously denied, taking a step forward. “I think you're really beautiful! More beautiful than anyone I know!”

“Eeh?” Izumi fell speechless for once.

The princess realized that what she had said was more daring than she had really intended. But she didn't want to deny it, only averted her face in embarrassment. “I do think so...for real.”

“I’m...you think?”

“Yes.”

“Even prettier than Ai-chan?”

“I can't deny that my Lord is very beautiful, but I—I still prefer the way you look, personally. I think your beauty is, well, more human, more relatable. I feel warm at heart, just looking at your face—oh, I don't even know what I'm saying anymore! Please forget that! Erase it from your mind.”

“T-then, you're fine with…?”

“Ah. If it's only a kiss you want, that much is perfectly all right,” Yuliana nodded.

“Really?”

“Yes, how many times are you making me repeat it?”

“Just so you know, I'm talking about a real kiss and not some family-friendly fooling around. A passionate, adult kiss, straight on the lips!”

“That's a kiss, yes. What are you waiting for, then? Come closer!”

“O-okay...”

Izumi obediently came closer.

Yuliana, being slightly shorter of the two, took hold of Izumi’s shoulders and raised her chin, wetting her lips with her tongue. Izumi's dress made her look more royal than Yuliana had ever felt herself, despite having been born as one. Though now that dress was smeared in blood all over.

At first, the princess really thought nothing of the kiss.

Rationally, it was no different from kissing her mother—not that she was in the habit of kissing her parent on the lips either. But when it came the time to move from words to actions, Yuliana realized the impression wasn't the same at all.

Not in the least.

The woman's exposed shoulders and neck, her pale, smooth skin, dizzyingly deep cleavage, closed eyes and expectant, soft lips, slightly parted—looking at her, feeling the warmth of another person on her cold skin, Yuliana began to feel weirdly nervous. Her throat was parched and tickled. She had trouble getting the tempo of her breathing under control. Was she sick? Just that exhausted? For some reason, she was certain that if she were to really kiss Izumi now, an important line would be crossed whence there would be no turning back. Something about her, about the world, would change forever.

What nonsense am I thinking? I gave my word!

Still, hesitating, her heartbeat almost painfully loud in her chest, the princess parted her lips. Standing on her toes, she pushed herself forward. And then, at the last possible moment——took hold of the woman by the neck, leaned further in and planted a kiss on Izumi's soft cheek instead.

Smack!

“Eeh...?”

As Yuliana made a hasty retreat, Izumi looked like a child who had asked for a bar of chocolate, only to get one half-eaten cookie.

“T-that's for good luck!” Yuliana exclaimed, flustered. “Now you have one more reason to live! W-we'll do it properly once you come back, so no more talk about dying...!”

“Well, it’s a nice gesture, I guess,” Izumi straightened her posture and pouted, “but you're supposed to save lines like that for the apocalypse, you know?”

“I have no idea what you're talking about!” The princess was certain the accumulated embarrassment tonight was going to be the death of her. “Now hurry up and get going! You have somewhere to be, don't you?”

“Right. I'll be going then,” Izumi said and turned towards the door again, before pausing to add with a bit frightening smile, “but you've really pushed my buttons now. If I do make it back, just a kiss might not cut it anymore.”

Seeing off the summoned hero, Yuliana anxiously swallowed.

5

Riswelze never expected to open her eyes again, yet the young assassin's mind nevertheless surfaced again from the darkness in which it had been forcefully cast. Although, instead of hope, the fact only rekindled despair at her heart.

Riswelze found herself lying in an uncomfortable position on her face in short grass behind the main building. As she tried to get up, she discovered that her hands were firmly bound by thick cuffs of iron. Loud crackling of fire drew her attention to a small house burning in the distance. The whole Haywell hill was lit up by the happily blazing storage building. Most of the rockets had already exploded and burned up, but every now and then a remaining stray missile shot out of the inferno in a random direction, making the people nearby jump.

The main building itself was mostly safe from the fire, being a considerable distance away and made of stone, but the same couldn't be said of the once beautiful garden in between, where a number of the knights was busily struggling to put out the rebellious flames. In spite of their efforts, most of the area's earlier splendor was hopelessly lost, the little maze reduced to cinders, the roses charred and dried.

There were guards all around. How had she ended up in there? The last thing she could recall was running into a robed figure after trying to set the guardhouse on fire. After that, she had been swallowed by thick, suffocating darkness, where she had hovered in a strange state of half-oblivion.

“Ris!” Somebody was calling her.

The girl looked to her left and saw a guard on his knees a few feet away. She quickly recognized him as her associate, whom she knew by the name Hardy. He had been posing as a town guard called Milfred in order to infiltrate the Mayor's estate. It seemed he had been caught as well, and his hands were also shackled. There was a bleeding bruise on his brow, making evident that he didn't submit willingly. “You're alive, thank the Divines.”

Despite his state, the youth still had the heart to worry about Riswelze before himself.

“I don't see much reason for gratitude in that,” the assassin sourly responded, and wrestled herself up into a sitting position. It was barely any more pleasant, but a little more dignified at least. “Just how bad did we screw up?”

“I tried to look for you, but they—”

Suddenly, Hardy silenced himself, as a dark shadow approached them. The gloomy figure of the sorcerer Joviél took over Riswelze's field of vision. There was dark cloth wrapped around his head, to cover the left side of his bloodied face and his noble features were distorted in agony and wrath.

“Who is she?” he asked her.

“What?” Riswelze failed to understand the question, her mind still hazy.

The elf leaned forward, grabbed the girl by the collar and effortlessly lifted her in the air. She had heard the elven bodies possessed strength and resilience greatly superior to that of humans, but the strength displayed now was in no way apparent from the sorcerer's thin appearance. It seemed there was at least one trait the cursed cirelo shared with their high elf relatives.

“The witch,” Joviél coldly clarified. “Do not lie to me. I know she is among your company. You brought her here, for the princess. Who is she?”

Slowly, Riswelze started to catch up.

Is he talking about Izumi? What happened?

“You're not going to like this,” she said, “but I have no idea.”

“And you would be half correct in that.”

Dropping her back on the ground, the sorcerer turned to the second captive, while pointing his black staff at Riswelze.

“Talk or she dies.”

“I will tell you everything you want to know,” Hardy slowly articulated, “Hel, I'll look for this witch myself. I'll bring her to you and you can do whatever you want with me after. Just promise me that you will let Ris go.”

“You are in no position to set conditions,” the dark elf replied.

“I don't know who she is or where she's come from, that much I swear is true. But I know where she is. I gave the woman a sword and told her the princess is in the guardhouse. That's where I saw her go last. The chances are, she's still in there. You can catch her if you hurry! It's not far!”

“Hardy!”

Even if it was to save her life and even if they had long since agreed to prioritize their own comrades above anyone else, Riswelze was shocked by the man’s eagerness to aid the enemy. But it didn't produce the desired results.

“Yes, a guard saw you speak with the woman,” Joviél said, and while his demeanor remained calm, under the surface brewed storm. “You gave her a weapon that you smuggled into the banquet and told her where to find the princess. This much is nothing new to me. What I want to know is what she is! What kind of a power does she possess? What am I dealing with!?”

“I...I do not know that,” Hardy reluctantly admitted. “I've never met that woman before in my life. I swear! Looked just human to me! But she must be where the princess is, if only you go there, you will—”

“I already have full control of the area. If you have nothing more to tell me, then you should understand I have no further need for you either. Or perhaps I do?”

The elf turned his remaining eye back at Riswelze.

In turn, the undecorated tip of his staff turned to point at the man.

“Tell me, rat, how high do you value your ally?”

Riswelze made her tone as determined as she could, as she answered,

“Kill him and you will not get another word out of me. Count on that.”

“Again, not the answer I want. I’ve had enough. I assure you, pitiful beast, if there is one thing I have learned in my time among your kind, it is that there is nothing easier in Ortho than making words come out of humans.”

“Wait—”

“Ischvelein.”

As soon as the sorcerer uttered that word, the man facing his staff exploded into a snowy flower, countless thin icicles tracing the outline of his silhouette. As if stilled in time as well as in place, his last gasp, never uttered, was still almost audible on his face. A guard bearing a hammer stepped forward and shattered the newly created, morbid statue with an overhead blow. Countless pieces of red ice scattered all over the lawn.

“You’re a right damn monster,” Riswelze bitterly told the elf, gritting her teeth and turning her face away.

“A monster?” Joviél repeated. “I did not come to ruin this festival of peace uninvited, to murder and thieve for paltry coin. Or do you claim there was some noble, higher purpose in you burning down the house, driving away the townspeople in terror? In gouging out my eye?” The dark elf brought his face closer, his remaining eye burning with hatred not all that different from the fire behind him. “An eye for an eye. Unless that is a fate you wish upon yourself, then prove your worth to me now.”

Before it could come too obvious that Riswelze had no intention of answering, as she braced herself for her grim end, they were interrupted.

Coming from the manor was the Duke himself, with a handful of more knights as his personal guard.

“Joviél!” he raised his voice as he approached the group in the backyard, “will you finally explain to me what in the Emperor's name is going on in here?”

“We have intruders,” the elf turned to answer him.

“I—I can see that!” the Duke responded in dismay. He glanced at Riswelze kneeling on the ground and then struck the girl across the face with the back of his hand. “Does it look like I give a fuck? Why aren't they all dead, deader than dead, tortured, hung, and dead? You should know my wants well enough to take care of them before it gets like this! Why isn't it done? What. Is. Wrong with you? And what happened to your face...?”

“There is an irregularity,” the sorcerer slowly responded. “Until I know what it is, caution is needed.”

The false Norenbagh wasn't too pleased with the news. His banquet, meant to solidify his influence over the city, had been ruined with an adverse effect. The whole inventory was lost in flames, corpses of dead guards all over his yard, and he couldn't pretend to understand what had actually happened or why. Wiping his tired face with his hands, he looked at the guards standing idly about.

“What are you doing!?” he shrieked at them. “Why isn't everybody searching!? Do you need twenty people and a sorcerer to interrogate one girl? I want bodies! Dead bodies! Do you hear me? Or I'm going to start making some! Just get me somebody who can finally explain to me in plain words what is going on in my house!”

——“If you're fine with me, I might be able to explain a thing or two.”

Everybody's attention was caught by a voice suddenly calling across the yard.

Striding over the lawn was an adult woman in a green-white dress, with groovy black patterns all over it. No, actually, those patterns were neither produced by a tailor nor black in color. The distance and unique lighting conditions had simply created such an illusion at a distance. In reality, the dress had become stained all over with splatters of blood. As had her face.

But regardless of her unbecoming state, the woman was smiling.

In her hand, she held no purse but a large greatsword, which drew a squiggly line over the lawn as she dragged it behind her.

“Oh, hold on,” the Duke said, recognizing her, “you're that...what was it again. With that braindead general. Ah yes! The Baroness of Letham. That's not who you really are, is it?”

“How clever of you,” the woman responded, stopping for a polite curtsy, lightly lifting her dress. “I am Itaka Izumi, a summoned hero from another world. I'm sorry to tell you this, but I came here to steal away your lovely bride. Because she really is more than you deserve. I'm sorry about your wedding plans, but please give up on them. Also, if you can forgive my greediness, I'd like to take that thief with me as well. I know she can be a mischievous and naughty little cat, but aren't we all the children of our parents? Since she still appears to be in one piece and in a modest state of dress, I am willing to let you live if you give me what I want.”

Having presented her terms, Izumi stabbed the Amygla on the ground in front of her and waited.

There was a pause, with only the crackling and banging coming from the burning building to remind Riswelze that time was continuously passing.

“Ha!” The Duke finally cracked. “Hahahaha! Isn't that great? Isn't that just great? You want my bride? You want this thief? Why not take my trousers, the shoes from my feet as well! Walking around the town with my ass bare would hardly humiliate me any more than you already have. No, no. I'm afraid I have a better idea, milady. You, this saboteur friend of yours, and the princess alike will never see daylight again. Oh, but rest assured, your lives will be quite safe. There's simply no pleasure in destroying corpses. Trust me, I happen to be an expert on this topic. Get her.”

The man gestured at the guards.

Not too alarmed by her weapon, as if tasked to merely retrieve a bucket of water, the two knights that stood the closest to her now approached Izumi.

Indeed, judging by their carefree stride, the guards seemed quite convinced her arms lacked the strength to even lift the massive weapon from the earth it had sank into. They paid it no heed whatsoever. Too many extraordinary things had happened tonight for them to ponder such details. The contrast between the soft woman in her ball dress and the heavy weapon was too striking to offer a natural explanation to the blood covering her. Surely she had only happened near a fight and then picked up the weapon from one of the deceased, in a pointless effort to appear threatening.

Could anyone fault them for arriving in this easy conclusion?

As mistaken as it was.

At the moment the guards lined up to grab the woman by the arms and drag her with them, the Amygla had separated from the lawn and cut tore away their throats in a precise horizontal cut.

“The tailor probably won’t take this dress back anymore,” Izumi remarked, showered in fresh blood.

For a moment, everybody present was absorbed in watching the lifeless guards slowly sink to the ground. It was a strangely captivating sight.

“What are you doing!?” the Duke woke his guards from the daze. “Get a move on, you idiots!”

“I feel like I've seen this somewhere before,” Izumi continued, as larger batch of guards set forward, pointing their spears at her. “This is why I would've preferred a game world. Reality really is too predictable. An AI will always take you seriously and play its best game, no matter what. Real people never will. It doesn't matter how many countless hours you've been training or how many gallons of sweat you've poured. One wrong move, one careless miscalculation, and that’s the end. It can happen anywhere, at any time. There are no checkpoints and no retries. You can't level up to endure deathblows and there's no gear that will cover every weakness. Do you know why games normally don't follow mechanics like that? Because it would just make things too easy for the player.”

The guard at the front raised his lance into an overhead strike as he charged, aiming at the woman's shoulder with the two-sided spearhead. Izumi twisted her upper body to evade the hit in the nick of time, raised her leg and pinned the spear under her heel before the attacker could retract his weapon. The tip of the polearm sank deep into the lawn, stopping the knight's offensive and turning him into a roadblock to those behind him.

Instead of stopping, the group impatiently split up on two sides to get past their clumsy comrade.

Instead of waiting for them to surround her, Izumi picked her right-hand side and dashed forward, cutting down the nearest enemy with an overhead blow before he could orient himself for an attack. The guard managed to raise his spear to defend, but the greatsword sank through the wooden shaft without resistance, tearing through his neck, chestplate and the flesh underneath.

“Gyaaahhh!!”

“All it takes is one mistake,” Izumi continued, turning a full circle and offhandedly executing the knight whose weapon had become stuck with a wild swing at his neck. “Depending on the rules, games can be pretty unfair. Take minesweeper, for example. Not that you know what minesweeper is, this is just me thinking aloud. But even if you play an otherwise perfect game, without committing a single mistake, there will eventually come a spot, where you have no choice but to guess to get forward. Because it’s not possible to deduce the contents of all the remaining squares with the numbers the game gives you.”

She dived under a wild spear swing and thrust the sword through the assailant's abdomen. Then, bending her knees, she quickly shoved the weapon deeper, gutting the guard behind the first one from his blind spot.

“But this isn't a video game. You don't have to guess. Rather, you never should. You can cheat, you can lie, feint, distract, or you just run away. If I know I’ll die fighting fifty, then all I need is to make sure I’ll never have to fight fifty. If I know being underestimated will give me an advantage, then I'll do everything I can to make my enemy underestimate me. Don’t get this wrong, you guys are strong. Probably stronger than an average person in my world. But there’s only so far you can go while self-learned. You don't know about kenjutsu, kendo, taekwondo, jujutsu, aikido, or shambo. You don't know about physics. You don't know about centrifugal force, gravity, or Newton's laws of mechanics. That's all.”

One guard managed to get within grappling distance by abandoning his deflected spear. So close, Izumi had no way of cutting him down with her large weapon. A triumphant look on his face, he was certain he had cornered his enemy. But Izumi drew the blade back close, and stabbed him in the face with the pointy handguard. Incapacitated by the pain, the guard fell to his knees on the lawn. In the next moment, following a Golf-style swing, his head was sent flying.

“I really wanted this to be a game world, you know. Technique on technique, RNG versus RNG, a perfectly equalized system, where everyone's chances are the same. Not for my own sake, because having played a lot of online games would give me an advantage. For you guys' sake. Because as it is, there's no fun in it.”

Another guard fumbled and dropped his weapon, turning to run in terror. Izumi stabbed the Amygla down through the back of the fleeing man's knee. Crying in agony, he fell flat on his stomach, pinned in place. Putting her weight on it, Izumi jumped over the weapon and landed on the guard's neck, followed by a grotesque sound of torn spinal ligaments. Hiding the weapon behind her, she waited until the next charging foe was within striking distance, before pulling the sword out and throwing it forward, impaling him.

The body count kept multiplying at a staggering rate.

Soon enough, nothing was left moving around Izumi.

Wiping sweat and off her brow, Izumi turned to face the remaining group.

“Next please?”

Of the group of around thirty, a dozen was left. Even as light as she had made it seem, Izumi could tell that the limits of her endurance were fast approaching. She moved the way she had learned to move in her youth, but her body was no longer in the shape to support it.

The truth was that she had all but given up on her dream, neglecting herself for many years. The late timing and all the drinking were taking their toll as well. She moved on muscle memory alone, barely aware of what her arms and legs were doing.

What really made Izumi strong wasn't her past training, her will to win, or even the remarkable weapon in her hands.

It was the fact that she had already given up on life.

With nothing to lose, she moved in a way no sane person would, taking absurd risks, trying out reckless moves, out of mere curiosity to see how long it would take for the grim reaper to catch up with her.

The real challenge would begin from here.

The remaining enemies wouldn't underestimate her anymore.

They would smarten up and get more cautious, use what they had seen to their advantage. There was a chance that further reinforcements would join in at any moment. When the guards would begin to co-operate properly, they would be sure to take her down.

But worrying about it was pointless.

How death came was inconsequential.

Everyone had to die one day, and Izumi felt the presence of Death in her every waking moment. But after years of idly waiting for it, sensing its cold breath so distinctly and close by now was refreshing.

Raising the blade, Izumi took a two-handed kendo stance, exhaled, and relaxed her shoulders,

“No takers? Then don't mind if I take another turn—“

“AAAAA!”

“DIVINES HELP ME!”

“A DAEMON! A WITCH! A MONSTER!”

As one of the men lost his fortitude and succumbed to panic, the rest quickly followed with an odd psychological domino effect.

The remaining guards turned tails and fled the yard in terror.

“Eh?” Izumi watched their frantic retreat in confusion. Only the Duke, the sorcerer, and a few guards stalled by their presence remained behind. “What was so scary? Did it hurt?”

“It's the way you keep chanting that gibberish mid-fight!” Riswelze informed her. “That's freaking creepy and gross! Are you pretending to be summoning spirits or what!? Knock it off!! Fight seriously!”

“That's rude, I'm not pretending anything...” Izumi pouted as she resumed her unopposed advance. “I though I was having a pretty insightful monologue there.”

Having lost himself watching the astounding farce, the Duke snapped out his daze by her move.

“Do I have to do everything myself? Oh, but I know how to deal with your kind,” he said, quickly stepping to Riswelze. He pulled the assassin up to her feet and drew a small knife from under his coat, holding it on her neck. “You'll drop the weapon and surrender or I'll bleed her like a pig. I don't need to convince you I'm serious, do I?”

“Oh, that reminds me,” Izumi said, stopping. “Whenever I see this kind of a scene on TV, I can't help but wonder this: if you actually follow through with the threat and kill your one and only hostage, then what do you think will keep you alive after that? Wouldn't I want to make your death twice as slow and painful in revenge?”

“People don't normally look forward to killing and torturing others!” Riswelze retorted in the Duke's stead.

“What in the blazes is wrong with you people?” the Duke said.

At that moment, seeing an opening, Riswelze raised her knee and stabbed her heel in her captor's boot. Groaning, the fake Duke's hold momentarily loosened and the assassin quickly threw her head back, mashing him in the face. Evading his knife, Riswelze dived under his arms and dashed away.

“NO!” At that moment, the black magician, Joviél, threw his staff forward and hollered.

In an instant, an explosion of black mass, like liquid smoke, erupted from his staff, engulfing the entire backyard in an instant. Unable to escape the strange mist, Izumi waited still and held her breath.

It didn't seem like the smoke was corrosive or otherwise harmful. It didn’t sting her eyes, or feel like anything on her skin. She cautiously inhaled a bit, but only smelled the smoke from the burned house.

The effect appeared to be only visual, an elaborate smoke bomb. The buildings had disappeared, as had the flames of the storage house, the guards, the Duke, the mage, Riswelze as well. Izumi could only see a bit under seven feet around herself, everything else was obscured by a complete, impenetrable blackness.

It appeared the spell was akin to a smoke bomb intended to hide whatever killer move the enemy was planning next.

Did it only affect Izumi, or everyone else as well?

No, it was probably safe to assume that the caster himself wasn’t affected.

Keeping her sword raised in front of her, Izumi didn't dare to move but tried to pick up any signs of an incoming attack, or other hints that would betray the position of her enemies. The rustling of grass, the whistling of magical projectiles, words of incantation—anything.

She didn't need to wait for long.

Suddenly, running footsteps approached her straight from the front.

Paranoid if it was a trap and that the real attack would come from her exposed flank, Izumi remained unmoving and waited still, her guard up.

And from the darkness, in her limited circle of light appeared...Riswelze.

Seeing the woman, the assassin stopped, startled, but soon breathed a sigh of relief. Her hands were still cuffed behind her, but she had managed to shake off the Duke, it seemed.

“Everything okay?” Riswelze asked, catching her breath.

“I'm fine, though,” Izumi replied, as she continued to listen. “What happened?”

“I—I don't know,” the girl looked around. “I don't feel that different. What kind of magic is this...? Have you ever heard of anything like this? The scale is—immense.”

“It’s all new to me.”

“That sorcerer is probably aiming at us somewhere out there, even as we speak,” the assassin kept glancing warily around and backed slowly to Izumi. “We’re sitting ducks here, we have to move.”

“You're right. I don't like this kind of tricks at all.”

“The veil can't go on forever,” the assassin moved away from the manor’s direction. “If we can get outside its range, we should be safe.”

“Right.”

“No, wait. This could be our change,” Riswelze suddenly stopped and said.

“What do you mean?”

“They’ll think we’re at their mercy. We should make use of that.”

“Not a bad idea, but how?”

“I know it’s crazy, but listen. I may have an idea,” the girl said and turned to Izumi. “I need you to work with me here, alright? When I will—”

Swing.

The sound of the guillotine-like blade cut through the dark.

A clean, beautiful overhead blow cleaved into Riswelze's slim, cheetah-like form, right between the neck and the right shoulder, as soon as she entered the greatsword's range. Her leather corset and the body beneath were tough, almost unnaturally so, but not tough enough to withstand the most durable metal in the world.

The cut was deep, certainly fatal.

Of course it would be.

It had been delivered with the intent to kill.

Sinking on her knees, Riswelze looked up at her murderer—at Itaka Izumi—with eyes full of disbelief.

“What would you have done...had it been her...?” she mouthed in a stranger's voice.

“Find comfort in knowing that the next try would go better,” Izumi answered.

The assassin girl's features melted away, giving way to an ageless, vaguely masculine face, hair of fuller black, and pointed ears.

Calling it a gamble would have been too generous.

It had been nothing more but a wild guess. A whim.

The sorcerer had the ability to confuse people's senses, make others see whatever he wanted and hide what he didn’t. Him suddenly gaining the ability to influence Izumi with his magic, in spite of his initial inability to do so was far-fetched as a theory, but possible nevertheless.

Why had he simply stood there the whole time, watching, instead of supporting the guards with spells? Because he didn't know support-type magic, perhaps, and didn't want to risk hitting friendlies?

Or, because he was occupied with analyzing her, preparing magic of an entirely different sort. Perhaps Izumi naming herself as a summoned hero from another world had given the mage the last clue necessary to apply his illusions to her?

Either way, it was a lot of ifs.

Even if it were true, what kept him from doing as he had suggested himself—aiming at Izumi from the cover of the dark with a long-range spell?

Vanity. Izumi had bet everything on that answer.

In the storage building, she had humiliated him.

A mere human had overpowered the great elven magician, who had lived for many centuries, convinced of his superiority. Would he be content with simply shooting a lone woman in the back from a blind spot and calling it a day? Would that have appropriately demonstrated the difference in rank and skill? Doing what any common bandit would do?

Not, right?

It would never be enough.

He had to get up close and personal.

He had to catch her alive, keep her like a trophy.

He would want to outwit her and not fail to rub it in her face for the rest of her painful existence.

But here, like in so many stories, arrogance and greed became his demise.

One human lifetime might not have been enough to catch up with an immortal elf.

But through the simulated realities of cinema and video games, one could experience many different, foreign identities, perspectives and emotions in a condensed form. And Itaka Izumi had lived her earthly life through such experiences. It was on this lonely path of escaping reality, that she had gained insight into the character of beings who weren't real, who could never exist in her own world.

Those experiences had guided her intuition into this cruel decision.

Cut down without hesitation anyone who came within the striking distance——even if that person was the one she wanted to save.

Well, there was one more, separate reason to her confidence in the answer.

Her lack of confidence in herself.

“This is real,” she said, a bit sadly. “There's no way Rise would come running into my arms like the heroine of a romantic comedy, after everything I've done.”

Izumi drew her sword from Joviél's body and the surrounding darkness vanished.

There, before the manor, stood the false Duke and the real Riswelze, the girl still in his hold. Everything starting from her struggle to her escape had been an illusion. It seemed they'd been caught by the spell's effect as well, and looked around in confusion.

Then their eyes fixed at Izumi and the body of the mage lying on the ground.

It was at this sight and the preceding sorcery that the last remaining guards deemed the chance of a comeback victory completely lost. They abandoned their spears and swiftly resigned from the Duke's protection. When a man’s driving motivation was an easy life, he couldn't be expected to lay down that life for his employer.

“That's it then?” Izumi approached the remaining pair.

“Hey, hey, hey, hey now...!” The imposter found himself abandoned and cornered. “Let's talk this through. You want your friends back. I'm increasingly okay with that. Here, I'm letting her go.” He pushed Riswelze away, dropped his knife and backed away, raising his hands in the air. “That's done. You've won. You don't want to dirty your hands with me. I'm not worth the effort, right? I guarantee you safe passage. I own this town and everything around it. Take the princess, take your thieving friend, and go. I'd offer you coin too, but unfortunately, I don't have a dime on me, and I'd really rather not have you hang around for one quarter of a heartbeat longer—FUUH!”

Coming closer, spinning the greatsword like a massive sling, Izumi swung it forward in a rising arc. With frightful velocity, the heavy blade sank into the man's groin, cutting his speech short.

“There. You don't need a wife anymore,” Izumi said, before gripping the sword's long handle wide with both hands and proceeding to pull it up with all her might.

Riswelze thought all the years as an assassin had hardened her to vision of gore. She had thought wrong. Nauseous, she tore her face the other way and had to try her hardest to suppress the contents of her stomach from expelling themselves at the revolting sight and sound. For a while, she sat on her knees, catching her breath. Her ribs still ached from being hit by the sorcerer's blast, but she was alive.

Though tonight's was definitely not among her finest heists.

“Can you stand?” a voice eventually asked her. She looked up and saw Izumi standing before her. “I found a key to your handcuffs.”

Instead of getting up, the girl let out a wry laugh and looked down.

“I'm scared shitless, to be honest,” she said.

“Eh? What?” Izumi asked.

“You really need to ask? You. Take a look around? Do you think anybody could've done this and still pass for a human being? Who are you, really?”

“Really?” Izumi frowned, dejected. “I kinda figured you might not be jumping in joy over it, but being told I’m a monster so upfront is still pretty heartbreaking. I'd like to think that I did what I did for the good of my friends. Was it wrong then?”

“You...” Riswelze struggled up to her feet. “Are you telling me you did this for my sake? This...How am I supposed to take that? You came here for that princess, didn't you? Why didn't you just grab her and run away? Why did you come back for me? Why did you go this far just to save somebody like me? I don't get it! I don't understand you! What's the matter with you?”

Izumi looked troubled.

“Eeh, what do you want me to say?” She awkwardly scratched her neck. “Isn’t this what heroes do? Wouldn't it have been worse to leave you behind?”

“Heroes? Nobody thinks they want to be heroes! I mean, not this way! Look at yourself! You could've died a dozen times over or worse! I already owed you for trying to kill you, and now I owe you my life too!? How am I ever supposed to pay that back!? What do you want from me? Make me your slave, your girl toy? Put a leash around my neck and have me act as your furniture? Give me a break! I’m not going to spend the rest of my life kissing your boots!”

“Well, so far as I'm considered, you don't owe me anything special. I just didn’t want you to die, that’s all. You can carry on with your life and forget this ever happened if you want to. Although...”

“What?”

Izumi hugged her sword and squirmed uncomfortably.

“...I'm suddenly feeling really hot and bothered when you talk dirty and yell at me like that. Could it be, I’ve awakened to a new fetish I never asked for? What should I do?”

“Ha...?” Riswelze blushed and staggered back. “You...have you been drinking?”

“Why does everyone keep asking me that?” Izumi complained. “I'm already an adult, I'm allowed to have a drink or two! Besides, I'm immune to alcohol, you know! I did attend a mixer once, just once, but nothing came out of it when I was the last one left standing and nobody invited me again! But that should prove I have a high tolerance, if nothing more.”

“Oh, blood Hel...” Riswelze sighed and shrugged.

Like a cat, she then jumped up, drew her knees up and twisted her cuffed hands to the front from under her heels. “Come on. Open these for me.”

Izumi opened the handcuffs and the girl rubbed her aching, scraped wrists, looking over the bloodied woman from head to toe.

“All right,” she finally said. “I'll be your slave.”

“Eeeeehhh?” Izumi's jaw fell as she blushed.

“D-don't get any weird ideas, you twisted woman! I'm not going to lick your boots or anything extreme, but until I've paid back my debt—until I've saved you from death exactly twice, I will stick with you. You'd better not have a problem with that.”

“I did plan to invite you to the party anyway, so I don't mind, but are you sure? More stuff like this might happen again. Or even something worse.”

“Then you need me,” Riswelze replied.

“I might end up saving you a third, or a fourth time too,” Izumi said.

“Then I will have to owe you some more.”

“What if I mess up and you die? Aren't you scared?”

“Of course I am. But everyone dies one day. That’s life.”

“You...you have barf on your chin.”

Riswelze patiently closed her eyes and sighed.

“You have blood and parts of something I don't even want to try to identify all over you, so I'm not going to be embarrassed.”

Izumi wiped the girl's face with her hand.

“You have...something on your lips too,” she said, leaning closer.

“I—I thought I said I'm not going to be that kind of a slave...”

“Service! It's fanservice!”

“You're terrible when you're drunk, Izumi.”

Riswelze complained but wouldn't move away.

All Izumi could think about was that this was her third chance to have her first kiss tonight and she wasn't going to let it go. Gently holding Riswelze's face, Izumi let gravity pull her forward. She couldn’t help it, she was intoxicated and tired and felt weak. So she convinced herself.

But right as their noses were about to align, a sudden, odd sound made her stop and look away. The sound of metal being dragged over stone.

Breaking away from the girl, Izumi reached for her sword and turned.

Further away, using his black staff for support, the cirelo Joviél dragged himself to his feet.

“Tonight may be your victory woman,” he forced himself to speak. “But do not think this is the end.”

“Elves sure don't die easy, do they?” the woman said.

“You have no idea,” the sorcerer spat blood. “When my mother was found in the reclaimed ruins of Idonya, she was still alive. Three months after she'd been taken. Without arms or legs. Without eyes or...My father, on the other hand, could not live for one goodbye, being without a head. Fury. Fury alone drives my people now. It keeps us alive.”

“You do have my sympathies, but none of that is our fault, is it?”

“I want your pathetic mind to comprehend this. Understand the gravity of what you have so foolishly done here. Each piece you undermine in the Emperor's plan is a piece in favor of the Pandemonium. Do you think this little blot of land you name as your country will remain forever safe from the evil that destroyed ours? That so long as the monsters kindly remain beyond the sea, you will have all the time in the world? Fool. Their hunger...it never stops. Tonight, you have made three kingdoms your enemies. And for what? For the virtue of a wench who betrayed her people! For a rat that murders for pennies!”

“Yule didn't betray anyone,” Izumi said. “She left her home to save the world and make her family proud. I think that's a goal more beautiful than whatever your Emperor is cooking.”

“Save the world? The Trophaeum? Ha...” the elf dryly chuckled. It was astonishing he could even speak or stand with his wound. “Did you even know this—the Tower of the Convenant stands on Daemon territory now. The girl will never make it, that foolish child. Nowhere close. A worm weak among maggots!”

“Well,” Izumi shrugged. “maybe somebody will have to take her then.”

“Who would? You will not live to see the passing of summer. You have brought upon yourself my wrath. And my wrath is the wrath of the Circle of the Pale Ashes.”

With effort, the sorcerer raised his staff. A portal of shadows appeared beside him. Where was it connected, only he would know.

The distance was too great.

There was no way for Izumi to reach him before he would slip through. And after escaping, he would enlist the aid of whatever group he worked for, to kill the summoned champion.

Riswelze reached for her daggers, only to recall they had all been taken from her.

With a malicious smile, Joviél gave them one last arrogant look, and turned to leave through the portal.

“——?”

But before he could do that, the portal vanished, as if evaporated.

Had his magical run out before its time?

No, that wasn't the case. The actual cause became apparent in the next moment.

From behind the dark doorway, a being radiating pure light appeared in front of the magician.

“Aesa...Davelu alaisa...?” the sorcerer gasped, recognizing that form, described in legends by far older than him.

“Greeting cirelo,” Aiwesh, the Lord of Light said, a gentle smile on her lips. “You wished to meet me?”

“W-what...?”

“I believe words such as, 'challenge', and so forth were uttered in my presence. Amusing, is it not? You think the feeble sentiment you call fury will bring you to the level of a Divine Lord now? I do not hate confident young men. Well, here I am. How about it? Would you like to test me now?”

“I have no quarrel with thee, Lord!” the dark elf shouted.

“Oh, but I have a quarrel with you, boy. Here I thought I would do your Emperor service and allow my vessel to be employed in his plot, for the noble goals you mentioned. And what does his ignorant servant do in his madness? He would have these unworthy beasts defile my chosen chalice? Of course, I would not make the mistake of ever trusting a mortal, but it seems the honor of the Aldervolk is not what it used to be either.”

“I...I had no idea! I would not have allowed it, had I known she was thy vessel! W-why did thou hide thy presence from me—”

“'Why?' And now I, the Lord of Light, must make account to one who fell out of grace? Why don't you blame your own blindness instead, Joviél of Elevro?”

“I...”

“Ahaha, I jest, I jest!” Aiwesh suddenly said, clasping her hands together, and laughed brightly. “I was well aware of how this was going to end already before the first piece was in place. No, this was, above all, a test for my chosen champion! A test, which she somehow managed to pass without assistance, albeit not without difficulty. For playing your part in the experiment so admirably, you have my gratitude!”

For a moment, something resembling relief flashed over the dark elf's countenance.

“Oh, but that does not mean I am not angry,” Aiwesh added.

The godly being shot out her slender arm and stuck it without mercy in the gaping wound on the sorcerer’s body.

“Rest well. I will be taking your power now.”

Under the Divine's magic, the dark elf's body slowly disintegrated into tiny particles. He didn't seem to be in pain. His expression was only surprised, as he little by little broke to ashes, the lighter than air leftover fragments blown away by the gentle wind sweeping over the Haywell hill.

Finished, Aiwesh flexed her fingers and turned to Izumi and Riswelze.

“Well then, children, shall we go? It seems the festival has ended.”

“That's...that's...?” the assassin stuttered, astonished.

“Ai-chan,” Izumi said.

“You have potential, Izumi dearest,” Aiwesh said, “but I expect slightly smoother operating the next time. Really, you should not make a fine lady wait for so long. I was beginning to wonder if you were indeed coming at all. Do make notes and keep this in mind the next time and I might just raise my evaluation of you.”

“You act like it was all according to plan,” Izumi replied, too intoxicated to play along, “but isn't the truth that you were totally trapped and panicked back there?”

“Hm? Did you say something? How strange, we seem to be having some communication trouble! Could there have been a fault in the summoning process? Perhaps I should get rid of this botched champion and roll for a new one right away...?”

“Let's leave it at that then...”

The Duke of Walington was dead, with no chance of a second revival. Over half of his personal guard shared his fate, found lifeless around his estate, bearing horrible wounds, and the rest dispersed, who knew where.

In this unexpected fashion, the banquet was brought to a conclusion.

Indeed, the night was remembered. It would be recalled in the small town of Grelden for many generations to come. As a matter of fact, “duke's banquet” would live on locally as an expression meaning the sudden, total ruination of expected good time.

But it was not the end of the princess of Langoria, who was not seen in Grelden after that night, and whose shocking appearance in the party was later dismissed as only a wild fantasy by inebriated minds. This scandalous event meant also neither the beginning nor the ending point in the legend of the summoned champion from another world.

That legend was forged elsewhere, at another time.

Epilogue

“So, are you going to answer me now?” Itaka Izumi asked on a certain early morning, somewhere.

“What still requires an answer?” the Lord of Light responded.

“What is it that you’re really going for?”

“Meaning?”

“What is your endgame? The big picture. The master plan. Why did you really make Yule your vessel and leave your comfortable pet kingdom? All that.”

“Did you not already conclude that it was to make that child conquer the Trophaeum and save the world from destruction and chaos?” the Divine Lord suggested.

“Yes, I said that,” Izumi nodded. “You didn't. You didn’t confirm or deny it. That's why, I'm thinking it might not be right. Because if it were just that, you wouldn't have ever considered marrying her off to the fake duke, even after you summoned me to save her before. No goddess could be so flippant. So it's not saving the world that you really care about, is it?”

“Oh, but I am not a goddess, Izumi. I am a Divine. A personification of a God's power.”

“If you are a God’s power, and divine all the way through, then is there really a difference?”

“There is a basic, undeniable difference.”

“And you're still not answering me.”

“My, could it be you actually have a brain? I thought you were a hopeless, unwanted earthling with nothing but swords and girls in that head of yours?”

“That's really terribly rude and going too far, but I see no wrong in admitting I like cute girls and swords.”

“You will refrain from admitting you have a brain, however?”

“Yes. To be honest, I don't think it's a chain of logic that justifies the label of a braniac, especially if the title stays self-proclaimed.”

“I love your honesty, Itaka Izumi! Yes, a hero should be direct and blunt. And a little retarded. You do have the makings of a champion.”

“I don’t know about being a champion, but you can't go on being a NEET and a maiden for as long as I have without learning to be direct about various things.”

“Very well,” the Divine Lord nodded. “I believe I should be direct with you in kind. I admit I never offered the contract to my beloved vessel for the sake of having her conquer the Trophaeum. When I saw her for the first time, I did not think she would have it in her, and I still do not. Not now, when the Daemons hold the tower. Yes, that task is impossible for Yuliana Da Via Brannan, even if I were to lend her my power.”

“Then why did you really do it?”

“Because I have a dream. Yes, I one day became aware that I had something my kind generally does not. A dream. Call it a vision, if you will.”

“It’s not about equality among races, is it?”

“In a way, it is. Equality in my name.”

“What?”

“I do not want to simply breathe new life into a dying world. I want to conquer it. I want to recreate it. I am not looking to uphold an outdated system, but take it apart and rebuild it by my own design. My intent is to travel the world in the guise of my vessel, looking for powerful magicians and Divine Lords, and take their powers for my own. And then, uniting all the fragments of the Gods’ powers, I shall become One True God myself, in the place of the cowards who ran off and left this world to rot. All the nations, humans, Dharves, Ameni, Cirelo, Hamasi, Goti, Cruleans, even Daemons, every creature from drakes to wyverns, and ghouls to unicorns will find their place in the second Golden Age under my rule. Such is my dream. No, it could very well be the reason I was created.”

“I can’t tell if that’s a good idea or a bad idea, but you’re probably insane.”

“Yes, when it comes to the matters of this world, you cannot tell mad from sane, can you, being only an outsider? But try to think of it this way—once I am God, the Logic of this world, I may grant Ortho my blessing and everyone may go on existing forever after. There will be no need for champions such as yourself to be summoned or fed to the Trophaeum's hungry jaws every thousand years. Is that not a good thing? Worth fighting for?”

“I suppose it is, but what else do you plan to do after you become a God?”

“I shall leave that to your extensive imagination. Think long and hard, Itaka Izumi. Think until your brain hurts. Not that it will change a thing. I brought you into this world and just as easily I can remove you from it. So content yourself with my sweet vessel's tender albeit inexperienced kisses, dwell in the joys of ignorance and pray you will never be awakened from it.”

Having heard all that, Izumi—closed her eyes and tried to go back to sleep.

In a moment, she would pay witness to Yuliana’s flustered shrieking and be forced to get up to meet another day in another world, laden with trials. But until that time, for even just a few more fleeting seconds, she wanted to sleep and keep dreaming of video games.

END

Table of Contents

Title Page

Prologue

Chapter 1: The Summoned Hero is Seriously Creepy

Chapter 2: The Knight Princess is Unhealthily Obstinate

Chapter 3: The Blade in the Crowd Has a Heart of Gold

Chapter 4: The False Duke's Banquet Becomes a Trial by Fire

Chapter 5: The Lord of Light Keeps Things in the Dark

Epilogue